Rebellion

The hallway reverberated with the rhythmic clacking of heels, the sound punctuated by frustrated grunts from the wearer. Iselle was irked as she adjusted her stride, her ankles had seen better days.

Her dress was neither too formal nor too casual— flowing downwards was her skirt that reached near to the floor, the smooth green cloth barely grazing the ground. Her shoulderless top was lined with white accents and to complete the look were modest jewellery.

As she approached a doorway, light spilt out, accompanied by the chatter of a middle-aged couple engaged in idle conversation. Coming to a halt just before entering the dining area, Iselle paused, her breath hitching.

"Remember, Iselle," she murmured to herself, "you can handle this."

With measured steps, she crossed the threshold into the room, where servants bustled about, finalizing the meal. Iselle had arrived just in time. As she made her way to her designated seat, a nearby maid gestured to her to take her place amidst the tense atmosphere.

Looking around, she noticed the absence of her brother. 'Caine must have left... maybe that's why he said goodbye.'

Iselle got silent, she was sure it would be like any other dinner. Eating food in a refined manner, choosing specific utensils, and ensuring proper etiquette; most of which were learned through self-study, though her mother would always find a way to pick out inconsistencies.

Glancing to her left, Iselle saw her father, Silas Revona. He was her most apparent reflection, with his brown hair and eyes mirroring her features, albeit slightly darker. A prominent scar marked his right cheek, a testament to his military past before he retired.

Directly across from Iselle, her mother, Floriana Revona, held court. A regal figure with black hair and piercing green eyes, she exuded an air of sharp poise. While her hair, somewhat like Iselle's, was straight in nature, it cascaded down with slight waves and was adorned with accessories to keep it in check.

As the night progressed, Floriana continued to conversate. "Darling, I've also heard from my friends that a neighbouring barony has just defeated and incorporated a city of vampires. The baron is contemplating a marriage alliance using his son while they recover, it seems their liege is unhappy with the shift in power. A subordinate holding that much territory is concerning."

Silas nodded thoughtfully. "Hmm, that's news to me. My focus has been on the heretics causing trouble in Belgica. It's not surprising that fellow Italian states are still fighting amongst each other; the I.C.R. is under considerable pressure."

"True, but those declarations of war do come with their benefits. We could potentially supply our neighbours with our produce. The upcoming winter is going to be particularly harsh."

A soft chuckle escaped Silas' lips. "Then I might as well learn some of the local tongues. Do vampires have a different tongue than the empire's?"

"To some extent. Since the fall of the old Roman Empire and the ascension of the I.C.R. in the western half, their language has evolved. Think of it as a sister tongue to ours."

"In that case, I'll make an effort to learn it."

Without warning, a shiver of unease crawled up Iselle's spine. Years of being scrutinized by her mother had honed her intuition for danger. She recognized the signs and steeled herself for what she knew was coming, though she loathed what was to come.

"…Iselle, what are your thoughts?" Floriana asked, narrowing her eyes slightly at the potential response.

Brushing aside her discomfort, Iselle tries to quickly end the conversation, "I don't believe my opinion holds much weight."

"Iselle." The mother reiterates firmly. "You may speak your mind."

Iselle shifted uncomfortably. She looked to her father who was listening intently. With a deep breath, she met her mother's expectant eyes, her voice steadying.

Finally, Iselle let her words flow. "It depends on whether we treat them fairly. Our neighbours will hold it against us if they think we are exploiting their war. If we set prices at market rates or make them cheaper, they could remember that and leave us with an amicable relationship. As of now, we are mere landholders, so the only way for us to be raised into a barony is if some other family of higher status would recommend us for elevation in the next Imperial Diet."

Iselle couldn't have guessed her mother's reaction, which was a smile and a chuckle. "Oh? Interesting, it seems we share the same perspective."

'That was… odd.' Iselle thought, taken aback by her mother's uncharacteristic response. She paused, contemplating the implications.

…

"You're getting married."

…

One… two… three…

"Pfft! What?!" The incredulous exclamation escaped Iselle's lips as her mother's announcement registered. She stood abruptly, inadvertently knocking her wine glass over, its contents staining her dress.

Floriana's response was dry. "It appears you're as uncouth as ever. Even when I took away those books for boys, you've always disappointed me by straying further from being a lady." Summoning the maids, Floriana instructed, "Would you all please help my daughter in cleaning her dress?"

Recovering from the initial shock, Iselle's brows furrowed deeper than ever. "When were you telling me this?"

"Today, I thought you would've known that by now."

"No, who the hell am I being married to?! Don't tell me it's that baron's son."

The mother was far too engrossed in the prospect of marrying Iselle off that she didn't even flinch at her daughter acting rude and impolite.

"Fortunately, no. It's the grandson of some retired general, Ricard von Brandenburg. I don't have a portrait, rumour has it that he doesn't like to show his face to anyone. He holds a dukedom in the northeast of Germania. Finding a suitor willing to marry you proved to be quite the challenge. Consider yourself fortunate that the duke you're being sent to prefers a docile bride."

Iselle's mind raced, swiftly processing the new information and cross-referencing it with her accumulated knowledge. The implications hit her like a tidal wave. "Wait... northeast of Germania? A dukedom? Mittelmark?! That's practically traversing half the continent!"

"Yes, which is why you're going tomorrow by ship provided by the Brandenburg family. The voyage will likely take at least a few weeks or a month. You're going to the north toward the port of Nezzo, the overland journey is going to take a day or two."

"That's it? You're just going to throw all of this to me abruptly?! I do not—"

"Silence!"

"No! You're not going to tell me anything!"

Iselle's instinct flared, prompting her to raise her right arm towards her head. Within moments, the sound crunching of vines and thorns filled the air as they lunged to ensnare her— only for it to be halted by her quick reaction.

"What was that again?" There was no trace of anger, yet anyone observing could discern the tightly coiled fury beneath Floriana's composed exterior. "Somehow you always find a way to react to my vines. Find solace in your impending fate, Iselle. Enduring hardship from taking care of a powerless girl like you has grown tiresome, yet you do possess your uses. Perhaps, at long last, the divine has heard my pleas."

Slowly, Iselle got raised up, the strong length of plant life grasping her tightly, almost choking her to death if not for her right arm's obstruction. The rough and spiked surface further dug into her skin as she struggled.

Standing up resolutely, Iselle's father places a hand on Floriana's shoulder. "Dear, do not be overly harsh." He turned his attention to Iselle. "You won't be alone tomorrow, I'll be with you until the Brandenburg family's escorts take over and ensure your safety. They have multiple Class 3s guarding you the entire way. You needn't fear for your safety."

Heeding her husband's request, Iselle's mother released her hold. Vines dissipated into green specks of light before a harsh thud accompanied it.

Iselle rose, her breaths laboured. "…I- I have no choice then?"

Her mother's response was quick. "No, you do not. You have plenty of time to acquaint yourself with the necessities of being a dutiful wife. I expect you to be a presentable lady representing our name. The duke doesn't know our language, so you'll be taking up lessons while out on the sea."

"But—"

"You're an insubstantial and pitiable child. If only you could be more like your brother, off to a distinguished academy. Yet here you are, bemoaning a life many would envy. Who cares if your betrothed may be unattractive, severe, or of a different race? Our family needs this, you are not going to undermine our prospects with your selfishness. I'll make the servants pack your things, so do sleep well."

Abandoning her heels as she ran, Floriana hastened from the dining room, her hands clutching her dress. She ascended to the second floor, thoroughly fatigued and mentally drained. She thrust open her bedroom door and slammed it shut behind her.

Collapsing against the door, her back slid down its surface. Her eyes darted frantically, burning with unbridled rage. Her gaze flitted to where she stored her sword.

A horrible thought crosses her mind. "I-I could kill them, right? Ha… ha… hahaha."

Opening her drawer, a blade shines in the moonlight breaching through a window. Her fingers danced on the steel, playing with the edge as the swirls in her eyes grew deeper in darkness.

She clutched the blade, its sharpness biting into her palms. Her reflection mirrored her grotesque expression as thoughts of slaughtering her own kin consumed her—slitting their throats, dismembering them piece by piece, or whatever it took to end their lives.

Blood stained the floor and her dress, remnants of the spilt wine soaked and mixed with deep crimson. Slowly, she blinked, a fragment of reality pulling her back from her grim fantasies. "…I'd probably get killed before I can even swing."

Iselle sheathes the sword before placing it back. A punch aimed at the drawer followed. "Damn this world!" She cursed even more. "If only I had… something!"

The sound of dripping liquid filled the air as she stood there, defeated. She eventually staggered forward, collapsing onto her bed face-first. The sheets absorbed blood as she surrendered to her self-loathing.

"Mother is right… I'm powerless to change this. When am I going to get a chance to be on my own? To decide what I want? …Who would even marry me? Is it truly divine intervention?"

Her voice reverberated in the room, reaching her own ears. She clenched her bleeding palms once more before her thoughts dissolved into unconsciousness. "Damn it all."

[~&~]

"Miss Iselle!"

Iselle slowly opened her eyes, greeted by the hazy silhouette of a maid standing before her.

"Your hands! Your dress! Oh my God, what happened?!" the maid exclaimed in a panicked tone.

Iselle raised her hands, examining the cuts. "Ah, right. Don't worry, they're just flesh wounds. I'm sure someone here has a minor control over liquids. Send for them, and make sure you both keep quiet about it. Mother might punish all of you for letting me get injured despite it being my own doing. We can't afford a healer, so get me some bandages. I'll find gloves to hide the wounds."

The maid hesitated but then nodded. "Ah… er… of course, Miss Iselle. Your mother wants you to wear regular clothes. You'll change into proper attire once you reach the port. I'll have someone clean the room for you."

"Sure. You may go now."

As the door closed and the hurried steps faded away, Iselle could feel her mind numbing as the morning continued. When the maid returned with another servant, they quickly cleaned the room to erase all traces of Iselle's previous night's episode.

With the help of magic, they cleaned the blood from the mattresses, floor, and clothes. Though it was slow due to the dried blood, the process went smoothly. After a bath and a change of clothes, Iselle headed to the first floor.

Even her mother was absent from her departure. Maids scrambled to pack whatever they could. There were two carriages: the first one in front carried her and her father while the second followed them behind with a few servants to help unpack.

A few hours later, Iselle found herself staring blankly at the coach she would be in for a day or two, possibly stopping at villages along the way for rest. Her body moved on autopilot as her spirit seemed to waver. Her father had led her in but she didn't care to notice, she was already close to giving up as all the life she lived wasn't her own.

She couldn't even say goodbye to Cassie.

"Iselle… Iselle… Iselle?"

"...Huh?"

"Goodness, your expression is scaring me."

Her father's voice snapped her out of her stupor. Iselle refocused on him, noting his concern. "I'm sorry, father. Were you asking me something?"

"May I take a look at your hand?"

Iselle froze momentarily. Her father chuckled, easing her tension as he retrieved a familiar sword from under the seat.

"Don't worry." He handed her the sword with a smile. "You'll need to learn to clean your blade every time you sheathe it. Otherwise, liquids could cause rust or make it harder to draw."

"I knew I couldn't keep anything from you. Are you going to punish me?"

"Why would I? It's a common injury. I was expecting something like this, considering you're not in unbearable pain. Especially after the announcement, I was prepared for the worst."

"Yes, sorry. I won't do it again..."

Her father's eyes showed a hint of pity before he spoke in a sombre tone. "...You know, I always saw some part of your mother in you."

'I completely disagree.' Iselle thought, though her expression conveyed as much. "In what way?"

Her father continued. "I've observed you trying your best despite your… limitations. Your ambition shines through, but there's something holding you back. Do you think, on the day the Manograph told us you had no power, would you still be the girl you are now?"

"...I don't know. Would I still be loved? Would I still be damned with these eyes? Unfair things have been thrust upon me. I've struggled to fight them, only to fall short because the unfairness brings me back to reality. I despise it. I hate being the only one who needs to hide when I go outside. I've only had one friend, and now I'm leaving her behind as well."

"...I'm sorry, Iselle. There's a reason why your mother always barred you from everything.."

Iselle turned away, trying to hide her growing scowl and glossy eyes. "Really? What kind of reason justifies stifling your children, highlighting their flaws, and crushing their self-esteem, treating them worse than stray dogs? What kind of parents would do that?!"

"The reason… is you."

Iselle looked back to her father, not realizing she'd already shed a tear. "...What do you mean?"

"When I said you were like your mother, I meant it. You have the desire to explore the world but without the power to back it up as your mother had. You prefer running around over sitting in a chair, and you'd rather ask for books on fighting and magic than engage with nobles. How do you think a military man like me met your mother?"

"How?" Iselle had never considered that before. She was curious, as her opportunities to ask about her parents' history had been limited, leaving her with only broad knowledge.

"She was an adventurer."

The sounds of the forest; leaves rustling, and carriage rattling filled the silence. Iselle was astonished. "What? Adventurer? But she seems like she's always lived a privileged life."

"Surprising, isn't it? Your mother, who appears to have been born with a silver spoon, was actually daring and risk-taking. I met her after a battle. I was part of a team sent by our liege to take control of a town. We succeeded, but monsters attacked soon after, drawn by the scent of blood and corpses. It was turning into a catastrophe. Most of the hundreds of men were engaged in combat, and I was about to be killed. That's when your mother arrived, saving us from the monsters. As a captain, I was rewarded with land nearby, and the general who commanded me received the town."

"I never knew... I've read about our family history, but I didn't know that Mother saved you on that day."

"It's a fact we've kept from you, as we were afraid you'd follow her path if given the chance. Then... you were born without power. I worried you'd face hardships. Your mother on the other hand was unreadable. I'd ask her but she always gave vague and inconclusive answers."

"So she was happy about it."

"No, I have a theory. I've always been concerned about your safety, as you can't defend yourself. That's why I convinced your mother to allow you to take up swordsmanship later in life. Your mother wanted to protect you. Her methods might be severe, but I think she has her reasons. Even now, I still wonder why she stopped being an adventurer. I believe she's witnessed enough to keep you away from the life you desire. She's right; the life you're destined for as a wife to a duke is something many would envy."

Iselle tried to hide her wiping her eyes, quickly looking to the side and glancing at the door and then toward the forest landscape. She couldn't respond, it was all true, she might be stubborn but she was realistic... if not, at times desperate.

"Father…I—"

"Sir! There's an emergency!" The coachman's shout from the front broke the moment. Soon after, the cacophony of shrieking and growling creatures, both monstrous and animalistic, reached them. "It's a stampede!"

"What? A stampede? But how could a stampede randomly happen?" Iselle's father questioned before firming his gaze. "Iselle, stay here and keep your sword close. I'll address this issue soon."

'A stampede?' Iselle thought. 'Could it be the Razorspine Boar? Did the team already try to subdue it? No, Cassie mentioned they were preparing specifically for it. They wouldn't make such a massive commotion by mistake.'

Iselle glanced at the door, men from the the baggage cart left to form up a desperate defence. Iselle could hear her father unleashing his magic, a form of elemental control that created golems.

"I want to be free," Iselle whispered softly. "Even though I have no power."

Her sword gleamed as she drew it from its scabbard, determination in her eyes. "Father, you knew. You knew that even when I'd be forced into marrying someone I don't know, someone I don't want. And that I wouldn't resort to drastic measures. Why?"

She stood up, her resolve unwavering. "Maybe you sensed my fear. Maybe you realized... my mother always knew. But divine intervention be damned. I don't have to wait for things to change!"

With one bold swing, Iselle flung open the door. Monsters of various kinds clashed with her father's constructs. Amidst regular animals and magic-influenced creatures, Iselle spotted a gap in their ranks, the trees to climb— an opportunity to break free. It carried the risk of being pursued, but she had a hunch. If her guess was correct, the stampede was caused by a greater threat, making these creatures prioritize escape over chasing a lone girl with a sword.

"Miss Iselle!" one of the men shouted. "Sir, your daughter is running away!"

Silas Revona glanced back, his reaction surprising. Instead of commanding his men to capture her or directing his golems to detain her, he smiled. "So you've finally made that choice… my wife is going to be very unhappy about this," he whispered.

"Sir, what was that?"

"Focus! We'll search for her later, once we're sure we're safe from this stampede. It won't last long. Remember, our goal is to redirect them, not to fight. Stay close, everyone!"

(A/N)

Fun Fact: Impulsiveness is a common trait amongst teens, I should know, I was one.