Fates oddity, p.24
Fate's oddity, page 24
When local militia or town guards encounter threats beyond their capacity—such as dangerous magical anomalies, monster outbreaks, or rogue spellcasters—the Guild is called upon for assistance. Guild members, renowned for their diverse skillsets and adaptability, swiftly mobilize into specialized teams to handle these extraordinary threats.
The Adventurer’s Guild maintains close communication with Gaia’s official institutions, including military units, regional noble authorities, and even the royal palace itself. To streamline cooperation, the crown has appointed specific intermediaries—such as Lieutenant Sylva de Varelle—to liaise directly between the Guild and the royal family. While Sylva herself is not an adventurer, her role is vital, facilitating clear communication, rapid response coordination, and ensuring mutual understanding between the Guild’s operatives and official military forces.
Additionally, the Guild oversees recovery and rehabilitation efforts after major crises. Their healers, often employing magicite-enhanced treatments, collaborate with local healers and royal physicians to ensure comprehensive physical and psychological care for survivors.
Though the Guild retains significant independence, this formal partnership ensures quick, effective responses to any crisis, preserving both public safety and the stability of the kingdom itself.
Chapter 19: Steel, Sweat, and Spellfire
The mansion’s back courtyard had been transformed.
Where once there had been ornamental hedges and trimmed trees, now stood open space—a training field forged from flattened grass, scorched patches of dirt, and a few deeply gouged stones.
Krimson stood in the center, shirt off, twin daggers drawn, breath fogging in the morning chill. Murasaki circled him slowly, her massive axe slung over one shoulder like it weighed nothing.
Celestia lounged beneath a parasol nearby, legs crossed, sipping tea. Her spellbook floated beside her, pages flipping on their own as glowing runes circled lazily in the air.
“You two have been circling for three minutes,” she called. “Just kiss or fight already.”
Murasaki smirked. “Why not both?”
Krimson rolled his eyes. “Let’s fight. The kissing can come later.”
“Promise?”
“Focus, bunny girl.”
And then they moved.
Sparks flew as metal clashed with metal.
Krimson ducked, wove, parried. Murasaki struck with the weight of a storm.
They were different. But evenly matched.
From the sidelines, Kukuri scribbled in a notebook, whispering, “The rogue and the warrior, locked in a dance of blades and tension...”
Kalis, nearby, practiced her idol choreography with a blade in one hand, shouting encouragement like a cheer squad commander. “Spin and counter! Hit him with the hips!”
Celestia let her tea cool.
Then stood.
“My turn.”
Murasaki backed off immediately, panting and grinning. “He’s all yours.”
Krimson groaned. “You’re running a train on me?”
Celestia raised a brow. “And you'll love it.”
He sighed, wiped sweat from his brow, and readied himself.
Training with Celestia wasn’t like sparring.
It was survival.
She conjured illusions. Changed terrain. Tossed elemental blasts with playful precision.
Krimson dodged a lightning bolt and landed in a puddle that had not been there a second ago.
“Cute,” he muttered.
Celestia grinned.
“Thanks. I call that one 'surprise puddle of doom.'”
She raised her staff again—but a crash from the side interrupted them.
Tazrak had landed into a training dummy.
Azazel followed, arms crossed, unimpressed.
“He wanted to test his strength against stationary objects.”
Tazrak grinned from the rubble. “I won.”
Azazel exhaled smoke. “Barely.”
Celestia waved at them. “Welcome to morning chaos.”
Krimson sighed, shaking his head but hiding a faint smile.
“You two made it. Glad you found the place.”
The previous day, Krimson had invited Tazrak and Azazel to the mansion to join in their training session. Initially hesitant, Celestia had warmed quickly to the idea, intrigued to see how their dynamic would work in practice.
Tazrak stood, brushing straw from his scales, his eyes wide with admiration as he took in the expansive mansion grounds.
"I’ve seen castles with less impressive training yards! How does one family manage all this?"
"Yeah, we just moved in not long ago. Still getting used to all the space, honestly. Giuseppe runs a tight ship—he does most of the upkeep—but we all lend a hand when we can. Turns out assassins make decent groundskeepers.
Azazel stepped carefully around another dummy, glancing at the elegant stonework and lush gardens beyond. His expression remained calm, but his eyes showed a spark of genuine interest.
"Not bad at all. I suppose this explains why you carry yourselves like nobility without the annoying entitlement."
Celestia chuckled lightly.
“Consider yourselves lucky. Giuseppe would've insisted we use the ballroom if it rained.”
Tazrak laughed heartily, stretching his shoulders.
"Now that's something I need to see! A ballroom brawl—I like your style, Princess."
Azazel gave a subtle smirk, adjusting his robes.
“Well, let's hope today doesn't come to that.”
Tazrak joined the next spar, hoisting a tree branch instead of a weapon. Azazel sat beside Kukuri and started offering edits to her fictional fight scenes.
Murasaki laughed. Celestia flourished. Kalis choreographed battle poses.
And Krimson, somewhere between surrounded and overwhelmed, let out a tired laugh.
The chaos of training gave way to calm.
***
Away from the group’s laughter and training, Kukuri and Kalis slipped into their own secluded sparring space,
Off a little ways from the main group, well out of view but still within the grounds of the training estate, Kukuri and Kalis faced each other across a stretch of scorched grass and cracked dirt. The sounds of laughter and swordplay from the others training nearby faded to dull echoes here. This was their space—private, intense, and sacred.
They didn’t spar often, but when they did, it wasn’t for show. It was to remind each other—and themselves—what they were capable of.
Kalis’s long white hair danced in the wind, pulled back in a loose ponytail. Her golden eyes gleamed with focus as she held her namesake: a Kalis sword, wide and curved, its edge reflecting glints of morning sun. Floating around her were four more blades—sleek, jagged, and controlled not by hand, but by her will. Her Blood Miracle pulsed faintly from her temples and fingertips, casting soft red motes into the air with every movement. She looked like a conductor commanding a deadly orchestra.
Kukuri grinned as she racked the slide of her rifle. Her red hair was tied into a thick braid, and her silver eyes sparkled with mischief. At her side, strapped across her thigh, was a kukri blade, her backup in close quarters. But her specialty wasn’t melee.
The long rifle she carried was beautiful, built with a craftsman’s touch and etched with her own blood. A small cut on her finger glowed as she fed a drop of blood into a reservoir at the side. It hissed faintly as the blood was absorbed, and then the bullets shimmered—enchanted.
“Tracking round. Let’s see if you can dodge it this time,” Kukuri called, her voice teasing.
“Try me,” Kalis replied coolly, adjusting her stance. One of her floating blades whirled to the side like a warning.
Their fight erupted in a flash. Kukuri dove to the side and fired, the bullet curving midair to follow Kalis’s movements. Kalis weaved between her own telekinetically controlled blades, parrying the round with a deflected sword slash. Then she countered with a high-speed barrage—her flying blades arcing inward with precision.
Kukuri fired another shot, this one bursting midair into three smaller rounds, each homing onto a different weapon. She gritted her teeth. “You’re faster today.”
“You’re slower,” Kalis answered with a rare smirk.
The fight blurred. Blade met bullet, dust clouded the ground, and their Blood Miracle surged subtly in every motion—subduing and redirecting force, enhancing agility, manipulating mass and aim.
Despite the intensity, neither struck to kill. Their weapons, while honed, were dulled or rubber for this match. Still, the sparring was a dance of raw precision and unleashed talent.
By the time it ended, both were panting, bruised, and grinning.
“Think we should let the others see what we can really do?” Kukuri asked, leaning against her rifle.
“Not yet,” Kalis said, walking forward to offer a hand. “Let them keep thinking we’re just the little sisters. For now.”
And just like that, they turned back toward the estate, secrets kept for another day.
Eventually.
They gathered in the courtyard as the sun sank low, the fire pit lit in the center, casting warm orange hues across the stone.
Food was spread across a wide blanket. Grilled meats, spiced vegetables, soft bread, and sweet fruit from the market.
Kalis sat beside Celestia, half-dozing with her head on her shoulder.
Murasaki leaned against Krimson with casual pride, eyes half-lidded, drinking slow from a tin cup.
Azazel lounged near the fire, pipe between his teeth, staring up at the sky.
“So,” Kukuri said, eyeing the newcomers, “tell me your deal. No evasive answers.”
Tazrak grinned broadly. “I'm from Bestia. It's common to leave and become a mercenary, so I decided to see the world. Ultimately, I want a harem, a high body count—combat-wise—and to be remembered in songs.”
Kukuri scribbled something, nodding. “Got it. Tragic himbo aspirations with wanderlust.”
Azazel exhaled smoke, eyes narrowing slightly. “I'm the inconvenient bastard son of a noble, and I've spent years searching for someone important. In the meantime, I study forbidden knowledge, write unsellable poetry, and craft potions that probably shouldn't exist.”
Kukuri paused, pen hovering. “Okay, now I'm curious—and concerned.”
Krimson narrowed his eyes. “That’s the same feeling I have with him near my sisters.”
Azazel raised his hands. “Hey. I know better than to flirt with underaged explosions waiting to happen.”
“I’m seventeen,” Kukuri said.
“Exactly.”
Krimson tossed a grape at him.
Celestia laughed, finally breaking the tension. “Let them breathe, Krimson. They’re learning. And Azazel hasn’t gotten anyone banned from public spaces in at least two weeks.”
Azazel raised his cup in mock pride. “Growth.”
Tazrak blinked. “Wait. You got banned from public spaces?”
“It was a misunderstanding involving a fountain, a love potion, and a religious holiday.”
“I need more details,” Kukuri muttered, already writing.
Krimson groaned. “No, you don’t.”
***
As the night deepened, conversation slowed.
Stories gave way to silence.
The kind of silence only found between people who know they’ll still be there in the morning.
Celestia laid back on the blanket, eyes tracing constellations. Murasaki sat beside her, playing absently with her own hair. Kalis quietly hummed a lullaby.
Krimson stayed on the edge, arms crossed. Watching.
Content.
Azazel, half-asleep, mumbled, “This is nice.”
Tazrak grunted in agreement. “Feels like family.”
Krimson blinked.
Then nodded.
“Yeah,” he said softly. “I guess it does.”
***
The courtyard was quiet now.
Tazrak had finally taken his jokes and his appetite home. Azazel had disappeared in a cloud of smoke and vague excuses about "forbidden incantations" and "scheduling a nap." Celestia had gathered Kukuri and Kalis inside, leaving only two figures still outside beneath the stars.
Krimson sat by the dying fire.
Murasaki stayed beside him.
She hadn’t spoken since the others left. She hadn’t needed to.
The silence between them was… comfortable.
After a while, Krimson broke it.
“You didn’t challenge me just to save face with your tribe, did you?”
Murasaki exhaled, long and slow.
“No,” she said. “That was only part of it.”
Her gaze stayed on the flames, eyes half-lidded, thoughtful.
“I needed to test you. For her sake… and mine. I couldn’t just walk away knowing Celestia was putting her life—and her heart—in the hands of a weak man.”
She turned to look at him, face calm but voice low with conviction.
“But it wasn’t just about her. It was also about me. About my pride. My people taught me to seek strength in those I follow… and in those I might love. Fighting you was the only way I’d know for sure.”
She paused, the firelight dancing in her azure eyes.
“I wanted to lose. But only if you earned it.”
Krimson looked over at her. She wasn’t looking at him. She was looking up—at the night sky.
“I had to know what I wanted,” she continued. “Not what the tribe wanted. Not what my duty said. Not even what I told myself.”
She turned her head finally, and their eyes met.
“I want to be near her,” she said softly. “And near you.”
Krimson blinked, surprised by the softness in her tone.
Murasaki smiled faintly. “Celestia was always a light. A little unreachable. But she feels real now. And you—you’re something I didn’t expect. Something strong. Someone who doesn’t flinch. And spirits help me, someone who throws sand at people mid-duel.”
Krimson chuckled. “You love it.”
“I do.”
There was a beat of silence.
Then Murasaki leaned in, just slightly.
“Celestia wants us both. We know it. She’s too bold not to. But I needed to know if I could want that too. If I could want this.”
She touched his hand. Not grabbing. Just resting there.
“I think I do.”
Krimson looked down at her hand, then back at her face.
“We’re all strange, aren’t we?” he said.
Murasaki nodded. “No, we're just different.”
“Perfect,” Krimson said, and stood.
He held out his hand.
Murasaki took it.
Together, they walked inside.
And the fire died behind them.
World of Aeterya Codex Entry #32: Kukuri and Kalis – Preferred Styles of the Blood Miracle
Every member of Krimson’s family possesses the Blood Miracle, an ancient power inherited through the Noxian royal bloodline. Though this ability isn't limited or fixed to one style of combat—each user could, in theory, replicate the methods of their kin—individuals naturally gravitate toward approaches that resonate with their personal skills and temperament.
Kalis favors telekinetic control of multiple blades simultaneously. By applying her blood onto these blades, she can freely manipulate their movement mid-air, turning her arsenal into a deadly, whirling barrier of steel. Her control isn't merely limited to positioning; she can imbue these blades temporarily with enchantments or subtle toxins to weaken and overwhelm her opponents.
Kukuri employs a similar concept, but with firearms. Her preference lies in precise, controlled marksmanship. While she could theoretically apply her blood to multiple guns and control them telekinetically, this method severely compromises accuracy. Instead, she concentrates her Blood Miracle onto a single specialized rifle, meticulously applying her blood directly to its bullets. This allows her to telekinetically guide individual rounds with pinpoint accuracy mid-flight or to bestow enchantments or toxins upon them.
Both sisters leverage the Blood Miracle similarly—applying blood to enhance and telekinetically control weapons—yet each does so uniquely, reflecting their personalities and chosen weapons. This specialization underscores their disciplined training and individual fighting philosophies.
Chapter 20: Old Shadows and Quiet Messages
The inn was quiet. That alone made it suspicious.
Kris sat in the corner booth, nursing a cup of thick coffee, her red hair pinned back in a traveler's braid, her face half-shrouded beneath a soft hood. Her eye—the one she had left—swept the room with casual precision.
Two mercenaries sat near the bar. One ex-spy lingered by the door pretending to be asleep. And behind the counter, the innkeeper was definitely an informant. Just the way she liked it.
She leaned back and tapped her cup three times. That was the signal.
Moments later, a man slid into the booth across from her.
Middle-aged. Cloaked. Polite. Dangerous.
"Kris," he said, giving a slight nod. "Still alive, then."
"Only barely."
"You want something."
"Information. And a favor."
The man chuckled. "You only ever visit when you're nervous. I assume this is about the king."
Kris sipped her coffee. "He hasn’t made contact. Not since Krimson left the farm. I need to know what he’s planning. And I need to know if he’s still keeping his end of the bargain."
"You don’t trust him anymore?"
"I trust his heart. But not his position. Kings have less freedom than assassins."
The man nodded slowly. "He’s quiet. Focused. Rumor says he’s grooming the prince for something public. There’s noise in the court—about an heir who doesn’t exist on paper. About a ghost in the bloodline."
Kris didn’t flinch, but her hand tightened on the cup.
"That ghost is mine," she said. "And I need to know if he plans to expose him."
The man leaned forward. "Want me to arrange a meeting?"
She hesitated.
Then nodded.
"Yes. Tell him Bloodtrail wants an audience."
