Selena is taken from after the events of Sacred Stones. She died in Chapter 13 of Ephraim’s route, and this troubles her greatly.
(READ THE BELOW BULLET POINT) She is an unaffiliated magic instructor, but she’ll most often be acting as a substitute teacher rather than an instructor of her own. If a student needs extra assistance/tutoring though, she is more than happy to help, regardless of whether they’ve met before.
UPDATE AS OF 2024/03/25: Selena is currently a Golden Deer professor, and although she will still fulfill the roles of substitute, tutor, and seminar-giver as necessary, she does full-on have her own classes now and will be handling that work primarily. Leaving the old bullet point as reference for older interactions + transparency with regards to her history here, but it is no longer accurate to the present.
While her internal monologue will still include it (and she will respond to anyone who refers to her as such), Selena will not be telling new people about her former Fluorspar title or that she was once a highly-ranked general. No longer serving Emperor Vigarde, she doesn’t quite feel like she deserves it.
On a similar note, anytime Selena speaks of her military history, the details will be kept non-specific. She was commander for a while in a nation overseas, yes, but she won’t admit to being of the most competent and/or well-known.
Oh, and she's a trans lesbian. Forgot to include this at first haha.
And just as Ephraim studied under Duessel, so has Eirika chosen to study under you.
It is more than you deserve, to be frank; a once-knight of a fallen empire; a land which violated its friendship and sought to raze the continent to the ground. Even before you understood the why of your actions, you had chosen to be complicit; and with this aspect of your character revealed, it is clear that you do not deserve the same respect as Duessel.
…and yet, she gives it to you all the same.
It is a kindness; an honor; a gift to be trusted with such a thing so precious—and the sort of thing which you refuse to squander.
If you may be worthy of her kindness (just as you may be worthy of her brother’s forgiveness), then maybe, just maybe, you may find yourself one step closer to atonement.
What to say of the boy who befriended your prince? What to say of the fighter who trained under Duessel?
(What to say of the leader who cut you down?)
A lot, actually. There is much to be said of King Ephraim of Renais.
His is a heart honest; not foolishly bare nor worn down for every soul he meets, but honest nonetheless. You know when he is there for you; when he seeks to make amends.
And if yours were a heart less staunch in its position, perhaps that would’ve swayed you—his honest heart; his want of peace. (If yours were a heart less staunch in its position, you would not be fit to call yourself the Fluorspar.)
But that was then, and this is now, and there are no wars or emperors or stones to be spoken of; just a king who cares for his people and his friends—including your prince.
One harsh and unyielding, fierce in his determinations; but also willing to soften around the edges at times. (Not so much that he would let anyone in, you notice—you and he trained wolf cubs; you still remember Rusalka—but distance and hostility wears at one’s bones. His Majesty would’ve given him a second chance.)
He is a man, and if he is willing to move forward—to go beyond that which only reaped pain and death for your allies and their dearest—then that is worth something, you think. There is nothing here, but you have chosen to trust him; and you would stand beside him, given the choice, just as you would stand beside anyone else.
a drabble: preceding the Herald of Spring Festival in Baile.
word count: 1,258 words
It is one of those nights, Selena fears, where the cold feels like death overhead.
It happened every year, when the nights grew longer and the freeze grew colder; and when the people of and about Garreg Mach gather supplies to survive the winter, Selena remembers her home. She remembers starvation. (She remembers death.)
Not her own—that had burned, the air electric with the remnants of Bolting and warmed by the dying embers of Elfire; and even as she turned cold, her body was warm for as long as she was conscious. Life had been cold to her; death had been warm—she never thought of her own.
She thought of her hometown; of all the people who never made it when the snow rolled in and supplies ran thin; before things got so bad that they stopped paying taxes. In a frontier town where little was had—but bandits still took more—winters were a death sentence. (His Majesty’s kindness was a miracle.)
Cold winters, where her fingers numbed through her gloves and the breeze brought chills even colder; those were the ones where melancholy struck its chord.
—which brings her to haste through the night, traveling the distance from the Academy buildings to her quarters. Even as she’d invested in proper winter clothing (and therefore, the freeze didn’t get to her nearly as much), Selena never wanted to linger out in the dark; only to get from where she was leaving to where she was going, and nothing more.
Her travels are frozen.
It’s a shadow in the dark that announces itself to her, standing itself in the middle of the path, hardly caring for the night and its hostilities. Even before he speaks, she knows the man she is facing, and she halts in her tracks.
“ Hello there, Selena, ” Valter says.
“Stalking me again?” she asks, the sound loud and dead in the air between them. “Have you nothing better to do?” The shadow moves to shrug its shoulders, rolling its head to the side absent-mindedly.
“ Probably, ” he deadpans, “ but we both know I hardly concern myself with that. ” One hand emerges from his silhouette, running a thumb over his fingers as though it were the most interesting part of their conversation. “ I have something for you, Fluorspar. ”
Don’t call me that. Selena shifts, one foot stepping back in anticipation. “Whatever it is, I’m not interested.”
And then he laughs, barking in the night: “ You’re not even curious? Not even somewhat? ”
“Is there a use to being curious when you’re involved? You’re the sort to be the one to kill the cat.”
His hand vanishes again, dissolving into his cape and the shadows surrounding. Then, he steps forth, such that the trees beyond no longer cast their shadow; with teeth visible in his smile, the Moonstone says, “ I am. ”
“ But I can assure you: this is no threat, Selena. ” (As he speaks, he draws nearer, closing the distance between the both of them.) “ Only a gift between friends—and one I should think you would like to appreciate. ”
She is about to ask when he produces an envelope, blank on its face and indistinguishable in its design. When the professor pauses to accept, Valter points it towards her again. “ It’s not a trap, ” he says, tone dry and unamused. “ It isn’t going to kill you. ”
I would be impressed if it was. Violent as he was, Selena had never known the man to dabble in poison or magic; he had always seemed much more inclined to tear right through people the old-fashioned way. Regardless, once-knight finds the confidence to accept the envelope, turning it around in her hands.
The Moonstone withdraws, seemingly satisfied in his business. The Fluorspar professor halts when she recognizes the seal on the back: from the mayoral office of Baile.
“You’re giving this to me?” (The wax is unbroken, and she can feel the thickness of the paper inside: a legitimate invitation to the Herald of Spring Festival.) She’d known they were being delivered through unaffiliated faculty—which, it appears, seems to have included the knights—but she hadn’t minded the process. She hardly even cared to attend when there was still so much to be done in Garreg Mach.
“ You sound surprised, ” Valter laughs, and it reminds Selena that sensitivity is dangerous around this man. “ But yes, ” he goes on, crossing his arms and looking elsewhere. “ I have no interest in going, so I figured I may as well send it somewhere. ”
Selena furrows her brow. “Why me?” You hate me. I hate you. “And the both of us know you wouldn’t mind wasting such a thing just to witness someone’s misery.”
The prospect seems to spur some fond imagination in the Moonstone, for he laughs at that as well. “ That would be appealing, wouldn’t it? But as I mentioned, ”—and here, he crosses a hand over his chest, dipping his head in a faux bow—“ it is a gift for you, Selena. ”
“We’re not friends,” she remarks, returning to his earlier turn of phrase.
“ Aren’t we? ” he replies, eyes wide and doe-like. “ I thought I told you as much—at the ball. ”
“We never spoke at the ball,” Selena points out. Valter pauses, looking upwards—thinking to himself, she presumes—before humming something non-committal.
“ Perhaps that was last year. ” Resuming his usual gesturing, he continues, “ Regardless, you should know this already. We are friends, you know. ”
Selena still doesn’t remember him saying anything of the sort. (Even if he had, she still entirely disagrees.)
“What are you after?” she narrows, gaze sharp against the Moonstone.
He sighs in return. “ If you’re really so skeptical, consider it a favor from me to you. ”
“I don’t need your favors.”
“ Nor do I need yours, ” he smiles, “ so this exchange becomes completely innocuous, does it not? ”
No; but Selena is unable to articulate as much before Valter steps to the side; then around her; and moves to leave.
“ If you have no intention of using it, feel free to hand it off. ” (He shrugs, apathetic, before stepping into the shadow of night once more.) There is a moment where he looks back, gaze faintly visible still, and says, “ If you do end up going, however, I do hope you enjoy your spring. ”
(Tone opaque; impossible to parse for whatever he could truly mean.) Even his eyes vanish then, leaving Selena alone in the dark.
Alone in the cold; in the dead of winter.
—with a letter that promises to beckon spring; and that, ink on parchment spelling out an invitation, reminds her of flowers; of kindness; of abundance and warmth. (His Majesty’s kindness had been a miracle, she recalls, and it was one that promised her town the chance of spring.)
There is something sour about the note knowing that it is one delivered by Valter; but then again, he’d made it overly clear during their time as generals—and spent in the general grounds of the monastery as a whole—that he had a large disdain for peacetime. (If he was not interested in this festival, it may be because he was predicting a peace to exist there.)
And, loathe as Selena was to admit it, the man’s intuition was worth something—he’d been a general for a reason. (The third before her for a reason–) So it was likely there would be peace there; and most things that the Moonstone shunned but served the world a better purpose:
Flowers; kindness; abundance; warmth.
Selena picks up her boots and continues back to her quarters. (There was much left this night to ponder yet.)
"They could be," Zephia agrees with a hum, "But it's far too late to do anything about it now. As I said, this man," a nudge of her foot against the corpse, pushing the tip of her shoe into fingers that have already begun to curl and set, "was already very much dead by the time I found him. If his killer fled, they're already long gone—and if they remained, well..."
Well. They must be terribly anxious, the poor thing, waiting to hear news of the viscount's death. After all, if no death is announced, then that must necessarily mean the man is alive—and if the man is alive, he'll very likely be able to identify the individual who so brutally stabbed him four times. Who would be able to sit still with that risk hanging over their heads?
"...I'll leave the choice up to you. You don't look nearly as shocked as I'd thought you would—" at least, not by the death itself, "—so you must have quite a bit of experience handling the passing of someone you were meant to protect."
Zephia pulls back to slowly survey the kitchens. Why would a viscount have come here himself instead of sending a servant to fetch something for him, if he craved food and drink?
Zephia begins by making a very fair point: there was no reason to believe the viscount’s death was recent, and, with that acknowledged, it was all too possible his killer had already vanished beyond the skyline.
But we are to act just in case. (It was not about the most assured truths; if there was a chance the culprit were still on the premises, were they not to ensure they regret not leaving sooner?)
Zephia continues by supposing this isn’t new to Selena, and it’s not even an insult. It wasn’t phrased as one at least; should Selena be interpreting it as such? ‘You must have quite a bit of experience handling the passing of someone you were meant to protect.’ It sounds like a compliment actually. She is given the choice of what to do next.
That could not have been a compliment. (That wasn’t a very complimentary thing to say, after all.) It’s a very polite way of saying you must’ve failed before—but also, it was in response to Selena’s calmness, so it would seem. (That does not excuse her words.)
—words that are said so lightly before Zephia resumes her own business. (Selena should really just focus on her work.)
“I’m going to have the guards secure the area,” Selena says at last. “We can keep the viscount’s passing a secret, in case the killer is waiting for confirmation. If anyone asks, he was attacked, but he’s been stabilized, and he’s safely in recovery.” Turning on her heel to leave, she takes one last glance at Zephia—“In the meantime…” …I suppose… “…you can handle the crime scene.”
(This is not a thing she should likely be trusting to her companion, but if Selena chooses not to trust her, she may yet go mad in her company.)
When he was told to avert his eyes, Marth did exactly that albeit when he averted his gaze from the scene in front of him, he could still hear the sound of a brewing storm. He knew not of what was happening however, he dared not to look until the flash of lightning had subsided.
The ropes binding his wrists were now loosened and as a result, he had just barely managed to get one hand free and with that, small sparks of a Bolganone spell had flickered in the air near the automaton, an attempt at possibly charring it but… he was hoping for more than just a few measly embers of flame that rammed into his target.
No good… he was still too weak to create anything with a fire spell aside from a few small embers but… so long as that automaton stood and the cold remarks of the crowd remained, it seemed like getting out of here would be far from simple.
“You… do not need to apologize… What is important is… getting out of… our current situation.”
At the very least, that was what he believed but he was also quite worried about Selena’s safety as well.
He’s correct: above all else, if they could remove themselves from this situation without things devolving further, that would be the ideal end. (Selena makes this note to herself before continuing her battle, weaving lightning between her steps, seeking to shock the thing into submission. The crowd, likewise, continues to call for her demise; the automaton continues to seek her out.)
—but, though her focus was primarily on her opponent, it was not so solely attended that she was unable to notice: flames. (Hardly noticeable, flickering for just a moment, but she had not cast them herself; a quick gaze to the student reveals one hand of his is freed, and that much sparks a hope in her chest, burning in its cage.)
So, she lifts one hand, and she shifts her focus—to their surroundings: the gardens that had summoned her here to begin. She cannot sense any sort of barrier (though, she could not pretend she knew the correct schools for that), but it feels as though that should be unsurprising: they had a crowd, and if there had been a limit to her freedom, the once-mage knight would like to believe she would’ve noticed. It all builds towards a resolve that if they can leave this place, there would be nothing artificial to stop them—save for the automaton, of course.
(Would that be a danger to the local townsfolk?)
Well—ducking to the side again as the machine swings for her once more—it would appear it was far more immediately a threat to them, and Selena had a mission: to rescue the student hostage. (She would have to trust that whoever was responsible could control their machine; and if they could not, that the Duke would have measures in store to resolve this.) She could not devote herself to that issue.
Instead, in the window of opportunity she’s been afforded, she dashes back to the boy’s side, removing the rest of the ropes and pulling him to his feet. (There’s not a lot of time, she knows, but she can try the best with what she has.)
“If I ask you to go ahead of us, will you be able to go far on your own? I will do my best to escort you, but I may need to divert my effort elsewhere on occasion.”
i feel as though it should just be expected, routinely, for me to randomly appear and announce a new custom programmed page. the inspiration for this flashed into my mind a few days ago, and i have been stun-locked out of doing anything but working on it until approximately 21 and a half minutes ago.
ah, minor update while we're here though: i realized while entering her information that i am bad at math. selena is actually 3 years older than i'd initially stated on her old muse page; the timeline is the same, but she's 28 at the moment.
say hello at /muse !! (image credits under cut i guess)
the sidebar image is from FEH (edited, of course, to match the theme)!! specifically, Devoted Selena. i love her. she makes me happy. :]
the first and third embedded images (from the 'basics' and 'history' tab) are edits of photographs i took back in july of 2024!! they're from the vizcaya art museum in miami, florida, where i was visiting with family (nods sagely)
the second embedded image (from 'person') is also an edit of a photograph i took, but this one was just a random bird i saw while up in quebec last month. it was the first image i edited, and once i did, i realized i wanted to go through the rest of my photo gallery to source the rest haha.
It was just a stupid game. That was all this was supposed to be. A cheesy school superstition, meant to spook new students as some twisted rite of passage. You only needed to sneak into a secret crypt beneath the Monastery and spend the night to secure the bragging rights – the hardest part should have been getting past the guards! But no… The real problem, you now realize, is the monster of this so-called “myth” – what it called a ‘golem’, beckoned from the inky depths of the crypt by the sound of your footsteps. It wears the helm of a man, but the rest of its gigantic body is anything but human. With snake-like arms that can twist in any direction, thickly woven sinews of steel cable barely hidden behind a massive, lion-faced chestplate, and a lance that can carve very REAL craters out of stone with a flick – logic says this thing shouldn’t be moving. But it is, and its hollow ‘gaze’ is now squarely on you. When magic bounces off of it like rain, and even the sturdiest sword barely leaves a scratch, your only remaining hopes of survival are to pray you find the exit in this darkness, or pry open its vulnerable innards. [Grants Axe +1]
"I understand," comes Lyon's acknowledgement in the darkness. An occasional uneasy glance over his shoulder communicates how that possibility settles over the prince. He sincerely hopes that there aren't any more of them. He tightens his hold on the pebbles. "We should be able to hear them before we see them — or they see us. That gives us a few precious seconds to hide."
Many archways lead into small yet empty chambers. In other words, he and the general could hide in them. Staying dead silent for a few moments won't be too difficult; they have to make sure not to choose one with only one exit.
"One from before seemed to react to sound... I don't know about sight, though." Did it also react to the flash of light from Selena's Thunder spell? Or just the sound? He supposes it doesn't matter too much if those things can hear them. If they weren't in a perilous situation, Lyon would wonder how they work.
"But... If I have to, I can try casting." He keeps following Selena's lead. Nothing about the walls seems any different — not that he looked for any distinguishable architecture before he got lost. "It's too risky for me to try offensive spells without a tome, but I know Rescue and Physic..." Both have good range and utility in a pinch, and failure to cast them shouldn't have any dire repercussions.
"...Ah, never mind." Even if he falls back on support, the lack of visibility remains an issue. "It's better to avoid engaging them altogether."
She listens, attentively, and she thinks as Prince Lyon speaks. (He is, of course, correct in his deductions; the golem they had encountered was large and loud, announcing itself through sound sooner than sight—and the former traveled in one direction; they would sooner hear it before it heard them.) Should there be another encounter, they would likely be able to find a tunnel to duck into or some rubble to take cover behind.
“Of course,” and she agrees, because what else could she do when her prince spoke? The order (again, the apt one to deliver) is made informally to avoid combat given the chance, and she agrees. They do not know their enemy. (It could not be predicted.) “Your judgement is sound.”
So then: to continue their escape. Selena finds herself reliant on her memory as they continue on, but her recollection affirms: this route was familiar. (It spoke of the surface above.) Every now and again, the knight’s gaze is cast behind her—to check up on her prince; to make certain they had not been found—and there is an eerie, unsettling feeling that comes from nothing turning up.
But she wouldn’t wish for something to go awry. If all was calm, then that was for the better.
Even more so when one tunnel demonstrates at the end an iron gate; askew, practically open, not dark beyond but lit by casual moonlight. (If she listens carefully, she can even make out the faint echoes of chatter from the guards beyond.)
“This way,” she directs, making room for Lyon to step ahead of her. We’ve made it out of the labyrinth.
rosemary makes her exit, leaving linhardt alone with his professor-chaperone and the ghastly painting. the painting itself feels like an entity - if he and selena were to leave the room, too, there would still be some one here.
still, nothing ventured, or something.
he has a spell prepared for things like this. it's a modified diagnostic spell. many healers use the original chant to visualize injuries or determine if the source of a problem is from the body or from outside of it. linhardt, who thinks such a thing is disgusting to consider, uses his to see lingering magicks on items, or try and determine the shape of mechanism for certain engineering constructs.
it's useful for his work, which often sees him delving into places people like him were guarded against.
in this instance, when linhardt's hand glows gently and he hovers it across the painting, it feels more like the original purpose of the spell.
it feels as though the painting is that third entity in the room, and it feels as though whatever ailment it suffers from is decidedly an internal problem.
the nausea that often takes linhardt when he makes such discoveries of the flesh in his healing takes him now, and because he had expected to look at an object and not a person, he withdraws his hand suddenly, physically recoiling with a groan as his face pales.
he turns, hunching over and hugging his stomach.
“i feel sick,” he explains, voice thready.
if nothing else, he has learned this: something is wrong with that painting.
With Lady Rosemary gone, it is now just Linhardt and Selena in the hall; but it is hard to register that fact, surrounded by people in the paintings and a painting with a person within. (Selena decides, however, to let Linhardt focus on his work; and in the meantime, she could think over whatever would come next.)
Which, truth be told, could be any manner of thing. She would not wish the worst to come of their circumstances, but she feels as though she would be a sour knight if she did not consider it. (They were told beforehand that the portrait was grotesque; that Lady Carmilla was unnaturally young; and there may be dark magic involved.) What would happen if Lady Carmilla were the practitioner? Would there be a danger to interfering with the painting? (Would she act out if she found her youth was being threatened?)
…Selena could not know what Lady Carmilla’s motives could be, but she imagines that, if she were to marry a woman; she would want to grow old with her. Even without traces of forbidden magic involved, she would not accept the offer of forever youth; because aging had a beauty as well, she thinks.
She snaps to attention when Linhardt recoils, the sudden motion catching her eye, even in her musing. Sickness, he claims, and the professor can imagine very little could be the potential cause of that. A hand is extended, tentative, to rest upon his shoulder—only if they do not mind—Selena falling to match his height, and she voices, “What do you need? I’m afraid I am lacking in faith magic, but—” (This was a noblewoman’s manor.) “—I’m certain we can find something for you.”
As if on cue, beyond the front door, it is made evident that there are figures approaching; and Selena swallows the concern that there may not be time before Lady Carmilla arrives.
One moment, searching a rough surface for any sign of a latch or tool- something that his hand would catch on no matter how lightly he brushes over the area, the next, a gentle glow from behind him revealing it to be a cot of some sort, covered by a rough mat.
It seemed out of place of the theme, but perhaps it was to guard against injury. Elffin tugs at it lightly, and is surprised to find it give easily under his touch.
"There is a locked chest over there, that seems it would be able to take a key…" Prying the edges of the mat and- there, one of the corners was not fastened down, allowing him to pull out a small scroll. He frowns, unraveling it to reveal what seemed to be the corner of a larger paper- and a single number written upon it.
"And… this. I suppose similar pieces must be scattered throughout the room then. Search for oddly placed items- I doubt that they expect us to overturn the entire room to search for the first clue."
As for where it belonged- perhaps something on the desk?
At the very least, it would be best to have some consistency in their actions.
"I'll leave it on the desk, for now. We can gather anything we've found and piece them together there." Of course, its surface was not entirely blank, either, a purposefully placed half-written letter laid on its surface. Elffin fiddles with the quill pen- though it seemed that the inkwell was empty.
The glow has not been present for very long at all, but already, Elffin has managed to come across the first of their various clues: a chest in one corner, clearly in need of unlocking; and a scrap of paper, initially wound but obviously taken apart from something much larger.
The chest is likely not a thing that could be forced open ahead of anything else; if the room itself was a puzzle, it was entirely possible that the chest could contain their way out; or it could imply their directive for the next stage, but all the same—it was for later and not for now. (Selena places it into her memory, but it is allowed to drift back to be brought up again later.)
But in the meantime: the little scroll Elffin had found seemed a lot more immediate: if they could locate the others, then they could likely solve one of the various other objectives strewn about their surroundings. Selena walks over, takes a closer look, and then nods.
“I’ll see what I can find,” she accepts, and as their first is laid to rest upon the desktop, so too is that decision stored in memory: collect as many as you can locate and lay them on the desk as you go.
And so, her work begins, parsing through chains, passing a hand over the stone walls; even the floor beneath them, as she wanders, is tested with her heel as she moves about.
(Very little comes to fruition.) She does find a key in the chains.
“There’s a key in the chains,” she announces aloud, though pulling on it finds the thing stuck fast in place. Eyes drift along the metal to locate a lock: 3 numbers, currently set at a blank 0-0-0. “I think we’ll need a passcode to unlock it. Three numbers.”
…But that wasn’t their current objective, was it? “I’ll get back to looking.”
Those words were enough to cause Marth to look up at Selena, his face somewhat stained with his own blood. Really, he hadn’t expected to have been caught off guard, captured, and held for ransom in the first place and yet, here he was.
While he didn’t know exactly about the ransom part, the sight of the automaton shuffling in between him and Selena was enough to cause him to slightly shiver in fear. He had never been this afraid… not since he lost Falchion. What was he even supposed to do? His hands were quite literally tied, a measure to prevent him from casting magic and to make matters worse, his voice had been weakened through slight blood loss, making casting spells with a verbal component quite difficult.
“Please… hurry… They’ll… likely come back soon…” He stated in a harsh whisper. Gods, it was more of an effort to speak than usual and he disliked it so.
It’s a cry for help she has heard far too many times—as a soldier; as a mage general; as a professor acting on behalf of the Academy. (No matter where she travels and what she does, she cannot help but answer the call of those who needed her; who needed anyone, only for Selena to be the voice to answer: the only voice that can.) Her gaze narrows against the automaton; her ears close out the roar of the distant crowd; and her mind focuses on the task before her.
“Don’t worry.” I’ll protect you. “You’re safe with me.”
She doesn’t know how quickly she can disarm the thing—hardly knows what it is, but if it was anything like the machine she had faced with her prince years ago, meandering the underground of the monastery’s vast, sprawling catacombs, it was clearly a fallible thing; and she had practice fighting it.
Ah, but there is little time afforded for her to simply think about it all, isn’t there? As soon as the acknowledgement settles in, the monster moves, shuffling its form about and raising one great arm to destroy her. Quick on her heels, the once-knight darts away, concentrating on her magic to spark and ignite—
“Avert your eyes.”
—and foster lightning, crackling and ecstatic; the echoes of a storm to pierce through the guard. It stutters, if only briefly, but the opening is an allowance; she doesn’t know how long she has; doesn’t know what exactly they’re facing; but if she can free the student before anything else occurs, then the worst case scenario becomes her death and his survival.
Which, in Selena’s opinion, isn’t too poor of an outcome.
Quickly, she arrives at his side, and in kinder situations, she would’ve taken her time; would’ve used a proper blade to aid in her precision. This is not a circumstance that grants such liberties, so even as their audience rages against her intentions, her fingertips spark with the warm flickers of Bolganone, and they are controlled, carefully, methodically, to burn.
(The automaton rears again.)
—and it is made clearly evident that Selena does not have the time to finish his escape. The flames vanish in an instant, careful to ensure that he is not injured, and then Selena:
“I’m sorry.”
(Hushed in tone, stated before she stands again, darting away to keep the machine occupied.) With any luck, the ropes were now loose enough that the student may be able to undo them entirely with his own sheer strength; but beaten as he was, Selena knows better than to hope. (She would have to make her way again—and intact.)
The professor's experience is as what he expected, a fact that does spur some confidence into their shared capabilities. Much to his dismay, she decides to follow up on the pigeon comment.
"He is a pet," Andrei says, embarrassed that he had let this slip for no real reason, "There was some training involved, in terms of behavior, but mainly…" Mainly, all Cranberry had been offered, and offered in return, was affection, gentle and undemanding. His mind wanders briefly back to the young foals in Yngvi's stables. They, too, required a period of months, even years, before beginning training. Before that, he remembers being encouraged to interact with them, for no other purpose than to acclimate them to human touch, no real expectation behind each movement.
The wolf cub had quickly tired from its earlier burst of energy, pausing its assault upon his hand, and Andrei takes this momentary reprieve to run a thumb softly against the fuzzy forehead of the young animal. It closes its eyes, a whine high in its throat, and settles, nudging closer to his hand as it lays down for a nap.
Andrei's eyes flicker towards the sheet of paper he'd been presented with, giving a considering hum.
"It seems we are not expected to complete these task in the very first session," he says, a fact that probably should've been obvious at first glance.
But the professor's words ring true, that they are more suited to the task than most. And while their interactions in Rusalka had hardly been pleasant, if she is willing to put it behind them…
"Perhaps we might meet here regularly, until we can ascertain that these cubs are ready for their future work," he offers tentatively.
It appears Andrei is not all too keen to speak at length of his bird—but what little he affords her, paired with the suddenness of such information to begin, has the professor assuming a fondness for the creature. His pet, she notes, but she does not prod further.
Instead, she simply watches, and she listens, even in silence as the other thinks; and his train of thought seems to conclude with one pup resting against him—indeed, they were never meant to get very far in one day.
“I agree,” she affirms aloud, because she’d witnessed, growing up—in her times with horses and farm animals and all the things that are borne wild in their own right—that fostering amnesty and cooperation is never a thing that happens quickly. There is a time that must pass; an effort that must be made; Selena is still looking at Andrei, and she nods. “We should. It would likely be for the best.”
So it would not be moons until they met again—against her earlier musing and judgement. By his own command, Andrei was willing to commit to regularly training the pups; to settling them into domestication; to helping them find companionship in humanity and those who would go on to love them more than anything else. The thought garners a soft smile, the sort of thing hardly visible as she settles down in place.
“I can’t promise I’ll be available daily, but this time every week should do well, should it not?” It sufficed for today, at least, and Selena would not struggle too much to free it up for the future. Another of the pups nudges against the back of her hand, the motion goading her into a gentle caress of its fur. She is honest when she continues:
Celica frowns at the smoldering remains of what used to be Fodlan's breadbasket. The agricultural heart of the Empire, of all of Western Fodlan, charred to cinders then burnt again — an uncomfortable reminder in its similarity to her home, and a poignant reminder of the fragility of bounty.
Wrenching her gaze from the blackened land, she turns and responds to her professor, grateful that another experienced mage was leading the group.
"I'd like to start with measurements, and making sure we understand the scope of the situation. We can try to set firebreaks downwind of the leading edge of the burn, and focus on controlling that edge of the field first. Our priority should be limiting its spread, then working from the outside in."
She nods at the specks in the distance, the only indication of the monastery across a sea of ash.
"I'd also like to take a sample of the fire itself. To not have died down after all this time, even without fuel... It's concerning. The reports said that the cause was a spell, so it would be best we knew how it spread this far, and why it keeps reigniting."
Selena nods, finding the sensibility agreeable: though the fires were continuing to blaze, hungry and uncontrolled things, there was no sizable risk that came with thinking before acting. (If they could approach this with reason, they may further be able to contain the consequences before too much of the fields were consumed.)
A hand is lifted, eyes fluttered closed, as Selena feels the air, trying to get a sense of its direction; she is not a wind mage, she knows, but the professor knows magic; and she has seen the devastation of fires before. (When bandits looted and destroyed the towns of rural Grado, vanishing before the emperor’s forces could lay them low, the first order of business was always to help the people first; to aid in their rebuilding; to make them strong again.)
She opens her eyes, and the professor is not surprised when vision affirms—the winds blow south, towards the mountains. Celica speaks of retrieving a sample.
“That would be wise,” she agrees, and then she motions to the far end of the field (where the flames sought but had yet to reach). “If we’re going to set firebreaks, we ought to begin there—and when the flames arrive, collecting some of it for study shouldn’t prove to be too difficult.”
It is then that Selena begins the trek, looking back briefly to confirm her companion was following: “I can take the lead.”
Eirika takes hold of the tome carefully, confident yet respectful of its magic. She has already dabbled in this practice a little so she feels no need to be too nervous about the task before her. Selena, also, she trusts to guide her.
As instructed, Eirika opens the tome to the first page. A preamble is scrawled across the page that discusses the basics of magic and the different schools therein: Light, Dark, and Anima.
“Ah, I remember this. Lyon and I discussed the different types of magic. Fire is the easiest to cast, is it not?” It would make sense as to why Selena handed her this tome as opposed to the lightning one she had held moments before. She spends a few more silent moments reading the page and then turns the page, azure eyes scanning the new page fervently, pure interest alight in her eyes.
She is about half way down the page when she remembers what Selena said. “Apologies, I went ahead.” The page is turned back. “I did wish to ask, what was it like for you when you first started learning?”
It is none to the professor’s surprise that Selena’s request has Eirika reading ahead. It is expected of a student eager and a mind that sought to learn; and it reminds her, faintly, of her own determination when first she came to attempt the page.
“Indeed, it is,” Selena confirms with a nod of her head. “It strikes a good balance of being simple to parse and light on the body, both physically and metaphorically. It is rare to find a mage who has not at least practiced the spell.”
(Likewise, the multi-purpose nature of it also led to various optimizations; to cast lightning is a simple but situational thing; flames, however, were far more versatile, and if a thing must be done with frequency, it is only a matter of time before someone finds a way to make it lighter.)
She is about to vocalize as much; but then, there is the question: ‘What was it like for you?’
Another scholar might begin with, ‘That was a long time ago,’ and, perhaps if Selena were one of the best, this may have been her beginning—but she was not, and so she begins differently. (She reflects on the start of her journey with a jarring clarity; not perfectly clear, but enough so that she recalls it has been less than a decade.) Hard work, she remembers, and that is when she remembers to speak:
“I actually found a deal of difficulty starting my studies,” the professor admits, though there is little shame to be found in her words. “I had no gift for magic—or anything, really. I became a mage because I possessed the resilience to pull it off.”
(She had been physically strong, yes, but lacked a talent in blades or archery; so her fortitude became a boon against those who would sooner crumble beneath the pressure of said weapons—and her dedication was what had eventually borne her title.)
“However, I was used to lacking in talent, and I did not let it dishearten me.” (A light nod then, punctuating the phrase.) “Instead, I chose to work hard, and though it took me far longer than my peers to get a grasp of even the simplest spells, I eventually grew to surpass them all.”
As you no doubt know. (Not the specifics, but the consequence: that she became Grado’s foremost mage general.) There is a light smile now, trusting in her student: “That is why I believe, in your own dedication, that you may grow to accomplish whatever it is you desire as well.”
