(103) To Your Formation

Daniel fidgeted with his tie, stuck in a constant loop of tightening it, loosening it to breathe better, and tightening it again.

“Your actions do not inspire confidence,” Nephthys said.

“Well, I’m not confident, so they’re honest, at least,” Daniel replied, straightening his jacket for the umpteenth time.

Nephthys’ brow furrowed. For some reason, she found his presence grating, which was peculiar. Daniel was nearly the least offensive presence she could think of, yet she found herself annoyed whenever she looked at him. Maybe it was the suit?

Deep voices talking over her, talking about her, but never talking to her, gave impassioned speeches throughout the hearing.

A man and a woman, in beige and gray suits respectively, stared down at her from across the cold metal table. Their eyes were full of pity, so sorry for her hardship. Yet, they, just like all the others, eventually left. They left, and no matter their sympathies, they never came back. Her situation did not change.

Nephthys shook her head, banishing the intrusive memories.

It was definitely the suit.

“You look quite dashing, very convincing. I do not know what there is to be nervous about,” she said.

“Not all of us have the luxury of being some world-ending superpower or whatever. I imagine it must feel truly free up there in the clouds, but those of us down here on the ground have to be careful where we step,” Daniel snarked, now fiddling with his cufflinks.

“My personal strength would not help me much were I handling your specific task,” Nephthys replied, her eyes narrowing.

“Of course it would! You can throw actual power behind your words. It makes people respect you implicitly, maybe unconsciously, even. Me? I gotta…I don’t know, act, I guess.

“Besides, having so much power means you’re basically immune to all negative repercussions. If someone doesn’t like what you have to say, so what? What are they gonna do?” Daniel finished with a sigh.

Nephthys stared at him, heat rising to her head. Is that how he saw things? She could not feel more differently, and she felt like her own opinion on the matter was more valid, considering she was this ‘world-ending superweapon’. 

Instead of responding, she forced herself to take a breath, stepping back from the situation, consciously looking elsewhere, his suit out of her field of view.

“I suppose neither of us is being particularly empathetic right now. My existence is not so simple, and neither are your own struggles. My apologies if I trivialized them,” she said.

Daniel looked back at her, confused. His face twisted and contorted in stages as he seemed to realize what he had said, and he began to sweat noticeably.

“I-uh, sorry. I got carried away. ‘S the jitters that did it. Got me acting a fool,” he stuttered, bowing slightly.

“It is quite alright, Daniel. You can rest assured. This ‘world-ending superpower’ does not strike people down over hurt feelings. I am not a sociopath,” Nephthys replied with a small smile.

“And thank the gods for that. I don’t rightly know what that is, but it sounds frightening,” he said, exhaling a held breath and beginning to fiddle with his tie once again.

“Hold still,” Nephthys said, floating before him and straightening his tie herself.

Daniel went rigid, not moving a muscle as she fixed his collar, and he sweat profusely once again.

“Well then, our guest is on her way. You will eventually get used to wearing authority, but would you like a little courage from a superpower to help you through this encounter?” she asked, floating back to examine him in full, nodding.

“What exactly does that mean? If you’re offering help, I’ll take all I can get,” Daniel said.

Nephthys caught his hands with telekinesis as he made to wipe his sweaty palms on his pants. A small kerchief appeared in her hand, and she floated it over to him. He took it, wiping his hands on it with a sheepish smile.

“I will cast a small spell, a brief touch of mind magic. It will feel like no more than a slight pinch, but it will give you courage and confidence. It will not actually change anything about you, but you will notice yourself more coordinated, your balance slightly improved, and your thoughts clear. It will essentially place you at your peak for a short time,” she explained, an eyebrow raised.

“Yes! Uh, sorry, yes. That sounds great,” he replied, stepping forward unconsciously.

“Very well. Hold out your hand.”

Daniel did as bid, and Nephthys held her own hand out until her index fingernail was nearly poking his palm.

“Ow,” he said, quickly withdrawing his hand and clutching it.

“There. Finished,” she said.

Daniel stared at his hand before shaking it out.

“Huh, it was just a pinch,” he mused.

“They are nearly here. Be seated. I will remain nearby,” Nephthys said, her form shimmering and vanishing.

Daniel strode to the desk near the back of the room and sat behind it, clasping his hands before him on top of it. He wore a confident smile.

Nephthys resisted the urge to chuckle. There was no actual mind magic involved, of course. She had cast no spell, save to make a small spark like that from static electricity. Daniel had said himself that the power she wielded had a subconscious effect on people, so she might as well put it to good use.

Daniel sat straight, the silvered mask cloaking his features, save for the smile he wore, which grew more confident with each second. He wore a top hat with a huge feather sticking out of it, reminiscent of an ostrich’s. 

Honestly, she thought the top hat was a bit much, but Ma’at had to be dramatic to a certain degree, and the people of this world would not have her biases toward top hats, surely. Besides, her inventory of ‘business formal’ attire was lacking, Prelude being primarily a fantasy game. The suit and hat were about all she had that fit the occasion.

Ellie opened the door, ushering in a woman with a rigid posture. Larelle, presumably, had auburn hair down to her shoulders, clearly combed recently and rather hastily, likely with her fingers. Her eyes were barely visible, sunken into shadow with dark rings around them. She walked stiffly toward the desk at Ellie’s behest and sat down with a thud of bone against wood.

The two stared at each other for several long seconds, neither speaking. Daniel wore his confident smile, steepling his fingers before him. Larelle stared with dead eyes, barely blinking, as if a corpse.

“Well, from your gaze, I can tell that should I not be the one to speak, we would both expire, either from thirst or hunger,” Daniel said, leaning back in his seat. “Perhaps expiration is what you seek?”

Nephthys once again resisted the chuckle that bubbled up in her throat. Daniel was practically a new man. She reaffirmed that the fake spell was the correct choice. Her second thought had been to offer him alcohol.

Larelle continued to stare like a dead fish, her eyes just as lifeless, despite their lack of gloss.

“Perchance I can convince you to postpone your own expiration,” he mused, idly grabbing a folder from the bookshelf beside his desk.

He unfurled the leather tie and gently opened the cover, fanning the pages until he found his target.

“Here we are…Larelle Donblatt, twenty-four years old, youngest of the direct Donblatt lineage. She was born the third child of the Donblatt patriarch. Unfortunately, her mother was chased out of the family shortly after her birth.”

Larelle’s eyes seemed to focus for the first time, and her brows furrowed as she watched Daniel flip through pages. His smile was gone, and he read the words with a sort of official but solemn air.

“Being the youngest, she did not have as many opportunities as her brothers, though she was still given ample instruction in the family’s businesses, and she even showed a natural inclination toward management.

“Around her twentieth birthday, she used her relatively understated but respected position within the Donblatt family to begin a covert investigation into her mother’s whereabouts,” Daniel read, looking up to make eye contact with Larelle as he continued.

“Tragically, just as her search bore results, her mother passed away under mysterious circumstances. Details are not forthcoming, as the town marshal where she had resided refused to allow anyone to examine the body.

“Perhaps coincidentally, it was around this time that the Donblatt family tied itself to the Taolu Trading Company. Speculation about whether her mother had been disposed of as a loose end drove Larelle to work harder than ever, rising to prominence not only within her own family but also in the Taolu itself.

“It is unknown what her larger plans were, should she have discovered some foul play between her mother and the Taolu, but it is also irrelevant. 

“As of two days ago, the Donblatt patriarch was eliminated by a rival family attempting to claim dominion over the Taolu in this locale, as the chaos of revolution has made its local leadership questionable. 

“They hope to secure themselves as the only operational Taolu family in Radaar, thus securing their position of importance in preparation for Radaar settling down into a new order and contact with Sardvend being reestablished.

“With the patriarch eliminated and the Donblatt brothers’ locations unknown, it seems only Larelle remains to go down with the Donblatt’s sinking ship,” Daniel finished, closing the cover of the leather journal.

He stared across the desk at a very different Larelle. Where before she seemed moments away from her own death, and almost craving it, the Larelle across from him seemed to have traveled back in time. She had a fierce look on her emaciated face, the dark circles around her eyes now inspiring intimidation more than pity.

She glanced back at Ellie, who stood beside the closed door with her arms behind her back. Ellie shrugged, and Larelle’s gaze returned to Daniel.

“No, it couldn’t have been Ellie. She didn’t know even half of that. Your sources are good,” she complimented, though there was no hint of a smile on her lips.

“Thank you. Oh, but you had some fire in you, Miss Larelle. The details of your story are far more interesting than even the short summary I read conveys. It is quite sad to see it diminish so much, but I wonder… is that fire truly gone?” Daniel asked, a small smile crawling across his lips.

————————————

Lyron quickened his pace, shifting to the front of his formation. He knew he was in for a tongue-lashing, but it was his duty to make recommendations he felt necessary for victory, and his duty was everything. It was who he was.

He broke the front line to the chagrin of the soldiers around him and moved to the left, toward the command structure in the middle. The ranks were roughly: knightly battalions up front, commanders behind, the soldier battalion behind them, and the levies bringing up the rear, with a small contingent of knights to drive them.

“My lord, forgive me for interrupting,” Lyron indicated, waving his hand.

“Titan. What is it?” the archduke asked, his face neutral, but his tone a sneer.

“We have passed Gloamview, my lord. I waited, thinking perhaps we meant to take a roundabout way, but we are beyond even that now,” Lyron said.

“Yes. And?”

“My lord, do you not mean to take Gloamview? It is closer to the fort, to the Straight,” Lyron inquired, his brow furrowed.

“By your own report, Titan, only a small band of rebels stayed behind to maintain order in the city. It will be no issue to recapture Gloamview on our way back. The peasants may very well open the gates and surrender themselves once we have thoroughly trounced Promise City,” Ragnvald explained, waving dismissively.

“My lord, I do not think it wise to leave a fortified enemy position at our backs. Our supply lines will run straight past Gloamview, completely vulnerable. Surely, we could break off a small contingent to—” Lyron started.

“Silence. Your inclinations are what brought this situation to such a low point in the first place. It boggles the mind how you might constantly fail and still think your ‘insights’ are valuable,” the archduke spat.

He sat silently atop his palanquin, his hand on his chin, for several long seconds. Slaves labored beneath to bear its significant weight, loaded with racks of lavish jewelry he swapped between several times each day, thick cushions and furs, and even a full, lit brazier for his own comfort. Lyron did his best to ignore the bearers' groaning. He had not been dismissed, so he kept pace beside it.

Eventually, Ragnvald motioned toward the rear of the knightly battalion, and two knights holding their feathered helmets under their arms ran to him.

“Take a group of five sufficiently powerful knights and lay a token siege on Gloamview. They are weak and few in number, so I do not anticipate resistance. Simply prevent any forces from entering or leaving. We do not need to actually besiege the city, merely prevent it from interfering until we are finished with our true goal,” he ordered.

The knights took off, eagerly carrying out their orders, and the archduke went silent once again. Lyron marched beside him for many minutes, so long that he began to wonder whether Ragnvald even remembered his presence. However, finally, the archduke glanced toward him and, with obvious derision, commanded him.

“Return to your formation, Titan.”