Music is Human Legacy by Ivan Torrent. Play it!

******

I've just finished bathing and changing from sweat-soaked clothes into dry, clean ones, when a sharp rapping at my door makes me jump.

As a precaution, I draw Miraterciel. Concealing the athame behind my back, I cautiously open the door. It's just a herald. I exhale in relief, then feel foolish for allowing paranoia to drive my actions.

No, not paranoia. Caution, I correct myself.

"Yes?" He's probably here to remind me of the war council scheduled to take place after my midday meal. I still ask him anyway.

"King Terrell would like to remind you to attend the war council at exactly two in the afternoon," he says. Ah, how predictable.

"Thank you for the gentle reminder, herald." The message doesn't really deserve a thanks, but protocol still demands a polite response.

"Have a good day, squire." He bows. Without waiting for me to return the gesture, he wheels around and stalks off. It's possible that the king had commanded him to relay the message to more than one member of the council, hence the hastiness in his footsteps.

I close the door, sliding Miraterciel back into its sheath. Today would be the day when the council makes final amendments to the plans. It's the day where if there is any dissatisfaction boiling within oneself, he should voice it out. Feeling fatigued all of the sudden, I collapse onto my bed, staring at the ceiling with what I imagine to be absent-looking eyes.

Yesterday, after I hastily consumed a bland dinner of peas and herbs, I rushed to the Galennus Workhouse, demanding to see Sir Isaac despite the relative lateness of the hour. I suspect that the Galenni only tolerated me because of my Champion's status.

At any rate, my trainer looked far weaker than I last saw him: his wrinkled skin was pasty beneath the tan and scars; his breathing was rapid and shallow, as though he were a fish desperate to get back into the water; his whole aura had something off about it. However, he didn't transform into any sort of beast after sundown, so that means he's clean.

Still, I saw guards posted outside the workhouse. Later, I learned that they were there as a precaution, just in case anything should happen to Sir Isaac. Or if he suddenly goes on a rage and decides to kill us all, the Galennus on duty didn't say, but showed through his body language. The old knight would be evacuated to Rutherland today. Hopefully, nothing will happen to him in my absence.

Hopefully.

Somewhat lazily, after a full half hour's worth of staring into nothingness, I peel myself off the mattress, lumbering towards the dining hall. After that, I would enter the inner ring, attending the most important war council to date.

One of the few benefits that come with being elevated in status is that I'm allowed more rest time in between activities. Thus, I'm able to laze around for quite a while after the morning training sessions.

Lunch is a watery broth with some undefined ingredients flung carelessly into it. Ever since Gilbert had invited me to sit with him the other day, I've now unofficially claimed a spot at the table where his friends eat. They still don't talk much with me, only caring to make painfully polite conversation, but I suppose it is better than vermin.

Once I finish the meal, I move to exit the hall. I hover just before the doors, not quite sure what is holding me in place. Then I turn around, meeting a sea of eyes, all focused upon me. Slowly, they all begin act abnormally—squires salute, serving attendants bow or curtsy. Their gazes are filled with an undeniable light of hope.

They're showing their respect...to me. A frown creases my forehead, but understanding soon clears it away. I am the Champion, and I will bring them out of this mess alive. I return their gestures with a salute of my own. I am no longer just fighting for myself, my king, my country. I'm fighting for these people, for who they were, who they are, and what they will be. These people are my responsibility.

I will see to it that I will protect them however I can.

They show no signs of relaxing, even when I put down my raised hand. Squaring my shoulders, I wheel around and finally leave the area, trying my best to exude confidence.

I run into Gilbert just outside the gates leading into the inner ring. He shoots me a curious look. "Did you encounter anything strange while you were exiting the dining hall?"

"Er, yes," I answer, baffled.

He releases a short bark of laughter. "Looks like I'm not the only one! I thought I was going mad, seeing everyone in the hall suddenly saluting me!"

A hint of a smile tinges my lips. "They're pouring all their hope onto us."

"Let's not disappoint them, shall we?" he says.

"We won't," I reply firmly. We nod at each other in mutual understanding.

When we enter the council room (password: ginger ale—not as ridiculous as pepper pie, I suppose, but still ridiculous) it's unusually silent. Of course, it may be because of the fact that only a trickle of the members had arrived early.

Eventually, roughly spanning a period of twenty minutes, the council members enter, one by one, tension squeezing their whole demeanour. To my right, Chancellor Lucan takes the seat in place of my father; I feel a sudden punch of emptiness. Then, as if he was waiting outside all this while, the king strides in just as the last council member takes his seat.

Precisely as the cathedral bell tolls twice, King Terrell announces the commencement of the council.

There's not much amendment to our plans, save for the enlisting of several better squires to temporarily stand as soldiers in Rutherland, in order to enable more men to be deployed to Cordair. Captain Eldric reports the progress in fortifying the city; Sir Kendrick reports the progress in the performance of the soldiers. All offer no protests throughout the whole council; everyone's nerves are far too highly strung to argue about anything anymore.

"Chancellor Lucan," King Terrell abruptly addresses the man by my side, "have the emissaries from Ravürk responded to the letters we'd sent them?"

"Oh, er, yes. Of course, Your Majesty." Everyone narrows their eyes at him. They may be highly strung, but they still are able to discern his extreme nervousness.

"And?" The king arches a suspicious brow.

Time seems to stand still; everybody holds their breath. The frozen tundra is our last hope for a proper military aid. It's highly unlikely that Ravürk—the very last country to receive the message, as the hawks had to brave the horrendous snowstorms that pelt the Dreyachian Mountains—will offer us their infamous warriors to help. We can still hope for the best, though.

"Well..." The chancellor fumbles for the right words. My breath is caught in my throat; the answer is obvious.

"Well, hurry up and give me your answer!" snarls King Terrell. Behind the anger though, is a tone of undeniable fear.

"Their answer is no," Chancellor Lucan finally gasps. He slumps unhappily into his seat, unbecoming for a man of his status. "They only thanked us for the warning...but no, no help from them at all. Even with supplies."

We hadn't expected supplies from them—the icy landscape is far too barren for any proper resources. But their soldiers...a wave of despair crashes into me despite myself.

Perinus stands alone in the battle to come.

******

I breathe in the familiar scent of books: ancient and organic, hiding troves of knowledge within them. Around me, Quinnians bustle; the higher-ranked scholars bark orders to their subordinates on how to move the texts.

It's part of the evacuation plan. The Quinnians are to leave for Rutherland tomorrow. Over the past few days, they had packed up all the texts they could, carting them off to the second-largest stronghold for safekeeping. The more precious texts in the separate Houses have already been saved; the rest in the Royal Library had to be left behind, although the Quinnians had arranged to transfer them into the catacombs, in hopes that they may be preserved anyway.

Gilbert and I offered to help transfer the books from the Royal Library into the Houses. It's our only sanctuary from the chaos of the outside, the only way we can distract ourselves from the weight on our shoulders. Claristäe Ferrars—leader of the House of Knowledge—had immediately granted us permission, welcoming the help they need.

So far, my fellow Champion and I have done all the heavy lifting, carrying large crates of books from the library and into the Houses. All of them are rather similar in structure, the only differences being the objects that fill the space. Books for the House of Knowledge; barely anything for the House of Wisdom, as they mostly act as advisors; odds and ends of tinkers and tools for the House of Invention. Knowledge checks Invention, Invention checks Wisdom, Wisdom checks Knowledge. The cycle of the mind, the basic philosophy taught to Quinnians.

I've just finished lifting the last crate, and am now standing in the midst of activity. Gilbert, also done with his crate, steps up to stand beside me. Now, we leave the rest to the Quinnians.

Gilbert has fallen into an uncharacteristic silence after the council. It had ended unsatisfactorily, with many of the noblemen mulling and displaying moans on their faces. Some of them are expected to defend Cordair; some of them are to return to their provinces. All are pressured to play their part in the war to the best of their abilities.

"What will happen now?" he asks quietly. A rhetorical question.

"I don't know." I don't attempt to lie. "However, I know one thing for sure."

I pause, compelling him to lock eyes with me. I try to command my energy, weaving natural confidence with compulsion, and attempt to repeat his optimism from yesterday.

"Fight."

He blinks multiple times, as though he hasn't heard me quite correctly. "Excuse me?"

"We fight, Gilbert. We may lose this war, Pietists preserve us, but I am not giving up on Cordair so easily. Don't tell me you are going to." My tone is almost accusatory, rousing some form of anger in Gilbert. Good. That's my intention.

"Never," he says vehemently. "I'm not a coward."

"I know you're not," I reply. "If anything, I am the coward around here."

"You?" He gives me an incredulous look. "You just told me that you won't give up on Cordair so easily, even in the face of Diomedes' army!"

I shake my head. A huge weight presses my mind, one that had been there ever since the council had made the decision to wage war against Diomedes. "I wrote a tick the other day," I confess. "When we had the vote."

Gilbert stares at me, stunned. He definitely didn't see this coming. "Why?" No rage, no contempt, just simple curiosity.

I tell him about my fears back then, my reasoning. He listens with a serious expression on his face, not interrupting. Not even a displeased huff, as he would have done roughly two and a half months ago. When I finish, he nods in understanding. "I get you," he says. "But it doesn't mean I agree with you. The past is past though. Do you still feel that way now?"

"I—I don't know," I say hopelessly. "Sometimes I feel like I want to back down, to think about our strategy for a moment, to wait for a perfect moment to strike back. Most of the time, I do want to fight, I do want to defend my country. The rational side of me keeps arguing with my patriotic side, and it's...confusing at times.

"However, I can't do anything to avoid the battle, so I've decided to fight. We shouldn't keep worrying about the future. Instead, we should focus on the now." A look of awe comes into Gilbert's eyes, speckled with gold as the torchlights dance about the room. "It sounds strange, but I hope I make sense."

"You make perfect sense." Gilbert flashes me a crooked grin. "Seems like my optimism has been rubbing off you."

I snort. "I'm just trying to make the situation less badly than it could be."

"Which equals optimism."

"Slacking off, I see." A woman's voice cuts into the air. I turn around.

"Allura!" I exclaim, surprised to see her recovered so quickly. An image of Sir Isaac flashes in mind; I pray that the same can be said for him.

"I've recovered sufficiently to come back down here," she says cheerily. "So wipe that stupefied look off your face, Gilbert. It doesn't suit a Champion of Pst. Ailith."

"Don't you have work to do?" grunts Gilbert, not taking kindly to the kindly insult.

"If you two can complete your job, why can't I?' she retorts. "Anyway, I've come to say goodbye."

Right. She's leaving tomorrow. A sudden pang of sadness slams into me; I didn't allow myself to dwell on it, but I will miss her. Who knows how long the siege will last, and when it will be the next time I see her?

"I'll miss you," says Gilbert, voicing the thoughts I hadn't the courage to say out loud. Allura looks at me expectantly. She's waiting for me to say something. I can only nod mutely.

"I'll miss both of you too." Allura's expression looks wistful. "We've come a long way since the 'rat droppings' incident."

We all laugh at the memory of Gilbert blurting out that unfiltered comment the very first day we'd met Allura. So much had happened since then. However, I know that the one thing I won't ever regret during these past months is for making friends with both of them. Something has changed in me—I smile more readily these days, I'm willing to laugh and engage in conversation more freely.

We grin at each other. No matter how long the siege separates us, I've a feeling that we can meet up after decades of not seeing each other, and still jest about like this.

"All right! Excellent job, Quinnians. Our work is done!" booms the Claristäe. Scholars cheer at the announcement of finally having accomplished their work here. Allura lets out a joyful whoop; Gilbert and I don't join in the revelry. We do smile though, glad that we could contribute our strength. "You may all leave the House now. Remember, we set out early tomorrow, so get a good night's rest."

All the scholars touch their hands to their breasts, then to their foreheads, a silent acknowledgement of their superior's orders. Slowly, they trickle out of the area, eager to tuck into their last meal in Cordair.

The three of us remain silent as we walk out, a veil of foreboding draped around us. When we reach the outside of the library, we form a small circle. My heart lodges in my throat; I don't want to say goodbye to Allura just yet, the very first person who knew my secret, who accepted me for who I am.

My first true friend.

"I suppose this is farewell, then." Allura fights to keep her voice steady, barely managing to conceal the tears in them.

"I—I suppose so," stutters Gilbert. If I peer closely, I can see silver lining his eyes. I look down, casually wiping my thumb across my nose, pulling a few shadows with it to conceal my expression.

"Well then, goodbye," she says awkwardly. Before we can react, she turns around and walks away, stunning us. This—this can't be it. This can't be our farewell!

"Wait, Allura!" I yell, rushing to her side in a matter of seconds. Before she can react, I wrap my arms around her, crushing her in my grip. I feel tears streaming down my cheeks, seeing them trickle onto her robes. At least she doesn't seem to mind me clinging onto her like a slowsloth to its favoured tree. "I just want to thank you," I sob into her shoulder. "For being my friend, for being my sister."

I take in a shaky breath. I feel Gilbert standing behind me, wanting to join in, only restraining himself because of his gender. He understands though—I have to do this. It's probably the only way I've shown my appreciation for her all this while.

"For everything," I whisper into her ear. I release her.

She slowly steps away, looking as though she wishes that the three of us can make time stand still, to revel in this moment, to stay together. "Goodbye," I finally say, my voice a mere breath carried on the wind.

Allura nods vehemently. Then towards Gilbert, she reaches up to clap a hand on his shoulder. "I wish I can stay."

The next moment, she's gone.

******

A/N: Oh yes, the big battle is coming. And not all of them may survive it. Any guesses for the outcome? Please remember to vote, comment, share and recommend! 

Dedicated to Gryffindor_Luna. Very pleased to meet you, fellow Spirited Away fan. Even more pleased that I can call you a Champion.

Catacombs -- The passageways running beneath Cordair; some researchers believe that they actually extend throughout the main cities in Perinus.