Music is Forest Kingdom from the NieR: Automata OST, composed by Keiichi Okabe. (As you guys can tell, I currently have an obsession with this soundtrack. Just bear with me!) Play it!

Media: Constantine, in case you guys have forgotten what she looks like. She'd have shorter hair though!

******

I make my way towards Captain Eldric's office, freshly changed and just out of the bath. The dark red tabard is in my arms, spotless and stainless, just the way he likes it. Still, I'll have to ask him if he wants it cleaned and pressed in the laundry.

The guards right outside his door don't halt me; they raise questioning eyebrows instead, which is enough to force me to stop in my tracks. I heave an internal sigh. Although I pass in and out of here every day, they still ask my nature of business here every time. Perhaps they just like to ruffle me. "Reporting for afternoon assignments," I tell one of the guards. Everest, if I'm not mistaken. Too many fair-haired people around here for me to memorise each and every single one of their names.

He nods at me. I salute him and the rest of the guards. Technically, I'm of a higher position than any of them. However, since I'm still a squire, I have to defer to any senior's orders. Captain Eldric has never mentioned a word of me bring promoted, and I don't dare to press him. He always operates on his own reasons, never taking a single step without careful calculation. If he doesn't think I'm ready to be a knight, then I'm not ready.

Even if I think I am.

I knock on the door—one low, three sharp. The signal that he'd specially coded for me. "Enter," comes his voice through the hunk of oak, slightly muffled.

I ease the door open. Its hinges are rusty and the squeaks rake my nerves, but he once told me that it was just so that he knew whenever any visitor—whether wanted or unwanted—came in. So he'd never bothered to oil the hinges. Even when noble dignitaries were here and everything should have been in perfection.

"Captain, you wanted to see me?" I close the door, hackles rising at the squeaks once more.

"Yes, Constantine." He's seated behind his desk, shuffling through piles and piles of paper. Always busy, always occupied. As usual. His eyes flick upwards to spare me a brief glance, before returning to his work. "I shan't need the tabard anymore. You may have it."

I hold up the clothing uncertainly. "But sir, this is a knight's tabard. I can't have it," I say.

"Just take it," he growls. I don't dare to protest anymore. He waves a hand in front of him. "Take a seat."

I sit down, watching the captain with cat-like cautiousness. The only time I've sat here during my apprenticeship was nearly three months ago, because of the complaints of several squires that I've been too hard on them. Give them what they need to survive in life, and they complain. Humans.

He doesn't speak for a few more minutes. Two minutes and fifty-six seconds, I count, before he is finished with whatever it is he's doing and looks up at me. His obsidian eyes drill into me, as though he were asking for answers to questions he's never raised. Not lifting that unflinching gaze, he reaches for a scroll placed by the side and hands it to me. "Read it," he says.

Curiosity flares. I take it and unroll the delicate material. The script is written scraggily, almost illegible, as though the writer had been in a haste as he had penned this. I scan through it, my head taking in all the words before it's even aware of it.

...went up the Northern Route, stopped by Rutherland for several nights before circling to Coltivest. Areas have recovered nicely, and trade is slowly starting to get back up...

...stopped by several more villages, most too small to have names. All quiet and settled. Nothing of particular importance...

...attacked at crossroads to main port. Emerged unscathed, with no men lost. But attackers weren't men at all. Or they used to be. Pietists Above, Eldric, I don't know what I've seen is real or not. At least I'm not the one who's going insane—rest of my men saw them too...

...a little village on the way up to Hallicus named Battein. People with Ancient Cambirian blood live there. Preserve the ways of their ancestors, if their food is anything to go by. Kept talking about an awakening in the Cave of Three Souls...

...will explain more when I return...

I finish reading the mysterious report Sir Kendrick and Captain Eldric had spoken of earlier. My mind buzzes with confusion. "What—why are you showing this to me now?" I say dumbly.

"To give you an idea of what the subject of the meeting will be about." He deftly plucks the scroll away from my fingers and puts it away. He stands up; I mimic his action subconsciously. "Come."

"What do I do with the tabard, sir?"

"Just pass it to one of the guards and tell them you want it laundered and returned to your room," he says while adjusting his cloak and walking around the table. Before I can react, he's out of the room, the door open for me to follow.

I shake myself out of my stupor and sprint out, flinging my tabard at the guard—Everett, not Everest, I remember. "Take it to the laundries and have it sent to my room. Thank you!" I yell as I streak past him.

"You're welcome," he mutters grouchily.

I catch up with the captain soon enough. The heels of our boots click on the marbled floor, echoes lost amidst the activity within the castle. "Sir, what is this all about?"

"I've trained you better, Constantine," he replies. "Think: what is this all about?"

I think about the report. About the distress I could feel interwoven in the words. My stomach began to churn. Abner, is this about...Diomedes? I ask, half-afraid to know the answer.

He doesn't say anything. I sense his worry coursing throughout me, suffocating my mind. I do my best to push it away. We reach the familiar door leading into the war council room. It hasn't seen use in two years. The churning feeling gives way to ice.

Like the last time it had actually been in use, there are two menacing guards posted outside. "Fruit flies," says Captain Eldric. Well, the ridiculous passwords haven't changed, that's for certain. The guards give a curt nod and step aside. Meanwhile, the captain raps smartly on the door—four times. He then wrenches the doorknob open.

Just sit through this meeting, comes Abner's voice, so suddenly that I give a jump. We'll be fine.

"Constantine?" Captain Eldric hisses beside me, gently guiding me towards the right side of the table.

"Yes, sir?" I respond smartly.

That's enough to let him back off. For now. We take our seats at the forefront of the table; him at the farthest end, I two seats away from him. Chamberlain Aldrich sits in between us, brows drawn together in suspicion. I imagine that he must be just as confused and worried as I am. Surely he'd received a copy of the report as well.

Abner, what do you mean by 'we'll be fine'? I continue my mental conversation.

It means 'we'll be fine'. Why ask so much?

I fight to maintain a neutral expression on the outside. Abner, what is it you're not telling me?

Silence.

Then very quietly, he replies, The rest of the prophecy is unravelling.

I close my eyes. Of course—of course this would happen. I've always known that the defeat of Diomedes in the shrine wasn't the end of my troubles. And yet—I've grown foolish. I've thought that just because I had settled nicely into my new life, evil was permanently gone. I thought that I wouldn't have to live in its shadow, constantly fearing for my life at every waking second.

I was wrong.

First time you've given me a direct answer. Good to know, I make a light attempt at humour. If only to soothe my own growing fear.

Constantine—

Someone kicks me under the table. I give a yelp, my eyelids flying open. They meet Gilbert's signature crooked grin. I don't know whether to laugh or yell at him. Both, actually. But only after the meeting is done; the men in the room are all giving me peculiar stares. Captain Eldric studies the ceiling, pretending that I don't exist at the moment.

Excellent. First time we have a war council in years, and I've already made a fool of myself.

I settle for a glare directed towards Gilbert. He merely tilts his head to the side, still grinning. I remind myself to give him a good throttling later. He doesn't relent, so I roll my eyes and look away, trying to hide a grin myself. Pietists Above, I am glad that Gilbert is back. I don't know if I should be alarmed or comforted by the fact.

Pick comforted. Would do you no good to be alarmed, says Abner.

The frustration seeps back into my bones again. How nice. You've recovered your sarcasm.

Me? Sarcastic? Never!

I release a short bark of laughter at Abner's blatantly mocking tone. Everyone stares at me again. Not for the first time, I wish that I had my shadows back. Then I could literally disappear into the darkness and never rise from it again. Only problem is, ever since I'd thrown out the necromancy-enhancing potion Asa had given to me, those powers are practically non-existent. Not that I had much chance to practice though.

Abner, please don't make me laugh in front of the king, I chide him.

I'll try not to. Just remember that I don't make any promises.

If I could throttle him, I would. However, he's conveniently a part of my being, so I can't do much about it. Gilbert will have to be the unfortunate punching bag.

The doors leading into the council room abruptly fly open. Everybody shoots up to their feet; I just imitate them. A tomato-faced herald waltzes into the room, announcing in an unnecessarily loud voice, "All shall bow before the presence of King Terrell, son of King Brom the Second, Warden of the Dragon, Bringer of Life, and ruler of Perinus."

We all dip into bows as the king himself walks inside and takes his seat at the head of the table. "At ease, my men," booms his clear, steadfast baritone.

We straighten ourselves and sink back onto our seats. King Terrell looks the same as ever, carrying himself with such dignity that he could only be identified as a royal. His blue eyes sweep across the room, scorching us with their intensity. "No one absent? Good. This meeting shall commence."

I look about. There are only a handful of us here, all military lords or officers of administration in the castle. So this hasn't called for the attentions of every single noble in Perinus. I wonder if it's a mistake.

"Sir Kendrick, I trust that your trip has proven fruitful?" says the king.

The Bane, seated to his right, bobs his head in response. "Indeed, Your Majesty."

"So why have you called for this meeting?"

A shadow flickers over Sir Kendrick's face. I see terror in his brown eyes—as well as uncertainty. "As I've told Captain Eldric, we'd came across an ambush on our way up the Northern Route. These were not normal men, however. In fact, they seemed..." He trails off, lips pursed into a thin line, trying to gather his thoughts and form comprehensible words.

"They seemed dead," Gilbert steps in for his master.

Everyone's attentions flicker towards him now. He doesn't blanch under the weight of our gazes, holding his chin up a little higher instead, eyes shining with defiance. Less of a boy, more of a man. He squares his shoulders like a true future Bane, and doesn't look like he's going to back down on his statement anytime soon.

"Care to elaborate more on this matter, Squire Falkner?" King Terrell raises the question on all of our minds.

"Gladly, sire. These men who attacked us...How do I explain? They were alive, yet they were dead at the same time. Does that make sense?" He loosens a tired sigh at our widened eyes and quizzical brows. "Parts of their flesh were blackened, and when we tried to engage in conversation with them, they couldn't string a single sentence. I know that rogues aren't quite inclined to talk, but all they literally did was roar and scream at us."

"What did you do with them?"

"We dispatched them all, Your Majesty."

"Meaning?"

"We killed them."

King Terrell leans back on his chair, thoughtfully scratching his chin. His bejewelled rings catch the dim light of the braziers, sending small beams of red, blue and purple dancing across my vision. Meanwhile, Chamberlain Aldrich releases a low hiss beside me. "You'd never thought to at least take one of them alive?" he demands.

"With all due respect, Chamberlain, we were all only intent on not getting killed at the time." This time, it's the Bane who defends his apprentice. They're working seamlessly, as one unit, taking turns to narrate the story.

Chamberlain Aldrich slumps unhappily, clearly defeated. "I understand, Sir Kendrick. I'm just concerned of what this may mean for all of us."

"As am I. Which is the precise reason why we're holding this council," replies the Bane.

"All right, so you've explained the mysterious attack from the men—creatures, whatever they are," interrupts Captain Eldric. His tone is impatient, but I've learned how to discern the tension rippling gently underneath the prickliness. "In your report, there was a mention of a village. Battein, I believe it's called. What did the villagers do while you stopped by their place?"

"I was just getting to that," Sir Kendrick grumbles irritably. "The village. Right. It's an ancient one, established and ruled by the Lorelay clan. Normally, I would be inclined to ignore their superstitious preaching, but after being attacked by those men inflicted with sickness, I don't feel that we should ignore them."

My ears tingle. The Lorelay clan. My mother still pays the occasional visit to her old family, but she'd never allowed us to follow her. Not that Father approves; he'd drilled the idea of staying far, far away from them deep into the bones of his children.

"Well, what did they say?" snaps the captain, inducing a scowl from the fair-haired warrior.

"They claim how the Prophecy of Far'hellan is unravelling"—I sense Abner quivering slightly at the name—"and how the Marked Witch has taken her place in the Cave of Three Souls. There had been a mention of two other characters—a Lost King and something else, I can't remember—but the point is, their leader had said that the shadows were rising to claim the lands once more."

"That's not very cryptic," Captain Eldric says caustically. "What's next? A foretelling of doom upon the world? We need solid proof that something is threatening us, Kendrick. Not just a coincidental sighting on the roads and a few words from a charlatan to go along with it!"

"You didn't see the monsters." Sir Kendrick's patience is being worn thin. "If only you know what we saw—"

"Enough. I'll not have my two best men squabbling over something this ridiculous," growls King Terrell, effectively ending the argument. Then in gentler tone: "Sir Kendrick, is there anything else that troubles you?"

"I'm afraid anything more and I'll be sent into a full-blown panic, Your Majesty," says the Bane, humour restored.

"True. So, poisoned humans, not ghosts. And this time it's happening right on our lands..." King Terrell continues to stroke his chin. "I will not sit by idly. We have to take precautions. If this so happens to be a false alarm, then so be it."

A satisfied veil of silence falls over the council. No matter if this rumour turns out to be true or not, we would take all necessary actions to identify its roots. Hopefully, the poisoned humans had been a mere trick of the light, and Grand Seer Fabienne—the leader of the Lorelay clan—is truly as mad as people claim her to be.

However, if Abner's gnawing fear in the crevices of my mind are any indicator, this isn't a hoax.

It's real.

Abner's fear slowly becomes my fear.

"Sire, what do you suggest we do?" says Chamberlain Aldrich, looking for the next course of action. As always.

"I suggest we send out a small group of soldiers to investigate the village. See if they can obtain more information about whatever this prophecy is—and find this Marked Witch if they can. I'd like to meet him or her in person. So, I think we'll appoint a leader here and now. He can decide the people he'd like to bring along later."

"I'll go." Sir Kendrick is the first to volunteer, bowing his head and putting his fist over his heart. "I should have investigated the matter more thoroughly, Your Majesty."

"You've just come back." King Terrell's eyes glitter with a mixture of undiscernible emotions.

"I was the one who first decided that this was a matter worth investigating. It is my full responsibility to go," the Bane answers with finality.

"I'll go too," says Gilbert. "Wherever my master goes, I follow."

Such loyalty. How charming, Abner drawls. I choke in a fit of contained laughter. Now I've everyone's attention. Again. Oh, if only I could throttle my guide.

"Squire Rutherland, you have something to say?" King Terrell's prim words hold something akin to amusement in them.

I don't open my mouth, taking in a few deep breaths and calming myself, analysing a way to get myself out of the situation without embarrassing myself or my master. The thought of volunteering to go to Lorelay lands enters my head naturally...Do I really want to do that? Reconnect with a family I never knew? They may be family, but they still have their reputation as charlatans and conmen.

On the other hand, it wouldn't hurt to find out more about that side of the family, all while investigating this Marked Witch. Abner, what should I do? I ask, one of the moments where I truly need my guide.

Go with them, he replies, not a single beat of hesitation in between.

Still, my eyes flick towards Captain Eldric. He's observing me intently, as if trying to glean my thoughts with a look. Then he gives a small bob of his head. He knows my mother—was in love with her, once. He would understand.

All of this passes in a few seconds. This has to be one of the hastiest decisions I've made in my life, but it's certainly not the worse one. "Well?" says King Terrell, snapping me back to reality.

"I'd like to volunteer as well," I say coolly. "My mother is part of the Lorelay clan. Perhaps they'd be more open to strangers with a long lost relative on your side."

Murmurs fill the air, whispers of incredulity, of how the respectable Lady Rutherland could ever be associated with such a tainted name. Of how that tainted blood has passed on to me. Mother has sure hidden her lineage well, I think.

King Terrell takes in this information without any signs of surprise or revulsion. "I see. Very well. So, the matter is settled? Anymore volunteers or suggestions?"

None come up with any volunteering or suggestions. The corners of King Terrell's lips curl upwards, but he doesn't smile. "All right. No more opinions? Council dismissed," he announces.

He gets up and stalks out of the room, cloak flapping behind him in a regal, kingly fashion. Eventually, the rest of us stand up as well, and the people slowly start to dissipate like leaves scattered in the wind. I walk towards Captain Eldric's side, who has both hands slapped onto the table, looking deep in thought. "Sir, what are my next duties?" I ask softly.

He startles anyway. He blinks rapidly at me, as though trying to process that I'm right by him. "Rutherland?" He stares right back at the table, then straightens himself and resumes his usual demeanour. "I'll have to discuss a few things with Sir Kendrick. You're off duty for the rest of the day."

It's my turn to blink rapidly. "Sir?"

"How many times do I have to repeat my orders today, Rutherland?" he growls. "You're off duty for today, unless you want to help me sort through the reports of the state of our trebuchets?"

A shiver runs up my spine. Those are the worst. I don't hesitate when I say, "Thank you, sir."

His mouth twists into a wry smile. "Go now, before I change my mind."

I need no other dismissal. After a quick bow, I wheel around and exit the room. Just as I turn to the right, a body intercepts my path.

I kick the man in the shin.

"Ow!" Gilbert yelps, doubling over and catching his leg. "Why did you have to kick me so hard?"

"For doing the same to me during the council," I respond tartly, manoeuvring past him and continuing down the corridor. He recovers immediately, and I hear his footsteps right behind me. I wonder what the two guards outside the door make of us.

"I didn't kick you that hard," he insists.

"But you did it in front of Perinian noblemen. I should have broken your bone instead."

"Ah, of course. The welcoming gift. I hope that you don't intend to greet Prince Deryck in the same fashion, especially not when he hasn't seen his homeland in five years."

He's now right beside me, shoulder brushing against mine. I instinctively move away, trying to pretend that the closeness of his proximity isn't contributing to the quickening of my pulse. "He's not going to return in a good few weeks anyway," I say.

"True. Hopefully we'll have returned to Cordair by then." He looks at me, an intent, inquiring look in his eyes. "I never knew that your mother was—is a Lorelay. Should be interesting for you to return to the land where she was born in."

I shrug my shoulders nonchalantly. "I just pray that this is a false alarm, that's all."

"You mean...has Abner said anything?"

Plenty. Not that you can hear it, of course, he grumbles right on cue.

"Yes," I say, hushed. Gilbert may know about Abner, but that doesn't mean that I intend to let anyone else know about him anytime soon. "Plenty. However, he refuses to divulge specific details as usual. What about your guide?"

"Same as yours, unfortunately." Gilbert grimaces, expression revealing that his guide—Erilda, hasn't been much of a help. Like Abner regarding this matter.

"Just...let's keep an eye out for anything out there," I say unhelpfully.

"Worried you'll get trampled upon by blackened men-monsters?" he teases. At long last, we emerge into sunlight, breathing in the frosty air in the main courtyard.

"Just worried you'll have you arse sorely flayed by them," I tease back, lightening the whole levity of the situation.

"I'd like to keep my arse intact, thank you. By the way, aren't you heading for the ladies' quarters?"

I freeze in my position, taking in my surroundings. I want to make my way for the Royal Library; apparently I'm heading towards the wrong direction. I grit my teeth and turn around to face Gilbert. He has a stupid grin plastered onto his face. "I shall meet you during training tomorrow," I say. "We'll see who's the lady then."

"All right." He holds a hand out. I take it and seal the deal. "Till tomorrow, then."

I wrench my hand free of his grip. More scars crisscross his skin, I notice. Before he or I can say another word, I head for the Royal Library—the right direction this time.

******

A/N: All right, I confess, I'm not going to bother splitting my chapters now, which are 4-5K words on average, because that would mean I'd have to go through the painful procedure of cutting them off into Wattpad-sized lengths. Anyway, Constantine and Gilbert already have their work cut out for them! What do you guys think of them about to meet Constantine's relatives on the maternal side?

Don't forget to vote, comment, share and recommend!