When Lysandra was a child, she often heard the cries of children haunted by nightmares or the rambles of Elias as he enthused again and again of his dreams where he was a valiant knight with abilities of a god.

Dreams... Lysandra never had that benefit. But if she had nightmares, the personification of it is most likely the one depicted on the parchment in front of her.

Men, she thought, thinking back to her uncle, the only pupils he took -- the sons of the Estriach Clan. My tutelage is only the luxury of men, women are too emotional, act too much in the heat of the moment. But the spirit of the Estriach children do not discriminate, the common tactic for troubles was to hit it until it went away.

Oh, Ciairos, she thought bitterly, never could keep your mouth shut, could you? Not when you finally had an advantage over them.

She returns her gaze to the parchment. Her teeth grits before she rises from her chair abruptly, jade green eyes flashing in the darkening light.

Say what you will, she thinks. But I—

Have no intentions of playing double joker for anyone.

♛♛♛

"Have you seen Haki as of late?" she asks Rotavel.

"No," he says, "but she will be arriving in the coming month with a messenger from your clan."

"I want to see her."

"Oh?" he raises an eyebrow. "What with the sudden interest?"

She takes a sip of her tea. "What's it to you? You never took much interest in my affairs."

He shrugs elegantly. "I just don't think it's a good idea, with everything happening so close. Besides, if Haki was invited to the Holy Cities before the monarch, it's bound to shine a beacon of suspicion towards your grandmother and the cities."

"Haki is a scholar," she says. "She'll be more interested in the scrolls we bear here than the politics." Lysandra smiles. "She just needs a little prompt. And we'll give it to her."

"Only you, Lysandra," he laughs. "Only you. I'll see what I can do, then." He rises to leave before stilling for a moment. "What do you plan go do about the Clarines delegation?"

"Ciarios has taken to managing his affairs in the capital. Knowing him, he'll likely refuse to say a single word. But his intentions are fair, and I'll ask him to keep an eye on Wezstanza during the Summer Solstice."

Rotavel, seemingly having abandoned all intentions of leaving drops back down into his seat, reclaims his wine glass before taking a sip. "Wezstanza..." He glances at her, amber eyes glinting beneath lashes color of molten gold. "Do you trust him there?" Lysandra opens her mouth protest.

He silences her with a look. "We both know who he is. We both know who he could become."

She purses her lips. "It's a gamble, I agree." Lysandra smiles. "But was I not a gamble as well?"

Rotavel laughs. Sharp and mocking. "The two of you are not the same, do remember that, Lysandra darling." With that, he rises and leaves her there with her eyebrows raised.

"Say that as you will," she replies to her shadow. "But we both know that the fire all those years before was not merely for Izana or Clarines' sake alone."

Too different — one the darkness that hungers for stars and the other the corona of the sun that lights even the moon. They are too different, even if she is the person Izana has built up in his dreams, even if Izana wasn't the saint Lysandra had followed after. One too sharp and the other too blunt. Unlike him, who seeks out the darkness to bring the light, Lysandra immerses herself in the darkness and whose blade is swift, painful and without remorse.

For even that alone, Izana would not be able to accept her and she, him.

No, the truth is that she never expected to be crowned queen one day, not even in dreams. Lysandra never had the benefit of dreams.

♛♛♛

She begins cleaning up state affairs. For the inevitable claim for the crown. There is that, Wezstanza and the matter of whoever sponsored Ouchi, whoever was able to drag him out of death's door and to this continent would require power and authority that common people did not have. However, beside that, it is almost nostalgic to think that this is possibly the last time she will have to sort through invitations and diplomatic reports.

But Lysandra is going to be thirty next year. For women of her era, this already marks. her as a spinster and she can't help but remember that her mother was married when she was only nineteen. Even Elias — her stubborn, temperamental brother married nearly a decade before, to a similarly tempered woman named Kiyomi whom Lysandra befriended as a child. Ciairos, as a bastard child and a free spirit never settled for long and neither did anyone expect him to, even back when he still held the Estriach name, Rotavel, as the second son was the same.

( Which why, it's a surprise that Izana ascended to the throne without a queen and had yet to take one, even after three years into his reign. )

Those days will never return again once lost, Haruto had told her as parting words, beneath the rising sun at the edge of the forest by a burnt down manor that was her childhood home. It is only now that Lysandra realizes that had both been Haruto's warning and one final chance to back out, to return to the golden castle and to her illustrious Estriach name. Yet, at the time, Lysandra had promised—

I will look the storm in the eye, and think of only the sweetness that it will bring.

Haruto smiled, the beautiful woman's smile both lovely and tragic. And sweet it shall be, daughter, she had replied. That had been Haruto's trust, understanding and farewell folded all in one. For a moment, just one, single moment, she allows herself to think of it, the possibility.

"Lysandra-sama, Her Royal Highness of Aether is here to see you," her secretary sounds nervous, likely from the added security and the glint of Aether swords. They did craft fine metals.

"Send her in," she says, as she clears up the stacks of paperwork on her desk. He utters his leaving and departs with soft hesitant footsteps. However, the next footsteps are resolute and purposeful. Enligeca enters without knocking gives her a smile of moon silver and starlight. Like her sister, she is dressed in a customary, stylized armour-clad version of a dress.

"Lito!" she says as she took a seat on Lysandra's desk. Where Lysandra was tempered and even, Enligeca would always be a steel phoenix with sharp words and even sharper claws.

"You never did stop calling me that," she says.

"Might not, ever." Enligeca leans forward, as she always does when she wanted Lysandra to do something. "Lito, let's go on an adventure." Lito had always been a street alias when she happened to drag Lysandra out on an 'adventure'

She raises an eyebrow. "We're almost thirty, darling. An adventure?"

Enligeca grins wickedly in reply.

Despite herself, Lysandra is exasperatedly fond of her.

♛♛♛

Summer is beautiful in Daylenta. Where in Clarines, it had been sunshine amidst trees and rough bark cool to touch. But in Daylenta, there is reflection of towns on lakes, retelling the tall mountains and forests that stretches as far as the eye can see in fractals of light in the water. This is how Daylenta was named. For the sky that reflected upon the jade coloured lakes, the cloud castles in the sky floated past lazily. This is where Lysandra went when she realizes that she could no longer remember her father's voice and her mother's life, when she could no longer recall the exact shade of Elias' eyes and when she could no longer remember the name of Aoishima's sword, as ridiculous it is.

Enligeca leads her down a spiralling path that she recognizes. They're donned in cotton robes, with beautiful, beautiful embroidery — pastel green vines for Lysandra and metallic blue sparrows for Enligeca. Hair up in buns, they wander through the markets — bookshops and stores with trinkets and wonders that enthrals children. One stumbles past her and Lysandra extends an arm to pick him up.

The boy opens his mouth to thank her but his eyes widen— "Lysa—"

She raises her finger to her lips and settles him on the ground with a playful wink. "Sh," she says.

They continue walking until they approached the entertainment district.

"How legal is this?" Lysandra asks as they enter a bar.

"Legal enough that the Aether Crown Princess can get out of," Enligeca says slyly and then drops her voice and adds, "or the respected and ever so beloved Grandmaster of the Gaian archives."

"I was afraid you were going to say that."

The smell of the bar is thick and the alcohol almost sticks to her pores, a mass of bodies shuffle past another.

"Hello," a man slurred beside her, but he's gone the next moment as Enligeca drags her past him and up a flight of stairs. The abrupt chill of the floor gives relief to her warn cheeks.

"Giggle," Enligeca hisses before pulling down her hood. This won't be the first time Lysandra decreeds herself to be too old for this, and she thinks, it certainly won't be the last.

"Ladies," a man greets. "Do you have identification documents?"

"Why yes," Enligeca giggles and presents who knows what. He glances at them and Engelica leads her past—

"You," they stop. The princess is sweating, for what, Lysandra doesn't know, but this certainly isn't a simple sniffing around for illegal information and if their identities are revealed, the reprecussions won't be pretty.

"Me?" Enligeca flutters her eyelashes.

"No, the one in the green," he amends. She freezes. "Haven't I seen you before?" A bucket of ice washes down her back, and Enligeca hand tightens around her waist, and shift into a stance ready to run.

Lysandra stabs her nails into her palm and smiles, making sure that anything other than her eyes aren't visible. "I don't think so," she says lowly. "But I'm certainly willing to acquainted with you." She laughs, throaty and sensual. It's unbecoming, but the facade does amuse her to no end.

The guard scoffs and bats a hand, waving them away.

"This better be worth the trouble," she murmurs to the blonde.

"It will," her companion promises as they stop at a suite. "See, it is."

Lysandra's eyes widens and takes the edge of the curtain before pulling it up by the tiniest fraction. Enligeca's smile glints in the darkness beside her, becoming razor sharp and dangerous.

Lysandra breathes out a single word—

"Wezstanza."