"Are you sure we will find the Zaphadren-Valkinvar this way?" I ask Sister Pymonsia as we float through the temple grounds. This is most certainly not the path to anything to do with the Ordoar Staguiffmani. Hardly anything that is within the interests of our mutual target. The path is familiar, however, very much so. Especially the smell, which is sweeter than rose water and punchier than wintergreen.
Sister Pymonsia continues to withhold her breath, it all coming out in one go as she speeds ahead of me. I catch up, landing beside her shortly after, her metal shoes ring like gentle bells. They continue to tap along the fine-carved redstone plates and more, so carefully making their way across marble lines and flowerbeds. My eyes go ahead of it all, reaching the furthest strand of the willow tree as Sister Pymonsia's emotions get the better of her.
I approach slowly, listening to her stressed sniffles violate the delicate way all these leaves swing. She turns my way, her tears giving way for a slight smile as a more professional expression takes over. I match the movement of her lips, giving her an equal and then greater smile. A huff keeps her heart light, and she looks back the way of the willow tree, her hand coming from her heart to its bark.
"Sometimes I have to wonder where our true enemy is. Sister Vapooliar. The war should make it simple, but Sister Gemorli is determined to make an enemy of us all. These past couple of quarter-cycles have been damning, to say the least." she lets out, easing her spirit, if only of a single splinter that is causing it such pain. I close my eyes, letting my mind's eye conjure an image as I nod away.
"It's hard to say what our best choice is. Were we anything but Valkinvar, such behaviour would almost warrant rebellion." I point out and strained sarcasm clenches her teeth.
"Certainly." she says, her bitterness making it an awfully opaque word right now. I leave it in the moment, moving on with my life without much concern for it.
"Whenever you are ready, Eurultus-Valkinvar Pymonsia." I say, urging my head in the direction of where we are most likely to find who we want. She nods away, her superior status offering her almost too much right to dictate when we move.
"Awfully eager, aren't we?" she chastises, trying to bring some light-heartedness back to her voice.
"I only want what is best for the Valkinvar." I say, doing my best to keep my answer professional and devoid of much else. But, she is right, I am eager... Very much so. An explanation is the least we can demand of the Zaphadren-Valkinvar for such an order. Her authority is supreme in only one Ordoar and that, in turn, does not grant her the right to bully others to its will.
"An answer so common I would not be able to trade it for even a crumb." Sister Pymonsia giggles, our feet going over the patch of blood-stained grass where she made her prior promise to me. Ignoring her jovial nature, I look over my shoulder, at the closest strand of blood-soaked cape. I don't need the reminder, but it is certainly an appreciated moment.
"Yet... Yet it is one that will see us either grow or falter." I finally answer back with, going back into the air with my superior so we can make quick work of the temple's many halls and walkways. Incalculable wealth passes on by, simple oddities for my superior, but wasted opportunities to inspect them for me. This is not my normal realm of travel, none of it is. What she is used to is almost once-in-a-lifetime for me.
"I suppose here is as good as any place to look for her." Sister Pymonsia lets out, her hand and actions signalling for me to come to a stop. I walk to a halt alongside her, joining her for an initially speedy stroll through one of the temple's many treasure rooms.
I look about the grand chamber, inspecting the tops and the display cases of dozens of artefacts, "The Zaphadren-Valkinvar took me through here before I attended that meeting before."
"Oh, did she?" Sister Pymonsia goes, looking my way with a cocked brow. I quickly nod.
"It was certainly easy to tell what her preferences were. She had a lot of affection for things like this, for example." I say, pointing out but one of many treasures recovered from some of our most famous pyrrhic victories. Bloody affairs that battered the Valkinvar of many of its number. Almost like warning shots, in a way. Poor fortunes warning us of a future we had no way of seeing.
"Mmm." Sister Pymonsia lets out, her tone tense with what I don't want to mistake as suspicion. It's such a sinister thing to consider, and I just want to be rid of it.
"How about you, Sister Pymonsia? What are your favourites?" I ask, hoping to keep her attention on what is here while we wait or before we go off again.
"Mmm? Oh." Sister Pymonsia goes, her attention wayward towards an incomplete display.
"I can't say I share the sentiment." I answer presumptuously, looking over it as we idly make our way. A piece of one of the Seven-Peaks Union of Jherikra's airships. Nothing particularly fancy, like an officer's chair and their collection of memorabilia. Just a scrap part, but a piece nonetheless.
Frankly... I'd rather not see such a thing again. Though, having lost my first sword in downing such a frightful machine... I can appreciate the effort even such a seemingly dull prize carries to its name and place here.
"No, no. Not this. My favourite artefacts are one of our more secret ones." Sister Pymonsia answers, her lips curling up on the turn towards me. I meet her smile, my imagination flaring up with a single image.
"You mean the divine artefacts?" I ask, and her smile explodes to something pearly white and toothy.
"Indeed. Call me old-fashioned and typical, but there is simply nothing that can ever compare here. All this history and glory and not one bit of it compares to what our husband-to-be left for us in the Age of Heroes. Lord Waionr is certainly a reason as any..." she starts to go, my skin shivering with goosebumps and worry at her words. She notices, trailing off.
I keep my eyes on the ground, and the plush carpet threaded with inescapable stories. Her soft hand comes ahead, slightly scraping me with some of the silk threaded around it. She pulls on my chin, bringing it back in line with hers and her eyes stare deeply into mine. Her smile is gone, and she knows why.
"Your pain is not one... Is not one I think any of us can help you with," she struggles to admit, letting me go as my misery surfaces. What good is a Valkinvar who has lost her sacred virginity...? What good is a warrior-bride who will not marry her divine lover upon her battlefield-gifted death? And what am I supposed to do when everyone in all of the Valkinvar now knows my shame?
"I... I don't expect you to." I struggle to answer, my breath heaving with uncontrollable quivers as a cold shake rattles my armour. Almost comedic in how noisy it is, like a children's story where the noises are always so silly and lacking in the terror they should have. Bones on their way to clay are a horrible sight and yet, they can be so easily turned into laughter as they lifelessly flap about...
"Do you happen to have a favourite treasure, Sister Vapooliar?" Sister Pymonsia asks, her words not as dismissive as they might seem to a clueless idiot. I smile, barely.
"Probably... Probably like you said. The artefacts of Waionr. Like the one just around there." I answer, pointing out the path the Zaphadren-Valkinvar took me on before I saw it for the first time. Something I had only read about in ancient tablets and reprinted texts of the same. Something I thought only existed in the imaginations of those who make stained glass windows... But, no, it is real. They all are.
The Crown of Conceptual War is but one of them.
"Ah, the Crown of Conceptual War. We can head there now?" Sister Pymonsia offers and I shake my head, looking away down the quiet paths and distant halls. My magic senses no one of note and I doubt Sister Pymonsia can sense anything, either. Nothing in eyesight, nothing within earshot.
"No, no. It is fine for us to enjoy the moment. Though, I'm certainly eager to go there again. I can even let you in on a secret." I say, forcing a false smile to my lips that leaves my centuries beyond elder giddy. She puts her fingers together, flexing the deceitfully youthful looking flesh.
"I look forward to it," she goes.
"Perhaps it would be better as a palette cleanser, however." I mutter, lingering by the suit of royal armour we looted back when the war started.
"I remember when the Zaphadren-Valkinvar was so young in her duties. Practically a newborn with how much responsibility she suddenly found herself with. Yet, somehow, this suit of armour always kept her... Entranced. Fear... Terror... Happiness. She's gone through them all, looking at this steel." Sister Pymonsia elaborates and I turn slightly towards her.
"That sounds like her. She was quite enamoured with this suit of armour though for reasons that seemed off." I say, walking around the armour that is quite a fair bit older than Sister Gemorli's entire time as the Zaphadren-Valkinvar. So it seems quite the strange thing to cling to, though, I suppose her career has always existed within its context.
She, like many of my generation and those close to it, are defined by this armour. Our lives as people, let alone as Valkinvar, has been shaped by the war this armour's defeat birthed. The death of Princess Awleena three-hundred grand-cycles ago, as the Zaphadren-Valkinvar herself put it. The first name worth remembering to die in the war between Waionr's Valkinvar and the Mighty Moon's heretics.
One can only guess what goes on in the minds of those around us. After all, no one could have ever expected to know what secrets I was hiding. Now everyone's talking about it. The sister Valkinvar-Imdvarce, who is not a sacred virgin. The only one not to be... While losing it in any manner is a disgrace, to lose it to filthy osibindah, too, is... Life-ruining in a way the cruel deed alone is not on its own.
And that's just my thoughts, my heart and its secrets. Me, a Valkinvar who has lived about half of her life, perhaps more or less within Zaphadren-Valkinvar Gemorli's reign. Her time in such an esteemed position is but a fraction of her life. And in moments of mine, I've experienced more than any proper Valkinvar should. Who knows what it has been like for her, beyond the pomp and ceremony?
Much as I want to know for the sake of understanding her thoughts, it is improper for me to go beyond such desires. My right to secrecy was lost when some cruel unknown shoved the echoes of a corpse on my barracks bed. I know the pain of having my private thoughts put into the open for all to hear and know. For them to twist and manipulate as their desires see fit.
"Perhaps a less thought-provoking piece?" Sister Pymonsia suggests, taking my hand and rubbing the backside of it, dragging me out of my thoughts.
"I can suffer that." I say gently, forcing a giggle out and sharing one with my dear friend. An absurd relationship if there ever was one with how much older she is than me. Never mind our rank and power. Were it not for my history of self-doubt and wanting to be away from the Valkinvar as much as I could be... I would have never spoken to her if at all.
Sister Pymonsia reassured me all those grand-cycles ago as the training got to me and my mind faltered. She taught me through the beauty of Thurnmourer-Thunlanann, distracting as it was with all its noises and smells. Every bit a city one would never pay attention to if they were stressed out and scared. But, she did it. She helped me and now I owe her this much. Most certainly the greatest treasure my heart can bestow on someone like her.
My friendship.
"So, how about this?" I ask her, putting on a faux-serious expression as she circles a piece of ancient-looking pottery. So mysterious in its imagery and the story it has to tell.
Her tongue clicks and she leans aside, "Well..."