Throughout the month, Cloud makes a habit of taking notes on whatever work her mother pushes onto her. She sends along what she thinks is useful and burns the evidence left behind. The trip into her mother’s office was risky, but exactly what she needed. Until Red passes along another specific request, there’s not much reason to pull something like that again. That door is thin, also her mother’s desk drawers and cabinets are creaky. She used to think it was simply annoying. Only now does she recognize it to be a safety precaution for scenarios just like this. Yeah, no, maybe that room should be saved for quick, in-and-out missions when she knows exactly what she’s looking for.

As August draws to a close, Cloud and her family begin to prepare for the March of Colors that wraps up the month. It’s an annual military parade led by the queen, but Cloud usually brings up the rear. There’s a lot of symbolic stuff going on that Cloud could regurgitate if prompted, but that’s not what’s interesting this time around. No, what’s interesting is that a week prior, Cloud finds a note in the place where she sends her own off to Red. Inside it is a warning. Well, more of a heads-up, really. Once decoded, it simply reads, “Take care at the parade.” Cloud’s breath catches. Is it time? Is the Cerinthe Rebellion going to make their first public strike? Hm. At the parade, huh? Well, it makes sense, even if they’re not targeting the queen. The younger, inexperienced soldiers make up a majority of the march, and most of Trinity’s citizens will be away from the fortress. If executed well, the attack could be over by the time any citizen notices, unless something explodes, or they end up using some flashy magic. Still, she appreciates being alerted of possible danger.

Cloud imagines her mother only learning of the seized citadel after it's happened, of an entire battle happening whilst she was none the wiser and right there to lend aid. She snickers and snaps her fingers. Vivid green flames incinerate the note. At least this time the parade won’t be boring.

✦✦✦

Cloud’s always preferred the full-dress uniforms to the combat uniforms, ever since she was a child. Frith, Heiwa included, is known for its bold colors, being one of the largest suppliers of such dyes in the world. Anyone with functioning eyes can also see how naturally saturated the citizen’s hair and eyes are—warmer tones for ethnically Frithian individuals and cooler for the Heiwanese. Typically, anyway. It might just be Cloud, but she feels that foreigners tend to have duller skin in comparison, even when they’re not pale. Like everything else in the country, the regular military uniforms are bright enough to be an eye strain. The fierce golds, fiery crimsons, and brilliant yellows are reduced to mere accents on the much darker full-dress uniforms that she and the officers wear for special occasions. It’s a nice contrast against the intense shades. That said, she and her mother are both adorned with unique, eye-catching sashes to differentiate them from the well-decorated generals. Blaze doesn’t need it, not with her hair like the sun. Even pulled back, it appears to shift between yellow and orange, burning in place, flickering in the wind. Cloud, though her hair and eyes are an electric green, really isn’t too conspicuous in this sort of crowd. Against her nearly black uniform, though, the contradistinction is pleasing. She wishes she could wear darker colors more often, but she doubts her mother would allow it. She’d say something about it making her appear pauperized. Speaking of, she wasn’t allowed to bring her katana, so she’s left with only her cavalry saber to defend herself should something happen. Her magic still refuses to obey her when she’s startled, not that it’s something she can practice often. How does one instantly scare themselves? She should really think of some way around that.

The sun beaming directly into her eyes jolts her from her course of thought. Okay, so that’s one reason the brighter, not black uniforms are nice. She tilts her tricorn hat down to shield her eyes, even if the sun promises to fry her black in her uniform. Oh well. Pros and cons, she supposes. At least she gets to wear trousers. Skirts are nice and all, but not when you plan to ride horseback. As a plus, she can make sharper movements and pay less attention to her immediate surroundings. On a day like today, especially with the rebellion in mind, she’ll need to keep an eye out for anything and everything around her. If she was a young rebel, unaware of the whole secret agent situation, she’d take a shot or two at the princess.

A young man in a red coat aids her onto her horse, where she’ll be sitting for the next two and a half hours. Joy. She thanks the flustered young man and gives the horse a quick pet. He’s one she recognizes, often assigned to her. “Hello,” she murmurs to the stallion. “Ready for hours of pageantry?” Maybe the horses grow as bored as she does, or perhaps they like to go on walks, like dogs. Eventually, the soldiers begin their troop.

✦✦✦

“Are you absolutely certain you should do this?” Nicolas questions Sake, secluded where nobody should walk in any time soon. Regardless, he keeps his voice down, “You don’t have to participate in the attack. As commander-in-chief, you should really do your best to stay alive.”

“What kind of leader am I if I never even fight along with those I command?” Sake, bearing his Frithian uniform, replies. “As soon as this starts, I’m ripping this coat off and joining the battle.”

“I know, it is just-” Nicolas fumbles. He adjusts his bow in its holster. “Be careful. We need you safe.” Sake smiles at him, reassuring. He pushes aside the snark comment about being perfectly capable of fighting whilst protecting himself. There’s no need to tempt bad luck by saying so out loud.

“You’ll have a bird’s eye view,” he says instead. “There’s no way someone will get past both of us.” Nicolas huffs a quiet laugh.

“Try not to break your sword again,” he replies, turning to leave and get to his assigned position. “It will be a pain to reforge it again so soon.”

“No promises,” Sake chimes, going for another door to return to his post as a queensman. It shouldn’t be too long now, then he’ll never have to wear this deplorable coat ever again. He's been put here today to inspect the fort. At the very least, it's a good excuse to be wandering around, interrogating people. After all, thanks to some very kind souls, he already knows their manpower and supply stock. He double checked, of course, but it seems everything Red passed along to him was correct, even Cloud Spark’s information. He whistles to himself as he strolls.

Maybe this fort should be restaffed regardless of who defends the city at the end of the day. These soldiers don't seem to notice the several people who aren't meant to be there. Gushiken eyes movement at the end of the hall as he passes on his way to the gates. A man lies slumped over beside another in his uniform, stolen by the assailant. Relevant instance: if all the queensmen were where they were supposed to be, they would have caught that. This city never sees combat. He can't judge them too harshly. He can, however, make his way to their superiors to personally thank them for not adequately training their men. Gushiken draws his blade. It glints in the sunlight bleeding through the windows.

It's time.

✦✦✦

The back of the parade marches a few streets away from the citadel, an hour into the troop. Cloud has no idea if battle has commenced; the thump of boots, military band, and cheering of the crowd do wonders to drown out any other noise. Even if the attack had begun, it's not like she'd be doing anything about it. No, she is to smile and wave. Be presentable, polite, personable. She's heir to the throne. The people should be able to respect her and trust her character. Cloud would also prefer for them to like her, but hey, that may be too much to ask. Queens are politicians, after all, and politicians are seldom liked. Be that as it may, let Blaze be intimidating by herself today. Out of Blaze's sight, Cloud opts for a kind presentation. Her smile is smaller than she thinks it is, but she still somehow gives off a pleasant vibe. The children seem to like her, and that's enough for now.

Something itches at the back of her head as she looks down at them. She's been raised in the shadow of war. The Bloodbath Wars of twenty years ago is how her family rose to power in the first place. She grew up listening to horror stories disguised as tales of glory. The wars had been brutal, carnage barely above that of raging beasts, and it never truly settled at the white flag. Even as a child, the most privileged child in the country, Cloud felt it. She saw how bitter eyes followed her family. It has lessened over time, certainly not without incident, but every time she's in a crowd like this, it creeps back over her skin and snags against her mind. Sometimes, people forget how perceptive children are, forget how much they take in and recall. They'd tried to hide everything when they brought Cloud outside the castle—outside of the delusion—but even at a young age, she could spot traces of ruin around the corners. There was poverty down the alley they’d made an attempt to block, too-fertile forests and fields where Heiwanese hotspots used to be, and members of the Royal Army ever-present. She'd been lucky to only peep glances, other children not so much. Not to mention, that had only been the aftermath, the blood stains. This is the brink, the match flicked into the spilled kerosene. This will surely cause wildfire. Staring at these children, here and now, she can only hope this inevitable war will be over quickly. She's not naive enough to hope it'll stay away from the citizens. War affects everyone. Her mother has never apologized for anything, there's no way she'll peacefully negotiate with rebels. Gods know she'll never surrender the crown; she's nothing without what she controls. Staring at these children, Cloud can only feel guilt, rancid as it settles in the back of her throat.

It's for the greater good, she convinces herself. It's not like growing up in Frith is tranquil as it is, not with the threat of her mother everywhere, not with the yellow jackets serving as a constant reminder that the queen will find and kill you before you even realize she's looking for you, not with a garrison in every town. She's heard soldiers when they think nobody's listening. They're not much more than egomaniacs emboldened by the state, given the seal of approval to do whatever they want as long as they answer to the queen. Cloud would never choose to raise children in a country like this. The country's name is meaningless now, a relic of a broken promise. Cloud can only hope it's not too late to repair it. She can only pray the salve doesn’t sting too much.

She straightens, directing her gaze forward again. Her back aches. Her head hurts. It’s hot. She's tired, always so tired. Exhausted. She misses being that little kid, even if her world was a shoddy lie of clashing colors, dissonant chords, and continuity errors. She misses having energy. She misses the blissful cheer of riding a horse for the first time, longs for when she could scale a tree in mere seconds, mourns for the overwhelming happiness she felt upon seeing her friends. Now, it's everything and nothing all at once, all the time, and it's draining. Cloud drags a deep breath into her body. How can she look forward when she doesn't even know what it's supposed to look like? She's not five anymore and can't expect life to be as it was, but she certainly doesn't want it to continue as is. What even is better? What are the options? What are her goals here? She's practically been living on sheer spite and crumbs of affection for the past three or four years, but it's not feasible anymore. She has to hope the future will be better, but what does that even mean? What does she want?

A world-shaking boom reverberates through her bones as the crowd falls silent. The military marches on like nothing's wrong, but Cloud's not technically military. Her eyes slide over to where the citadel is, behind a few rows of buildings. Rising into the cerulean, summer sky is smoke. The singular pillar pierces through the illusion. Cloud's gloved grip bends the reins. What the hell was that? It sounded like a cannon, but that ash… An explosion?