“I’ll be right back,” Cloud announces, pushing herself up, “I’m gonna go get a drink. Oh, uh, first, do you know if this place has a restroom?” They point her to the back door where something Red calls a “fancy outhouse” awaits her. Indeed, it’s more of a small restroom—with a mirror and flowing water—than an outhouse. It’s certainly cleaner than she’d expected of a pub’s restroom. It’s still early, though. She locks the door behind her and meets her own verdant eyes. Her ponytail is heavy with the task of holding up her thick hair, so she relieves it. Running her fingers through it, her eyes narrow. It’s been so long since she cut it. Her mother has always liked it longer, always liked Cloud to look as much like her as possible, as Frithian as possible. The Heiwanese hints she adorns herself with are a tolerated irritation, and it’s the most she’s ever done to openly rebel. Even now, her retaliation is hidden.

Still, this is no ordinary child rebelling against their parent. Yes, Cloud is doing this because she hates her mother, but that alone would never push her to this. Now, it’s for everyone else, too. She doesn’t want anyone else to suffer at her mother’s hand as she and so many others already have. She can't change what she's done in the past, so she must make up for it today.

Gushiken declared war. This is it. There’s no going back. Cloud unsheathes her katana with her left hand, and grabs hold of her hair with her right. That sentiment is true for her as well. She’s never going to be the same person again. Feeling the cool blade rest against the skin of her hand where it meets hair, she recalls the last time she brought a blade to herself. That, too, had been an end to an era. Though she hadn’t cut her hair, and she’d intended to make that end final. Then, Tulip found her. Sure, she's never regained total control of the last two fingers on her right hand, but that and some scars are a small price to pay to keep the rest of the sense in her arms. It's a small price to pay to be able to use her swords, to be able to fight.

No, this time, she’s not attempting to end her life. She’s finally starting it.

Once again, Tulip has taught her hope. Using magic’s aid, she slices her hair. It falls to the top of her shoulder blades. The hair dissolves in her hands as Cloud’s magic breaks the organic material down to its base components, disappearing into the air in twinkles of light. She ties her hair back up again, the ponytail much lighter now. After a brief inspection in the mirror, Cloud returns inside, and orders a drink. Farrow has rejoined Red and Tailor at their table, and the sound of their laughter blends with that of the joyous atmosphere. You can feel the victory in these people, can see it in their posture, hear it in their voices. The group turns to Cloud when she sits down, their laughter settling down. Farrow’s smile falls, followed by a gasp.

In rapid Paixian, he questions, “How are you going to hide this?” Gesturing to her hair. Tailor covers her mouth with her hand as Red tries to figure out what’s going on. Being seated directly across from her, it’s harder for him to see what's different.

“I’m just gonna put my hair back and up,” Cloud shrugs. “That’s what my mother prefers anyway.”

“No, that is too noticeable a change,” Farrow retorts. 

“Honestly, I don’t think she’ll notice,” Cloud says. Then, she hesitates. “The new maid will, though. She could snitch.” She’s young with no particular loyalty, yet. She very well might spill. “I’ll just say it got caught on something when I was training, and we had to get it evenly cut.” Red makes an “o” shape with his mouth as he realizes.

“Hey, it looks good on you,” he compliments. “Much more practical.” Having the shortest hair here, it makes sense he’d say that.

“Thanks, Red,” Cloud smiles, taking a sip from her drink.

“You could use magic to regrow it. Or, if you want to keep it, you could use illusion magic,” Tailor suggests. “I can tell you know some of that.”

“I do, but I’m not that good at it,” Cloud admits. Summer is, but she’d want something in return if Cloud asked her for help, and it’s not worth the effort.

“Oh, yeah, your silver streak is gone,” Red remarks. “You don’t dye it, do you?”

“Nah, it’s genetic. My father has the same streak, just in the middle of his lower layer of hair, so nobody really sees it unless he puts it up,” she explains. 

“Speaking of, where’s Gushiken?” Red asks. Oh, yeah, Cloud supposes he does tend to have high-up ponytails and buns, doesn’t he? 

“Ah,” Farrow grins, “he’s about to make a toast, and I did not want to risk him making me say something.”

“Really? You seem outgoing,” Cloud states.

“Not when it comes to formal things like that.”

“Half the people in here are drunk already,” Tailor observes. “I’d hardly count that as formal.” As if on cue, Gushiken, the soldier he is, calls for the bar’s attention. Most of the bar’s attendees being either turncoat soldiers or trained to fight in secret, all fall silent—or hushed, at least—on the order. Gushiken clears his throat.

He begins, “As many of you know, today is the anniversary of Queen Blaze Spark’s historic loss of Trinity in The Bloodbath Wars of twenty years ago.” A few people whoop, likely the drunk ones. Cloud gets the sense that Sake’s holding back laughter, especially since the next statement is so solemn. “As many of the younger people present may not know: one motive of Blaze Spark’s army was to reign in the, at the time, loosely controlled Heiwa while simultaneously suppressing as much of their culture as possible. She may have lost Trinity all those years ago, but not before exterminating a large portion of the Heiwanese civilians living within the city after gathering them and their supporters in a park that no longer exists. Upon those unmarked graves, Trinity City Hall was built. Today, we took a page from the Queen’s book and burned it down.” Cloud did not know that, but it’s not surprising. The mood has changed drastically, from light-hearted pride to grim justice. “Shortly after the park’s grass turned red all those years ago, Trinity Citadel was taken over by two separate forces, both opposing Blaze Spark. A young man of sixteen, I was a private in one of those forces, and only two years younger than the Sun Commander herself. A few months later, we lost to her army, and I was forced to join her ranks to save my family.” The older attendees, though few in number, all nod or make sounds of understanding. It was a common, and not empty threat made particularly against those of Heiwanese origin. Being a culture that strongly values family and community, it was an arrow aimed at the heart. Gushiken smiles tamely. “Therefore, it brings me great satisfaction that today, the monument hiding her shameful actions was brought down before a parade meant to remind everyone that she won that war. This first move was years in the making, and I could never have done it on my own. I want to thank everyone from the bottom of my soul, present or not, for today’s success. We may not have won this battle, but we ultimately achieved our goal.” He raises his glass, something nicer than the cheap beer the twenty-somethings all bought themselves. “Here’s to you, to everyone, to the Cerinthe Rebellion. May we win the war!” The cheering is heavy with feelings of determination, courage, and hope.

Cloud raises her glass as a promise that she’ll do everything she can to get them to that future they all hope for, that she hopes for.

✦✦✦

The Pacian Queen sighs, weighing her options, "We'll have to stop sending merchants anywhere near Trinity lest Queen Spark gets any ideas."

"Knowing her, we should start having traders not only sign in and out of the country, but log at least one family member to contact in case they go missing," the king adds.

"Good point," the queen agrees. Neither of them says it, but they both recall what happened the last time Blaze's supporters felt threatened. When people don't feel safe, they're easier to radicalize, and well… Blaze doesn't exactly attract the non-violent and understanding type. The two countries are already on thin ice. If Pace was suspected of anything, the two Pacian monarchs hold no doubt their people would face danger if they even set foot over the border. Queen Ré turns to some of her children. Reale, in particular, seems deeper in thought than the others. She doesn't seem scared at all, so it's not fear occupying her mind. "Reale," Regina prompts. Though she's relatively young, she's seen combat. She's good with things such as these, as is expected of her, as she was raised to be. Reale jerks from her own little world to meet her mother's eyes, raven like her own.

"I was just thinking it's strange how anyone would go up against two diadem users," she says. "The messenger said the man was likely in his thirties or forties, so he should know the meaning of that."

"Perhaps he believes he has enough people to overpower them," Regina considers. Even if they had enough, in numbers, to overpower Blaze and Starlight… Frith sports an extremely powerful, enormous army. Much of the Frithian citizens must be beaten down to the point of rage if they’re attempting a revolt. Energy like that could help, sure, but how could they possibly rival the Spark regime? "Still, I agree, one must be quite brave or daft to wage war against the Sparks."

"Or confident," Reale suggests, a shine to her eyes.

"Do you know something?" King Righello inquires of his daughter. Reale eyes her present siblings, most of them eyeing her curiously.

"Potentially," she declares. "Mom, Dad, do you remember my visitor at the start of the month?" And, well, that gets their full attention. "They asked an odd question of me just before they left. They asked about the prospects of a war between Frith and Pace, and when I said Frith would probably have to initiate, they asked if Pace would support a revolt. I told them it was a possibility. It could be a coincidence that a revolt would take place later the same month, but my, quite a coincidence."

"What are you saying?" Regina inquires. 

"I'm saying there's a chance this rebellion could have some very valuable friends, eyes in high places," Reale shrugs, one of her folded arms raising up to rest a hand on her chin. "I'm not saying it's the case, but I mean… it's not impossible. It could be something to look into, if nothing else." Reale's gathered siblings, significantly confused, look between their sister and their parents. Said parents lock eyes, communicating without words. If their daughter is correct, this could have continental impacts. With that kind of intel being passed along to a rebellion, the most powerful country in the world could either collapse in on itself in global carnage or be overtaken by its own people and stabilize. An empire falling and causing chaos? It could be an exact repeat of The Bloodbath Wars. Reale's right; it'd be beneficial to have a heads up on that sort of information.

“Perhaps we should send an agent,” Righello mutters to his wife.

“Security on Queen Spark’s side would be too tight,” Regina returns, hushed. “They’d never let anyone unknown get close to the princess, not again. Not after what happened last time. I also doubt many people on the revolt’s side would know, let alone spill.”

“We can try,” Righello offers. “It’s not like we’ll be able to have any of our children ask her anytime soon. The only scheduled Frithian event they’re ever invited to is the princess’s birthday.” Of course, they’d never risk their children being found in the country without an invite. “If we want to send someone, it’ll have to be to the rebel side.” Reale can’t hear her parents, but she can imagine what they’re talking about. Something like this, they’d want to confirm. Who would be willing to go into such an uncertain, risky situation? It’ll take a while to find someone and negotiate compensation for such a task. 

The revolt was in Trinity City, so the rebellion's leader must be there. Reale can handle herself and needs no compensation.

And that’s how Reale ends up here, surveying the center square of Trinity, dressed as a common merchant. This is the most cheerful she’s ever seen Frithians. People walk the streets in boisterous groups, still chatting and laughing hours after the attack. Even those in bandages don’t seem bitter about it, smiling and reveling in the relative victory all the same. Some of the non-military citizens seem uneasy, but not about her. Reale figured she’d stick out; she always does in Frith. It seems, however, that there are more multicultural people away from the capital. Not many of them are as dark as her, but she’s seen more variation in skin-tone tonight than she ever has near the castle. Not many people have been side-eyeing or outright glaring, and nobody’s seen her and started whispering. She likes this Frith better than that of the capital.

She enters a small pub. It’s not the first place she’s looked around, but it’s as good a next target as any. She waited until night fell, so her parents wouldn’t notice her prolonged absence, and it took a while to figure out where, exactly, was safe to teleport, so it should be… what? Twelve or so? Maybe one? It should be an hour or two until the bars close. Nearly every single one in the city is bursting with energy and packed to the brim. Maybe it was a bad idea to do this on her own. She should’ve recruited Rinieri, minimum, to split the city with. Honestly, she’s not expecting to find anyone high-up to talk to right away. That’s too high a goal. She’s to gather information and scope out the situation. She can take what she learns tonight and go from there to find the commander of this army.