My love, flesh of natal earth, I rejoice once more under the onslaught of my chosen dungeon's waters. Ruin of many brought such joyful disgrace upon the annals of the granite slates. Child of the waterfall droplet, of Blades' Valley, which in the plains no rust accumulating — for centuries create the birth of the perverse from cliffs and crags of your womb; my simper I can remove no longer from my face. Merged the world with the world foreign, Urshi beasts moan, now have smelt the whisper of powers unfamiliar. The conquest of flesh alien awaits us, mother.

The wind of steppes, violent in nature since the occurrence of these lands, clashed against the thick walls of the manor's territory. The trees, tall, thick, not numerous in branches but still luscious, combat the weather whilst a man stands on the stone path leading to the main building itself. He was dressed for the right occasion: a thick coat, a scarf, boots, and outside the gates tracks of a runoff carriage could be seen. The man himself looked outside the territory, perhaps, a bit at the sky itself, his black brows furrowed as the conflicting thoughts inside his head kept defying each other, plans left unbuilt and issues arising plenty every time he closed his eyes. Leaves pushed against his legs, debris skimmed across the path. Meanwhile, the man only lowered his gaze.

"Father!" The man’s thoughts were interrupted by a squeaky voice from behind him. His shoes shuffled across the stones as he turned to face his daughter: her appearance inhuman in ways many, as thin horns grew from her forehead, and those eyes of hers predatory, crimson, like her father's, with hair the colour of ash. She was dressed more akin to a young man than a noble daughter — a velvet vest with a beige silk shirt underneath, shorts of the same colour and knee-high socks, leading the eyes to her polished leather shoes, which were already being bombarded by specks of dirt carried by the wind as she treaded towards the man, while at the same time trying to shield her eyes from the debris with her small hand. 

"Elkuta?" The man said, now covering her with his arm, "Why'd you come out in this horrid weather?" To which the only reply was a pout and a disgruntled exclamation, "And you? Standing here for who knows how long!" Elkuta tugged at his sleeves, trying to pull the large frame of her father towards the manor, which proved to be partially successful. After a short moment of resistance, the man gave in, walking towards the main door along with his child. Although his stride was far less enthusiastic.

With light give the dark oak door opened, the clamour of the wind halted and a maid immediately rushed to the pair. Her hair was black and short, similar in style to the man’s; her eyes coloured gold, however, and she was not much taller than the girl. The maid's face was evidently exhausted even at a momentary glance. The man pulled off the coat, promptly revealing a purple shirt that was embroidered fancily like the tie around his neck. "Moira. It is better to clean this; the trip to the assembly wasn't tidy." The man said as he put the coat on the hanger. The scarf got rolled up and stowed away in the wardrobe by the wall, and the maid kneeled down to change the man's boots to his indoor shoes, keeping the same pace when attending to his daughter. 

"Thank you." The man quietly said, stepping out of the low floor and onto the refined parquet, the boards squealing under the shifting weight, smaller footsteps following behind in the long corridor. "So... Fa—" Elkuta was swiftly cut off, “I have to write letters to those who were absent at the assembly, could you tell Orpha that I won't be able to come see her for some time?" He said, the tone soft but hoarse in his throat, still walking down the corridor at a quickened pace towards the first left turn — a winding flight of stairs stood the girl still. For long she stood there, her bitter expression lasting for just as long.

Elkuta stared at the empty stairs, turning away, her eyes gloomy and the brows uneasily hooded. 

Her next destination was one of the parlours within the building, where her mother sat: horns fewer, just a single pair but thicker, and not only her hair ash, but the eyes as well, both of which seemed permanently drowsy. Her gaze lifted to see Elkuta, the hands stopping from crocheting, putting the spokes aside. "What is it?" Orpha inquired, gesturing to her daughter to come closer. The girl averted her eyes elsewhere, at the same time complying with the request. "Busy, is he? That's how Ollade... I mean, your father is." Orpha caressed Elkuta's arm gently, the fingers of her hand wrapping around the thin arm as she continued to talk, "I know it's harsh for you, but his work can't be put off, you know?”

The silent treatment coming from the young lady was not enough to disturb the older madam. But, with the way her daughter refused to reciprocate her soft gaze, Orpha’s gaze wandered over her daughter's face before she continued to speak. “Besides, Enfa still needs her cheerful sister, so why don't you go and help her with the violin?" This attempt at comfort somewhat soothed the girl, the drowsy eyes of her mother gliding down her face.

Noiseless nods acted as affirmation; Elkuta looked at her mother. Silence. "Will it take long to... Finish that work of his?" Elkuta broke it shortly after. Orpha only sighed through her nose, "That's something even I can't guess, this time around the situation is—" Orpha stopped herself again, quite a reeling feeling crossed her mind. "Go to your sister, I'll see if I can talk with Father and, perhaps, bargain a short rest out of his schedule?" Elkuta's mood had been uplifted slightly as she nodded again. Orpha gradually rose from the sofa, her scaly wings unfolding lazily with a certain sound akin to rubbing leather, which had not been oiled in a while and had come to be completely dry. 

Orpha squeezed out an expertly crafted smile, leaning into Elkuta’s face cheek to cheek, the sound of her voice permeating right outside of the girl's ear. "Now we both have something to do, don't we?" She turned her daughter around by the shoulders and pushed her gently towards the exit from the room, "We'll see each other at dinner in any case~" As Elkuta slowly stepped out of the room, her pitiful face glanced back with puppy eyes the last time.

Meanwhile, Ollade sat at his table, hunched over the paper, pen in his right hand, tapping the remnant ink out of it.

The entire island was transported somewhere unknown overnight: all ships and communication with the other islands were gone — and judging by the reports — instantly. Hundreds of thousands of wysts’ worth of goods vanished alongside the ships and their crews. Now it is a ticking clock until the two oddball nations of the island catch on and reach their grabby fingers towards whatever they can in this supposedly new world and claim it for themselves. Countermeasures are needed, and they are needed quick.

As he was about to put the golden tip of the pen to the paper again, the door to his office opened, drawing his attention away from the task at hand. Orpha pushed the ajar oak with a slow squeak of the hinges, looking at Ollade’s face. "Orpha... Why are you here?" Ollade asked with his face buried in the repeated, crossed-over text, "I'm a bit busy. Could you not distract me right now?" He said, but his wife's gaze only hardened from such words. She walked inside, the low heels of her shoes clunking mutely as the door closed. "Since you're cutting me off with such harsh words, I presume the situation is much worse than first anticipated?" Orpha said with a slight condescending hitch in her voice, yet it was not aimed at Ollade.

"..." The man sat quietly, turning his head towards the stand where a suit of clad black and rugged plate armour hung. Her wings quivered as she stared at the armour, the edges of her lips tugged downwards, building an expression of disgust at the sight of lifeless metal, "No..." She quietly exclaimed, "You won't be doing this again." — "And what if I have to?" Ollade stood up, glaring at her with unresolved eyes, the lids of those twitching. Orpha covered her mouth, her own eyes quickly left the armour even before her spouse opened his mouth to speak, "It does not matter. I cannot let their father risk his life in any way unless it is truly necessary." With that said, her tone came to be uneven, but Orpha glared at him in response, not stepping closer, just occasionally glancing aside to the wall full of paintings and portraits to her right. 

"I'm a Duke, Orpha, you've got to understand my duty before the island." On his breath out it was said, the fists clenched slowly as the silence set for a brief moment. With a tangible tension steering inside her gut, Orpha dropped her gaze to the ground and closed it off completely. "You were forced into this—" A slam on the table, it made her flinch, "I was not!" A repeat of silence, Ollade dropped his eyes to the table, leaning on his arms as he stuck them onto the table. Orpha was stunned, both of these people had an unwanted recalling of... Past events, even without a long view upon them, those directionless moves of their pupils and the now thing irises told more than enough. 

"Please... Do you think I could've changed?” Ollade forced his body to comply and bore his eyes into Orpha, “If not for that one push, do you think I would've stopped back then?” The very sound he let out of his mouth felt tense, as if it was being forcibly squeezed past the lips, “You know I would not! I couldn't do that before, I could not if not for Marpha!" Ollade shouted, his throat clenching with each word when he stared back up at Orpha, the resolve that he tried to show off just now was already gradually reducing. The more the expression of his wife changed and twisted, the more he looked unsure.

"What else was I supposed to do?! I took the offer only because of you, you and Alladen, our daughters, how could I refuse this!?" It was now not the angry and harsh nouns and verbs as before, but a plea of justification barely shy of a voice crack.

Orpha's face grimaced more and more as she squeezed herself by the elbows, her eyes rolling along the parquet, the wings pressed firmly against her body. He felt a familiar sensation from the sight of his wife squirming, it was never a good feeling. Ollade himself resisted the urge to hide away from the situation, apparent discomfort for his words and actions skillfully masked, yet his thumbs pressed harder into the oak desk. "So, now, I don't have a choice. Ranesairan's future is doomed if we..." He paused, taking a few breaths before continuing, "...Nobles, don't do anything, then what was the chaos three years ago for, if not for us, those bound by power, not blood, to save the island in time of crisis?" Ollade posed. It was an astute statement for himself, he felt deeply for that pride of having a purposeful duty. 

But as he was trying to gauge Orpha's expression, it twisted to that of cornered fury. "That..." She lifted her eyes off the floor, walking towards him. "...That vixen did it to usurp power! She couldn't care less for the island, not then, not now!" The Duchess took a shaky step closer to the tables, her arms still wrapped at the elbows. Ollade took half a step back instead, now keeping his hands straight to his sides, "So what?! If not her, then I will save the island, Tula, Ludavik... We will! Like... Like...!" 

Ollade aimed to push the tirade further with those acclamations, but he slowly, then lightning-quickly subsided. Seeing a tear come down Orpha's scrunched face made his own expression dive down. "I can't bear the sound of it... You...” With a quick scurry over the table, she picked up the very pen Ollade was just writing with and threw it at his face. As the ink marred a part of the Duke's face, Orpha retreated slightly, the stomps of the shoes got exchanged for unsteady dragging across the parquet. “I've witnessed enough the first time you ran off somewhere unknown!" She wailed with considerable restriction, holding a point at Ollade’s face, "You can’t leave me alone again!" The Duke himself caught a freezing feeling in his feet, something blocking all the previous thoughts in his head, the attitude changing on a flip.

Ollade rushed around the table, his shoes scraping across the parquet. He reached and pulled Orpha by the wrist, though most of the movement was performed by him anyway. He pushed her face into the right side of his chest, a clear indication of regret planted on the awkward face, "I don't care for the island!” The Duchess punched him in the stomach, at least she attempted to do so from that uncomfortable angle, “I’ll burn it down myself if it means keeping you here!" Ollade patted Orpha’s head as he leaned in, while she kept weeping, his beard pressed firmly against her forehead, “I won't bear to see you like that again!”

The Duke’s expression turned to be almost petrified, but he tried not to let Orpha catch a glimpse of that, keeping her in a deadlock with his arms. "I'll... I will figure something out, just don't cry on me like that anymore." He shushed her from talking, “Please don’t cry.”