The Weight of Legacy

Interlude - Abated Arêtes

Though none born and raised in Grēdôcava were equipped to comprehend it, the arrays that lit Haldenhwīlō through the days and dimmed its streets through the nights mimicked the cycle of a sunlit surface to an intimidating degree of accuracy.Ġemyndwiċċe Munnehilde Welforstōd’s own secondhand memories of that blurred into each other, but the similarities were there. Haldenhwīlō’s false, unseen sun was retreating, bathing the slope that led to its main gate in waves of orange, purple, and red. The smallest spark of ire was enkindled anew within her chest——before she pounced upon it with the full weight of her Resilience-turned-Willpower.

the Sect’s Executor reminded her with a soft unspoken whisper through their connection. He was more to her than that, but beneath her hood, she simply nodded. This was not a recreational outing—though she allowed herself to indulge in taking in the sights regardless. The path was nearly barren, the stones under them so thoroughly eroded that its status as a human-made road appeared dubious to Munnehilde.

Their destination was an equally paultry thing, little more than a wicket gate carved into ancient stone, with two leaning towers flanking it. Only one group stood before them, a family of four that was already being let in—few people lingered beyond the gates this far into the year, as The Snow approached. Only those whose travels were gravely delayed would be caught outside an established settlement. Munnehilde had learned this and more through her years.

Their equicervi were summoned creatures, brought forth by an item her dear Executor owned. Caring for any real beast of burden was far more of a hassle than their lifestyle permitted, even with the Sect’s servants at their disposal, so the attention these false creatures drew to them was naught but a small price to pay for the convenience.

A guard’s casque poked out from the right tower’s loophole, serving only to showcase just how decrepit the structure was—most of his body was visible through the broken window. “State your business!”

Munnehilde held her tongue, and with that, the urge to reach into him and make him clear the way for them without a word.

She reminded herself that she had learned this.

And more.

No, she would wait for the Sect’s Executor to handle this.

“We represent the Peregrine Wheels Sect,” the Sect’s Executor declared. “We bring news for Steyg hlāford, which we are to deliver to him in person with haste.”

Munnehilde had never quite liked how the Grēdôcavan nation so easily used such terms——even when most of her own people no longer did. She did not fault Grēdôcava for being a melting pot of remnants from the Devils’ Kingdom, but she could never forgive the Principality’s hypocrisy.

The softest hint of concern marked the message, and Munnehilde had to suppress the urge to react. She had learned that people—even her lover—could be easily swayed by the pettiest of their feelings, but his worries that she may have that same flaw never ceased to irk her.

His fleeting smirk told her all she needed to know.

The guard who had first called out to them had sunken deeper into the tiny tower—perhaps descended from it, as Munnehilde could no longer detect him with her eyes alone. His mind was all that remained in her senses, a dim candle in a sea of stone. She kept her distance, looking only as deeply as she had to in order to avoid losing track of him.

Munnehilde sensed no doubt from the guard as to why they were here—only vexation at their presence. Steyg was not fond of guests, this she knew.

But who would deny an envoy from a sect that boasted the leadership of an Executor?

The sound of metal clicking against itself, and something unlatching, reached her ears, and she remained on the prowl, ready to strike should the faintest sign of aggression greet her.

“Come in, honorable ones,” the guard spoke as he waved for their mounts to cross the gate. Up close, that armor of his looked even worse. It was most certainly ceremonial rather than functional, and presumable years of mortals trying to maintain it left it with cracks that had been filled in with what appeared to be resin of all things.

Munnehilde grimaced, her disgust no longer something she would bother to hide. She understood this penchant for loathing people she had not once met was unseemly, but the head of the House that stewarded the settlement likely deserved it. If he were good at that which he was meant to do, should these guards not have better gear?

The guard led the way as their equicervi made short work of the equally eroded roads within the settlement. People bustled by in pregnant silence, the tension within it palpable enough that Munnehilde need not pry into anyone’s emotional state to notice.

She had learned much of mortal settlements since her own exile—even prior to her arrival at the sect. Townspeople were meant to be , brimming with life, and eager to share details from their otherwise boring lives. Gossip and small talk were the lifeblood of mortal society.

Silence, in any form, was always a sign of oddity.

Munnehilde asked of her love.

He shook his head almost imperceptibly, eyes set on the road before them.

Munnehilde disagreed.

She did not see a point in pressing the matter further—he wasn’t wrong. Chances were, Steyg would not be leaving this meeting alive.

Executing a coup on a distant settlement had never been among Munnehilde’s list of desires or plans in life, but she found she looked forward to it after seeing what Haldenhwīlō had to offer—or more accurately, how little it did.he wiser, the information circles of Haldenhwīlō and beyond had a new master.