Materia-blade
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OWW: 17 – Proven Prophet
🕑 Added 2026-01-19 17:19:35 +0000 UTCI followed Dobretin just a step behind as we walked outside. It was a beautiful autumn day, with only a slight nip in the air to prove summer was truly fading. Harvest was well underway, and winter would still be a month or so off, but for now, the weather was cooperative.
Winter was incredibly boring in this world, and I wasn’t looking forward to it.
…
Assuming the Trolls and Goblins didn’t kill me, and all.
Dobretin was silent as he walked. I couldn’t help but notice that his back was a bit more stooped than last year. The click of his cane was more frequent, his stride a tad shorter.
“Uhm… sir?” I asked, trying to figure out why his attitude had soured so suddenly.
“You weren’t surprised,” He said as soon as I asked the question.
Huh? I had most definitely been surprised!
I scowled. “What are you implying?”
“Do you think I’m stupid, Mera?” he asked sharply.
“Never have before, but I’m starting to revise that opinion. What are you accusing me of?” I asked, trying to keep defensiveness out of my tone in favor of good, old-fashioned outrage.
“You weren’t surprised until you saw the letter itself. Until you saw your mother’s handwriting on a note supposedly from the front lines,” he said calmly. “Until then, you were relieved. Don’t try to tell me otherwise. My skill in diplomacy is nearly a hundred fifty, which gives me an innate understanding of people, what they’re feeling, and why. I know when something is strange. You know something about this, and I’ve seen Atrinaska’s handwriting thousands of times. Why did she forge that letter from the General?”
I scowled.
I hadn’t even known there was a diplomacy skill! It somehow let him know how I was feeling? How would you even train that?
Still, I didn’t think I’d be able to lie to the man, and if he was really able to pick up that much information from my reaction and Mom’s handwriting, that meant that the only way for me to win this game was to not play.
“If you think my mom did something, why don’t you talk to her?” I asked. “I’m just a little girl, sir!”
His mouth twitched up, but he schooled his features.
“This is no time for games, Mera.”
“Of course not,” I replied sharply. “I nearly died facing one of those trolls. I certainly wouldn’t make light of more of them.”
He paused. Questioned.
“I wouldn’t make light of it, Oppa,” I said, using the affectionate term I’d called him when we were younger and our families closer. Before his wife disappeared. Before he grew sour and wistful.
The word didn’t mean anything. As best I could tell, I’d called him that once when I’d been a baby, and it had stuck. To me, it meant something between uncle and grandpa. Now, he barely acknowledged me anymore, and I missed that.
He looked at me for a long moment. Guaging me, somehow. I took the time to glance at his need bubble again. Paper, ink, and ether dust. Something magical, most likely, which was always interesting.
Ether dust was rare, but not extraordinarily so. There was almost always some around when a rift monster was killed. Certain types of flowers grew around the graves of people who’d been exceptionally skilled at magic. Those flowers tended to drop the stuff like pollen.
Mostly, if anyone around here ever got a hold of any of it, they sold it to the magic schools, who would pay handsomely for the stuff.
Finally, he seemed to come to a decision.
“No. No, I suppose you wouldn’t. Nor would your mother, come to think of it. This… must’ve been my imagination playing tricks with me,” He said. He did not smile, but his expression did soften just a bit.
“Then, I guess I’d better get home. It… sounds like I might have to get this paste to a lot of people.”
He nodded and turned back to the bar.
A sudden urge seized me. It felt like it had been ages since I’d spoken to him like this. I couldn’t let the opportunity pass.
“We miss having you, Oppa. We really do,” I said.
He grimaced.
“You miss a happier man than I am today, little dreamer,” he said.
“We can handle a little grumpiness. My… my cooking skill is at forty-four now, you know.”
He chuckled. “Perhaps when things have calmed down.”
“I’ll hold you to that,” I said as he headed back for the center of town.
I turned and stomped off toward home. I felt happy about the exchange, but I was irritated that I didn’t have the diplomacy skill, and was very interested in getting it. Or at least yelling at mom about it.
Wait. Was that how she always seemed to know what I was thinking!?
…
That bitch!
The walk back to the house was a short one, and I glared at Mom the moment I opened the door.
“A letter? Really?” I asked.
She smiled beatifically from her place in front of the cookfire. “What are you talking about?”
I scowled, annoyed at the sudden realization that I was exactly like her, since I’d just used the same tone on Dobretin not ten minutes ago.
“I’m talking about you forging a letter from the fucking general!” I whispered as loudly as I could. “If I’m wrong and there is no attack, this might get you killed, mom!”
She dropped the act more quickly than I had.
“You aren’t wrong, dear,” she said somberly. “I sent the letter blindly, but it's already been confirmed by friends near the front. There has been a rift break. The army has failed to contain it, and War Trolls are swarming across the lands south of the Great Ophiscian. Neogon’s hands will be very full indeed. The only bit of awkwardness is that the letter did not mention Eschal.”
It hit me like a blow to the stomach.
“Y-you confirmed it? How? Wh-when?” I asked.
“Do you remember Imogeasa?” she asked.
I blinked at the non-sequiter.
“The… bird lady from Lindolen?” I asked. I hadn’t seen her in maybe five years, but she left an impression. She was very pretty, in a stately older woman sort of way, but she smelled bad. Mom had introduced her, but I had wanted to spend time with Haddy, so I didn’t remember much else about her.
“She prefers ‘Pigoneer’, you rotten onion! Not ‘bird lady’!” We exchange letters from time to time. She has birds trained to fly here with notes. I give her early word from Denarla and Tacuria, and she repays me by sending news from the other side of the lake every few months. I got a bird last night about a small attack there. It was repelled but… well. You’ve seen one of the beasts. I hope she’s alright.”
“Oh…” I said, still feeling numb. Carrier pigeons. In real life. I had always thought those were just something made up for fantasy worlds. The interesting fact was drowned by the information, though.
“You said there was a rift break that the army couldn’t contain,” I clarified. “That means a lot of people died already?”
Mom gave a pained nod before setting her features. “But we will be okay. Thanks to you, we have some time yet to prepare, and official word from the front that the people will believe, which is even more important.”
Both of us fell into an awkward silence.
“What about Eschal?” I asked, puzzled.
“If it had only been a rift break, the army could have contained it. They’ve been doing so successfully for twenty years. There’s no reason to assume the rift would change at this point. The reason they couldn’t is that Eschal invaded from the east at the same time as the break. It might be awkward for Neogon that my forged letter did not mention this. Still, preparing for an army of trolls is little different than preparing for an army of men. It is the war with Eschal that is allowing the rift monsters through.”
“H-How do you know that?” I asked. “What… for that matter, what the hell do you know about war!?”
Mom’s eyes narrowed. “Estermont was a middle point between five nations, with little support from the Tacurian capital, and more jealousy than friendliness from the Duchy of Denarla. We were always at war, Little Onion.”
“Oh,” I said softly.
I was starting to think Mom might be the hidden badass of the family.
“So… what happens now?”
“We prepare, and we wait. We can be reasonably sure the Eschal army is no immediate threat to us. You haven’t run across anyone with a need to defend themselves from people, right?”
I shook my head. People weren’t the threat coming our way. It was War Trolls and goblins.
“It took… like… a lot of luck with my pepper paste to take down just one of those things. Are you sure we shouldn’t run? Try to get to Denarla?”
Mom shook her head. “The army is strong. I wrote that letter for the sole purpose of giving advanced warning, but I am confident a legitimate one will be on its way ahead of the rift break. Neogon wouldn’t be routed easily. I’ve seen him face three armies at once and come out ahead. Maulander, I’m not so sure about. Even so, we’re safer here than we would be on the road.”
There was a tightness to her voice that felt unnatural. It scared me a little.
“Mom?” I asked.
She smiled.
“If you were a little younger, I’d lie to you. I’d tell you everything will be okay. It won’t be, though, Mera. Within the day, we will start seeing refugees. There will be wounds. And blood. I’d protect you from that if I could. But we’ll see it through, Mera. Better here, where we know every tree and bush, than running for our lives and becoming yet more refugees at Denarla’s gates.”
I shivered.
I had seen some shit when I’d been April.
…On TV.
Medical dramas. My own real experiences with the slow deaths of family members due to cancer. The sanitized versions of real war conditions that movies portrayed. Even the true crime shows, heavily censored so as not to scare audiences away from watching more.
Somehow, I didn’t think any of it was going to help. My only real experience with threats and fights for my life had been the war troll, and… well. When I’d died. Fifty-fifty wasn’t a great track record.
“Alright… alright. We fight then,” I said, trying to lighten the mood.
Mom didn’t bat an eyelash.
“We fight,” she agreed. “I’ve run before. I won’t do it again.”
I gulped.
She brightened marginally after that. “That doesn’t mean the situation is at all hopeless. Rift monsters don’t strategize. They don’t plan. We are facing a disorganized mob. Even villagers and townsfolk can defend themselves against that. We just need a little organization and planning.”
“Well… alright, Mom. If you’re sure,” I said.
She hugged me then. Tight and hard. “This… isn’t to say you shouldn’t run if you see no other option, Mera. If it looks like we’re falling or being overwhelmed, you turn tail and get out. Drag that boy along by his coat tails to make sure you’re both safe and get to wherever you have to go to survive. As for me? I’ve had my roots severed once before. I won’t let it happen again.”
I shuddered, remembering April. Mom was surely thinking of Estermont and whatever happened there. She wasn’t the only one who knew a thing or two about severed roots.
I grasped her back tighter.
She was right. I loved this place. These people. I’d fight for them.
Even if all I could do was build them the things they needed most.
Comments
Touch
Edit “She prefers ‘Pigoneer’, you rotten onion! Not ‘bird lady’!” We exchange letters from time to time Not ‘bird lady’! We
Touch
Was about to write about this, she called him Oppa before his wife disappeared, but she didn’t know who his lover was
Materia-blade
Appreciate that! Will edit! Damn plot holes.
Kinz
This and the last chapter are throwing me for a loop with the mayor. In the last chapter, Mera makes it seem like she doesn't know who the mayor's lost love is. Also, his need is completely different from what it is in this chapter
