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What Will Be | Book 2 | Interlude: Rosita
🕑 Added 2025-04-11 10:27:03 +0000 UTCAuthor's Note: Thank you all for your continued support! It means the world to me. My brothers and sisters are visiting my parents for Easter and I have decided to join them since it is increasingly rare we are all there together. Good odds we skip the April 18th chapter next week. Gonna drop today's chapter a little early as thanks for understanding.
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Cultivated tranquillity permeated the copse of myriad trees. Despite being surrounded on all sides by busy streets and busier people, neither hide nor hair nor scent nor sound could intrude upon the place. Rosita walked with purpose, following the winding path past root and branch. Oftentimes it changed, as the Gardeners who tended to the place nudged the growth of all things green to maintain some unseen balance.
There would be no Gardeners that day, no members of the public who might have wished to tend to things as Rosita did. The Guardsmen positioned at each entrance to the walled off copse would ensure as such. It was an abuse of power, but a necessary one.
Hundreds of trees reached for sunlight. Some grew flowers. Some grew fruit. Many were saplings that would eventually need to be moved, for there was only so much room for those that reached maturity. Rosita paid them no mind. There was only one tree she would have eyes for and, before long, it came into view.
A large oak, several decades old, stood proud in its patch of earth. Rosita tightened her grip around the bucket handle she held, slightly jostling the tools within. An old, familiar pain made itself known as she slowly crossed into the shade of the tree. There was a time she likened that moment to a welcoming embrace. It never made things hurt any less. She stopped making that comparison at some point, but she could never recall exactly when.
Rosita’s Skills stirred briefly at the pain, her dense mana so attuned to suffering that it heightened the emotions on a subconscious level. Rosita closed her eyes and breathed deeply, drinking in the sensation while a breeze rustled the limbs above her. In her youth, Rosita might have despised her Skills in that moment.
Pain. Suffering. It was not easy to embrace such intense emotions. Had they existed for their own sake, it might have been too much, even for Rosita. It was when those feelings had a purpose, a reason, that their beauty could be appreciated. The pain she felt beneath the oak tree was a reminder of something wonderful. Without the pain, it was something she might have long since forgotten.
It was a precious pain. A beautiful agony.
Rosita reached out and touched the trunk of the tree, drawing strength from the contact. She was the first to arrive, as she often was, and she would not start until all were present. That was fine. Some time alone to savour the pain was important. A thin tear ran down her cheek. It was also best that no one saw her vulnerable.
-0-0-0-0-0-
The sound of approaching footsteps signalled the end of Rosita’s solitude. She broke contact with the tree and used that same hand to quickly wipe away any lingering evidence of her weakness from her face. When she turned, a pair of figures came into view. They were two of the most important people in the country.
A little girl took a run up and hopped over an exposed root. She landed with a giggle to celebrate the success before circling back around to grab the wrinkled hand of the second figure. They swung their hands back and forth in time with their steps. The older woman was carrying a bucket of her own in her free hand.
“Eata! Eata! This way! This way!”
The older woman chuckled at her granddaughter's antics, the laugh transitioning into a slight cough towards the end. The sound was enough to ignite a fresh stab of pain in Rosita. Unlike the pain caused by the Oaktree, Rosita still hadn’t figured out the purpose of the newest source of suffering in her life. No matter how deeply she reflected on the matter, it just didn’t seem fair.
Rosita moved to meet the newcomers halfway. She pulled the older woman into a tight hug, gently kissing the top of her head. Where once the head had been topped with a beautiful burgundy, thinning grey had taken its place.
“Good morning, little sweet pea,” Rosita whispered as she hugged a little tighter.
The old woman squeezed back just as fiercely.
“Good morning, mom.”
Rosita then knelt to face her great–granddaughter, who was less enthusiastic in the greeting.
“Good morning, Sprout.” There was a recent trend in Sentrodah when it came to baby names directly referencing the virtues of Gardeners, one that Sprout had been unable to escape. Not that it couldn't have been worse. A child with an illegal Skill had been born some years back that had the misfortune of being named Stump; not the child’s biggest misfortune, but the point stood.
Sprout returned a shy wave.
“Good morning, Ro-si-ta.” She drew the syllables out as if struggling to remember the name at all. Rosita could not blame the child. They were practically strangers.
Rosita watched as her daughter took a few steps towards the oak tree before bowing her head.
“Morning, dad. I hope you are getting enough sunlight.” She chuckled slightly at the old joke before turning back to face Rosita and Sprout. “Should we get to work?”
“Yay!” Sprout called out before skipping to her grandmother and bouncing in anticipation. A little trowel was retrieved from the bucket and handed to her.
Rosita frowned slightly and paused before grabbing her own tools.
“Is your leg doing okay? I can arrange for another-”
“Mom, my everything hurts; that is what happens when most of us get old.” She poked out her tongue to emphasize the good nature behind the comment. “I can handle the aches to help tidy up dad’s tree. Do not try and stop me.”
Rosita’s Skills pulsed at the possibility of doing just that. Denying her daughter the responsibility, punishing her for dismissing the generous offer to- Just as quick as the impulse made itself known, Rosita squashed it down. Punishment was a dangerous purpose to assign to pain and suffering. A useful purpose, but one that had grown increasingly tempting. Beyond the purpose of her Skills, Rosita needed to remember her purpose. The Grand Inquisitor should not be so flippant.
Instead, she nodded in silent agreement before taking a knee and focusing her growing ire on the weeds that dared intrude on her late husband’s memorial tree. Soon, it wouldn’t be the only tree she came to care for, and that thought alone was torturous enough that the itching of her Skills faded completely.
-0-0-0-0-0-
“That man is lying,” Bella said, pointing to one of the latest batch of reluctant volunteers assigned to help with the girl’s education. Rosita nodded in approval. As usual, Bella had been correct. Having moved beyond binary statements, those brought before her were to recount their participation in orchestrated events. They would be instructed to change or omit small, often crucial details, but even that layer of complexity was not enough to cause Bella to stop or stumble. Despite having delayed her Advancement, the average attempt at mundane deception was doomed to fail if she was paying attention.
After answering, Bella’s head whipped to Ethel, who nodded in approval. Rosita watched as her ward’s face lit up in response to the recognition. Ethel remained a shining example of the caretakers. The warmth and comfort they provided children like Bella practically eliminated incidents of runaways or other disciplinary issues after the allotted adjustment period.
Given Bella’s Core Skill, Ethel had been especially careful to root her efforts in a version of the truth. It wasn’t perfect, but when it came to children, mana and the right Skills could smooth any rough edges.
“Well done, Bella,” Rosita said, adding her own approval alongside Ethel’s. Praise was a powerful tool when it came to children. So long as they felt supported, there was not much they would not do. When it came to moulding Crown Conscripts into the elites they needed to be, such a thing was invaluable. “What was the man lying about?”
“He did not hide a coin in a mug.”
“Correct.” Rosita paused for emphasis. “Where did the man hide the coin?”
Bella frowned at that.
“I do not know.”
“Correct, but not enough. Pretend Ethel needs you to find out where the coin is.”
That seemed to be enough to get Bella’s attention. Her free hand pinched at the sleeve of her dress, rolling the fabric around in her fingers while she mulled the concept over. Finally, she turned back to the man who hid the coin, who continued nervously facing forward.
“Where did you hide the coin?”
“I do not want to tell you,” came the immediate reply. It was one of the methods they expected Bella to try, and he had been instructed how to handle it.
“That is the truth… but not entirely.” She frowned again. Rosita glared daggers at the man being questioned and he practically wilted beneath the attention. Rositta immediately inferred the situation; the fool wanted to be done with the exercise, and telling Bella where the coin was would accomplish that. If he did that, though, he would be punished. Hence, a blurred truth.
Perhaps he would be punished either way.
“So the man does not wish to tell you where the coin is, but you must get him to tell you. What can you do?” Rosita prompted her student.
“I am not sure.”
The one complaint Rosita had was that Bella seemed incapable of deception herself. The feelings of nausea Bella described whenever she was forced to lie were an odd manifestation of her Core Skill’s interference, but such things happened, from time to time.
“You are going to have to make him.”
“How?”
“You could trick him, scare him, hurt him, persuade him; there are many options, some more effective than others. I use hurting people and scaring people.” Rosita’s voice bordered on pleasant as she talked about her profession.
A flash of recognition flashed across Bella’s features.
“Like what you did to Aunt Tina? I hated that.”
“It is easy to hate pain and fear, but I believe they are the most effective tools I have. Bella, what if I told you that if you are unable to find out where the coin is that Ethel would be hurt?”
“What?!” Panic blossomed as Bella looked anxiously towards the head maid. “Why is Ethel going to be hurt? Why-”
“Bella!” It was Ethel who snapped to break the young girl out of her spiral. “The question was a hypothetical - that means it is not really happening. All is well. You are safe.” She shot Rosita a quick look that bordered on insubordination.
Bella sniffed.
“So you are okay?”
“I am fine, but if I was in trouble, you would want to do everything you could to help me, right?” Ethel’s words had an immediate calming effect on her charge.
“I… yes. Of course.”
“If you had to choose between hurting this man to find the coin or Ethel getting hurt, what would you choose?” Rosita took back control of the conversation. Ethel may not have appreciated the effect Rosita’s words were having, but that was not Rosita’s responsibility to manage. The girl could not be coddled forever.
“I… I do not want to make that choice.”
Rosita frowned at that.
“Sometimes we have to do things we do not want to. Your Advancement was delayed while you grew comfortable here. We must now learn where your aptitude lies in matters of interrogation to finalize your Build.” Rosita stood. “You have one week, Bella, to decide how you want to find out where the coin is hidden. If you do not give me a satisfactory answer, then you will learn that making no choice is also a choice, and all choices have consequences.”
Ethel looked like she had an objection but, wisely, kept her mouth shut. Bella started to babble questions but Rosita was done listening to them. She left the room and returned to her office. With every step, her Skills pulsed in anticipation of the promised punishment. She expected that Bella would disappoint her the following week, but that was fine. In matters of education, pain and suffering were some of the best teachers.
Bella would learn. Eventually. She had to. The burden of responsibility on Rosita’s shoulders was crucial to the wellbeing and order of the country. One day, Bella would share in those burdens. She had the potential to be exceptional, and Rosita would make sure she was ready.
-0-0-0-0-0-
Rosita reviewed the latest report from Dorbe. In what was a stroke of serendipity, the child with Perseverance ended up spending time in the barracks where Rosita had a surplus of informants, all of whom were saying the same thing.
Daggers. Interesting. Evidently, Eaehdro had encouraged him to seek synergy with the mutt. There was a wisdom to that, but it was also a reminder that she had been unable to secure the boy before he tainted his Build. Oh the things he could have endured if he was solely under Rosita’s guidance…
Rosita let the papers fall to her desk. There was no sense in lamenting lost opportunities. The presence of a Tamer Bond created intriguing opportunities as well, after all.
It would be interesting to see if someone like him fared better than most… Seldom did people resist when their bonded creature was subjected to pain.
A cold glass of fruit juice rested on Rosita’s desk. She took a satisfied sip. Her thoughts drifted to the boy’s father and the gift she’d sent him. The magic she worked on that letter was some of her most insidious - a fitting punishment for someone who dared raise a weapon at her. It was only a shame she would not be around to witness its effects.
There were more preparations to make, of course, but Rosita could be patient. She could no longer force the child into helping her push towards her next Advancement. He would have to volunteer.
And he would. It was only a matter of time.
Comments
Gabriel
I'm not sure how I feel to have an ongoing antagonist who's entire existence revolves around torture and basically exists as a justification to inflict extreme trauma on characters.
Кто-то Зачем тебе нужен?
Well, if Rosita get her hands on Will, at very least, he will level up perseverance like crazy
