Romania was not in a good mood when she returned to her manor.
It wasn't anything to do with her servants. In fact, they helped, by getting out of the way. They knew well that Romania didn't need anyone trying to pamper her when she was frustrated. In fact, she didn't need anyone to pamper her at all, but her surrogate father insisted.
It was a concession that Romania made, grudgingly. She wanted to be the sort of general that was one with the people, like all of the best were. Unfortunately, her situation didn't allow it, and she knew that with her secret she would feel like she was living a lie if she did.
No, Romania would not lie and say that anyone could approach her level. She was a myth in the eyes of the people, and sometimes even her own eyes. No one was like her.
They said she rose from the ashes of a broken home. They said that she had mastered her plasma ability through pure force of will, refining it to channel through the thin lines and sleek molten weaponry that she used. Her power was the metal, but her mind was the cast. They said that she was untouchable, all-powerful, like the immortals and gods from the old tales, before power came to dwell among the people.
Through the strength of her ancestors she prevailed.
That was what they all said.
They were wrong. Partially. All of those things were true, but with each she had had someone else's help. Her surrogate father had pulled her from the ash, when she would have rather laid down and died right there. In fact, she had already resolved to. He, too, crafted her appearance, that unearthly beauty that she was so famous for, through a clever application of the abilities of her numerous maids, carefully selected for the purpose.
She said that she let them live in her manor because of gratitude, and her surrogate father allowed it, though when presenting it to nosy nobles, he said it was because she felt compassion for their plight, stuck in the lower class while Romania herself had risen above. That wasn't true. Her heart had long ago begun to beat cold. In reality, it was because she had no idea how to use the space, and she hated an empty house. The noise was sometimes annoying, but it was the closest she got to feeling alive again.
And her ability? That too was because of her surrogate father. He had-
A knock on the door interrupted her thoughts.
Romania glanced up, annoyed. Upon seeing the maid's nervous expression, she felt bad for being annoyed, but she didn't apologize. She would send the woman a present later.
The girl was standing in the doorway from the residential wing to the upper main room, one hand on the outside frame as though hesitant to let go, like it was a lifeline. There was no real door. The maid had knocked on the wall beside it, perhaps too scared to speak out loud.
Romania didn't recognize her. She would have to look into her background and make sure that she wasn't afraid in the future.
Romania snuffed a sigh before it could emerge and smiled at the woman, sitting up on the sofa and gesturing her over. It wouldn't be fair of her to be rude to the girl just because she wasn't in a good mood.
"Hello there," Romania said gently. The woman looked delicate as she perched on the edge of the sofa, her white-gloved hands clasped in her lap and long, black, white-patterned skirt making her seem almost like a doll. Romania felt a surge of compassion, and she had to bite her lip to stop herself from saying anything. It was better to let her get used to the atmosphere here on her own. Luckily, she was looking away, so she didn't notice Romania's impulse.
"What's your name?" Romania asked in the same soft voice.
"Alice," the woman responded softly.
"My mother's name was Alice," Romania said. It was strange, how remarkably similar people were to animals. They responded so well to tone. Except for the experienced ones.
"It's quite a beautiful name," Romania continued when the girl didn't respond. "Alice. Simple and pretty. My mother was that way. The most beautiful woman I've ever seen."
"You're the most beautiful woman I've ever seen," Alice said softly. Romania looked at her in surprise, not because of the words, but because she was the one who said them. This was the first thing Romania had heard Alice say.
"I think that what you can see is more important than your appearance," Romania said. "Some people look good, but can't tell right from wrong."
"I'm not one of those,"" Alice said quickly, then added softly, "I think."
"You're not," Romania assured her.
"Oh! I have something for you!" Alice exclaimed suddenly after a short pause, and she held out a letter.
Romania took it and started to look it over, but she stopped after the first line.
"All they told me was that the Academy was having their admission test," Alice said, not noticing Romania's shock. "They said you would want to go, and I should tell you that-"
"What time is it?" Romania asked, interrupting without a thought, her eyes immobile, fixed on that first line.
"Ten to midnight," Alice responded swiftly, then hesitated. "Um... No, I think it's eight."
Romania nodded. "Tell Gerrith to be ready by sunrise."
With that, she stood and walked out of the room, her movements rigid and her fist clenched tightly around the piece of paper. Alice watched her go, confused, but Romania didn't have the time or brainpower to explain right now. It felt like the walls were closing in on her.
Romania hurried to her room, closing the door behind her and rushing to the foot of the bed. There, untouched, sat the chest.
She took in a deep breath, then let it out. Her breath faltered without her permission. It was still here. No one had taken it. There were no signs of damage, or forced entry, or even someone unlocking it. Just to be sure, Romania reached up and grabbed at her neck. She could barely feel it, barely. The chain was so thin that it was almost invisible. It held a key, tucked down the front of her uniform, out of sight.
She sighed again, then sank onto the bed. She had arrived after sunset, and then lain silently on one of the sofas in the upper main room for far too long, only to be disturbed by the news that she would need to leave again tomorrow morning. Some homecoming this had been.
Romania let yet another sigh slip through her lips, but to her surprise, it caught in her throat. The letter... It would mean trouble.
If this person had contacted her... No matter how impossible his claim was, she had to act as though it was true. She didn't know his name, but he was never wrong. Not yet, anyway. She had no idea how this could be possible, but if he was saying it, she would act as though she had seen it with her own eyes.
Romania fell asleep troubled that night, knowing she wouldn't get much rest in the near future.
- --- - Zz_
The next morning, she was already in a carriage and rolling through the countryside by the time the sun rose. The carriage was propelled by a telekinetic ability user through a clever application of gears and shafts, the likes of which she couldn't have dreamed of no matter how she tried, until she had seen it with her own eyes.
All he had to do was push on one specific part.
Of course, this was a unique invention. Her surrogate father wanted something else to set her apart, so he played into her compassion, insisting that she took this carriage not for convenience, as she would rather walk on the ground among the people, which was actually true, but instead because she didn't want to overwork any horses, which was stupid. They were probably exhausting the man more than two horses would be bothered by the same distance.
Romania sat still and watched the sun creep over the horizon. In some ways, she envied it.
Romania had always had a special place in her heart for the sun. Ever since she was a girl, she had wanted to be like it. Beautiful but simple, sometimes harsh and sometimes gentle, sometimes beating down, sometimes caressing.
She had wanted to be so present in the people's lives that they took her for granted, just like the sun. She had wanted to watch over them like a sentinel, standing tall, but giving them light, food, whatever they needed, as a guardian should.
Every night before she went to bed, she would wait for the sun to set and then thank it as it did.
Sometimes she imagined that the sun smiled back at her, pulsed softly, for her eyes only.
But of course, that was just foolishness.
Romania smiled at the sun, and held her hand up, raising the first two fingers and then sliding her thumb underneath the other two. It was the gesture given by a military officer when one saved their life, and to one specific person when they were officially promoted to the advance team or command staff.
She had decided in her heart a long time ago. Her surrogate father would expect the special accolade to go to him.
But she would give it to the sun.
Ever since she had started to grow cold, her heart warmed at the sunrise and sunlight, and ached at sunset, the most emotion she felt since the operation.
It was not just a prominent symbol in her childhood, it was the only living part of her soul.
The sun was the source of her compassion.