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month chat rogue 2 6 1
Kal'tsit is a little shorter than her.
She walks a little slower, and her words are a little colder.
Gladiia walks by her side, listening her to repeat those ancient tales. Morals, lessons, warnings. They have not known each other for long, but Kal'tsit has shown enough to demonstrate her power.
'Power'? Gladiia stops in her tracks. She has seen power in many forms, most directly as the lance hanging on her back. She recalls the sights of Ægir, the fleets that once covered the ocean, how the gaze of its warriors penetrated the depths that not even sunlight could, how the pulse of knowledge throbbed within the vast Academy of Sciences...
Finally, inevitably, ironically, and lamentably, she recalls her mother.
'Power.'
Gladiia puts a stop to the associations, but could not shake the silhouette from her mind until Kal'tsit chooses silence. She says nothing, politely waiting for Gladiia to gather herself. Gladiia looks at the mysterious doctor before her, and gives a self-deprecating laugh.
'Continue, Doctor. I did not mean to interrupt.'
'There seems to be something on your mind. Forgive my bluntness, but I could not continue the conversation with a Consul who is not paying attention.' Kal'tsit pauses for a moment, then continues. 'Regarding the origin of the Seaborn.'
Gladiia chuckles to herself. She remembers when she was still a girl, how her mother passed on her 'tasks' in just a few sentences. Did her mother observe her expressions too?
She starts walking again, in order to assuage Kal'tsit's suspicions.
She'd had to reassess her feelings towards her mother, after living on land for some time. It was more than a bond of blood; the tones were more complex, like the coral-colored vortex that the wind creates on the dome.
Subconsciously, Gladiia felt that she had long since escaped that vortex. It has been a long time. She has not thought about those sentimental scenes until today. Longing? Admiration? Respect? Fear? Resentment? Hatred? None of that mattered. Rather, had she ever truly escaped? Or had she simply learned that she cannot move when swimming against the tide—and that when allowing the tide to carry her along, it is only the scenery before her that moves?
Ægir.
Personality, attitude, even her 'human nature.' From head to toe, everything about her was molded by Ægir, or more accurately, by her family. An absurd thought flashes across her mind. As a Consul, as an Abyssal Hunter, as someone who has always fought for the greater good, she seems to have difficulty identifying the origins of this 'greater good.'
'Do you need some rest, Madam Consul?'
'Please, call me Gladiia.'
Kal'tsit nods in silence. Their gazes meet.
'You are seeking like-minded people to find a way to save your country.'
'Yes.'
'So you need new companions.'
'Yes.'
'Then we can reach a consensus. But perhaps you should be seeking more than just that.'
Gladiia suppresses her surprise. She has always been good at hiding her thoughts, even when facing 'herself' with the cruelest, most harsh attitude.
Kal'tsit's gaze remains cold, but Gladiia does not feel it is due to indifference.
'Very well, Doctor. You've told your story. Now it is my turn to speak on the present state of Ægir... and the plans of its Chief Designer of Warfare.'
'Kal'tsit.'
'Very well, Kal'tsit.' Gladiia gazes out over the ocean. 'Let's start with a mother.'
