War of Dawn - Chapter 22

Chapter 22: Personal Crisis

Date: 1003 After Dawn, December 31st

The New Year is less than a day away and while a tangible excitement fills Valarheim over these final hours, Hilda finds her mind gripped with concern. Not for Virrath itself – she's confident in the generals to handle that – but with Paula. She spent her free hours yesterday searching for her and, yet, no one had seen the girl. Eliza and the generals remained secluded in their Hall, so she couldn't ask them either.

In the end, curfew dictated she end her search and try to get some sleep. "Try" being the operative word, as doing so is easier said than done. The past day had a lot happen and her mind is busily replaying those events in her head in an endless procession, despite how exhausted she feels. It also does not help that her bandaged hands are itching like no one's business. It takes several hours of tossing and turning around her tiny bed for said exhaustion to overpower Hilda, nailing her heavy eyes shut and finally causing her to fall asleep. Yet, it does not last.

The darkness from her slumber fades away soon and she finds herself in her old straw bed in one of Gustaff's guest rooms. The sunlight that shines through the lone window strikes her face with its warmth. It's time to get to work. Hilda stretches her arms far and wide, breathing in the familiar smell of the mines' furnaces as they're carried by the northern wind. Still sleepy, she drags herself off her bed and towards the bowl by the window. The cold water does wonders to shake her awake.

Hilda moves to the small wooden cabinet by the door to get herself dressed: dark woolen pants, a white woolen shirt and a gray apron. Same clothes as ever. As Hilda prepares to head downstairs and help Gustaff and Edda get the bar ready to open, she takes a quick look at the tiny mirror hanging by her door. There's a small gray smudge, the size of a grape, on her left cheek – odd, as she thought she'd washed properly.

So, Hilda grabs a piece of cloth, dips it in water, and tries cleaning the smudge off. It doesn't go away. Actually, it seems to have grown a bit. She rubs it again and, this time, it has definitely grown. Hilda inches closer to the mirror to take a look and, when she does, the smudge on her reflection's face starts spreading further and further. Her reflection cringes and frowns in pain as pieces of her turn gray. Bit by bit they droop off, exposing a corroded flesh underneath that bubbles as though it is being boiled.

Hilda reels back from the grotesque sight but cannot get away – her image reaches out through the mirror with a gangly, rotten hand and grabs her right arm. Sharp nails dig into her flesh, sending a piercing pain all the way up to her shoulder. She hasn't time to cry for help, as she's yanked into the mirror and finds herself suddenly outside. Gone is the ground, Hilda's decaying doppelganger holding her over edge of the deep Litnir quarry.

There she dangles, helpless and dazed, pummeled by a blizzard that strikes like an anvil. Sharp gusts of wind slice at her skin and the cold alone feels like it could kill. A small source of intense heat washes over her naked feet and keeps it from fully closing its merciless grip on Hilda.

Her gaze shifts downward and, at the bottom of the quarry, she finds the source of the heat – the top of a blast furnace. The ore within its bowels, molten into an orange and yellow paste, churns in a storm of sparks that reflect off her terrified eyes.

Her continuously rotting copy pulls her closer, beckoning Hilda's gaze back to her, sunken lips twisted in a dreadful grin of darkened teeth. A faint whisper echoes across the ether, coming from nowhere and, yet, everywhere: "Det var ditt fel."

Upon those words, she is let go, plummeting towards the top of the towering furnace. Hilda's limp body cuts across the hot air, the heat grows stronger and stronger and sears her exposed skin like scalding water. Still, there is no pain – not even fear anymore. Hilda takes one last look at her distant doppelganger, as it now falls apart and fades into blackened sludge, and closes her eyes as the fire engulfs her.

Hilda wakes up back in Valarheim Keep, letting out a small gasp as she shoots up from her bed and realizes where she is. The silence around her bedroom is broken only by her pounding heart sending ripples across her bones and her strained breathing, as though she'd just finished a round of sparring. Sweat droops off her brown, joining with the stream of tears that flows from her eyes and staining the red blankets around her legs.

"My fault", huh...? Tell me something I don't know, she thinks, running her hands over her face in a semi-successful attempt to dry the sweat and stymie the tears.

Her nightmares, ever dutiful visitors of her subconsciousness, had been rather tame during these past couple of months; however, it seems they saw fit to make one final appearance in this year. Maybe it's due to her encounter with Virrath, or the myriad questions she has about how this next year will be – for her, her friends and for the Corps in general – but this one struck deeper than usual. Like a voice that gets louder if you start to block it out, it was a lot more intense. Her arm aches where her doppelganger grabbed it and the heat of that furnace felt just as she remembers it.

Hilda rises off her bed and steps towards her mirror; it is too early to worry about appearances but she feels compelled to make sure there are no gray smudges on her face. There aren't, thankfully; her sleepiness is all but gone, though. Checking to see that no one is out in the hallway, she steps out in her red night gown and takes a look out the window. Judging by the moon in the clear night sky, there are still plenty of hours to go until curfew lifts. Still, she really does not care to spend those staring at the ceiling of her bedroom – she needs to do something to get her mind off that nightmare.

She can't well train just yet so, instead, she decides to take to the roof. Rather than observe the stars and risk Vanessa spotting her again, however, Hilda moves atop Valarheim's tall spires. Guards are posted within, keeping a vigilant eye of the Keep's surroundings. Still, it's possible to get to the top without drawing attention by sneaking inbetween the windows carved into the towers walls.

The Alterium used in the construction shifts as her hand approaches, providing a firm handle for her to grip on. One at a time, she pulls herself higher and higher until she reaches the tallest edge of the spire. Hilda immediately sees that it was well worth the effort: an unobstructed view of the snow-covered tundra around Valarheim.

There is almost nothing around the Keep, it standing alone amid a white surface that stretches to the horizon. The snow of this time of year has all but buried whatever faint vegetation there was on the ground and most animals are well hidden away at this hour. Sound is basically nonexistent beyond the slight swooshes of the soft wind and, other than the stars above, the only light source comes from the barrier glyphs set on the ground. Faint circles in the snow, glowing the colors of each element, revealed only when the moonlight strikes just right. These enormous third tier spells, set by the generals, surround Valarheim and stand poised to attack any Valnr that gets too close.

Normally, Hilda wouldn't care much for the whole lot of nothing going on around here but, right now, this peace and quiet is just what she needs. She did see fit to bring in a small box of chocolates she got from Vanessa during Christmas, though. Leaning back against the hard construction of the Keep, Hilda simply lets her gaze travel across the expansive view while she indulges on the candy.

Some of the chocolates go down better than the others, though. Strawberry ones were always her favorite as a kid, when folks at Litnir could still afford such things; their incredibly sweet taste just fills her with nostalgic joy, like she's six years old again and raring to play with her friends. Meanwhile, the likes of the dreaded coffee ones are so sour that they go down like a punch to the gut.

It's taking a long time for that 'acquired taste' to set in, Edda... she huffs inwardly.

Regardless, it does help Hilda relax. Half an hour later, she feels more at ease to get back in bed. The descent from the spire is quite easy once she's past the lookout's windows but, as her feet are just about touching the ceiling, something flashes in the corner of her eye. Far away from Valarheim, a few kilometers east, she sees something of a glowing mass of dark blue energy amid the tundra – a shade of blue she recognizes, actually.

"Paula...?" she wonders aloud.

Now, leaving the bedroom during curfew and coming to the roof is one thing but outright leaving the Keep at this time is a graver transgression – punishment could be severe. Hilda knows that and, yet, the thought vanishes from her mind in about the same second it enters. She has been worried sick over her friend for hours now and that light seems to be similar to the one during Paula's training with Julius. She needs to go check it out and, more importantly, she won't be able to sleep without doing so.

Following a quick stop by her room to get off her nightgown and into something easier to run in, Hilda jumps out the window and on the other side of Valarheim's moat. Carried by her Haste Glyph, concern barking at her ears, she breaks across the deep snow like a proper bolt of lightning. The dark blue light starts growing with each step forward until, a few minutes later, she reaches it. Indeed, it is Paula, sitting cross-legged on the white earth and surrounded by five dark elemental spears.

Hilda approaches slowly, looking on in silence at whatever her friend is doing. The spears begin charging towards Paula, crashing against the Shield that manifests around her. One by one they strike, erupting in dark blue sparks as they fail to penetrate the barrier. More emerge as fast as they fade away, always attempting to skewer her – first five, then ten, twenty, thirty. Paula endures the nonstop barrage, holding her arms out towards the Shield as if it to stop a collapsing structure from breaking apart. Her grunts grow louder with every attack, as her body trembles under the pressure, being pushed down into the layer of snow.

The fortieth spear proves too much for Paula. It smashes through the Shield and slashes her arm. The barrier of darkness trembles and crackles - the spell is failing. The forty-first spear, strikes at her stomach. The forty-second cuts her neck, her bleeding injuries painting the white earth with sharp streaks of red. Paula's pained groans stab at Hilda's eardrums as the forty-third spear appears. It's aiming at the heart of the reeling girl.

Hilda's mind goes blank and she charges forward, the Haste glyph materializing the second she lifts her foot. Paula recovers her focus in time to open her eyes and see Hilda jump in front of her. A glowing violet Shield of electricity

in her hand, she blocks the incoming spear. The dark energies crash against her spell and, with a shove, the spear is blown away to roll and vanish against the snow.

With a relieved huff, Hilda shakes her now tingling hands – hopefully that didn't make a mess of her healed burns – and turns to Paula. She meets her with satisfaction in her smile but her friend does not share in the feeling. Her eyes bear a sour note, as she looks back with narrowed, tense lips.

“You didn’t need to do that,” she grunts with a tone as cold as the night air – were it any more so, she’d be spitting icicles.

Hilda’s smile fades all but immediately, her eyebrows curving in surprise. “It’s good to see you too. I’ve been looking for you since yesterday.”

“Well, you’ve found me,” Paula snaps back and shimmies away from her, sitting on a fresh patch of snow. “If you don’t mind, I’m training now.”

“Huh? Of course I mind. Was that spear there, the one that almost ran you through, ‘training’? And you’re welcome, by the way.” Hilda raises her arms, confused as to why she’s being met with such attitude.

Paula shakes her head in anger before turning her back to Hilda and gathering more of the dark elemental in her palms. “Fine – you’ve my thanks, Hilda. Now, please, leave me be.”

Hilda isn’t sure what’s going on but she is not taking this sitting down. She stomps through the snow towards her, narrowing her eyes and biting her lower lip in an attempt to curb her temper.

“Hey!” She raises her tone before crouching right before Paula’s crumpled face. “Why don’t you calm down and tell me why you’re being like this? Did I do something to piss you off?”

Her friend lets out an angry huff and, as she waits an answer, Hilda’s eyes assess her battered condition. Paula has obvious seen better days, in more ways than one, as decently fresh injuries can be seen all over her body. Arms, legs, waist, chest and face have lost their tawny color in several spots, replaced by a mixture of red and deep purple left behind by the mosaic of cuts, stab wounds and impact bruises present. Most aren’t outright bleeding, showing traces of elemental energies within – they received some quick, but hardly thorough, healing. The wide bags under Paula’s eyes tell that she’s been at this for quite a while, too.

“Urgh… No, you did nothing,” Paula groans, scrunching her eyes shut and clutching her brow with both her hands – a headache wouldn’t be too unlikely, all things considered. “This is all about me and my inadequacies. I’m sorry but I really wish to be alone right now, alright?”

Much as Hilda doesn’t want to antagonize her, she can’t well let her be like this. She sits down in the same way Paula is and crosses her arms, seeing the storm of emotions running through her face.

“‘About you’… Don’t you mean this is about your fight with Eliza? Are you training to get her to change her mind?” she asks.

Paula’s eyes widen the second her words are heard, meeting Hilda’s gaze with a slight tinge of annoyance and a lot of surprise. “Lady Eliza… and how do you know about that?”

“I was passing by her office and heard the yelling. You wanna talk about it? I could help you train again.”

Hilda thinks back to that look Ryouma gets on his face, filled with so much kindness and fortitude within that she can’t help but confide in him, and tries looking at Paula in the same way. Eliza is always a sensitive spot for her and one she always keeps under lock and key; if anything, Hilda wants her to open up a little bit in order for her to help.

However, either Paula is even more reticent than her or Hilda’s eyes aren’t as trustworthy, as her frown deepens again, looking back with a clear message for her to back off. “I appreciate your concern but, again, don’t worry about it. This is my problem and I will deal with it myself.”

“Come on, don’t be like that.” Hilda inches closer and gently grabs her shoulder. “We’ve always helped each other, no? I’m sure I can—”

“No, you can’t, Hilda!” Paula snaps and shoves her arm away. “You have absolutely no idea how I’m feeling right now, so don’t patronize me!”

Paula jumps to her feet and with an angry wave of her hand conjures a portal at her feet.

“No, Paula…!” Hilda says under her breath, bringing her right hand back and drawing a Restriction glyph. She took the time to learn it after falling to it a few months ago – a circle with a single line within, swerving in a snake-like pattern. If the girl won’t willingly stop this self-harming training and explain what she’s doing, then she’ll have to pin her down until she does.

“This isn’t your problem, Hilda. Please leave me be,” she says as her portal glows, her body vanishing in its light.

Hilda fires off her spell but it is too late. Paula is already gone when the currents of electricity erupt from her fingers, traversing through the remains of the portal to crack like a whip against the ground. It’s loud snapping sound cuts across the silent tundra, as if to inform all of its pointlessness. Hilda dismisses the spell with a frustrated huff, eyes fixated upon where Paula sat. She expected her to be in a bad mood after getting told off by Eliza but this was far worse – she’s never seen the girl even half as cross as this.

Hilda lets out a deep breath and considers combing the area for her. She decides against it, however: as Paula is right now, finding her again is probably only going to end with her running once more. To say nothing of the fact that searching would be a challenge in itself: there is no light and she has no idea how far that portal could have taken her. Part of her is still yelling “no, go after! Find her now!” but she holds back, knowing from experience that there is nothing that can be done until she calms down a bit.

Fine, have it your way… Hilda massages the bridge of her nose and takes one last look at the empty tundra around – there isn’t any sign of life whatsoever across its white plains. Next time I see you, though, I’m not letting you run off that easy.

Dejected and tired, she brings out one last Haste glyph and rushes back to Valarheim, lest she further risk someone discovering her little escapade. Hilda has no hopes of a good night’s sleep after all this, however; theories about what Paula could be going through roaming about her mind like a crazed flock of birds.

As she reaches the Keep, the first order of business is getting back to her corridor’s window without alerting anyone. The moat is easy to jump across with the speed of her spell. After that, it is only a matter of manipulating the Alterium in Valarheim’s walls to create small steps for her to ascend to the proper floor in the living quarters. In through the corridor’s window and stepping very lightly to keep the creaking wooden floor as quiet as can be, she makes it back to her room undisturbed.

With a weary sigh, she runs her hands over her face and looks over to her messy bed – looks like she will be spending these next hours staring at her ceiling after all. As she gets closer, however, she notices something placed atop the pillow: a piece of folded parchment. Conjuring a small sphere of electricity to light up the room, Hilda squints her eyes and sees what it’s about.

Can’t leave Valarheim after curfew without authorization. Greta and Owen have a lot to do for tomorrow’s dinner, so why don’t you help them? In the kitchen, seven in the morning, it reads, signed by doodle of Ryouma’s grinning face giving her a thumbs’ up.

"Hrrrmm... jäklar..."Hilda moans, falling, defeated, onto her bed. Can she not have anything go right today?