Author's Note: Reposting From SpaceBattles and basically looking for feedback now that I've reached the end of what I considered the first "Arc" of the story. So if you guys see anything that offends your sensibilities, or possible room for improvement, feel free to let loose and chew my ear off or whatever. Much obliged, and thanks for your time.
"I observe that while several modern writers deal with particular wars and certain matters connected with them, no one, as far as I am aware, has even attempted to inquire critically when and whence the general and comprehensive scheme of events originated and how it led up to the end. I therefore thought it quite necessary not to leave unnoticed or allow to pass into oblivion this the finest and most beneficent of the performances of Tyche. For though she is ever producing something new and ever playing a part in the lives of men, she has not in a single instance ever accomplished such a work, ever achieved such a triumph, as in our own times. We can no more hope to perceive this from histories dealing with particular events than to get at once a notion of the form of the whole world, its disposition and order, by visiting, each in turn, the most famous cities, or indeed by looking at separate plans of each: a result by no means likely. He indeed who believes that by studying isolated histories he can acquire a fairly just view of history as a whole, is, as it seems to me, much in the case of one, who, after having looked at the dissevered limbs of an animal once alive and beautiful, fancies he has been as good as an eyewitness of the creature itself in all its action and grace." - Polybius, Histories
...
“You’re so boring!”
Golden eyes come down, radiating an earnestness and an air of command. Like the imperious gaze of the ruler towards their subjects. They were childish eyes, full of expectation, and they bored into my own, interposing between myself and the heavy tome I held before me. It was frustrating, but then that hardly mattered:
It would be crass of me to hold a four year old to any sense of decorum.
A considering thought filled my mind in that moment. How best to manage the young girl before me? In my time I had dealt with children, sure, but the opulence of my current circumstances threw a certain wrench into the knowledge gained through my previous experiences that now left me hesitant. So it was only fitting that I dramatically sighed, punctuating the sound with the soft slapping of heavy vellum pages as I closed the book to catch the silver-haired girl's eye.
Let’s see how she manages my undivided attention, then.
I held her gaze for a long moment, fingers toying with the binding, and in so doing summon the full weight of my authority, “Rude,” I drawl, affecting a sniff as if I had caught wind of some unknown - yet assuredly unpleasant - odor, “What is it?” The question is loosed upon her, let the child deal with being on the off-foot as she rationalizes her thirst for att-
“We’re supposed to be playing.” The child before me states succinctly, as if spelling a concept out for a simpleton, her stubby arms grabbing her hips imperiously. In this she was mistaken, why would I play a child’s games when I had long since outgrown them? Some element of my thoughts must have been obvious as the eyes before me narrowed, and I repressed a shudder as ruddy cheeks inflated into that universal human expression: The pout.
“And why,” I respond simply, pointing the corner of the heavy tome towards her, “Would I be doing something as childish as that?” I had better things to do after all. Maritime history was fascinating, and the library I had found myself in had been a treasure trove beyond anything I had ever seen before. Besides, this was my home, and no matter who this girl was she was not the one in authority here.
Her tiny index finger was thrust towards me as if in challenge to that very thought, “What nerve!” My opposite declared, eyes narrowing, “You’re as much a kid as I am!” I scoffed, openly at that. What was she talking about? I was no child, thank you very much. That fact would not change no matter how many times she poked me in my chest. Not that that stopped her.
I bore this abuse with stoic dignity, the poise appropriate of my role as the adult in the room.
But my companion would have none of it, even as I ignored her violence like the shameless barbarism that it was. At least, I did until the enemy before me tried a new, altogether more sinister form of attack.
“This has gone on long enough! I am the guest here! That means that you need to treat me!” Her expression, which had until this moment been pouting, now took on a suspicious, calculating gleam wholly unsuited to someone her age, “And if you keep ignoring me, I’m going to inform my father of how rude you were!”
My lips curled into a grimace, despite my best efforts.
The girl’s lips twisted into a triumphant smirk, exultant.
Did she seriously just invoke Guest’s Right on me?
…
What is the treasure sought after more than any other?
Wealth? Fame? Magic, power, a special destiny? The answer is something more mundane than that, alas, for all our lofty dreams humans are fundamentally creatures that are easily satisfied.
The wish we all have had is simultaneously common, simple, easy, and impossible.
Salvation? Happiness? Love?
The villain and the misanthrope would disagree, and we are all born with the right to the pursuit of happiness. None of these things are impossible, nor are they easy. Thus it can not be something to be sought, as these are all things within our grasp.
No, the most valued treasure is one that is timeless, for it is by time that we measure it’s value. That treasure is opportunity-- no, let me be more specific:
What we all want is a second chance. There are none who have been born upon God’s green earth who has not tasted the bitter taste of regret. A chance to do our mistakes over, and to try and achieve an answer we could not reach back then. We look back on opportunities missed, alternative directions our lives could have taken, and wish for those unknown possibilities.
Look in your heart and ask whatever dwells within, “If I had the chance for another try, would I take it?” I do not doubt that most of us have singular moments of our lives, bitter memories and long haunting regrets, where we wish we had chosen a different fork in the paths we went down. It is the rare individual indeed that would turn down an opportunity to try again, to look back on their life, take in the good and ill, and say that they would not change a thing, but make no mistake! These rare specimens exist.
At one time I counted myself among their number.
There’s a cosmic joke about opportunities and power being best suited to those who want it least, and if I ever hear it uttered in my presence I will do my utmost to hang the offending comedian up by their entrails. Suffice it to say, that legendary treasure, the mythic ‘Second Chance’ is woefully wasted upon myself, I believe. We are all given one chance on this earth, one life to live, and for all the tragedy that exists others are still forced to live lives far more miserable than what I experienced.
It seems like such a waste.
My life was hardly extraordinary, the first time around. I had two parents. Some siblings. From one parent I learned of love; for myself and others. From the other I learned of hatred. A simple enough way for me to live at the time. But children grow up, as is their wont, and so I became my own person, and as the man I was opened to truth, the desire, the conceit, to live life as quintessentially myself took shape within my heart. I struggled, I faltered, I tried, pursued, and lived.
And then I died.
As I said, at one time I considered myself someone who would not regret, but I suppose in the quiet times that came afterwards I endlessly reviewed my circumstances. When you are alone in the world, you can only rely on yourself. And if nothing else you should be honest with your closest allies. I wished to still live, you see. I had so very much to do. Busy, busy.
By some miracle, curse, or other quirk of fortune I was given that second chance that so many sought, and I had not desired until the very moment in which I needed it. I believe that there is a kind and loving God, you see, and while I will not pretend to understand His thoughts in this matter, I must say that I find it in poor taste that His Plan sought to put me in my current circumstances. Well, that’s more frustration than anything on my part, a bit of pride carried over and nurtured in these renewed circumstances.
Let’s be frank here: Isekai is a trash genre. It’s very existence is predicated on the puerile power fantasy, escapism in its laziest of forms. ‘Here I am!’ the typical self insert cries, ‘This is where I would be in a world more suited to me!’. Such nonsense. Even with my current standing I can’t help but turn a sneer towards those individuals who wish so fervently for a world so different from their own that they’d throw away the lives that they had been blessed with. It is an insult to those who are fortunate, for the parents that raised them! It is a besmirchment of those less gifted, who dream not of fantasies but of a way to make the most of what they have.
Oh but I am a hypocrite, for here I am, deriding as worthless a gift that I’m sure many would happily give away everything they have and more for.
Indeed, I finally have what I had so fervently wished for, gift wrapped to me, even as the creation of that very world was my most ardent ambition in life. Ah, but then again, there is little value in a miracle that is handed to you on a silver platter. At least, I would think so.
I suppose an introduction is an order.
Hello. A pleasure to meet you. My name is Vineas Vine, formerly-Well, it doesn’t really matter does it? That time is long past now, years so, and even as a stranger in this world I still find myself having difficulty acclimating the I-That-Was to the I-That-Am. There’s a poor joke to be made at the expense of people wishing to be reincarnated as busty young girls, but I think I ought to refrain. Let it never be said that I will not insult someone to their face, and were I to find any such…fortunate...deviants then I imagine that the opportunity to indulge in that simple pleasure will be all the more satisfying for my restraint up until that point. You are quite welcome, perverts.
Oops.
...When I awoke to my new circumstances, it was to a great deal of frustration. I had been in the middle of something important, you see, and I like to think that it was due to the limitations of a newborn body that I began screaming and cursing as best I could with the equipment I had. It might have been terribly embarrassing if I did not have that convenient excuse, but fortunately the only shame I have for that period is, again, a disappointment of a more private sort. It was not until I had been carried away by a nursemaid, and put into a crib that I would experience the true sense of loss that my circumstances represented. The soft, sensitive body of the babe that I was had been tucked in, after glances and poking from people that I assumed were this body’s parents, and as I fell to sleep, the lining of the crib glowed. The air thrummed with subtle power, and the full irony of my situation became apparent.
For I, as someone who had spent their life chasing the idea of the truth to magic, was robbed of everything. And in exchange, rather than being blessed with the right to shape the world in which I had lived, I was thrust into a world in which my grandest dream had long been realized by others far before my second birth.
What is a victory unearned? For your dream to be granted, and all your efforts invalidated?
It is as ash in one’s mouth. Forever. A peerless bitterness, that pervades the soul and rots the mind, a sense of helplessness.
All your works, in vain.
It is difficult to put such a malase in words, I suppose. I will not try. But I spent years in silence as a result, stewing about in depression, and it was fortunate in many ways that as this body was that of a toddler, there was little expectation for a child to be verbose. I welcomed the excuse, as this new body went through the motions. I slept, ate, eventually walked, and did the games that were expected of the newborn. I learned, for I was in a world of magic.
Even in the fog of my own helplessness, the curiosity that had driven me in life would not, could not sit idle. I was myself, in the end, and thank God for that.
It bears emphasis, but even if my tone seems fitting, I assure you that I am not even remotely British. As a matter of fact, I am an American. Born and raised, as it were. This needs to be said, because my current circumstances are not without a sense of irony. For as stereotypical as this sounds, I was reborn in a magical United Kingdom. Yes yes, I know it’s a cliche. Further, it turns out that the Vine family is a longstanding clan of the aristocracy that was of a respectable age when Hadrian’s Wall was constructed. They were quite fortunate in fact, as it allowed their ancestors to shack up under the aegis of Arbeia at the mouth of the Tyne. Frankly, I would think it magical that they had survived that long given how messed up that area got after the Picts overran the Wall, but I suppose those secrets are ones I will plumb at a later date.
My…father, the twenty-first Head of the Vine, is a man by the name of Volesus-Gherieli Vine. He’s a strong-minded individual, very obsessed with his work, and I suppose I can admire his ethic in that regard. But perhaps that is my own rose tinted view of the man who raised me, who did so at great expense and sacrifice. He certainly seems compassionate enough, but then I suppose I neither expect nor desire emotional closeness with him. I have but one parent, and the less said of my mother the better.
For all the trappings of nobility that our home has, we do not seem especially affluent. But that is for the best, as material wealth is not something I desire overmuch. As conceited as I find adherents to Rand, I will at least agree that unearned wealth is a poison if indulged in. Better to succeed in spite of advantages, rather than due to them. It was largely incidental, however, for there was one thing which I was grateful towards that money for if nothing else:
The Vine ancestral home had a library which had a selection of books which put to shame that of any place else I had ever seen in my life. To my own shame I had never visited the Library of Congress, or any of the more famous public repositories of the written word, but there is something lost in the modern age of paperbacks and e-readers that was within easy grasp there. The smell of old paper, of heavy vellum, the weight and history and passion that went into crafting each individual work. Oh I have been there, I assure you, balking at the thirty dollar price tag of a tabletop game rulebook! Let not these words convince you otherwise, for what use is the luxury of leatherback when you can buy three Gunpla for the same cost?
Ah, my brothers, but I have fallen. Corrupted by the allure of the bourgeoisie! Do not send help, for it is already far too late. I fear that when I drink tea I now extend my pinkie subconsciously. A shameful display indeed. Remember me as I was, cheap, penny pinching, with my fingers covered in the remnants of pinches from trying to fit too-small components into place with too-large digits. Not as I am. Cursed with affluence.
Worth it.
It was only a matter of time before the adults around me took note of my behavior, attaching the hated title of ‘gifted’ to me. Sure, I had not been subtle about my reading material, but the fact that I refused to read below my level for the sake of appearances should not have aroused such wonder in my surroundings. I’m sure that there were several instances of precocious children getting into places they should not have, and messing around with books older than most modern nation-states. Honestly, if anything I ought to be punished! Where was the infamous strict discipline of the aristocracy I had heard so much about?
It was at that this time that, for whatever reason, Lord Vine seemed to take a more firm hand in my ‘raising’, and began teaching me in earnest. I was a child in appearance only, and while I had not been schooled in some time, the basics were something I had had drilled into my body by virtue of base repetition if nothing else. He still did not see fit to teach me any of his magic, however, despite my being the only child I saw in the house. But perhaps the Vine were only a branch family to the true wizards? Who knows? I suppose it was a question that would resolve itself in time, but for now I would focus on learning more of the world I found myself in.
The Lord had seen fit to stick me with these circumstances, and so I would see them through at the very least. It was actually rather funny, you see. For my ambition was borne from the romantic idea that there was a fundamental ‘Truth’ from which sprang the concept of magic as we understand it. A fundamental meme that echoed across all of human civilization, that resonated within us not because we sought to get away from the harshness of the reality in which we lived, but because on an instinctive, genetic level we understood that there is something beyond the world we see, a further peak just out of sight, should we only know to peel back the curtain of the everyday and look. That curiosity drove me still, and so in the pursuit of knowing the true shape of the world, and the true form of it’s history, I took to Lord Vine’s lessons with aplomb.
Besides, if Isekai convention continued playing straight, there was a non-zero chance that I had somehow been sent to a world in a less-than-fictional franchise I was familiar with. Figuring out that mystery was enthralling in its own right, and proved enough to shake me out of my ennui completely.
Yet the more I learned, the more frustrated the man who taught me seemed to become.
One day deep blue eyes caught my own, their intensity blazing even through glasses I felt sure were enchanted, “Vineas.” The Lord of the Vine Family declared, and I could feel that this conversation would be an unwelcome departure from the comfortable routine, “When was the last time you met with a child your own age?”
I stared in blank confusion for the moment, racking my mind in pursuit of such a memory, “I...do not recall,” I failed, “Sir.” The older man’s face pinched, leathery, ink-stained hands creased his forehead before pushing back sandy blond hair with a sigh.
“Have you ever met or played with any other children, young man?”
My eyes blinked owlishly, “Why would I do that?” What would I have to do with children, anyway? I had everything I needed here. Books to read. Food. Toiletries. Good music. The loss of the internet was a problem, but I doubted that broadband even existed yet-
“You are four years old now, son,” Wait, what? “Don’t you think it’s time you met with your peers?”
“Peers, sir?” My mind raced. Peers? As in, equals? I was surrounded by adults, so surely I was already set?
“Those your own age,” He snorted, idly stroking a short, cropped beard.
I barked out a laugh, “Why would I care to spend time playing with a bunch of children in the city?” Tyne and Wear was a nice place with a rich history dating back almost as far as the Vine clan itself, but I would have been horribly out of place trying to mingle with a bunch of urban youth. Urban British youth. I would be doubly out of my depth!
The man turned ponderous then, staring off into the distance. It was to be expected, really. I had been correct, and if Lord Vine had any intention of salvaging this absolute mess of a conversation, he would have to tread carefully, “You would be out of place among the common folk,” I felt a sharp pang in my chest at the comment, “So no, it’s only natural that you would hold no interest in them, son.” Of course, I was far beyond their age after all. What kind of adult plays with children? The very thought of such an individual sent a chill down my spine. Brr. Creepy.
As my teacher seemed to mull the matter over, I saw the opportunity to nip this uncomfortable subject in the bud, “Then let us get back to the less-”
A hand, so much larger than my own, held itself up, “Peace, child.” The Head of the Vine Family continued staring off into the distance, “Just because you have no peers nearby, does not mean I can allow you to be neglected of social ties.” That same hand fell upon my head, mussing with my own carefully maintained locks, “Leave it to your father.”
My father was in another world, long mourning the passing of his son. I could no longer leave him with anything, even if I had wanted to.
Lord Vine, however, turned around and departed from the study I had grown so familiar with, his expression thoughtful. Missing out on the days lessons had been an unwelcome surprise, but I would hardly complain about getting more time to read freely.
…
I’ve mentioned before that the Vine family is quite old, dating back to at least the initial founding of Londinium, to hear my teacher tell the story. Apparently the clan’s head had been entranced by the promise of setting up harbor and with it, roots, in Britannia shortly after the Roman conquest of much of the island in the middle of the first century under Claudius, and had been one of several families eager to expand into the new domain. Londinium had been a private affair, initially intended as a kind of personal fiefdom run by a confederacy of the noble families which had founded it, and this had proven effective for the first few decades until the day when everything changed.
When the Iceni Nation - under Boudica - attacked.
Of course, the nobles who had helped found the settlement had followed hot on the heels of the Catus Decianus in fleeing the island after he passed through Londinium with the treasure he had seized from the Iceni tribes. My teacher had had a look of utmost satisfaction as he rambled on about rats valuing nothing more than their own skin, so I suspected that there was some larger story there that I was not yet privy to. Regardless, after Classicanius took on the role of Procurator, the Vine and their compatriots returned from Gaul and used the treasure that they had ‘rightfully earned’ to rebuild Londinium in the wake of Boudica’s razing of the settlement. This, too, was paid for mostly out of pocket, and from what Lord Vine would claim it was due to the penny-pinching habits of ‘short-sighted blue bloods’ that the city would wind up burning down once again, in the Hadrianic Fire.
By the time that the Emperor Hadrian had made clear his intention to tour the territory at the start of the second century, the Vine had decided to move away before risking a third conflagration within one lifetime, and invested themselves and their fortune further North in Roman Britannica.
Naturally, as the Vine had been the ones to provide the nautical muscle for the nobility that had set up Londinium in the first place, their ‘defection’ was not taken well. Which, among other things, lead to a rift between them and the other twenty two families that had founded the settlement. Thus the Vine settled into something of a comfortable spot, serving as the local mystical muscle to a major port that handled trade through the Scandinavian shipping routes throughout the next thousand years, interestingly enough outlasting the Antonine Plague, the Pictish invasion, Albinus’ ill-thought out rebellion, apparently wrung Caurasius for all that he was worth and the inevitable third time charm of the Frankish sacking, and the Great Conspiracy.
While there were inevitably feathers ruffled by the decision, Lord Vine seemed to believe that the remaining families likely were just jealous of his own clans ability to escape so many successive disasters relatively unscathed. Speaking frankly, I couldn’t help but agree with him on that matter.
And, of course, the Vine were there for when the Romans withdrew from the island with Constantine and left the territories to fend for themselves. I had asked for details about King Arthur then, but Lord Vine had proved cagey on the details. Well, he had been vague about the magical elements of the family, and King Arthur fell pretty firmly under that. Granted, given the history of the family up until that point I doubt the Vine had any friends in Camelot.
Strangely enough, after that point we more or less skipped over several centuries worth of history up until the family reached back out to Londinium after Alfred the Great had retaken the city, which despite being abandoned by that time in my original life, apparently still retained those same noble families that had helped found the place. Credit goes to their stubborness, I suppose.
Either way, this nearly one thousand years of absence from the center of their power had incensed the Vine to their former compatriots, and it was a stigma that afflicted the clan even now near the end of the second millenium. Well, it was 1995, so the fact that those families could hold a grudge for over a thousand years like that was kind of impressive. Given that, from what I could tell, the Vine were only guilty of liberal applications of both common sense and survival instinct. Then again, I wasn’t a noble, so what did I know?
Aristocrats were oddballs like that.
Well, long story short, the various circles (or covens as the case may be) that the Vine family moved in did not think particularly highly of them, which made building up associations and alliances with other nobility difficult. So, to a degree, I could understand why Lord Vine had been interested in getting me to network with fellow children. Granted, I personally believed that such efforts would backfire given the age difference, but the man did take care of me and provided a roof over my head. Doing my best in this task was the least I could do to repay him.
…
It would be several days after that initial conversation that Lord Vine would return with the results of his efforts.
“It took some doing,” The blond man said, expression severe, “But I was able to arrange a playdate with the daughter of one of the more prestigious families.”
“Sir?”
The man tilted his damnable spectacles, the lens glaring in the daylight leaking in through the rooms study, “She will be arriving tomorrow afternoon, the staff have been notified to have refreshments prepared.”
“Sir?”
“You’re fortunate, Vineas,” Volesus-Gherieli Vine continued, smiling to himself, “From all appearances, she too, is a young child with great promise.” Fingers tugged on sandy facial hair.
“Sir, why?”
“Because, son,” My teacher and patron said, his eyes turning strangely misty, “Everyone needs friends.” His hand fell upon me, mussing my hair as if I were some child. I shook the offending limb off, glaring at the man as I made my escape.
“How am I supposed to be friends with a child?”
The head of the Vine family chuckled, a throaty sound, “I’m sure that girl will be thinking the same thing when she arrives.”
My heart stilled.
He knows?!
…
The first indignity I suffered that day was being forcibly dressed. I must make this clear. There is a dignity that you take for granted when it comes to dressing oneself. A certain element of pride in determining the appearance you wish to present. It is a mark of self determination that you can be as clean or as slovenly as you choose, regardless of the consequences. Though I was currently stuck with the body of a child, I had always taken the initiative to dress myself the moment my stunted, chubby limbs were capable of manipulating my clothes drawers.
I still remember the abject humiliation of being showered by overgrown, gangly folk. They cooed and made all manner of disgraceful noises, as they intruded upon me while I was bereft of clothing to hide my shame. It had been one of the catalysts for me to display my motor skills as early as possible, for the sooner I could show that I could take care of myself, the sooner I could escape being made out to be a joke by the house’s employees.
Many vendettas were born that day. Vows of vengeance, etc. Some I would even get the chance to act upon. As I was scrubbed and cleaned and fitted like the young aristocrat this body was supposed to be, I lay a silent curse upon the family of those who had lead to this situation. May all their endeavors end in failure. After what felt like a small eternity of this humiliation the three of us, Lord Vine, his wife, and myself, all had our lunch. It was a simple affair, and memorable only by virtue of the rarity by which the three of us ever truly met with one another at the same time. On some level, I suppose I should be more regretful of the lack of interaction as we quietly ate at the same table, but one of them was my teacher, and the other a stranger under the same roof. Time passed, before I knew it we three adjoined to the vestibule of the family home and waited for the arrival of our ‘Guests’.
Well, Lord Vine’s guests, anyway.
It felt like we waited for hours before the wooden doors to our home creaked open, and as the light of noontime spilled in, the first thing that caught my eyes was a shock of silver hair, wavy and wild as it cascaded down her shoulders, errant tufts sticking out every which way, with a golden clip affixed to one side of her head, the opposite end obscured by her bangs.
Like that, I could safely eliminate western media as the source of the setting I now found myself in. For before me was a young girl who could not be described as anything less than ‘anime as all hell’. Amber eyes met my own, and I was struck by an uncanny sense of familiarity. I knew the story that this girl was from, I was sure, but I tended to avoid shows with children in them unless they were bratty little sisters, which cut the possible options down to the slice of life genre.
I continued analyzing her; the white hair and golden eyes were a hallmark of western transfer student tropes, along with blonde hair and blue eyes. Considering that we weren’t in America, she was likely of some eastern european descent. The fact that she wasn’t some kind of overly curvaceous titty monster struck out the possibility of her being a love interest for the traditional harem in such stories, which means I was either looking at a little sister character, or outright pedobait.
I grabbed my chin in thought, attempting to place the creature. A slice of life franchise with magical elements and a transfer student from Britain or Scandinivia? Russia, perhaps? What an awfully specific setting this is! I mean, it’s been a few years since I had really seen a cartoon, let alone an anime, and given all the other things I had filled my time with since arriving, I must be more out of touch than I thought if I could not-
“Pardon my son,” Lord Vine’s voice cut through my thoughts like a knife, “He’s probably just awestruck by your daughter.” I blinked, as my teacher’s hand clapped my shoulder, and for the first time I looked to see the girl in front of me, nose upturned imperiously as she held her hand out towards me.
I’m pretty sure that there were some mistake in etiquette at play here, but I could at least go with the flow, “Vineas Vine,” I said, the words unfamiliar to my lips, “At your service.” My hand grasped hers, and it was with an element of surprise that I almost winced at the strength that clamped down upon my limb.
“Olga Marie,” Golden eyes curled at my discomfort, “A pleasure.” The Marie family? That just made things more difficult to place! I expected some kind of nonsensical portmanteau of Janglish! Not someone with two first names! That being said, Olga was Slavic, wasn’t it? And the silver hair was something that you’d see out of German-ish characters in anime, “Well?”
I blinked, “I beg your pardon,” the words sprung forth unbidden, “I just feel like I’ve seen you somewhere before.”
The girl reacted with a pretty impressive humming sound, sticking her chest out in pride as she posed with her hands upon her hips, “I’m not surprised that you’ve heard of me! I am a natural genius, poised to lead my generation!”
An eyebrow was raised at the declaration, and I turned to face Lord Vine for explanation. It was the girls father, however, that answered, “Now, now Olga.” The man threw his daughter’s hair into even further disarray, “Young Vineas is talented as well, so I’m sure that you two will have much to talk about.” He tilted his head towards his host then, both of the men’s smiles indulgent.
“Vineas,” Lord Vine added, “Why not show your guest around the house? We adults will be having a word among ourselves.” I am not too proud to admit that I sighed at that moment, but what could I do?
There was only one place I wanted to be, and my sanctuary would doubtless allow me to ignore the annoying child in front of me, “This way,” I gestured theatrically, turning around and making my way to the study. The thoughtful hums and random chattering were clue enough that the noble girl followed in my wake.
…
It was inevitable, I suppose, that the silver haired menace would know enough to force me to cater to her whims. Spoiled, entitled brat that she is.
“And why,” I reply, after she had made her demands, “Does you being my guest mean I have to do anything?”
“Hospitium.”
My tongue clicked in irritation. “Why do you know about that?”
“I am a genius.” She explained, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.
Fine, if this was how she wants to play, “If you are such a genius, then I’m sure you know everything, right?” It was crass of me to pull such a stunt, but if I wasn’t going to be allowed to read in peace, then I would get my enjoyment where I could.
Olga’s head bobbed up and down, “Of course!” Heh, such a child.
“Then what can you tell me about this?” I hold out the book I had been reading, a finger tapping at the leather cover in my grip.
Golden eyes peer down, squinting, “...Nautical Achievements in Prehistory?” The girl glances up to meet my gaze, seemingly confused.
I don’t let my satisfaction show, “Of course!” Diminutive shoulders rise and fall easily, “You know that long before the Greeks and Romans, the world was already interconnected, right?”
The loud snort that followed was proof enough of her knowledge, “That’s ridiculous! The earliest mundane peoples to have accomplished a trans-atlantic crossing were the Vikings! And Erik the Red didn’t manage to make his way to Greenland until long after King Arthur had died in the Ninth Century! There’s no way that they could have accomplished it without magecraft, especially before the Roman Empire!”
“Hmmhmm,” I hum thoughtfully, “So what do you know about the Bronze Age collapse?” I ask and place the book down, before turning towards a nearby bookshelf. There were some relatively new volumes that had been ordered which would prove informative, and doubtlessly more entertaining than this game.
“That’s easy,” The girl stares, eyes narrow in a glare, “There was a period of unrest brought about by the Sea Peoples, who were probably really Atlantis given Plato’s claims a few centuries later, as they waged war on the Mediterranean Kingdoms and wiped them out.” Stubby arms crossed over her chest, “Hmph! Everyone knows that they waited on the Trojan War, and diminishment of the Hittite Empire, before making their move as the region destabilized itself!”
I raise an eyebrow at the fantastical assumption, “Well, that is certainly a very particular assumption,” My four year old fingers drummed the leatherbound spines thoughtfully, eventually hooking on one credited to a Robert Drews, “There is little evidence that all of that alone could have resulted in such a systematic destruction of all those civilizations, so thoroughly and completely.”
The girl before me waves her hand dismissively, “Naturally! That is because the Atlanteans were still in possession of powerful mysteries that none of the other Kingdoms could match!”
I crack open the book, finger pausing over the legend, “There are numerous people who claim that it was the result of natural disasters striking the major palace-cities of those kingdoms. Mycenae, Hattusas, Knossos, Troy.”
“That’s easy!” Olga Marie declared, “The Atlanteans were known to have Poseidon as a patron deity, and as he is the lord of Earthquakes, then naturally they would be able to use them against their enemies!”
Humming thoughtfully, I continue, “Surely there weren’t any migratory issues? There was ample evidence left by Ramesses III, of the Sea Peoples intending to colonize the land they conquered. Perhaps those civilizations fell to a refugee crisis?”
“Well, Atlantis sank didn’t it?” Amber eyes blink owlishly, “Where else were they supposed to go?”
“Perhaps they would have sunk to the bottom of the sea and bargained with a dark god for the right to become amphibious snake-men?” I chuckle, fondly remembering the times when Blizzard still had competent writers. To my surprise, that seems to get Olga Marie actually thinking seriously on the subject, which made me incredibly apprehensive of the magical history of this world.
“You kno-” I cough.
“--Or perhaps, there’s another theory: That advances in metallurgy allowed enterprising individuals to overwhelm established nations through superior weaponry? Ironworking on a scale comparable to bronze smelting, at the time, would have been an immense martial advantage that no one would have been equipped to handle.”
“That’s awfully mundane.” The girl said to me, missing the point entirely, “So what, they would have been a bunch of nomads with better metalworking skills and no head for administration?”
“Scholars make for terrible bureaucrats,” I pointed out, “And we still haven’t recreated Cyclopean architecture.”
“Magic.”
I cough awkwardly, closing the book and placing it back on the shelf, “Anyway, there’s still the most important question of all: What if it wasn’t Atlantis?”
I receive a glare for my cheek, “But it explains everything! What else could it be?”
One finger came up, “The Dorians came down around the same time, helping to found the post-Mycenae Greek states,” Another finger came up, “There’s a possibility that it could have been the Picts or another Britannian tribe, since there are theories that the tin trade during the Bronze Age extended that far north, and we have evidence that there were boats capable of making the trip from Albion to the Mediterranean.”
“What do you mean?” A smirk, as I walk back towards the book I had been reading earlier, opening it up to the proper page and pointing out the relevant passage. The girl looks it over, confused, “Ferriby and Dover?” She glances back towards me.
A third finger went up, “If the Atlanteans weren’t the only people capable of such a journey, then there is no reason to assume it was them.” I smirk at Olga Marie in full, turning towards a new page, “After all, the Atlanteans had nothing to do with the Polynesians, did they?”
The girl snorts in disbelief, her eyes scanning the pages with enviable speed, “The Atlanteans could have been the ones to do it before going back to the Mediterranean, I’m sure they would have needed to, in order to maintain their Foundation at some point…”
“Oh really?” My lips curl in anticipation, “Even if the known evidence dates the Polynesians expansion and navigation of the Polynesian Triangle as being the very time period that the Bronze Age Collapse occurred in?” My conversation partner pauses, and looks back at the page, “The Atlanteans may have had Poseidon’s backing, but I doubt even that city could have been in two places at once.”
Amber eyes narrowed, “That’s easy enough, the Atlanteans would have wandered the seas for a few centuries, circumnavigated the globe, imparted their techniques. Then, as their Foundations and connections to the Greek Pantheon wavered, they returned to the cradle of civilization in force.” The girl nods in self satisfaction, “Simple.”
“I suppose that explains how people managed to get to Australia, then?” I asked innocently.
“Of course.” She looks back up at me, finally looking wary, “What else could it have been?”
I shrug, “Perhaps the Aboriginals pre-dated Atlantis entirely?” Olga Marie’s eyebrow lifts, which I took to be her asking me to elaborate, “I’m guessing you’ve never heard of the Lake Mungo remains?”
“No,” She sniffs imperiously, “Why would I be studying the history of Australian tribals?”
“Oh, no reason.” I say conversationally, “Just that I was wondering why you thought that Atlantis was over thirty thousand years old,” I paused enjoying the slight widening of the girl’s eyes, “Older by far than even ancient Babylon.” I fold my arms behind my back, leaning forward to stare the little girl in her eyes, voice dripping with sarcastic triumph, “How do you suppose Atlantis could be responsible for every nautical triumph in prehistory, if we have evidence that such things predate civilization itself?”
Olga Marie flinches away, “You have no proof that it wasn’t Atlantis.” The statement was wary, defensive, and felt oddly pleasant to hear.
I lean back, “Maybe,” I reply with a self satisfied drawl, “But you have no proof that it was.” My eyebrow raises, “Which is my point.” I snap the book shut, “Unless we could go back and look at the past ourselves, we have no way of knowing which of us is correct, and so we can’t take our assumptions for granted.” I tuck the book back under my arm, and as my gaze return to my unwanted guest, I found myself confronted by an unexpected sight.
Olga Marie had just been proven wrong, her arguments dashed, and my own superiority rubbed in her face. True, it was unseemly of me to take pleasure in bullying a four year old girl, regardless of the circumstances, but I had expected-no, I had been anticipating some manner of distraught expression. I had been intending to savor her frustration at her childish pride being poked with her having no recourse for it.
So.
Why on earth did she look so damnably smug?!
“Hmmhmm,” The disheveled child before me hums to herself, eyes twinkling with some hidden malice, “You’d think so, wouldn’t you?”
My eyes narrow in suspicion, “I think if otherwise were the case, I would know.”
“Oh? Do you really, really think so, Vineas? Hmm~” The girl twirls in place, hands on her hips once again, “You sure are well informed about mundane matters, but I wonder how much you know about the actual, important, things?”
Damn Lord Vine! He hasn’t taught me anything about the supernatural parts of this world yet! What was he thinking, leaving me ignorant, then forcing me to fend for myself against a harpy like this?!
I fold my arms against my chest, “Things like what?” I challenge.
“Things like magecraft of course.”
Damn her, I wouldn’t lose here! “I...I know all about magecraft.” I pause, searching her gaze, probing for weakness, “Obviously.”
Olga Marie hums her damnedable hum, hands on her hips, as she starts looking down her nose, “Really?” A finger extends, gesturing at my chest, “What’s your family’s magecraft then?”
I look away, lips thinning. Damn you, Sir Vine! “I-it’s a secret.” I glance back at Olga Marie, mind racing for an angle to retake the initiative, “W-we don’t tell outsiders that kind of stuff. That’s obvious!” Nervous laughter escapes my lips, playing off the line of questioning.
Golden eyes fill my vision, the little girl now looming over me. Her lips quirking in a smile, absolutely dripping with confidence in her victory. H-how did that even happen?! I am the adult, here! I-I was winning!
“Maaaaaaaaybe~” She drags out the word, teeth bare, “I’ll take your word for it.” The dominating pressure diminishes, the girl leaning away with a renewed confidence. Totally misplaced, I’m sure. I was about to show her whatfor, you know, teach her the dignity of an adult, and all that. No kid made a fool out of me, no sir.
I was getting around to figuring out how to do it, too, only for the brat to be saved from my inevitable and incredibly thorough vengeance by a knock on the study’s door, “Come in!” The enemy calls out, arms folded over her chest. The door opens to reveal the presence of Lord Vine and Olga Marie’s father, whatever his name was.
“Did you two have fun?” The traitorous bastard asks, “It has been a few hours already.”
“Yes!” The cheerful voice of the silver haired monster rings out before I could demand satisfaction for this wrong he had inflicted upon me, “Vineas was an excellent host, Lord Vine!”
“Only because my arm was twisted into it.” I grumble under my breath with profound dignity.
“I’m glad to hear that, dear.” Her father replies, “Perhaps you would like to play again sometime?”
“Please n-”
“Great!” Lord Vine betrays me once again. You’d think a man belonging to a social class famous for its kinslaying would be more cautious. “I’m glad you were able to finally make a friend, son.” The blond seditionist glances meaningfully over towards his co-conspirator, “Perhaps we could arrange another meeting in the near future?”
The other man stares at the monster he had brought into this world, as if finally seeing her for the first time in all her terrible glory. Good! Good, I say! Perhaps now you can appreciate what you’ve inflicted upon others and take measures to answer for your crimes! Like the one you dealt to me! Repent, old man! Realize the weight of your sins and beg for forgiveness from your victims! Victims like me!
“I would not be opposed, no.” Damn you, nameless old man! You can’t just foist your child upon another man who isn’t even the father! What an irresponsible parent! Not to mention, I’m not even being paid for this! Babysitters deserve compensation! Child Care Representation now!
“Capital,” My teacher replies, his lips quirking in the closest thing I’ve seen to a smile since I first met him, “Let me show you out.”
The other man turns back towards us, “Come along then, Olga Marie, say goodbye to Vineas so we can go home.”
Unkempt silver hair flutters as the girl turned towards me, “You’ll be seeing me again, Vineas.” She levels her finger at me imperiously, “Don’t fall behind before then!” I beg your pardon.
I stare at her blankly. She smiles.
I... blink, not sure where she was going with this. How was I supposed to understand the minds of a member of the opposite sex, especially one that was twenty years younger than me?
Regardless of my confusion, whatever Olga Marie saw in my expression seems to please her. It was with a stunningly bright smile and satisfied huff of breath that she turned around to follow the other two adults out of my study.
What the hell was that supposed to be?
…
It wasn’t until later that evening that Lord Vine and I would have a chance to discuss the events of the day.
I approach it like the calm, rational adult that I am.
“What the hell was that about?!” My teacher quirked an eyebrow, “...Sir.”
“That,” Lord Vine replied, “Was an attempt to introduce you to a potential ally, son.” I snort with great dignity.
“Why would I want to ally myself with her of all things?”
“Vineas,” The man continues, folding his hands together carefully, “Our family spent nearly a thousand years isolating ourselves from our peers in the name of survival and self interest.” He pauses, turning away to look at a painting of the Wall in its prime, “We have spent over a thousand years paying for that act of self imposed exile.” His eyes flicker towards me, “Among other things.” He adds with a low mutter, one I doubt I had been meant to hear.
“As such, we continue to find ourselves isolated from those who we should be closest to. Distanced from the place which ought to be our center of power.” Volesus-Gherieli Vine sighs, “We are alone, son, and the time will soon come when you will feel that fact most keenly.” He pauses, turning towards a nearby cabinet, “You recall our history of two thousand years, correct?”
I nod as the man withdraws a glass tumbler and bottle of whiskey.
The heady scent of alcohol fills my nostrils, at once nostalgic and yet, strangely, wholly foreign to this new body, “I have neglected your education on our family’s hereditary mission.” He means the Vine family magic, I was sure of that much, “But that is for a reason. To allow you to develop your own view on the subject without the biases of the supernatural. To give you the chance to cultivate your own perspective.” A finger’s worth of rich, amber liquid was poured out, “Unfortunately…” Lord Vine sighs, drinking deeply from it.
“Unfortunately I have realized that with our current means, we are reaching the limit of the path which we have followed.”
“Sir?”
“I shall make this clearer to you at a later time, Vineas, but right now I want you to understand that you will need to rely on young Olga Marie in the future, if you wish to live up to the potential I see in you.”
“Potential, sir?”
The man places a warm, weathered hand upon my head, patting it gently, “At four years old you have displayed an uncommon affinity for the great project of our family,” A pause, another drink, “And a rare aptitude for magecraft far beyond what your grandfather and I possessed at your age.”
This was...odd. It was unlike Lord Vine to be so...emotional, I suppose? He was a stern man, usually. I hadn’t expected him to show this kind of emotional vulnerability to me. It caught me off guard.
“It’s just…” He took another drink, seeming to gather his thoughts, “Such a waste for you to be limited by the same walls I am destined to. Not when I can see you achieving so much more, son.” The man sighs, making this more times I’ve seen him sigh in one day than all the years I’ve known him thus far, rubbing his hand against my head once more, “Forgive your old man his moment of weakness, eh?”
Lord Vine was a good man. If I had not already had a father that I dearly love, there would have been no shame in having him as my own. I imagine that, if the life I had replaced had been brought into this world in truth, that boy would feel nothing but pride in the one who stands before me.
But I was not this man’s son, no matter how much I had sometimes wished for it.
“There is nothing to forgive, sir.” I sigh, brushing his hand aside to better meet his gaze, “You are simply doing the best you can.”
The sandy blond chuckles, crushing my stolen body in a one-armed hug. His gesture was meant to be warm, yet all I could feel was disgust. I had usurped a boy’s life, and in an abstract way, this good man’s own hopes for the future.
“So,” Lord Vine rumbles challengingly, “Tell me about what you and the girl got up to, eh? You can share in a spot of men’s talk with your old man, eh?”
Well, I was hardly about to brag about losing an argument to a four year old, and I was wondering…”Actually,” I pause, “Olga Marie said something that stood out to me before you showed up.”
“Oh?” My teacher chuckles saucily, “Confessed her love to ya, eh? My boy, the lady-killer!”
What? Ew,no. I grimace, “Not even remotely.”
“Hmm?” Lord Vine hums, motioning with his empty glass for me to continue.
“She and I had been discussing prehistory,” I began, “It was an argument I had been winning, of course.”
“Of course,” The man agrees easily, “How were you winning, pray tell?”
“She claimed the Atlanteans were responsible for all nautical achievements before Erik the Red,” I scoff, “So I pointed out how there was ample evidence of other possibilities, and she may as well have claimed everything was the work of aliens.” I add, embellishing the story a bit.
No idea why Lord Vine’s grip tightened a bit then, probably a bad memory of dealing with some Stonehenge conspiracy nut, “So I said that without evidence, she’d never be able to prove her Atlantean hypothesis. And the only way she’d be able to get such evidence is if she were to somehow go back in time and record the events directly, or at least have a way of observing them, you know?”
“Quite right.” The man besides me agrees.
“But then it was so strange,” I shake my head, trying to recall the details in full, “When I mentioned that, she got all smug, as if she knew something I didn’t, and began talking about magic as if that had anything to do with the conversation at that point.” I glance towards Lord Vine then, “Does magic like that exist, sir?”
He chuckles, “Not at all boy,” Sandy locks shift as he shakes his head, “If there was, you can rest assured that your old man would have been the first to-” The arm around me stiffens, and the pale complexion of the my teacher took on a new, pallid sheen.
Next came a crash, the sound of the crystal tumbler shattering on the floor after slipping from nerveless fingers. I stare at him in profound worry, desperate to find out what was wrong. He had never acted anything close to this before. No, no, Lord Vine knew magic, surely nothing could happen to him within his own home?!
“Animusphere,” He breaths, seeming equal part dread and awe. What did that mean? Had he been poisoned? I need to get help- “You son of a bitch.” His grip returns, pinning me in place. My mind reels, racing to recall where the staff were at this time of night. The walls were thick and meant to be soundproofed, there was no way they would hear me shout unless I was in the hall-
“I’m fine, boy!” Two hands shook my shoulders roughly, and I nod instinctively.
“Y-yes, sir.” I stammer out, breathing in deeply to try and recollect myself as my teachers grip tightens, “What...What was that, sir?”
Volesus-Gherieli Vine stares at me like a man possessed. To my relief and my dread, his lips twitch not into a snarl, but into a victorious smirk, “Olga Marie’s old man thought he could get one over me.” Blue eyes bore searchingly, almost hungrily, into my own, “The girl changed her tune around the time you started talking about seeing proof directly.”
It wasn’t a question, but I nod anyway.
Lord Vine breathes deeply, slapping my shoulders as he straightened himself, rising to his full height.
“Capital.”
…
I may be judged poorly, perhaps, for not putting two and two together. After all, I was quite the fan of Type-Moon my first time around, and I was amply familiar with the Grand Order, up to a point. But in my defense, and I can not emphasize this enough, it had been over four years since I had thought of the game, and it was 1995 at the time. This predated the timescale of any of Nasu’s works. Moreover, my magical education up to that point consisted of ‘it exists, I’ll tell you when you’re older’ which, while at the time was somewhat frustrating, in hindsight was likely the correct avenue to take. Given that fictional magical nobility are almost universally insufferable, and I am of the mostly validated opinion that they do not become tolerable until after being dealt some form of humble pie... That ran away from me, but my point is that I just wasn’t allowed to see the signs to recognize them in the first place.
Plus, I thought that the closest thing that I had to a parent in this life had just been poisoned by one of the help. I can be forgiven for panicking, I think. I had no wish to add “Body of a child, mind of an adult” jokes to my internal dialogues while within my own home, thank you.
Nor do I think I could have survived some Scottish Detective Mouri equivalent. Ugh.
Well, even if I could have, hypothetically, put together the pieces and clues and divined my circumstances from the ether, I still find myself satisfied with how events had played out. This was how I wound up making my first, and greatest, friend in this life.
Besides, even if I had known how things would play out, I doubt that I would have knowingly changed a thing.
After all, what was there for me to regret?
From the very beginning, Chaldea was everything I had ever wanted.
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and remove the font HTML, and that'll reset it to default. It's kind of roundabout, but it shouldn't take long. The color is easier to fix. You can just do it the normal way.
Originally Posted by Hymn of Ragnarok
