The Fey Conquest # 1— "Mostly Tart, but a bit Sweet"

In truth, Swain seemed a little too handsome for his own good, at least that was her opinion, and she also instantly didn’t like how, right on his flesh, he was wearing the harvested soul of the celestial beings that blessed their land. It was also true that some espers were vile, and her assumption was, correctly as it turned out, that the many who now wielded Runes had converted the vile espers as their servants in their flesh. Rumor had it that the resulting torment from mastering vile espers had gone beyond reasonable bounds, and some of the now lauded runelords had reportedly lost control of their newfound powers. Unfortunately, the wicked espers did in fact have weapons in their arsenal. There were some in Sovereign Valley who believed all espers could and should be united against the Rune Lords, but the fact was resistance to Swain and his barbaric invasion was already fairly hopeless. Fighters from Ivalice were fierce, and since they and their warriors became stronger with the death of espers, they only became more irresistible— this meant her people and their allies had to be willing to be slaughtered in their attempts to overwhelm the power of the Rune Lords… which would mean bitter, bitter poison.

They were simply stronger. Meanwhile, Swain had a deficit in career magicians in his army, and his force took no scribes with them when they deserted their king. This meant that the Rune Lords were thirsty for those who could quell the anger of the Resistance through words— The Rune Lords were soldiers, amateurs in court. Swain Himself merely was a soldier who had the presence of mind to organize other people, and he seemed to be beloved by his countrymen. In Sovereign Valley, the land was thought to belong to the espers, meaning the people seldom deviated from what they wanted, unless they were the victim of the foul ones. Even then, those ensnared by evil espers seldom knew they were caught in a trap. However, the Rune Lords, who were illiterate to the sacred texts of their own religion, had a vague misguided notion that espers were false gods, and simply existed to be mastered by their people.

To Lord Swain, rune mastery was the next stage in human evolution, meaning it would revolutionize the course of history. Maka knew not of Swain’s God, and in her estimation, he himself knew little. The order of espers was unlike that of Swain’s people, and their individual egos were held above her people’s as the rightful heirs to their land. In exchange, the espers were able to use some measure of their power on behalf of mortals. In Ivalice, their sovereign God was a God that did not impart magical power in copious proportions, and was a God of order. Espers, in contrast, were gods who were fixated on expressing their gifts, throughout much of their territory. In a sense, the espers were more evident than the God of the Rune Lords. And yet some of the mightiest espers had already fallen to the Rune Lords, and because of their strength it was only a matter of time before her people got used to living under the Rune Lords.

Lord Swain’s appearance was lovely to behold. Too lovely. I wanted to explain why what he was doing hurt so much. I had traveled across the many villages to see the Golden Wolf, Esper of Savage Beauty. He was one of the great ones. Everyone from that village had the grace of the wilds, and he was a sight to behold. It had been one of her fondest memories.

The Golden Wolf was converted into magicite components in an attack by a Rune Lord named Quixten. In her land, it was easy to tell where people were from based on their resident espers. Rune Lords, she couldn’t tell apart. It was people from a ruthless nation who simply saw her people as plunder. Oh, how greatly the people mourned their patrons. Oh how sorrowful it was to see something you always assumed to be so strong be taken away as support. Indeed, their villages had many rivalries and factions, and the Rune Lords, despite being mere refugees, were united.

Swain had a kind face, and he said, “So. The maiden who bars the way to the Sovereign Rune, if only I’ll marry her. But long story short, you might be surprised that I’d rather have both.”

She regarded him silently. They were bold words, but he spoke them so gently.

“I suppose the classic idea is that you have a way of stopping me. It’s not true, but it is possible.”

Her eyes looked away.

“I have an idea,” he said, drawing close, “How about I give your people nothing, but you marry me anyway?”

She looked at him, terrified from not knowing whether he meant it.

He gazed at her briefly. “Fear. I feel the pleasure in making you afraid, to be honest.”

“Is this a trap?” she said softly.

“I should stop picking on itty bitty girls.”

“I have power. In a fair fight, I’d— I’d—”

“Win?”

She blushed.

“Well you get to sleep in a whole bed. Why don’t you relax, and we can have lemon water or something.” 

Lemon water seemed so right. He had decimated her childhood’s very character and converted it into weapons, the gods his slaves, instead of slaves to the gods. What kind of place was Ivalice? Did this mean it was better, or worse?

She could tell he added sweetness to the lemon water.