'Sigh, as strong and smart as this man is, he is too easily controlled by his emotions.' I thought, sighing and looking out the window. The crescent of the academy lay below like a polished blade. I looked down at the landing pads under us. Trainees formed loose rings and lines, clashing in sets. Their colored armbands-yellow, blue, and red-flashed and blurred, mana trails stringing between them like faint threads in the air. If I squinted, the whole scene looked like a toy set-a diorama of war, safe because it was small.
"Sir, why do you think they are doing something like this after capturing a high-profile person from our Great Federation?" I asked, looking back outside at the children's fights that are going on on the landing pads. Children-young killers, I corrected myself. Still, the choreography smacked of practice more than desperation. Their footwork had the looseness of people performing for an audience.
"They are stalling for time." The commander said, realizing something. His mouth tightened, and he sat up straighter as if the thought had put iron rods in his spine.
"Why would they do that, sir? To interrogate the young miss?" I asked with a raised eyebrow. I flipped my notes open on my lap-not that I needed to; it was a habit, a way to signal I was thinking while also inviting him to think aloud.
"I am not sure." The commander spoke thoughtfully. The shift was always stark when he reached this place; the bro-con peeled back, and the tactician surfaced. He leaned forward and tapped the glass with one knuckle, eyes tracking the movements below, not the people but the patterns they formed. The set pieces. The staging.
"I see." I let the thought sit long enough to breathe. The pilots murmured coordinates to each other, and the altimeter ticked down a shade as we drifted lower, just low enough to feel intrusive.
"Hmm, I see, so they aren't here?" The commander said, narrowing his eye outside, confusing me. His single-lidded gaze, which he typically used for battlefield assessments, sharpened until I felt pinned by it, even though it wasn't directed at me.
"Sorry, sir." I followed his line of sight and tried to see what he saw. The trainees fought with vigor, but there was no heavy anchor in the flow-no signature flares, no distinctive cadences belonging to their senior commanders. The dragons were loud, always; when they were present, even the wind seemed to shift.
"Land the plane in the middle right now. Their head commanders aren't here." The commander ordered him to stand up. His hands flew to the harness buckles, the click-click sounding like the cocking of a gun.
"Yes, sir." The pilot said he was doing as he was told, but his eyes flicked toward me again and then toward the external feeds-the pads were packed. The term "Middle" referred to aggressively forcing our way into the drill, similar to how a fist would disrupt a chessboard.
"Sir, your action is going to start a war!" I said, keeping my voice steady by force alone. I had learned early never to raise my voice at him; it made him dig his heels in harder.
"No, it won't. They won't dare touch my sister." He said it the way some men said prayers and others said oaths. He believed it wholeheartedly, and that conviction, more than anything else, made me afraid. Faith got people killed as often as it saved them.
"But, sir, I heard the young Draig doesn't really obey the rules. She might just kill her after some torture. Kayda, the fire dragon, is also still here, sir." I said these words in an attempt to bring reason back to the man. Names had power. I dropped them like weights into our conversation, heavy enough to pull him down from his temper.
"Hah, that's true; pilot, just stay in the air but close to the ground, make them uncomfortable." The commander said this, dropping down into his seat, annoyed. The harness buckled again. My breath left me in a slow, measured release. Outside, our shadow slid over the nearest ring of trainees; heads tilted up, and a ripple of attention broke their formation.
"Yes, sir." The pilot's shoulders lowered by a sliver as he adjusted our hover. The engines settled into a steadier thrum, the kind that got under your skin. It would vibrate in their bones down there.
"Sigh, at least we won't start a war, just an argument," I said, sighing and falling back in my seat. Arguments we could file reports about later. Wars needed funerals.
The commander didn't answer. He was watching the mansion now instead of the pads, his gaze climbing its lines, windows glinting like eyes. Somewhere in there, his sister sat inside a cage of ice-so the stories said. He drummed his fingers once, twice, then stilled them by sheer force of will. The bro-con wasn't gone; he never was. But for the moment, the commander was sitting in the right chair.
[Kitsu POV]
"Hey, are you going to keep pouting for 2 hours?" I asked, lounging in the chair with my legs pulled up under me, heels tucked against the seat. My tail swished lazily from side to side, the tip flicking in amusement every time she tightened her arms around that poor pillow.
"Why 2 hours?" Her voice was flat with suspicion, like I'd hidden thorns in a bouquet and offered it to her with a smile.
"That's how long your brother will take to come get you, of course," I said, grinning at her confused face. Her eyebrows were scrunched together, a little line forming between them like a seam I could tug on.
"...What else do you expect me to do?" She said this, looking away. Her cheeks puffed slightly-adorable, if you ignored the part where she'd murder entire villages if someone told her it would make Big Brother proud.
"I don't know; talk?" I propped my chin on my palm and widened my eyes in fake innocence. The ice walls hummed faintly, a constant whisper of mana knitting and reknitting as the structure settled.
"No." She turned further away, burying half her face in the pillow. Static crackled over the fabric. She was actually doing it-running lightning just under her skin to keep warm. Good girl.
"... whatever," I said, taking out my scroll and starting to message Kayda out of boredom. The room was quiet except for the occasional thunk of her heel against the bed frame and the faint scrape of my quill over the scroll surface. A few ice motes drifted down from the ceiling like lazy snow and melted on the quilt.
I glanced at the window. The helicopter's hum had deepened-closer, more insistent. Good. Let them simmer.
[Scroll POV? Messages.]
Ding!
Kitsu, how is the time-wasting plan going?
Kayda-It's going fine, but the Sis-con is hovering a bit close to our people.
Kitsu, please let me know if I need to remove any nails from the gullible dimwit.
Kayda, please don't do that. If we don't do anything to her, he won't do anything to us but threaten us.
Kitsu-Threats can become reality rapidly, you know.
Kayda: Yes, it can, but he won't gain anything if he takes her by force.
Kitsu-well, he would get a corpse.
Kayda: That is precisely my point, and he is aware of it. Or his assistant knows that.
Kitsu: Oh, is it because he knows about my 'personality'?
Kayda: Yes...
Kitsu-great, good to know I am well known already.
Kayda, your mother will be here in 30 minutes."
Kitsu: Already!?
Kayda: Yes, apparently, she was on the outskirts of the territory, so she was quite closer to us than the city.
Kitsu: Great, I can show her my invisible mana.
Kayda, I am sure she would be amazed.
Kitsu won't be the first time she will react like that with me, haha.
Kayda— That's true. So, how are things going for you?
Kitsu-Photo (Miss Gullible glaring and cuddling a pillow): She has been like that for the last 20 minutes.
Kayda— What did you do to make her like that?
Kitsu-I played chess against her. She didn't win once.
Kayda: Ah, it must be an ego blow losing to a 14-year-old.
Kitsu-Though she knows I am a reincarnation, I don't understand why she hasn't realized I am older than her.
Kayda: Right, got to go. They just broke through the Team Yellow defense. The fight will be over in a few minutes.
Kitsu: Okay! Bye, cutie.
I let the scroll dim and tossed it onto the table, then sprawled back farther in my chair, hands linked behind my head. Dea peeked at me over the pillow, eyes narrowed. When she realized I'd caught her looking, she jerked her gaze away so fast her hair flicked her cheek.
"You could nap," I offered. "I can even sing you a lullaby. It starts with la-la-la-"
"Shut up," she muttered into the pillow. But the corners of her mouth twitched. She was fighting a smile and hated herself for it. Good. If she smiled, she would relax. If she relaxed, she would talk. And if she talked, I'd collect.
I closed my eyes and sent a testing pulse through the walls. The ice answered like a whale answering in the deep-slow, strong, and resonant. Satisfied, I cracked one eye open and studied the hostage. She had excellent posture even while sulking, with feet tucked, back straight, and chin tilted as if she'd learned since childhood to always meet the world elevated, even if only by inches. It made me want to poke at her. So I did.
"Are you hungry?" I asked.
"No."
"Thirsty?"
"No."
"Bored?"
Her silence was eloquent.
"Do you want to play a game that isn't chess? Maybe cards? I could make ice cards. They're slippery. Like you." I smiled too sweetly.
She groaned and rolled onto her side so she didn't have to see my face. I hid a laugh behind my hand and conjured a tiny fox from frost in the air. It pranced along the bed frame, stopped near her ear, and yipped once, then dissolved into glitter that sank into the pillowcase. She slapped the spot blindly, missed, realized there was nothing there, and groaned again. Perfect.
[Kayda POV]
"Rebecca, get the landing pad ready when they are done," I said, looking at Rebecca, quite a bit disappointed, seeing that the fight would be over in a while. The trainees were flagging; adrenaline burned fast, and most of them were on their second wind, which was never as pretty as the first.
"I have already prepared for that," Rebecca said, sounding annoyed, as expected. Her braid snapped against her back when she turned to signal the battle maids. Platters appeared as if from air-tea, fruit, and those honey biscuits Stacy liked when she was pretending to be civilized.
"Good. I hope Stacy arrives before he gets through the ice wall." I said this while looking at the commander's plane. The plane hovered ominously, its engines disturbing the air. Even from here, I could feel the shift in atmosphere-pressure building, the way the sky felt before a storm broke and washed everything clean or bloody.
"We should be fine even if she is present, but the fact that Kitsuna is here makes me uneasy," Rebecca said, going silent, not wanting to talk too much. She didn't have to finish it. The rest lived in our heads the way a favorite song lived in the bones-Kitsu was a magnet for chaos. Give her a minute in an empty room, and somehow it would catch fire from boredom alone.
"Yeah, her luck is shit." I lifted two fingers to my temple and rubbed the beginning of a headache away. Anger ignited the heat beneath my skin, and I channeled it. Fire dragons didn't get to complain about being warm.
"I don't think it has something to do with her luck," Rebecca said, making me raise an eyebrow at her.
"Hmm?"
"Well, she has quite the knack for getting on people's nerves," Rebecca said, shrugging. Her mouth twitched, which for her counted as a belly laugh.
"You do have a point there. Well, we will deal with the problems when they come." I said, looking at the Federation ship land on the ground. They didn't land, not exactly-more like kissed the pad with the threat of a bite if we flinched. Dust plumed around the skids, and several of my trainees hopped back with hands up to shield their faces, then remembered themselves and returned to ranks, cheeks reddening.
"I will prepare the treats in the drawing room."
"Rather, let's do it outside, not inside the mansion," I said, jumping in the air and flying to the landing pad the Federation fuckers landed on. I needed the air on my skin. I needed the altitude-perspective-and the chance to look down my nose at them when my feet touched earth again.
"Will do," Rebecca said, taking a few battle maids with her. In moments, they were a procession of competence, skirts swishing, trays shining, faces politely blank. Our unique approach to conflict involves fighting with smiles that reveal only the tips of our teeth.
'Let's see how annoyed he is.' I thought, landing on the ground and looking at the plane before me. The door mechanism whined. Impatience made it sound like a scream.
Tsss!
"Where is my sister?!" A man yelled, not even waiting for the door to open properly before rushing out. He ducked and then straightened to his full height like a soldier reborn from a shell. Fury sat on him like armor.
"She is resting right now, but I have sent someone to get her for you," I explained, looking down at him. He had a pleasing face for posters-strong lines, clean rage. If he hadn't been a pain, I might have liked him.
"Bring her here then." Mr. Pendragon approached me with a glare. The air between us crackled-not with lightning but with the friction of two wills pushing and refusing to slide.
"She has been through a lot today. Let her rest," I said, turning around towards the mansion. I didn't hurry. Let him drown in the decision to follow me or swallow his pride and sit.
"If I find a scratch on her, I will hold you responsible." His voice dropped low, which told me he was thinking of throat-cutting, not shouting.
"What if? Are you going to start killing people? Good luck with that. Your sister will be the first person to die if you do that. I am sure you know who she is right now." I said, threatening him. I didn't have to look back to know my guards' postures had altered behind me-shifting weight, ready to move. We all knew how this dance went.
"You!" His stride stuttered.
"Have a point," I said, shrugging at him. Shrugging always enraged men like him. They spent their lives being a point of focus, constantly enduring the pain of criticism.
"Grrr." The growl leaked out despite his attempt to swallow it. A couple of the battle maids flicked their eyes his way and then away again, the polite version of a smirk.
"Kitsu said that grinding your teeth like that will make them fall out faster," I remarked with a chuckle that turned into full-on laughter when I noticed he stopped doing it in surprise. The sound got away from me; sometimes I forgot how much I liked poking at other people's composure.
