The Ruler's Rift

Ups and Downs

Over the following week, Celeste contradicted herself plenty, whispering both warnings and reassurances into the opposing hemispheres of her brain. It chose to be both angel and devil perched on whichever shoulder it saw fit. Yet Amber played mediator and, with some logic and support, helped the queen make her choice.

Before long, Celeste found herself neck-deep in letters from deities; she couldn't fathom why anyone would transform their planet into a festival. Excuptero alone sent seven application scrolls her way and only time would tell how many more were in transit. Most planets were either cramped or far too huge to redecorate. Nova's stinginess didn't help matters - the fox turned her nose up to the fact that setting up a world would cost royal funds.

Ultimately, it was several stressors which forced Celeste outside: choosing a planet to host the gala, her own spiraling thoughts, and Nova's suggestion to enslave people like Violet did rather than pay up. Scrunching her nose at it all, Celeste found herself out in the courtyard that evening. Yet even during her break she prepared with halberd in hand. In the snow, under the dimming sky, she practiced moving with the weapon and swinging it. Black, with the faintest hint of purple iridescence, the halberd reminded Celeste of her mother's scythe. And, for a moment, she pictured it as such.

Footsteps rapped against the cobblestone. Celeste hadn't sensed any magic so she could guess who. The queen lowered her weapon and looked out into the wintery fog. Between the frosty branches and the courtyard's frozen, intricate walls came Amber.

"There you are," she called. "What are you doing all alone out here?"

"Hey," Celeste sighed. "Just practicing-"

"For the Battles of the Promised!" Amber finished, face brightening.

Celeste rolled her eyes.

"Oh, come on! It's the best part of the gala!" The assassin insisted. "Well, it was always my favorite."

"Of course you would think so - you don't use magic."

"Don't need to. Neither does anyone, really. And the Battles of the Promised prove just that."

"A tournament where magic is strictly prohibited..." Celeste grumbled. She faked a shiver. "Ooh, I feel it - all of my Mystearlian ancestors are cringing at me for promoting such an event."

Amber smirked and nodded at the halberd Celeste practiced with. "Participating, too. Let 'em roll in their graves."

They probably were. Most of them churned below the ice, in the depths. Celeste tossed her gaze up again. She said, "I didn't make the rules of this stupid gala. You think I want to participate?"

"Hm...where is the gala, anyway?" Amber asked. "Have you decided?"

Celeste paced just slightly, her boots crunching against frosty cobblestone. She held her weapon close, focusing on its weight instead of her tumultuous thoughts. "Well, yes. No, not really," she said. "Amber, these worlds don't measure up. Too big, too small, too much ocean..."

"What's the problem with Leafleff, Excuptero's world?"

"Excuptero is the problem with that."

"...All right, that's fair."

Celeste shook her head. "I was thinking...what if we held the gala here?"

Amber's face flipped through a variety of expressions. She looked out at Mystearlia. Beyond the courtyard were distant mountains and vast, empty fields of snow. Perhaps the suggestion wasn't great. The growing pit in Celeste's stomach certainly said as much.