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Opis smiled malevolently as he looked down at the corpse splayed out before him. The beast’s name was Gustave Pronislav, though he went by Gilbert in his current job as a Knight of the False Goddess. He’d served the idiot king who pretended at ruling Snezhniykrai, at least until the fool had waltzed into Operation Honeytrap. After that miserable failure, he’d changed his name, abandoned his family, and fled to the False Goddess’s church. He held a high position in her private army and the respect of all the beasts around him but was otherwise unexceptional and ignorable, making him a prime target for replacement. Reports from Solon indicated that he was taciturn, standoffish, and withdrawn, keeping largely to himself and shunning social interaction. Good. Opis could do taciturn, and the lack of social ties meant that no one would be given reason to suspect him. This was going to be easy.
It’d been over half a year since Opis had taken this assignment, and he was still shocked by how ridiculously smoothly this entire operation was going. ‘Gilbert’ had returned late from his trip to town, glowered at those who dared question his tardiness, and had been accepted smoothly into the fold. His days were spent training (in solitude, naturally, lest any of the beasts see and copy his superior Agarthan techniques), going out to hunt down whichever beasts the False Goddess had deemed to be on her shit list that particular day (pathetically easy, really, it’s not like they could put up much of a fight against him), or standing silent guard over her ridiculously opulent castle (there was so much space! So much light! It was nothing like the cramped, dark corridors of Shambhala at all). None of the moronic surface beasts that surrounded him seemed to even so much as suspect that ‘Gilbert’ was not who he seemed, with the exception of one of his battalion troopers who had ventured forward to thank him for “going easy on us, sir” and had been swiftly glared back into submission.
All in all, this mission was going more smoothly than a freshly lubricated magi-piston. Opis could nearly taste his success. All he’d have to do was continue to perform well in this position until Thales’ plan came to fruition and the surface was theirs once more, and then surely he would be rewarded richly for his devoted service! Nothing could get in the way of his—
“Father! Father! Why do you pretend not to recognize me?!”
Fuck.
The beast’s name was Annette, as far as he could surmise from the letters he had dug out of Gilbert’s drawers (more proof of these creatures’ idiocy; what point is there in writing missives only to never send them?), and she had traveled to the educational facility contained within this ridiculous castle solely for the purpose of finding her father again. Fuck. Opis had no idea how to be a father. He’d never known his own parents – the children of Agartha were raised from birth to serve their glorious nation by the guiding hands of the Department of Education.
Well, he’d have to learn, and fast. His very position in this world depended on it. If this beast called his bluff, then Solon would… No. He wouldn’t dwell on that possibility. He’d pass this test, and earn his position in their glorious new world!
His frantic rummaging in Gilbert’s drawers yielded a carved wooden doll. Opis eyed it warily. Surface beast children liked dolls, right? He was fairly certain they did – he’d seen a few playing with the things and getting in the way of his patrols. He would deliver this to the child, and perform fatherhood! Yes! No one said that he could not improvise, adapt, and overcome!
As it turns out, surface beast children did not appreciate dolls. Or, at least, this one didn’t. All that move had gotten him was an outpouring of, ugh, feelings.
Perhaps the letters would have a more positive effect?
The letters had a… mixed effect. The beast had seemed happy (was that the correct emotion? at the very least, it was more pleasant than the last one) to receive them, at least. She’d instructed him to send them to her mother, which was something that was well within Opis’s capabilities. He would get the hang of this fatherhood thing yet!
The False Goddess ordered ‘Gilbert’ to assist the creepy beast who could wield the Sword of the Creator and Thales’s Weapon in retrieving some Relic that had been stolen by a crestless beast. Opis did not want to be anywhere near that moron when the Stone overtook him. He retreated as soon as possible – let the beasts deal with their own mess.
The convenient thing about being a father to a beast like Annette was that she was more than happy to provide direction on how to go about the task. She wanted to eat meals together (easily accommodated, he had to eat anyway), talk about her day at him (at the very least, her stories of how she very nearly blew up the pretender king’s son yet again were more amusing than Kronya’s lurid exaggerations of her own meager accomplishments had been), and practice her poisoning technique on him (despite nearly reaching the age of maturity, her attempts never got more sophisticated than charred ingredients, undercooked meat, and sodium chloride overdoses – how typically pathetic for a surface beast).
If Opis understood correctly, it was part of a father’s duties to provide guidance to his offspring. A proper mastery of poisons is an essential skill of adulthood. He would rectify this gaping insufficiency!
Well, that had been a bust. All he’d done was point out that there were more sophisticated ways of poisoning people than her own meager attempts, and she’d yelled at him! These inscrutable surface beasts; he’d never understand them!
Now she wasn’t speaking to him. This wasn’t good at all! He was failing at being a father. If his cover was blown because of this… No. He couldn’t let that happen.
Hm… Attempting to be a father on his own was not working out very well. If he recalled correctly, one of the Knights – the particularly annoying one – also possessed a daughter. Perhaps if he could obtain advice? Subtly, though, so that no one would suspect him.
“My daughter isn’t talking to me.” There. An excellent opener.
“Gilbert! That’s horrible!” An excitable beast, this one was. “What could have possibly caused that?”
“I don’t know.” For what other reason would he possibly be asking? Moron. “I was just criticizing her technique, and she yelled at me.”
“Well, that’s your problem!” said the beast. “You should console her when she makes a mistake, and praise her when she does well. Tell her you’re proud of her!”
Praise. Hmph. What delicate little creatures these surface beasts were. No one had ever praised Opis, and he had turned out fine. But if that was what was necessary, then he’d do it. For Agartha!
Unfortunately, this was easier said than done. The little beast was not in the ostentatious monstrosity of a cathedral, the dining hall, her classroom, or the training courts. Kronya, however, was, and waved unsubtly at him. The tall, pale beast that shadowed Thales’ Weapon’s every move turned to eye him suspiciously, as did a muscular, blonde beast with a cape and a lance.
Opis bit back a grimace. Kronya was a moron with no understanding of tact, subtlety, method acting, or proper infiltration protocols. What Solon was thinking involving her in this mess was beyond him. He’d have to avoid her in the future, lest she compromise his cover.
He finally found her in the library, bent over a manuscript and surrounded by stacks of books. He gave a deferential nod to Solon and then approached. The books, on closer look, seemed to be tomes on reason. Hmph. Primitives. Surely nothing the surface beasts had stumbled upon could rival the sophistication of Agartha’s mastery over the intricacies of the magical arts.
“Wah! Father! You startled me! I didn’t notice you approach,” said the beast.
Opis picked up one of her tomes and flipped through it. He was expecting some trite nonsense, and was taken aback at the sophistication of the equations that he found within. He’d never been the most magically inclined of his cohort – his physical focus was the reason he ended up replacing a man like Gilbert, after all – but for the beasts to have attained an understanding of reason that surpassed the basics taught to all Agarthans was more than he had expected of them.
“This is impressive,” he admitted.
“I studied so hard to get into the School of Sorcery, and even harder to get into Garreg Mach! To hear you acknowledge that… It’s more than I ever dreamed of,” she said.
Opis had no idea what this “School of Sorcery” was, but he did know that the False Goddess’s educational program was considered to be the training grounds for the surface’s elite. From the sounds of it, this beast had worked her way to the very top of her primitive society. In Agartha, such dedication and capability would be rewarded.
“Good job,” said Opis. “ I am proud of you.” There. Praise administered; fatherhood performed.
The beast stared at him for a beat, and then her eyes filled with water. She made a distress noise.
Oh, shit! Fuck, he was so bad at this!
“Father! Thank you! I’m so happy!” She leaned over towards him and wrapped her arms around his torso. He knew what this was – it was a bonding ritual used by the beasts. His role was to wrap his arms around her in turn, until she released her grip and completed the ritual.
Oh, yes! Fuck, he was so good at this!
“I’m so glad I came to Garreg Mach,” she said, face still pressed into his torso. “I was so afraid that you’d continue running away from me, from Mother. But now, we can be a family again. It’s all that I ever wanted.”
“Of course, Annette,” said Opis.
The blonde beast from the training court cornered him after he finished pretending to pray to the False Goddess one evening. He typically went when no one else was around so that he could spend the least time possible at this most distasteful aspect of his charade. That worked against him in this instance, as the beast (apparently the pretender king’s son) used their privacy to attempt to appeal to their shared history. It seemed that Gilbert was not as deprived of social ties as Solon had led Opis to believe.
Opis made his excuses and ditched the conversation as soon as he could. ‘Gilbert’ was not this beast’s father; he was entitled to none of Opis’s time or attention. His day was already filled with pretending at being a Knight of the False Goddess and fulfilling his parental responsibilities to Annette. He’d taken to reading the tomes in the library, primitive as they were, so that he could discuss her classwork with her when she needed.
“— and then a rogue came up and tried to rob us, but I told him to stay back or I’d fight him,” sniffled Annette. She’d come up to Opis earlier, eyes shining with the water that indicated distress. Having learned from that conversation in the library, he had deployed a “hug.” This had not alleviated the face water, but she clung to him anyway and so he figured he must be doing something right.
“You would have destroyed him,” said Opis. He’d seen her in the training courts, absolutely demolishing dummies with expertly controlled blasts of wind. She lacked the raw power and destructive potential of dark magic, but he could not deny the efficacy of the beasts’ primitive, elemental replacements. Had she been born Agarthan, she would have been a force to be reckoned with indeed.
“I know!” she wailed. “But then Mercie ye— yelled at me, a—and now she’s left the Blue Lions and joined the B— Black Eagles!”
Opis did not know, nor did he care, much about the petty internal divisions of the beasts’ education system – except, wait, wasn’t Kronya in that class? He would tell her to make life unpleasant for this… “Mercie.”
To add insult to injury, these “Black Eagles” defeated Annette’s “Blue Lions” in some mock battle. ‘Gilbert’ was a Knight, and so he had been forced to stand up atop the hill with the False Goddess and her entourage while Annette fought in the plains below. Intellectually, he knew that the weapons were blunted and the False Goddess’s priests ringed the combat zone to heal any injuries incurred within, but he’d seen enough life altering accidents occur during regular schoolyard roughhousing in Shambhala to fully trust these beasts not to hurt Annette. Thankfully, no harm befell her other than a slightly sore head where Thales’ Weapon had whacked her with a training axe.
It was all a bunch of silly frippery in Opis’s opinion, but Annette took it seriously indeed, and was quite upset at her loss. Irritated by her self recriminations (and he knew that irritation was unbecoming of a father, but he was only Agarthan) he suggested that she learn the axe if she envied it so much. This was, apparently, exactly the right thing to say. Annette latched onto the new idea with gusto, and so it came to be that he spent his training sessions training her, as well.
During one such training session, the pretender king’s son approached the two of them. Apparently, ‘Gilbert’ had taught him the ways of war, back before he fled to the False Goddess’s embrace. In a desperate bid to end a conversation about a past that Opis knew nothing about, he assigned the beast to spar with Annette.
Annette was learning quickly but still inexperienced, her strikes inaccurate and openings predictable. The beast, in contrast, was sure footed and precise with his lance. Understanding the purpose of the lesson, he restrained the strength of his blows, providing an active target more than a proper opponent – until, with a flare of his Crest, he didn’t. His blow shattered Annette’s training axe, embedding his training lance deep in the packed soil of the practice court floor. She missed death by less than an inch – such a blow, had it landed, would have severed her clean in two.
The beast was summarily banned from further training sessions.
Solon abandoned his cover. Opis was… stunned. Surely, there must be some larger plan that he is unaware of? Surely, this stunt could not be as foolish and stupid as it appeared on the surface? Seven years of work, a flawless disguise, a position of trust right in the heart of the False Goddess’s stronghold. Surely he did not throw all that away just to gloat? Even if the experiments had a purpose (and what purpose could that be? those rampaging beasts had been put down by mere children, Opis could see no tactical application for them) did Solon truly need to unmask himself during the proceedings?
Now, the False Goddess and her minions knew of the Agarthans’ thaumaturgical mimicry, and they knew that the very uppermost echelons of their ranks had been infiltrated. Security was heightened and everyone was suspicious of everyone else, including ‘Gilbert!’ The protection of the beasts’ ignorance had been ripped away. Any slip up of Opis’s could be fatal, now that they knew what to look for! Did Solon think of that, before he pulled his stunt?
…Was he even thinking of Opis at all? He’d been left with no forewarning that this would happen, no further orders to fulfill upon his departure. What was Opis supposed to do now?
He’d trust in the plan. He had to. Surely, Thales was working towards a larger goal with this move. It would all become clear in time. It must.
Opis buried his head in his hands. Across from him, Annette sighed, picking at her soup.
“I can’t believe it either!” she exclaimed. “He always seemed so nice! I guess you can’t trust anyone, now…” She trailed off morosely, before brightening. “Father, we have to stick together, all right? I don’t want to lose you again!”
Opis felt something funny in his chest. He didn’t feel like eating anymore.
Thankfully, no one spared Opis a second glance or a moment’s thought. Gilbert, as always, blended into the backdrop of Garreg Mach, dependable enough to be a part of the scenery (fools! did they not recall how Tomas, too, had been so much a fixture so as to be ignored entirely?). The beasts were too busy with their own anxieties to pay him any attention.
The pretender king’s son, in particular, paced the Knight’s Hall and training courts relentlessly, muttering of death and damnation. Opis did not much care (the fool was dead already but didn’t know it, his fate as sealed as his father’s once was) but Annette did. Apparently, this behavior was the last straw for some other boy from her class, who likewise bailed to the Black Eagles. Opis was baffled as to why this bothered her so – all he had heard about this boy prior were general complaints about how “evil” he was – but upon raising this point with Annette all he got was an expression that he now could identify as “indignation” and a pointed silence. Surface beasts. He truly would never understand them.
There was some sort of a… public dance thing, hosted by the False Goddess and teeming with young beasts, who performed some sort of coordinated swaying set to music. The entire event baffled Opis completely, but thankfully no one seemed interested on inflicting that sort of activity on the famously taciturn ‘Gilbert.’ He did note, however, that Annette spent quite some time swaying with that ‘evil’ boy. Peculiar.
Kronya transformed some students into demonic beasts, killed some high ranking knight and ran off, apparently. Was this, too, planned? Opis couldn’t see the point of it. The beasts made sense, sure, but why now? Why not on the eve of the assault, when they actually would serve some strategic purpose? This just seemed like a waste of Crest Stones, and a needless revelation of this aspect of their plans. And why target such a prominent knight? Now the entire monastery was in an uproar, and suspicions were higher than ever. This was only making their plan harder to enact!
To make matters worse, now all of the Knights, ‘Gilbert’ included, were forced to run around to try and find the one bug in 10,000 lines of code. Chasing after Kronya was wasting his time, and taking him away from the monastery during a time that he needed to be preparing for their own assault. He hated this. If Kronya was caught soon, then they’d be down a talented operative (her incompetent acting aside, the woman was absolutely lethal with a dagger) but if she wasn’t, then he’d be deprived of vital preparation time and may not even be in position when he was needed (and would be missing out on training Annette, to boot. For a beast as small as she was, she was taking quite well to the axe).
In the end, Kronya let herself be caught, and both she and Solon died for it. That creepy beast turned out to be the Fell Star reincarnated and Opis could not even bring himself to be surprised.
The news that kept rattling about his brain was this – Solon had torn out Kronya’s Stone, and crushed it, and sacrificed her very essence to the forbidden darkness of Zaharas. Stories abounded in Shambhala about the darkness of Zaharas, where no light reached at all, the manifestation of the deepest depths of the hell into which Agartha had been cast. Only the souls of the worst, most disobedient, most defiant Agarthans were said to be sent there.
Kronya was, well, she was a horrid actor and an annoyance. But she’d been in his cohort – they’d grown up together. She was gifted with a dagger – she liked to carve and whittle almost anything she could get her hands and knife on. She’d never once tried to poison him, even though she had several opportunities and he knew for a fact that she was skilled with the stuff. She had found a joy in what they did that he had not properly appreciated until she was gone. And she was so, so eager to please. Opis could not imagine that she would ever defy commands, she just didn’t have it in her. That meant that she was working off of Solon’s instructions, when she ran to him and he had cast her into the deepest hell known to Agartha.
Opis understood – it had been drilled into him – that some sacrifices were necessary to bring about the salvation of humanity, the restoration of Agartha. But… if Solon had been willing to do this to Kronya, what about him? Was he similarly disposable? After all his hard work and all his dedication, would he, too, be cast aside? Was that the plan all along? No wonder they cared little for the safety of his cover!
As Opis stared morosely at the fishing line (he had not bothered baiting it – he’d come here to think, not eat, and what point was there in needless death?) he came to several conclusions.
The Church was doomed – and so, he, in turn, was also likely doomed. He was the only Agarthan left hiding in their ranks, Thales’ last sleeper agent, but the likelihood was that he would die in the line of duty for a deity he despised, his destructive potential never realized.
The Kingdom was doomed. Annette, so deadly with the tome and now with an axe (why had he taught her that?! it only made her more valuable to the idiot surface beasts’ armies), would surely be drafted into its defense, and so she, too, was in the line of fire.
Defection was not a possibility for him – Thales lurked in the Empire, and would have his head (or worse; he shuddered to think of it) should he abandon his assignment. Annette, however… she had a way to get out. If she cozied up to Thales’ Weapon, she might even have the opportunity to rise to the heights that she deserved in the upcoming Agarthan society. It was her best chance for survival. He’d need to work fast; they didn’t have much time – the attack would be any month now. This would require all his tact and subtlety to pull off.
“Annette,” said Opis. “You should join the Black Eagles.”
“What are you talking about, Father?” asked Annette. “It’s nearly the end of the year! And I really like Professor Hanneman…”
Shit, fuck. He needed to come up with a reason, and fast. Uhhh...
“Oh! Is this about the ceremony in the Holy Tomb?” she asked. Yes! She was coming up with his reasons for him! This was why she was the best of the surface beasts.
“I’m sure that if you want to see it for yourself, you can, you know,” continued Annette.
No, no, no! The very last thing that Opis wanted was to be anywhere near any supposed revelation from the Fell Star.
“I will be… busy,” he managed. “Guarding… the monastery.” Yes, that worked. “You should go. It will be… a once in a lifetime opportunity. I do not want you to miss out on it.” This was her only path to safety, after all.
“Well, all right,” she giggled. “I’ll make sure to tell you all about it, though! Every last bit! That way, it’ll be almost like we experienced it together!”
Opis let out a sigh of relief.
Annette did not, in fact, get to tell him all about it. Apparently, Thales’ Weapon had attacked the ceremony itself (what the Zaharas!? it was a month too early; he had not been informed of this aspect of the plan!) and the False Goddess had revealed her true Beastly form in her rage.
The entire Black Eagle class (Fell Star and all) had fled the monastery in the ensuing chaos, Annette among them. His gambit had worked; she was with the winning side, now. While the rest of the False Goddess’s church descended into panicked preparations for the incoming Imperial attack, Opis had to suppress the spring in his step. It was all coming together – all he had to do was survive the coming onslaught, and victory would be theirs!
“Father, you don’t have to do this!” shouted Annette, while the din of battle raged all around them. “The Archbishop! She’s not human! She’s just a monster pretending to be one for her own benefit!”
Opis swallowed, his grip on his axe suddenly clammy. He wasn’t like that, he wasn’t!
“Father, you don’t have to fight! Come join the Empire! Edelgard will take you! Professors Manuela and Hanneman, Knights Shamir and Alois, they’ve already left. Please!” beseeched Annette.
Opis stared at her, frozen in place. He… he couldn’t. He needed to maintain his cover, his position in the lion’s den. He’d be far more good to their cause in the Church than in the Empire. Even still, he wanted…
Agony exploded across his skin, raced down his spine, and brought him to his knees. Dark magic! He’d know it anywhere. Had he been betrayed!? Was there another Agarthan, lurking about in case he ever expressed doubts? He looked up through the haze of pain to see Thales’ Weapon’s shadow, miasma dancing about his outstretched arm. Ah. Figures that Thales would assign her a minder.
Too injured to fight further, he cast one last look at Annette and withdrew from the battle.
“Father, I love you!” shouted Annette at his retreating back.
Opis’s steps were heavy all the way to Fhirdiad.
In Faerghus, Opis faced another sort of battle. He had mastered, during his time in Garreg Mach, the art of fatherhood. He had no experience, as of yet, at husband-hood.
“So,” said Maria Cossette Dominic, standing in the doorway of the Dominic manor with her arms folded. “The prodigal husband returns at last.”
“Erm,” said Opis. “Yes.” He really, really hoped this conversation would go smoothly; his cover depended on it!
“I got those letters of yours. What inspired you to send them, all of a sudden?” asked Maria.
Oh, that was easy! “Annette told me to,” said Opis.
“…And you listened to her?” she asked.
“Of course!” replied Opis. This beast did not know much about fatherhood, did she? “She’s my daughter.”
Maria paused, eyed him. Opis could feel the sweat tricking down the back of his neck.
“Annette wrote. She said that you’ve been really supportive of her efforts in Garreg Mach,” she finally ventured.
He swelled with pride. “Of course! I am her father. That is my duty.”
“And what of His Highness?” asked Maria.
“The King?” asked Opis, baffled. This woman really didn’t have her priorities straight. “His coronation was just last week.”
“And you left him in Fhirdiad to come make amends with me?” asked Maria.
“Of course,” said Opis. “You are my wife.” He was fairly certain that wives took precedence over kings in the surface beasts’ affection rankings.
“And you have come to be as devoted a husband to me, as you have been a father to Annette?” she asked, after a bit of a pause.
“Yes,” said Opis. Finally, the woman was getting it! Agastya, these surface beasts could be dense sometimes.
“Well,” sighed Maria, before stepping aside and letting him in. “Your time at the Church seems to have brought on a welcome reevaluation of your priorities. Welcome back, Gustave.”
Yes! He was so good at this!
There was a Relic hanging above the fireplace in the Dominic manor. None of the humans in the house bore the appropriate Crest to wield it. Opis decided that it would be best if he and Maria lived in Fhirdiad.
As it turns out, being a husband to Maria was even easier than being a father to Annette. She wanted him to thank her after she cooked a meal or mended his clothes, wash the dishes, and run errands when she asked. In return, he got freshly cooked meals (that rivaled the fare he had gotten accustomed to in Garreg Mach), his clothes were regularly laundered (by hand! no washing machines on the surface at all), and he got an additional heat source for sleeping through the frigid Faerghan nights.
Overall, Opis thought this “wife” idea was a brilliant one, and he planned on introducing the concept to Agarthan society as soon as he returned to it.
In Fhirdiad, Opis found himself, as a result of ‘Gilbert’s’ seniority and respect within both the False Church and the Pretender Kingdom, to be one of the more important coordinators of their war effort, in charge of reading official mail and delegating tasks as necessary. He did this job to the best of his ability – he’d only have one chance to stab them in the back, and he wanted to make it count.
It did mean, however, that he was the first one to see the innocuous missive – deposited by a messenger pigeon and appearing for all purposes to be an official status report until he opened it and saw Annette’s neat, dainty hand. There was nothing of strategic importance within the letter, just updates on her life. She’d been promoted to a General in the Imperial army, as had Evil Boy. The flowers were in bloom in the mountain meadows around Garreg Mach. She’d started learning axe techniques from Thales’ Weapon, who also incorporated magic into her strikes. She and “Mercie” had made up and were friends again.
Opis brought the pigeon home so that he could pen a reply with no prying eyes. He told Annette that he was proud of her. Maria told Annette to make sure she was eating enough.
If Opis was not mistaken – and Opis was never mistaken, he was incredibly astute and understood the surface beasts very well – the pretender king was trying to talk to him. This was a problem. With his excellent mastery over fatherhood and husbandhood, Opis had managed to completely fool Annette and Maria into thinking that he truly was ‘Gilbert,’ but there was a history that the pretender king had with the man that Opis knew nothing about. Every moment spent with him was a moment that risked his cover.
Thus, when the pretender king showed up at his office one afternoon, Opis suddenly remembered that he had promised to help his wife with something urgent that evening. Apologies, Your Majesty, but family comes first. I’m sure you understand. (The pretender king had, and Opis had smirked internally. He’d heard that line months ago, it was a bona fide surface beast saying. He was so good at this!)
When he arrived home, Maria was darning socks. Welp, Opis had said that he was going home to assist his wife, so assist his wife he would. Maria stared at him, but showed him how to do it all the same, and the two of them made short work of the stack of worn socks before them.
Overall, it was a productive evening, in Opis’s estimation. His socks got darned (a better use of his time than sitting in that office sorting through surface beasts’ mail, honestly) and he learned a useful skill. He informed Maria of this, and she promised that she had plenty more where that came from. Excellent! A ready-made excuse to avoid the pretender king. This evening could not have gone better.
Winter came, and with it blizzards, a temporary lull in hostilities, and the pretender king’s “birthday party.” The latter was a strange surface beast ritual which marked the anniversary of their successful hatching. It was utterly nonsensical, but they seemed to put a great deal of stock in it, delivering gifts to celebrate the recipient’s momentous achievement of not dying yet.
Wait.
Opis had known Annette for well over a year. He hadn’t sent her gifts on the day of her hatching. He was fairly certain this was a failure of his fatherly duties.
Fuck.
What did one even give as a gift? The pretender king has received ornate ceremonial swords, jewels, horses, imported clothing of rich fabrics. ‘Gilbert’ could not afford these things.
He did not want to ask Maria, for fear of revealing his ignorance and blowing his cover. He eventually settled on approaching a female Knight of Seiros, the one with the Relic, he forgot her name.
“What sort of gift do women like?” he asked.
“Weapons,” she answered.
Well, that made sense.
But how to send a weapon through Faerghus’s border, watched so carefully as it was? He was taking quite a risk as it was with his letters, and not even the royal spymaster could send packages across the border unquestioned.
Opis had the immense honor of being introduced to Bias, mimicking some court mage. She was second in power and prestige only to Thales himself, in charge of the Department of Thaumaturgical Engineering and widely renowned for her deadly creations. For a mere first rank infiltrator such as himself to come into her presence should be the crowning moment of his life to date. She smiled at him, sly and knowing, and he remembered Kronya, sacrificed upon the whims of Solon’s ambitions.
He hurried home to his wife as soon as he was able.
The answer to his gift delivery quandary presented itself several months later, in the form of a beast pretending (quite badly, Opis would know) to be a tea merchant. He was a friend of Annette’s (with a letter from her to prove it) and he was in Fhirdiad looking to obtain the adoption paperwork for her friend “Mercie.” In return for the documents, he would be more than happy to carry a gift back to Annette.
The adoption papers were trivial to obtain. Said “Mercie” was a traitor to Faerghus, after all, and the miserable excuse for a father frantically handed them over as soon as ‘Gilbert’ hinted that would clear him of suspicion.
The weapon itself was harder to get his hands on, but Opis managed it. ‘Gilbert’ rode out on a hunting expedition, and returned a week later with a barrel of salted venison, which he gave to the (still very unconvincing) merchant with strict instructions to get it to Annette as soon as possible – without opening it, lest the seal break and the meat go bad.
He returned from his trip just in time, too, for all of Faerghus was rocked by scandal and the royal spymaster was needed immediately. Apparently, a thief with skin as pale as death had broken into Dominic Manor and absconded with Crusher. The Empire took credit for the daring theft once the Relic showed up in the hands of one of its own generals. The pretender king was crestfallen, the False Goddess was incensed, and ‘Gilbert’ was kept very, very busy.
Annette “got together” with Evil Boy, a process which apparently involved singing? And the potential for offspring? Opis didn’t understand much about such things, but thankfully Maria did. She wrote a very long, detailed letter instructing Annette to not reproduce until the war was over and she had formally introduced Evil Boy to her parents for a proper evaluation. Opis agreed with this – offspring could not fight, and were a danger to the bearer during the incubation period.
The pretender king attempted to corner ‘Gilbert’ in the training courts for a conversation about the “good old times.” Opis dropped a mace on his foot.
During the resulting week of enforced bedrest, Opis darned every sock in the house, mended all the tears in his clothes from training with live steel, and polished every shoe and piece of armor in the house until it gleamed. For lack of something better to do, he asked Maria if there was anything she needed help with. Maria was in the middle of embroidering a dish towel, and was more than happy to teach him how to go about it as well. Opis’s stitches were nowhere as neat as hers, but he was quite proud of the black skull he managed all the same.
For Annette’s 20th birthday, Opis purchased her a Bolt Axe and requested to be deployed to the front lines. Evil Boy was leading an Imperial assault on Charon territory, and Opis intended to be in the forces that countered it.
Evil Boy had grown, since Opis had seen him last. Harder, better, faster, stronger, worse hairdo. His Relic shield shimmered, unnatural and ugly. Opis made straight for him.
“This is for Annette!” he shouted, and buried the Bolt Axe in that awful shield. Evil Boy blinked, and then kicked his ass. Zaharas damn these surface beasts and their blasted Crests.
Opis awoke in an infirmary tent, sans Bolt Axe. Good, Evil Boy had gotten both the message and the gift.
“I’m glad that I got here in time,” said a tall beast with the worst mustache that Opis had ever seen. “I was able to drive them back. The border has been secured, though I fear that I was not able to deal with my son.”
So this was Evil Boy’s father. On retrospect, it seemed obvious – there was a definite familial resemblance. Hopefully Evil Boy would be smarter about his choice of facial hair, but given the current combover he was currently sporting Opis wasn’t particularly optimistic.
“I understand your rage, Gilbert… no, Gustave,” said the beast. “Our children have both turned their blades upon their King, their country, and their families alike. These stains upon our House’s names can only be washed out with blood.”
“He is your son,” said Opis, deeply uncomfortable.
“Yes,” said the beast, shaking his head. “It is a father’s duty to settle his child’s failures. I ask that you leave Felix to me. He must die by my hand, so that I may make amends to his Majesty for my wayward progeny.” The vermin looked at Opis, and… was that sympathy in his eyes? “I’m sure you feel the same way about your own. Should my forces encounter her, I will call for you, so that you may render justice yourself.”
Opis felt sick to his stomach.
In his next letter, he told Annette that he loved her.
One, two, three months passed, and Annette did not reply. Maria began accosting Opis every evening when he arrived home, in hopes that this night he would bear Annette’s letter. He never did.
A fourth month passed. Opis threw himself into the information gathering aspect of his role, coordinating vast fleets of messengers and spies to keep him up to date on all Imperial engagements. He kept a meticulous record of the Empire’s attacks and skirmishes and demanded detailed reports of the commanders and casualties on each side from his agents. He scoured these reports for news of Annette’s deployment, some scrap of evidence that she was still alive. There never was any.
The pretender king commended him on his dedication to the cause. Opis wanted to scream.
Halfway through the fifth month of no news from Annette, Opis came home late one night to find Maria waiting up for him.
“Annette wrote,” she said without preamble. “She sent it the conventional way, I got the letter this morning.”
“She’s alive!” exclaimed Opis. “How is she? Let me see.”
Maria hesitated, then shook her head. “She needed motherly advice. I already sent a reply with the messenger.”
Opis had no idea what sort of thing “motherly advice” entailed, but at least it sounded like Maria had it handled. Wives were useful for that sort of thing, he had found.
“She’s all right, though?” he asked. Maria nodded, smiling, and it felt like a massive weight had lifted off of his shoulders all at once.
After that, Annette resumed writing regularly once more. Her letters were terse, at first, but gradually relaxed in tone until they were almost like they had been before. Opis hoped that whatever she needed “motherly advice” for had settled itself out.
She was staying safe, at least, mostly handling logistical operations for the Imperial supply chain rather than being fielded to the front lines. It explained why he had seen no news of her in his tracking of Imperial deployments. He told her to stay away from the Faerghan front – Kingdom troops were specifically seeking her head.
The war ground on, taking far longer than Opis had expected it to. Thales’ Weapon was not using the beasts at all, from what he could see. He wondered at that – it seemed a mistake to sacrifice such a valuable tactical advantage.
For Annette’s 21st birthday, Opis filched an Abraxas tome from the False Goddess’s personal stores. Annette had mentioned working on her white magic and after he had overcome his initial revulsion, Opis decided that if she was set on pursuing the blasted subject, he’d make sure that she learned something actually useful.
The delivery was much easier this time. He’d managed to find some red-haired merchant who was willing to transport his package to Garreg Mach no questions asked, though the fee was truly exorbitant.
The pretender king continued stopping by ‘Gilbert’s’ office every once in a while. Opis took to heading home early every day, before court ended. The Knights of the Kingdom and False Goddess mocked him for being “whipped.” Idiots! Maria did not even own a whip!
Maria took advantage of Opis’s habit of returning home early to put him to work in the kitchen. After much trial and error, Opis finally managed to recreate authentic Agarthan mushroom and rock stew, just as he remembered it! Unfortunately, Maria did not like it very much. Hmph. There was no accounting for taste.
Bias and Evil Boy’s father were reassigned to some fort on the border. Opis pretended that he was not relieved.
Opis struggled mightily to think of an adequate gift for Annette’s 22nd birthday. He had already sent her every weapon that could be useful to her, and the False Goddess’s stores of tomes were fiercely guarded after the last theft. Finally, bereft of ideas, Opis turned to Maria’s “motherly wisdom.”
After a moment of thought, Maria suggested a fur lined cloak, to keep Annette warm in the high altitudes of Garreg Mach. Opis was skeptical at first (what sorts of tactical applications could a cloak have? they were in a war!) but was convinced when Maria assured him that Annette would appreciate a handmade gift from her father.
Maria helped him select the cloth and the ribbons and the accessories, but he did everything else himself. He hunted and skinned the rabbits, took them to the tanner, and sewed them together for the inner lining. He accessorized the outer lining with ribbons and superfluous buttons – Maria assured him this was the “cute” thing to do, whatever that meant – but would not let himself be talked out of adding a hood, for practicality’s sake.
It took months of work and all of the skill he had picked up from helping Maria, his overlarge hands awkward with the needle, but it was all worth it when Annette wrote back, her profuse gratitude filling the pages. She seemed to like it more than she had the weapons! Surface people. He’d never understand them.
And then, all of a sudden, the Fell Star returned from whatever hell she had fallen into and the war jumped into full gear faster than a grunt who sat on an unshielded circuit board. Some bridge on the Alliance border fell, and then reports filtered into the Kingdom that all of the Imperial troops were filing out of Garreg Mach in pursuit of the complete conquest of the Alliance. Annette, for the first time in years, would be fielded to the front lines.
Neither ‘Gustave’ nor Maria were particularly expressive, but a cloud of tension hovered over their home all the same as both fretted over their daughter’s life. Opis all but moved into his office, checking each missive as soon as it appeared in hopes that this one would be a letter from Annette, the frivolous details about the petty mundanities of her life proof positive of her continued existence.
It was on one such late night that the pretender king dropped by ‘Gilbert’s’ office. Normally, Opis would have made his excuses and fled home to Maria, avoiding treading into any waters that might expose his charade with one of the few people whose relationship with ‘Gilbert’ Opis was not confident in emulating. However, with the war in full gear now, his work tied him to his desk, handling urgent missives as the Kingdom attempted to ascertain the Empire’s moves. To flee home now would ring false – he’d have to face this head on, and count on his excellent improvisational skills and exceptional understanding of surface culture to carry him though.
“Gustave! Old friend. I see that you are working quite late again. Your dedication is commendable,” said the pretender king. “Do you intend to march out with the Knights of Seiros to reclaim Garreg Mach? You have made quite clear that your loyalties are to the Church now and that any bond we once shared has been left in the past, but you have been performing such a vital service” – and how rich it was that the royal spymaster was one of the enemy! – “that I must request that you consider staying.”
As Opis met his eyes, disgust curdled in his gut. Annette had told him many details about her Evil Boy in these past years. About his love of swords and of singing, his rapier sharp tongue and the truths it cut with, his slowly burgeoning appreciation for cake. And yet his own father had sworn to cut him down, all duties of fatherhood abandoned in favor of service to the man standing before Opis right now. And worse yet, every wretched creature in this blasted excuse for a nation fully expected ‘Gilbert’ to do the same to his own daughter! He would laugh over their corpses when the time came.
Still, to choose between a beast and all his beastly sycophants and a Beast and all her Beastly sycophants was no choice at all. “I will stay here, Your Majesty,” said Opis, and ignored the beast’s relieved smile.
It was good that he chose so, for Annette’s missive arrived just a few days later. She was fine, the conquest of Derdriu had gone smoothly, Thales’ Weapon had spared the Duke (too soft, a part of him scoffed, while another, smaller part of him took note of her mercy), and the Black Eagle Strike Force (what ridiculous names these beasts came up with) was returning to Garreg Mach posthaste. All was well, except— hadn’t the False Goddess and her army of zealots set out for Garreg Mach just a few short days ago? Fhirdiad was more distant from Garreg Mach then Derdriu, they’d likely arrive after the Imperial Army had returned. The Knights knew the castle well, in all its secret passageways and hidden weaknesses. They’d likely be able to infiltrate the walls before the defenders were even aware of the danger. That would mean that Annette would be— no! He would not permit it.
In the name of security and caution, Opis had never leaked any pertinent information to Annette in any of his letters, lest the Kingdom begin to suspect a spy in its ranks. For the first time in five years, he included a little slip of paper in his reply, warning of the coming attack. He released the pigeon in the dead of night, and hoped that this was enough.
The False Goddess returned to Fhirdiad in a rage, her troops limping, weary, and significantly decreased in number. The Empire had scouts in Ailell, they said, and had launched a vicious ambush at its mouth. The two other Beasts – the False Saints in hiding – had fled in the commotion, and a great many Knights of Seiros had been slain. The Imperial Army, fresh off this victory, was gearing up to attack Fhirdiad, just as the pretender king had feared when he refused to lend his troops to the Church’s offensive last month.
Fhirdiad was a flurry of activity as the Kingdom prepared to defend its capital. Troops were recalled from their positions all over the Kingdom (Snezhniykrai, as the Agarthans called it, and since when had Opis thought so distantly of his own people?) and ‘Gilbert’ found himself quite busy.
Annette’s letter arrived as per usual. She’d fought in a big battle, but was fine. “Mercie” had finally fully reconnected with her little brother. Evil Boy had managed to coerce some girl into teaching him a secret disarming technique, and was running around using it on everybody. Her studies under Professor Hanneman looked to be burgeoning into a fully fledged scholarly partnership. (In the margins of the letter, written so faintly that he needed to practically press his face to the page to read it, was written Thank you.)
Bias was dead. The attack on Fhirdiad had been a ruse – Thales’ Weapon (was she really? she did not seem to be dancing on any strings, not if she moved so boldly against one of Agartha’s greatest) had attacked the border fort Bias had been staying in, demolished her Titanus (all of them! just like that!), and taken her head.
In retaliation, Thales had apparently authorized the deployment of some significant portion of Shamhbala’s supply of precision guided thaumaturgical missiles to destroy the fort. Of course, the majority of the Imperial Army had already departed from it, so all this move accomplished was the premature revelation of their strongest weapon with no benefit to any Agarthan objectives that Opis was aware of. And, given what he’d seen in their tomes, the surface people most definitely had the capabilities to track the paths of the missiles to their location of origin, thus revealing the carefully concealed location of Shambhala to any mage who cared to look. Opis was beginning to think that Thales might just be an idiot.
Having taken out Agartha’s premier magitech expert and a good half of their entire automaton inventory, the Imperial Army (Annette included) now commenced its march towards Fhirdiad proper. The time was soon approaching for Agartha’s only remaining deep cover agent in the Church to strike.
So it was no surprise to Opis when a dark bishop warped into his office late at night, several days before the Kingdom army was set to march out to their doomed last stand on the Tailtean. He carried with him a basket. When Opis looked into it, he found it to be full of Crest Stones.
“Deliver these to the beasts before the battle,” commanded the bishop, insignia identifying him as a third rank member of the Bioengineering Division.
“I have not been deployed to the Tailtean – I am to stay with the forces defending Fhirdiad,” said Opis, confused. He had no access to Empire soldiers – would it not be more fitting to give these to that Agarthan who shadowed the Emperor (assuming, of course, that he was still alive and had not been eliminated before she took out Bias)?
“Then give it to one of the beasts who will be,” said the bishop dismissively as he prepared to leave.
“Wait,” said Opis. “You want me to give these to Kingdom troops? Would that not bolster the False Goddess’s own forces? Shouldn’t we be delivering these to the Imperial soldiers?”
The bishop surged forward, miasma coalescing around his hand as he seized Opis by the throat. Opis bit back a scream of pain, struggling to breathe through the burning around his throat.
“Yes, you blithering idiot, give them to the beasts of Snezhniykrai! The more damage done to the beasts now, the fewer we will have to cull later when Agartha rises! Now shut up—” he shoved Opis backwards and he collapsed onto the floor, clutching at his throat and gasping for breath “— and follow your orders!”
Opis stared at the basket for a long time after the bishop warped out of his room. If he didn’t obey, then Thales would immediately know of his treachery. His life would undoubtedly be forfeit (and how he shuddered to think of his fate). If he did obey, then Annette… she would be walking into a horrible ambush (how many Stones were in that basket? ten? twenty? more?). And was there any guarantee that his obedience would earn him any reward? Or would he just be another Kronya, discarded when his usefulness was over?
He dumped the Stones into the castle cesspit.
It was an interesting experience, being a dead man walking. Both he and the pretender king (Dimitri, was that his name?) shared that status now, though only Opis was aware of his impending death (Dimitri, the fool, thought he stood a chance of victory against the forces that had demolished everything Bias could throw at them). The king marched off to his doomed battle, army following obediently at his heels, and Opis sat back and prepared for his imminent demise.
He pulled all of his money out of every account he had, collected on all debts owed to him, sold all his valuable possessions and every weapon he did not plan on wielding in the inevitable siege, and pressed the money into Maria’s hands. (“In case I don’t come back,” he’d said, and Maria had stared at him with wide, worried eyes, holding back what Opis now could identify were tears.)
The letter to her had been easy. (You were a good wife, it’d said. You were warm, and cooked good food, and taught me how to sew. I hope that you can remarry well. Annette speaks highly of Hanneman. I suggest that you try him. He’d hesitated, then, before signing off with, Love, Your Husband. He didn’t want to sign Gilbert’s name – this letter was from Opis.)
The letter to Annette had been considerably harder. He’d hemmed and hawed for hours before finally arriving at a version that would have to do. (My daughter, he’d written. I am so glad that you came into my life. You have been my sole source of joy, and the thought of your safety has given me the strength to do what I must. Know that I am proud of you. Live a happy life with your Evil Boy. Don’t trust the Emperor’s shadow. Love, Your Father)
Opis had decided that it made the most sense to fall in battle, rather than try and brave Thales’ wrath. When the Imperial army came knocking on Fhirdiad’s gates (as he knew it would), he placed the letters in the chest where he stored the money, strapped himself into his armor, grabbed his shield and axe, gave Maria one last hug, and stepped out to die.
The plan, it seemed, was to burn down the Fhirdiad. Apparently, the False Goddess was more than willing to accomplish Thales’ objectives for him, with no Agarthan prodding needed at all. Opis nodded at all the right moments, took the barrel of black powder that was assigned to him, and marched straight home.
“The Archbishop is planning on burning down the city,” he announced to Maria. “Grab the chest and flee.”
“Flee to where!?” cried Maria. “The gates are all barred!”
“They won’t be for long,” replied Opis. He turned around, picked his barrel of black powder up again, and carried it over to the front gates of Fhirdiad, Maria following anxiously behind him.
“Stop right there!” yelled a Knight, running towards him. The one with the Relic, he still couldn’t be bothered to remember her name. “I knew we had a mole after Ailell, but I never could have imagined that it was you, Gilbert! How dare you betray the Goddess! I’ll strike you down!”
She would be on him in seconds. He did not have time to light the delayed fuse. He spared a moment to ascertain that Maria was still a safe distance away from him, recalled the long afternoons spent toiling over the primitives’ basic elemental spell formulae with Annette, reached deep into himself, and cast Fire.
Opis woke up in a tent. Everything hurt. His head hurt (an awful ringing, pounding sensation), his skin hurt (burning in some places and tingling in the rest), his chest hurt (ribs screaming with each inhalation), and his arms hurt (the right one was definitely broken, and bands of pressure constricted each of his wrists). He immediately decided that the wisest course of action was to go back to sleep.
“Oh! You’re awake!”
On second thought, actually, sleep did not seem so appealing after all. He cracked his eyes open to see Annette leaning over him (alive! and oh! how she’d grown!), some undecipherable expression clouding her face.
“Annette,” he said, hoping that she could hear his relief in his voice (they were good at that, these surface people, reading emotions into simple phrases and actions). He reached out towards her, only to be stymied by a rope that bound his wrist to the side of the bed.
Wait, what?
It took a second for the reality to register. The hand that he saw by his side was his own – not Gilbert’s tanned and weathered skin, but the unhealthy alabaster of an Agarthan. The voice with which he spoke, too, belonged to Opis and not to Gilbert.
Fuck.
Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck!
A frantic glance around the tent established that Maria and the Emperor’s Agarthan shadow were also present. He couldn’t read the expressions on any of their faces. He was doomed.
“I’m so glad that you’re alive!” cried Annette, and hugged him, interrupting his rapidly mounting panic.
“Ah, erm. Uh,” he stammered, the sound of his own voice alien to his ears after so many years wearing the face of another. “You… knew?” She did not seem surprised at all to be hugging a stranger wearing her father’s clothing.
“You idiot,” sniffed Annette. “I’ve known for years!”
What.
Annette leaned back on her stool, frantically rubbing at her eye with the heel of her palm. “Ever since that letter where you told me that you loved me. My real father would never have said that.”
What.
“And then,” said Annette, “I thought of Tomas and Monica, and how they disguised themselves as other people, and I figured that was what was going on. Hubert just confirmed it.”
“You’re… not angry?” asked Opis, absolutely flabbergasted at this turn of events.
“I was,” said Annette, “for a long time. If you recall those months where I didn’t write – that was why. I tried to warn Mother, but she already knew.”
Opis cast a horrified glance towards Maria. She scowled at him, but it wasn't her angry scowl, just her annoyed one. “Don’t give me that look,” she said. “I knew you weren’t Gustave from the very beginning.”
What.
“I thought that you were a ghost possessing his body until Annette explained those slither people. I suppose that it says much about the men of Faerghus that a shapeshifting murderer was a much better husband than that sad sack of gristle that I married ever managed to be,” she continued with a shake of her head. “I suppose I appreciated the novelty of it all, and also that you did the dishes.”
Opis blinked at her, dumbly.
“Mother likes you better than she liked Father,” said Annette. “She told me to enjoy having a father that actually cared about me, for once. And I… I tried! It was so nice, having a father who sent me letters and gifts and asked me how I was doing and seemed to actually care. It made me feel… seen. Acknowledged, in a way that I’d never been before.
“But, I loved my father! I always wanted him to come home, and be a family again, and tell me that he was proud of me. And now he can never do that. Because you killed him and took his face.”
An awkward silence filled the tent. What was there for Opis to say to that? Annette wrapped her arms around herself and looked at him beseechingly.
“At least tell me, was it all fake? Was… pretending to care about me just part of the act?”
Opis swallowed. He could lie here. His life probably depended on it. But his life was already forfeit to Thales, anyhow, so might as well tell the truth.
“Solon told me that Gilbert had no family, no friends. When you approached me, it was a surprise. I acted as your father in an attempt to maintain my cover.”
“Oh,” said Annette with a very small voice. Tears welled up in her eyes.
“I think that I began prioritizing your continued existence sometime around that mock battle. Everything since then has been genuine. The gifts and letters were a danger to my cover, but I sent them anyway.”
Annette looked up at him sharply, eyes wide. “So, you—”
“I am not Gilbert,” said Opis, uncomfortably. “But I did, er, I mean, I do lo—” It was so much harder to say this word, to utter this alien surface concept aloud, than it had been to write it. Under the scrutiny of so many, including another Agarthan, he could not quite bring himself to. He raised his chin and looked Annette in the eye. “But I am your father.” That would have to do, would have to convey all of his unnameable sentiments.
Annette stared at him, hugging herself (and part of him, most of him, wished that he was untied, that it was his arms around her, offering comfort), the light from the candles reflecting off of the glossy sheen in her eyes.
“What’s your real name, anyway?” asked Maria, businesslike as always.
“Opis,” said Opis.
“And what will you do now, Opis?”
“Die, most likely,” he replied. Annette whipped her head around to stare at him in shock.
“No!” she exclaimed, “No, it’s fine. I... I talked with Hubert, he’s willing to give you a chance, you just have to swear—”
Opis glanced over to the corner of the tent where the other Agarthan was lurking. Black hair, yellow eyes, pale skin, an all black outfit… really? It was like he wasn’t even trying! Was Opis the only Agarthan infiltrator who gave half a damn about being good at his job!?
“It’s not— Annette, I’ve made a very powerful enemy. He has his reach everywhere,” – and Opis cast a another glance at the other Agarthan, who smirked – “I cannot hope to evade him.”
“I’d been wondering,” said the Agarthan, playing casually with a small ball of miasma, “just why our Lord Regent had been in such a foul mood as of late.” He cast a baleful glance at Opis, yellow eyes glinting malevolently. Opis, despite being much bigger than him, suddenly felt very small indeed. “What, exactly, was your mission?”
Opis could lie, but what was the point? “To hand Crest Stones to the Kingdom troops, and break the Imperial army on the back of demonic beasts.” Annette gasped; Maria raided her hand to her mouth.
The Agarthan narrowed his eyes. “And where are those Stones now?” he all but hissed.
Opis smirked at him, relishing this moment, his one chance to be spiteful before his inevitable demise. “Have fun digging them out of the cesspit,” he said.
There was a pause and then the Agarthan chucked, a deep, ominous thing. (What a horrible actor he was; surely every surface person could see through this facade!) “Oh,” he said, “I think that we’ll get along quite well.”
…What?
“I believe we share a common enemy,” continued the Agarthan. “I offer you a deal. Lend your abilities to the Empire, and we shall protect you and your… family… from your, ahem, former employer.”
“The… Empire?” asked Opis, utterly baffled yet again.
“Her Majesty is merciful when she can be, and interested in cooperation. A fair employer, reasonable in her demands, though harsh on those who betray her,” said the Agarthan. “Your knowledge and skillset would be useful in ridding Fodlan of those who would threaten it.”
The Empire had won the war. The only threat remaining was… Agartha. Dread crept down Opis’s spine. This man was a traitor! He’d betrayed Agartha, forsaken humanity, and gone native with the surface beasts! Inconceivable!
“You ask me to betray my own people?” asked Opis, incensed.
“Have you not, already?” asked the traitor.
“No! No, I…” Opis trailed off. He had not betrayed the cause! He’d just… deliberately disobeyed a direct order from a superior to weaken the forces that stood in the way of Agartha’s future reconquest of the surface. All because it might endanger a mere beast.
… Fuck.
“If they win,” said the Agarthan, “they will kill Annette. You’ve already made yourself their enemy, whether you count your actions as a betrayal or not. What have you to lose?”
The glory of Agartha, of course! … Except, Opis was increasingly beginning to suspect that even if he had played his part perfectly, he would never have lived to see it – culled once his purpose had been served, like Kronya was. His people’s hopes and dreams were inaccessible now, forever beyond his grasp, and would necessitate the deaths of the people that Opis had come to lo— care for.
But could he really value the lives of some mere surface beasts over his own people!?
…
“I will work for you,” sighed Opis.
“Excellent,” said the Agarthan. He stepped forward and cut the ropes that bound Opis to the bed. “I look forward to our cooperation,” he said ominously, and then he swept himself out of the tent in a rustle of black cloth and drama.
“Yes!” cheered Annette. “For a second, I was afraid that…” She shook her head, then looked more determinedly cheerful. “Anyway, I promise, you won’t be unhappy here! Hubert’s much nicer than he looks.”
“Well,” said Maria, after a beat. “My late, beloved husband informed me that he wished me to remarry well. You’re warm, and surprisingly helpful around the house, and I liked how you went out of your way to protect me when you thought that you were going to die. Will you be my husband?”
Opis gaped at her, absolutely flabbergasted, for a good, long minute.
“Well,” said Maria, somewhat irritatedly, “what say you to my offer? I have other options, you know. Some… Professor Hammerman?”
“I accept! I accept!” said Opis hurriedly. Annette giggled.
“So, we can be a family?” she asked hopefully.
“You… forgive me?” asked Opis. “I killed your real father.”
Annette winced. “Well, no. I don’t think that I’ll ever forgive you for that. But… I guess that I’ve realized that my birth father was effectively dead to me from the moment he walked out our door. In the brief months we had together at Garreg Mach, you did more for me and cared more for me than I think he ever did in his life. If that was real, and not just some act…” Annette took a deep breath. “I think that I’d like to start again. Build a real relationship, properly and honestly this time.”
“I…” Opis felt a weird pressure around his eyeballs. A side effect of his burns, most likely. “I would like nothing more,” he said honestly.
“All right!” cheered Annette. She leaned forward to hug him, and after a second Maria joined in. It was awkward, with the cast around his arm, but Opis managed to hug them both back.
“I love you,” he said, and meant it.