Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The Caria Manor is peaceful this time of the year; when spring comes to thaw the minimal snow that accumulates around the manor grounds.

The Lady Mother is humming a quiet tune while she meticulously tends to the potions garden. She abruptly stops her singing and turns to her errant daughter.

"Dear daughter, why do you sulk about in corners? Come and help your mother," she says as she turns back to her task.

Rennala is a precocious child at the tender age of 7.

She approaches her mother slowly, observing with too-old eyes.

Lady Mother hands the child a pair of shears when she reaches beside her.

"We must nurture the buds whilst young so that we shall be rewarded greatly with its potency," she instructs, "and we must remove the rot before it spreads. Start cutting the dead brown buds, sweeting."

"Yes, mother." The child replies quietly.

-

Rennala was born as a great full moon reaches its peak in the night sky with too much memories in her little head. A meteorite fell from the heavens as she took her first breath; it was said to be a piece of the moon shining above them.

She remembers a different time, a different face, and certainly a different name.

"Shed your old skin, little moon," a gentle voice croons in her ear, "be born anew and become better than I."

Her first cries were said to penetrate the quiet woods some distance away from the manor and attracted the shards of lunar meteorites to come crashing down her Lady Mother's glass windows.

"A prosperous beginning," she remembers her mother saying.

-

Moongrum grunts in pain as his opponent's training sword hits his unshielded chest.

The training master, Master Illium, says, "That's enough training, I think." Moongrum puffs his chest and prepares to form a littany of complaints.

"I've heard it all, boy, and you won't be living long enough to serve the little miss if you push yourself to death. Rest." Illium scolds while rolling his lone eye. In an attempt to abort the teenager's protests, he unties his eye patch and Moongrum catches a glimpse of a gleaming blue crystal lodged in his eye socket. Moongrum averts his eyes from the master.

'That trick hasn't failed me yet.' Ilium thinks.

"Aw, Master Ilium, are you being hard on dear Moongrum? How else will my knight protect me if he doesn't learn?" Rennala calls from high above the ramparts. The rest of the men training pauses at her words, turn to her and performs a bow with their right fist above their heart. They keep the position, patiently waiting for her acknowledgement.

"At ease." The little moon smiles at the men below him. They relax and turn back to their prior activities.

Master Ilium flashes a gummy smile at the little miss. He has never seen a moon whose smile shone brighter than the rising sun. ("But I can't be brighter than the sun when the sun gives me my light, silly Master Ilium!" He remembers the little miss telling him once before. He doesn't quite recall saying it out loud, and neither was Rennala aware that it was a hidden thought. He must be forgetting things in his old age, after all.

The full moon remains shining in the night sky as Rennala skips back into the manor, humming a sweet tune.)

"I'd like for the little miss to be protected well into her old age by her knight. He can't do that if he's dead from overworking, of course!" He chortles.

"Then you mustn't forget to visit Master Iji's forge, for my knight needs the best of the best weapon to protect me." She pauses her movements and tilts her head to the side as if listening to a soft whisper. The child then waves at the men goodbye and leaves the rampart overseeing the training grounds in a flutter of royal blue robes.

Ilium watches as the boy hurriedly packs his belongings to follow little Rennala's order. He is definitely less stubborn about overtraining when it is the little miss who issues the orders.

-

Rennala, now a full-fledged teenager in body, hides her look of awe behind a veneer of passive calmness. Today is her first day at the prestigious Academy with her Glintstone key clutched tightly in a fist hidden in her voluminous sleeve.

Appearances, as she has come to learn, must be kept. Her family holds sway over the many denizens of Liurnia. (She tries not to think of the distant future where she is the queen; the queen who is expected rule and lead her people into war. She tries not to think about her dreams of the red-maned Radagon, standing tall, his right hand holding a grand golden hammer, ready to face her for war. When she squints her eyes in these dream-visions, she sees the duality of the person; half a golden woman and half a fiery haired leal hound.)

"Welcome to the Academy, young sorcerers, and congratulations on finding your keys," The dark masked woman states as she gestures grandly at the entrance of the Academy, "My name is Miriam and I will be your teacher in magical transportation. You may address me as Preceptor Miriam."

The small crowd of teenagers, still giddy from excitement, enthusiastically replies, "Nice to meet you, Preceptor Miriam!"

Rennala is not able to keep her smile from breaking through her facade anymore as the excitement of everyone is infectious.

'The lady who spams teleport is the teacher for magical transports–who would've thunk it?' she suppresses a chortle from bubbling up. She quickly sobers up when she is again reminded of what she lost.

'It's been 13 years since...'

The loud roar of a dragon flying overhead the castle jostles her from her melancholy.

"Through here, students. Walk in an orderly fashion, please, but make it quick." Preceptor Miriam gestures for the group of students to go through the magical gate. Ever proper, even in the midst of danger, is her teacher as Rennala is getting to know.

Miriam uses the commotion to start a short lecture on the Academy Seals. Rennala is not sure if she is annoyed or interested; is an almost-battlefield really the right place to lecture?

"Now, anyone with a key can pass through these gates. This was Locked by the 5th head of the Carian Family right as the dawn of the dragon's rule started," she starts, "Only humanoids are allowed to hold a key, or else they are burned severely."

Rennala perks up at the bit of lore she hears as they walk through the busy hallways of the Academy.

A blue glint in her peripheral vision catches her eye and she cannot help but stare at the display of battle magic at the lawn area. She is not the only one whose attention is caught.

It is rare for her family to display magic in their household, especially since it is considered a weapon. Now that she thinks about it, she can count on one hand how many times she has seen a member of her family hold any stave.

Miriam notices her students' attention wavering from her. "Ah, down below are the training grounds. Magic is dangerous and shouldn't be kept enclosed in a small area."

She corrals the students into a classroom in the lower levels to avoid further distractions.

Rennala takes a seat at the front most row, right in front of the lecturer, her empty scroll and fine fountain pen at the ready. ("Teacher's pet!" she remembers the bullying like an old friend. It is an old wound left to fester, tempered by age and time, but it is still there, transcending through life and death. Children can be so cruel. She wrungs her fingers in insecurity before she takes a deep breath. No one will dare utter that to the Lady of Caria, she tells herself.)

"I hope you enjoy your first day of class, students, as much as I enjoy teaching you. You are all promising young sorcerers. It will be a pleasure to impart knowledge of the arcane..."

Rennala loses herself in the familiar scratching of pen on paper as she listens intently to her first magical lecture.

Chapter Text

There is a moment at night when all is calm, when even the cicadas' notes fall into quietness.

The dark night sky covers Liurnia like a comfortable blanket, and the new moon hangs on the heavens like a dimmed lamp. Rennala savours the quiet and allows the pressures of daily life to fade away. Her hand itches for the digital camera that used to be stuck to her almost like glue to capture the untouched nature. She misses the convenience of technology.

The sorcerer-to-be sneaks out of the manor and reaches the shallow part of the lake. She spies the wooden boat she hid in the bushes and pushes it out onto the still lake.

It is dangerous, she knows. Her Lady Mother has educated her on the dangers one might face outside their fortified manor, but she is suffocating in the expectant gazes of everyone around her. No one understands her situation, despite the almost knowing look the Lady Mother gives her, and she still misses her previous life and its easy comforts.

It is in nights like these where she can escape, gods be damned. Rennala does not even remember her old name anymore and whatever memory she has left is fading. She hates it but she has taken to writing whatever she can remember.

Rennala's brown robes (borrowed from the kitchens) is wet until her waist as she pushes the tiny 1 person boat. Her only means of protection is a small bone knife infused with the ashes of her long dead ancestor hidden in a strap close to her wrirst, but it will have to do.

She climbs onto the boat and meditates cross legged to keep her presence muted. It is a trick she picked up from a travelling sorcerer from Sellia who visited their manor one day.

("There are only 2 truths in sorcerey: knowledge and belief. Know this, little lady: the eyes only see what they want to see. Let your belief bring this spell to life." The scholar says in a knowing tone. If Rennala can see the face beneath the scholar's crown, it would be set in a smug knowing smile.

Something clicks in her mind.

She quietly concentrates on the feeling of not-there.

The scholar completely loses interest in her as Rennala walks around, Unseen, in fascination.)

She pulls her legs up and hugs her knees tightly. The cold night makes her shiver, but it reminds her that she is ever-present in the Lands Between, human (or close enough to it, she supposes) and able to feel.

Despite it all, she remains thankful to be alive.

Rennala stays in the same position until the sun starts to rise. Before she knows it, she begins to hear the frantic calls of Lumina, her albinauric handmaid.

"My lady! Oh, there you are! Why do you keep disappearing in the middle of the night? Your Lady Mother is so worried." Lumina frets when she spots Rennala on her tiny boat. She quickly rushes into the shallow waters and begins to pull at the boat when she reaches the shivering lady.

Lumina is at least double the height of Rennala, standing tall and proud, her silvery white hair pulled up in a severe yet practical bun. She has a battle staff always strapped to her back, ready to defend her ward. She looks even taller in the deeper part of the lake where Rennala is not even able to touch the ground without being several feet under water.

"I am fine, Lumina, no need to worry," Rennala mutters.

"Look, your dress is wet. You'll end up cold, too." She continues.

Lumina tuts, "And I am not the little lady who spent hours wet on a tiny boat in a lake. It is nearly autumn, for Caria's sake!" She helps Rennala off the boat and tries to smooth the creases on the brown roughspun cotton dress on her lady.

If Lumina could break decorum, Rennala knows that she would be dragged by her ear back to the manor.

Instead, she keeps a fond smile as Lumina hovers behind her while they walk back.

-

Rennala absentmindedly raises the Academy Glintstone Staff to her eye level, inspecting the crystal embedded at its tip with half her attention. The other half of her attention is taken by Master Pol.

Master Pol, like many of the scholars occupying the academy, wears his crown like a badge of honor. The Olivinus Glintstone Crown sits proudly on his head, practically a mask, hiding his face (his whole head, really) and making it look comically large against his slight build. This is the first time she has inspected the garb up-close and it is quite the ugly monstrosity, in her humble opinion.

She idly wonders how heavy the crown is, as looking at the structure, it seems to be molded out of a light colored clay. Does the nose have holes hollowed out so they can breathe? What about eye holes?

Their class is held at the training grounds today, their very first stint in battle magic. Excitement bubbles in everyone's form and Rennala is not immune to it.

Master Pol introduces himself without much preamble, and starts instructing them on his mastery–

"–Glintstone Pebble. The most basic sorcery you'll learn as a student here. Deceptively simple and easily overlooked but it can save your life," he enunciates slowly, wishing to impart the importance of his mastery. Whether it is for flattery of his ego or a genuine want for better sorcerers, she does not know it yet, but she leans heavily on the former.

Rennala remembers one of her playthroughs when she was running low on Magic and how a simple Glintstone Pebble was able to kill the rampaging Misbegotten Queen. The game has taught her rather well on the importance of the smallest details; if she did not have the spell equipped (as a just-in-case kind of scenario) in her limited spell slots, she would have lost and restarted the boss fight again.

Master Pol gives them an imperious nod. "Right. Off to target practice now."

Each of the class looks at one another in uncertainty. One brave soul on Rennala's right raises his hand, wavering yet determined. "H-how do we cast the spell, Master?"

"Oh, yes, right. Here are your scrolls, students, take one and memorize it. The targets are ready when you are."

He gives a burlap sack to the student in front of him, who takes a scroll and passes the sack to the next student.

"Um, would you like to share my scroll? The sack has been emptied." The brave student asked. Rennala finally notices that Pol did not account for the amount of students, nor did he care to furnish enough scrolls for everyone. She internally rolls her eyes and witholds a deep sigh. She will need to fix the quality of teaching when she's older, if only to increase the lifespan of the Academy's students.

Turning to the boy, she nods. "That's thoughtful of you. You have my gratitude. What is your name?"

The red-haired boy flashes her a shy smile.

"Radagon."

Chapter Text

"Radagon."

Rennala physically does a double take, her full attention now on the boy beside her, eyes wide open in surprise before she catches herself. She smoothes her expression and gives him a small nod of acknowledgment instead.

"My name is Rennala."

And she leaves it at that.

She is torn on how to react to this scrawny looking boy who offered help. Is he really the man she will cross arms with in the near future? How can this boy with his shy smile help bring destruction to Liurnia, her new home?

She mentally shakes herself from her musings and instead focuses on the text written plainly on the battered scroll held by Radagon in front of them.

The red haired boy timidly holds out the scroll for their perusal. After a few moments, however, he gets engrossed in his reading and relaxes. His hunched shoulders loosen and she sees a glimpse of the confident commander he would become in the future.

It leaves her wondering: who exactly is Radagon? Where is his other self, the Numen with golden locks, Marika? Rennala understands that any humanoid deemed worthy of magic is permitted by the Carian Family to learn in this institution, but it does not explain why one half of a whole is here whilst the other is not.

"Would you like to go first?" The boy asks her while gesturing vaguely to the target a few meters in front of them.

Rennala shakes off her musings and acknowledges the red haired boy with another nod.

She raises the simple glintstone staff and takes a deep breath.

-

The glintstone at the tip of her staff glimmers as Rennala focuses her intent. Despite what others might think, sorcery was not so different from what she remembered of meditation from her past life. Clear intent, focused will, and the channeling of energy through a catalyst.

The scroll's instructions swim in her mind: Harness the primeval current flowing through the stars; envision a glittering pebble of light and propel it forth.

A small, shimmering projectile forms at the staff's tip, hovering in place for a moment before shooting forward with surprising force. It strikes the target dead center, leaving a glowing residue that slowly fades.

"Impressive control," Radagon remarks, his voice soft but eyes keen. "Most first attempts barely form a cohesive shape, let alone hit the target."

Rennala shrugs noncommittally, but she can't deny the surge of pride. In her past life, she had merely pressed buttons to cast this spell. The visceral sensation of channeling glintstone sorcery through her own body was intoxicating.

"Your turn." she says, stepping aside.

Radagon nods, his shoulders squared as he raises his staff. His brow furrows in concentration, and Rennala notices something curious – beneath his intense focus is a strange hesitancy, as if fighting against his own nature.

His glintstone pebble forms slowly, wobbling slightly before launching toward the target. It strikes off-center but still within the inner ring.

"Not bad," she offers genuinely.

Radagon's face flushes as red as his hair. "Thank you. I'm... still adjusting to glintstone sorcery."

Rennala tilts her head. "Adjusting?"

He hesitates, as if regretting his words. "I was trained in different arts before coming here."

"What brought you to the Academy, then?" The question slips before she can stop herself.

A shadow passes over his features. "A calling. Or perhaps a curiosity," His fingers trace the wooden staff absent-mindedly. "Magic feels... forbidden, somehow. Yet I'm drawn to it."

The conversation is interrupted by Master Pol's voice booming across the training grounds. "Students! Continue practicing the Glintstone Pebble until you can hit the target three consecutive times, then you may proceed to your next class."

Radagon turns back to his target, but Rennala finds herself watching him with new interest. What forces drove the future Golden Order fundamentalist to study Carian sorcery in his youth? And why did he seem so conflicted about it?

"Shall we continue practicing together?" Radagon asks, breaking her reverie.

Rennala nods, her past-life knowledge and present curiosity warring within her. She knew what Radagon would become – but who was he now?

-

The weeks at the Academy pass in a blur of lectures and practice. To Rennala's surprise, she finds herself frequently paired with Radagon. Whether by fate or coincidence, their instructors often group them for exercises and projects.

Today they sit in the Academy's grand library, surrounded by ancient tomes and scrolling charts of the stars. Their assignment is to research the origins of glintstone and its connection to the primeval current.

"The texts suggest glintstone is solidified starlight," Radagon says, poring over a weathered manuscript. "But I wonder if that's literal or metaphorical."

Rennala looks up from her own reading. "What if it's both? The boundary between metaphor and reality is thin in the Lands Between."

He glances at her with something like admiration. "You have unusual insights for someone our age."

She nearly laughs. If only he knew.

"What if," she ventures, testing waters she knows are dangerous, "what we perceive as separate forces – the stars, the Erdtree, even the flames of frenzy – are all manifestations of the same fundamental power?"

Radagon stiffens slightly. "That borders on heresy in some circles."

"Is seeking truth heretical?"

"Truth is... complicated." His voice takes on a strange cadence, almost older than his years. "The Golden Order—" He stops himself, shaking his head. "Forgive me. I shouldn't speak of things I know little about."

But Rennala has caught it – that glimpse of another self within him; the seed of the zealot he would become.

"All knowledge is worth pursuing," she says carefully. "Even that which challenges our beliefs."

Their eyes meet across the table, and something electric passes between them – not romantic, but a recognition of kindred intellectual curiosity.

The library's bell tolls, signaling the end of the study period.

"We should continue this discussion tomorrow." Radagon suggests as he gathers his notes.

Rennala nods, wondering how much she dares to influence the course of history. Her knowledge of the future is both a burden and a weapon. What would happen if she attempted to change Radagon's path? Would the timeline she knows from the game even allow it?

As they part ways in the Academy's grand hallway, Rennala makes a decision. She will learn all she can about this young Radagon, before he becomes the Golden Order's champion, before he leaves her for Marika, before the Shattering tears the Lands Between apart.

Perhaps understanding the man might help her understand the world she now inhabits – and her own purpose within it.