The Weight of Legacy

What the hell are you doing here, scribe from the Beuzaheim marriages? Malwine frowned, the memory of the name still fresh enough for her to recognize. This isn’t even the right context for you to be in!

Her ability to joke about it, even within the confines of her own mind, faltered soon after. The fire of her ever-growing resentment for Adelheid’s alleged great-grandmother—and apparent namesake—grew stronger by the second.

As did her concern—[Unpacifiable] hummed in the back of her mind. Not loudly, not overtly, but enough for her to understand that, much to her horror, this was a threat. The matter of Adelheid’s great-grandmother had become a threat to her. Not just to Adelheid, or perhaps because it was also a threat to Adelheid.

The widow had been protective of no one save Yoyo, not really. Protective of things? Certainly. But neither Rupert nor her children had held such a place in her heart. They were family, but they were not hers to defend.

Even her new family as a whole didn’t elicit that type of feeling from her. She cared for them, still, but the instinct just wasn’t there.

In a small part, Malwine felt guilty. She stood by her reasons, but she was the one who convinced Adelheid to get [Identify], even if it had been the girl’s idea to examine her great-grandmother. Not only that, but Malwine had been eager to learn of the results. Like the fool she was.

Now, she had to approach this rationally. Though she found she struggled to, she crushed the nascent dread coming from the warnings [Unpacifiable] sent and all but commanded her mind to grow calm. [Cool Head on Your Shoulders] might have started to pull its own weight now, after years of being little more than her default state.

There was a mysterious woman somewhere, the color of her level was golden, and she was a threat to her and Adelheid. She could work with this. A plan began to form in her head.

“Adelheid, I’m sorry to pester you so soon,” Malwine spoke slowly, softly. “But can you do me a favor?”

The girl sniffled, but she pulled away, wiping her nose with an unfortunate sleeve. “Yes, sure. What?”

“Do you have anyone you trust?” Malwine asked. “Any of my aunts and uncles, your siblings?”

“I don’t know,” Adelheid whispered, her next words making her voice waver. “I trusted great-grandma.”

“Okay,” Malwine winced. That had been her initial idea, but there it went. Recalculating, she focused on [Earthless Glory]. It was almost stunning, how smoothly her thoughts were flowing. She tapped at [Multitasking], hoping the Skill could keep [Cool Head on Your Shoulders] running, even if she couldn’t make a double with access to it.

She granted the double [Close to my Chest] and created it to the image of Rupert, his decrepit old frame a bad memory she almost regretted bringing back.

The double spawned by the door to Thekla’s room, and she wasted no time knocking. Her aunt opened the door, looking groggy, her eyes widening before she said whatever she’d meant to. Her open mouth flopped for a second before she sputtered, “Who in any Devil’s name are you?”

“Is Abelard here?” Malwine, as her double, ignored the understandable confusion. “I need to know something.”

“No, he was in the gardens, last I saw of him,” Thekla blinked. “Is it an emergency, Baldur, the cit—”

Malwine was gone before her aunt could continue, fully intent on ignoring the question. She wasn’t on a time limit as far as she knew, but when facing the unknown, every second counted.

Fake-Rupert landed in the gardens next, given shape in a blink. Indeed, Abelard had been sitting on a bench, a notepad in his hands. He jumped, staring at the unknown man that appeared before him. “Who are you? How did you get in here?”

“Do you know what a sibyl is?” Malwine asked him. “What is it?”

“A legend,” Abelard answered, soon thinking better of it. “Why are you asking me that? Seriously, how did you get in here? Rīsan!”

“None of that. I just need a straight answer. What do you mean, a legend?”

“Supposedly, prophets of the sea. It’s a myth, and if they exist, no one confirms sighting them for a reason,” Abelard spoke slowly. He kept looking to the sides, and whispered as if she couldn’t hear him. “Seriously, Rīsan! Where are you?”

Malwine grit her teeth, dismissing the double before Kristian actually showed up. Having confirmation that Abelard was at the silvery stage, learning he was expecting the presumably lower-leveled Kristian to defend him would have been hilarious, under different circumstances.

This is going to suck. Malwine sighed as her real self, once again readjusting her plan.

“What are you doing?” Adelheid asked her quietly. “The copy thing?”

“I’m sending a double around to ask about that title she identified as for you,” Malwine explained. “And I’m about to do it again.”

This time, the double spawned at the end of the path, where she recalled she met Veit properly. Aside from Abelard, this was likely to be the highest level in the entire estate. She hadn’t been surprised in the slightest when Adelheid told her—if nothing else, she’d been surprised to learn Abelard was anywhere near this level.

“Veit, or whatever in any Devil’s name you’re actually called!” Malwine-as-Rupert shouted. “Come here!”

As expected, she didn’t have to wait long. Keeping him from chasing her double when she first made her way to Beuzaheim had been difficult enough, so his senses were bound to be sharp.

“Who are you?” Veit appeared before her. The air shook, and she suspected this wasn’t straight teleportation, at least not in the same sense as what Adelheid did was. “Why are you here and what do you want?”

Malwine would admit Rupert was ugly as fuck, but she still allowed herself the slight amusement she got out of everyone immediately assuming he wasn’t supposed to be here. The fact that the estate was warded and they didn’t know him surely played a part, but it was still funny.

Not that she could stop and enjoy that.

“I need to know what a sibyl is. Now.”

“Wha—” Veit blinked. His eyes narrowed. “You are not real.”

You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

“I am not,” Malwine confirmed. “I am a fake man, who is not real, but nonetheless needs to know what a sibyl is, and needs to know it now.”

His expression remained one of wariness. Malwine didn’t even see him move as his hand shot out, sparks of something crystalline dancing in her vision.