La Muse
“Do we really have to jump through the window?” Viena asked, glancing up doubtfully. “Lily, give me a boost, maybe? Or… something?”
Lisabelle didn’t even flinch. Her voice came sharp, edged with the authority Viena had long learned not to test.
“Oi, Theo. Be useful. Get inside and unlock the door.”
Viena’s foot had already found the ledge — her climb would have been clumsy at best — but Theo threw her a half-hearted scowl. He opened his mouth to retort, thought better of it, and sighed through his nose like a chastised street mutt. Without a word, he vaulted back up the window and slipped inside.
A few heartbeats later, the front door creaked open, and Theo leaned against it with theatrical exasperation.
“You’re telling me she’s your sister?” He jerked his thumb toward Viena, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Come on, Bel. Who are you trying to fool?”
Lisabelle cocked her head, unimpressed. “What’s your point?”
“My point? Just look at her!” He gestured dramatically. “No bear-club arms. No killer-glare. And she’s tiny — like a red squirrel who’s had too much sugar. No way she’s related to you.”
Bhug. Lisabelle’s fist shot into Theo’s gut with merciless precision. He doubled over instantly, gasping, his hands clutched around his stomach.
“Y-You witch…” he wheezed, crumpling onto one knee.
"Serves you right." Lisabelle said sweetly, stepping over him like discarded laundry.
They stepped inside. The air was thick with dust and ink, but alive — pulsing with the energy of a dozen half-forgotten schemes. Walls were plastered in weathered papers and hand-drawn maps; red threads crisscrossed between corkboards, cutting the space like an intricate spider’s web. Up high, hammocks dangled at precarious angles between wooden beams, their ropes taut and worn smooth from years of use.
Viena’s breath caught in her throat. Her feet moved before her mind caught up, drawing her toward the massive mosaic that dominated the center wall. A knightess stood tall in a swirl of glass and gold leaf — bold strokes carved into her armor, her face resolute, eyes fierce. Below it, in ornate lettering, was scrawled the name of the place.
"Welcome to La Muse," Theo announced grandly from behind her, arms spread with a crooked grin.
“Well?” Lisabelle asked, slipping beside Viena. “What do you think, Vivi? Pretty cool, isn’t it?”
Viena didn’t answer immediately. Instead, she took two steps into the open space, stretched her arms wide, and spun — twirling, light as a wisp, her dark blue skirts flaring as she tipped her head back to drink in every corner.
“This is awesome!” she beamed. “Super awesome! It’s like a secret base!”
Theo chuckled under his breath, leaning on the nearest pillar. “Funny thing, kid. That’s exactly what it is.”
“Do you like the painting?” Lisabelle’s voice softened, a rare fondness threading into her tone. “It’s my masterpiece.”
Theo let out a sharp bark of laughter. “Your masterpiece? Yeah, right, clown. You scribbled the text and called it a day.”
Lisabelle smacked him on the back of the head without missing a beat. Straightening with theatrical grandeur, she planted her hands on her hips.
“Ahem — technically it is a not-so-important, utterly unremarkable piece of work, painted as per my request… and then elevated to greatness by my magnificently beautifying inscription.”
Viena giggled at their antics — a sound like windchimes. Watching them bicker felt like seeing siblings from a distance, fierce but warm. Still, her eyes flicked back to the mosaic, curiosity tugging at her sleeves.
“Who is she?” she asked softly. “The woman in the painting?”
Lisabelle’s lips curved, half-pride, half-reverence.
“Oh, you don’t know? That’s Queen Fionalda — the first queen of this country. Warrior-queen, to be precise. You should hear the stories. When she was—”
And off Lisabelle went, her words rolling faster than a horse at full gallop. Names, battles, victories, conspiracies — history cascaded from her lips in a flood that quickly drowned poor Viena. Nearby, Theo sighed and covered his ears with both hands.
“There it is,” he muttered. “You had to ask, didn’t you, little sister? Now she’s yappin’ like a fishmonger on market day.”
He ducked just in time to avoid Lisabelle’s incoming slap. With their sparring reignited, Viena smiled faintly and wandered deeper into the room, curiosity drawing her toward the scattered trinkets cluttering the tables and floor.
“So many gears and gems… what are these weird tools for?” she murmured, fingertips brushing a curious brass contraption.
Before she could blink, something slammed into her from behind. A blur of motion spun her clean off the floor — arms locked around her waist, flipping her midair like a sack of flour. Viena barely had time to squeak before she was flung into one of the hammocks. The fabric wrapped around her, twisting, spinning faster and faster until up and down blurred together into a dizzying whirl.
“Gino! Gina! Enough!” Lisabelle’s voice cracked like a whip.
Abruptly, the spinning halted. The hammock jerked, then slowly reversed, righting itself until Viena’s dazed head popped out of the fabric — her face pale, her eyes glassy as marbles.
Hands — deft and practiced — pushed her head gently down and rubbed the back of her neck. Another hand slid a bucket beneath her chin, just in case.
"Y-You crazy – Blegh!"
Viena emptied her stomach with a miserable groan. Lisabelle strode over, grabbed both culprits by their ears, and pull then them together with an earful nagging before plucking Viena free from the hammock.
“I know your tools are precious,” she growled through gritted teeth, “but can you please restrain yourselves for five bloody minutes?”
“Sorry, Boss,” chimed two identical voices in unison — a pair of wild-eyed twins, each grinning ear to ear as though they hadn’t just sent someone into orbit.
Lisabelle rolled her eyes skyward, muttering something decidedly unladylike under her breath.
Viena grumbled under her breath, clutching her churning stomach as her face pinched into a sulk. Lisabelle only chuckled, brushing a stray curl from her temple with a careless flick.
“Half your fault for being so blissfully unwary,” Lisabelle teased, her voice dancing between scold and jest.
Viena puffed her cheeks in protest, but the moment soured no further. Soon enough, Lisabelle slung an arm over her shoulder, and with a tilt of her head, introduced the two whirlwind culprits.
“These two menaces are Gino and Gina. Our… tinkers, I suppose.”
“With an H!” Gino cut in eagerly, raising a spanner as if to christen the word anew.
“Without an H works too!” Gina shot back with a cheeky grin, twisting a copper wire between nimble fingers.
Lisabelle pressed her fingers to the bridge of her nose, exhaling through her teeth. “Tinkerers, tinkh-ers, who bloody cares? Point is—they usually help out Old Baretti at his forge.”
“The blacksmith Theo mentioned earlier?” Viena asked, tilting her head, strands of her soft brown hair sliding over her shoulder.
“Right. Though to be fair, these two are more often here dodging work than hammering metal.”
“Hey! We don’t slack off—we strategically take extended breaks,” Gina protested, hands on hips.
“Besides,” Gino chimed in, voice pitched with indignation, “there are guards crawling everywhere lately. You ever tried grinding steel while twitching at every shadow? It’s a nightmare.”
Lisabelle lifted her palms in surrender. “Alright, alright—I get it. I wouldn’t fancy either of you getting dragged off in irons.”
Viena’s wide-eyed curiosity practically spilled from her gaze. Noticing it, Gino leaned against a workbench and elaborated with an easy shrug. “We’re from Zantessa, kid. War orphans. Crossed the border when everything back home went to hell between Varnaria and Aramia. Old Baretti found us scavenging scrap and put hammers in our hands instead of trouble.”
Viena’s expression softened with understanding. Then, as though a switch flipped, her face brightened and she straightened with pride. “My name’s Viena! I travel with my Papa—he’s a medevist. I always help him treat patients. Lately, we’ve been staying with Lily here!”
“Adventurers, eh? That’s very cool.” Gino’s grin tugged wide.
The afternoon melted as easily as candle wax. Gino and Gina paraded their eccentric inventions—makeshift crossbows that fired stones with a satisfying twang, clever slings with adjustable arms, and bizarre contraptions that were somewhere between mining picks and clockwork curiosities. Viena tried them all with reverence and glee sparkling in her deep blue eyes.
Her heart, however, belonged swiftly to Gina’s battered old pogo stick.
“Whoa, look at you go, kid! Not bad, not bad—but can you do this?” Gina winked and bounced into a mid-air spin with a showy flourish.
Viena burst into delighted laughter, the pure, crystalline kind that echoed through rafters and hearts alike.
“Lily! Look at me!” she called as she bounded across the planked floor, her skirt flaring and boots thudding in rhythm. Soon, she’d bounced clean out the doorway, springing along the cobbled street where, only days ago, she’d crept nervously with her hood drawn low. Now her exhilaration spun sunlight into gold and scattered it into every passerby’s smile.
“Thought that thing was junk, honestly. Figured it just wouldn’t launch anymore ‘cause I’d outgrown it.” Gina crossed her arms, watching with an almost tender pride. “Guess the problem was me, huh?”
Then—a sharp whistle cut through the easy laughter.
“Eddie’s here. Get in—all of you. You can play again later if you’re so inclined.” His tone was brisk, his gloved hand beckoning. A pigeon landed on it, flapping its wings and turns everyone's attention to it.
Viena clumsily dismounted from her pogo stick, curiosity tugging harder than her sense of fun.
“Eddie?” she echoed, brows knitting as she trotted after the others.
Lisabelle, already strolling ahead, glanced over her shoulder with a smirk tugging the corner of her lips.
“It’s the bird. Theo named him. Royal Quindor pigeon—better known as a Black Agent, for obvious reasons.” Her emerald eyes flicked meaningfully to the bird’s plumage: a sleek, inky black sheen, so deep it seemed to drink the light rather than reflect it.
Inside, Theo was already at the broad oak table he’d quietly cleared and prepared while they’d been whiling away the hours. He set Eddie down with practiced care, sliding a shallow dish of water and a scatter of seed before the bird. As Eddie bent to drink, Theo’s fingers deftly detached a small canister strapped to its right leg and unrolled the message sealed within.
He read aloud, voice steady but rising with each line:
“Twelve flags… nine sports… forty-one events… forty days… and—” He paused, breath catching. “The Hero’s Sword.”
The silence broke like glass.
“THE HERO’S SWORD?!”
“THE HERO’S SWORD?!”
Lisabelle’s chair scraped back as she leapt upright. Gino and Gina nearly tripped over each other bounding closer, all three practically vibrating with exhilaration. Even Theo’s usual stoicism cracked, his eyes lit with unmistakable fervor.
Viena lingered on the edge of their excitement, her small hands fidgeting with the hem of her sleeve. She watched their jubilation—Lisabelle’s grin splitting wide, Gino slapping Gina’s shoulder in uncontainable glee—but felt herself adrift outside it, as though watching revelers through a windowpane.
Lisabelle spun toward her, eyes bright.
“Vi—can you believe it?!”
But as her gaze locked on Viena’s quietly puzzled expression, her smile slackened into something softer.
“Hm. That’s a serious lack of reaction if I’ve ever seen one.” She cocked her head. “You don’t seem surprised in the least.”
Viena blinked rapidly, caught off guard.
“O-oh! It’s not that, it’s just… I don’t really understand. What do you mean by The Hero’s Sword?”
Gino’s mouth fell open. “Wait—what? You don’t know the Great Hero, Vivi?”
Viena—Vivi to her friends, whether she corrected them or not—shook her head slowly.
Theo’s brows furrowed. His fingers tapped the rolled parchment thoughtfully, almost absently.
“You said you’ve traveled with your father for years. And you’ve never heard the stories of the Heroes of Ersia? Really?”
“I asked him once,” Viena murmured, her voice smaller now, gaze dropping to the wooden grain of the tabletop. “But he told me they were just plain, tasteless fairy tales. That they wouldn’t help me get through life in any way. So… I guess I never bothered learning more.”
The room stilled for a beat—subtle, but weighted. The others exchanged glances, the kind threaded with unspoken understanding and a shade of pity too gentle to sting.
Lisabelle was the first to break it, her smile returning but softer now, like sunlight filtered through cloud.
“Well then ... perhaps it’s time someone did tell you why it matters.”