The Ogre Strength Fairy and the Eldest 'Son'

The ancient cultivator with tricks to place Memory itself into protected shards within her spirit had even made copies of what she found in that hiding place, over the last year. Placed in the Exclave for Qatrand to read... if she ever visited that library. The highlights of her finds had even been written within the dense book she had sent back with Sevra, so many years ago.

Elua wasn’t sure what the ultimate decision of her spouse would be regarding the family that raised her, hurt her, and ultimately let her walk away without any concession to reality. But if she wanted to stage a coup and take it back to those nobler beginnings, the brunette still sealing her ’anger’ down tight would back that play.

’With ten-thousand percent effort!’

"The fact is... you have known the true gender of your arranged partner for a long time."

"Her father told us you told him that. As did your... wife."

Hearing one of them call Qat that term irked the relatively petite reincarnator. Normally, she would just correct with her personal terminology and move on. After all, it was something she came up with on her own - and not something that her ’fortress’ had insisted on being called. It was a whim of a definition, but one that meant something to the brunette.

It meant recognizing her crossdressing partner as equal. No matter what facet was displayed to the heiress, to the public, to anything and everything in all of existence. Maybe such deep Intent had not existed the very moment she first thought it in her head, but the sentiment grew this way like a living thing until the origin no longer mattered.

"So... because I fancy a strong, muscular, tall and excessively amazing woman... you immediately want to know if I hold the opinion that women are better as cultivators and not just a part of the cosmos like you are? You want me to speak and admit a thing that would merely paint me as a contrarian that can be ignored?"

Emotions seethed underneath the core of her spirit. That roiling dark of ’emptiness’, between her controlled outer edge and refracted inner light provided by Qatrand’s existence... slithered and bulged like a bag with a cat inside of it.

"The fact that you see an unexpected form of success come out of this framework, that has been rebuilt into this male supremacy factory of a family... as only an attack on yourselves is *insultingly* shallow."

The last word echoed in the chamber as mint eyes blazed his way and the very air around everyone curled in unnatural swirls, like a hundred vectors of sudden breeze as momentarily ’gripped’ gases were immediately released before she did more drastic things. El had all but completely lost the thread of remaining impersonal, as might be expected.

"I can only feel contempt in my heart when you, who dare speak in front of me, were one of the very people responsible for what was done to my most important person. Her decisions in the field before and after my departure saved more cultivator and mortal lives than *any* on your council in a century and a half. And do you know why I find that so fascinating?"

The ancient spiritualist had also begun to further stifle the energy of everyone in the room. Unintentionally, for the most part - though the fact that eight specific people felt it more than others would call that into question. Her *husband-wife* would know that, if she wanted to single them out on purpose, they’d be twitching on the ground while deep in Illusions at minimum.

"You actually seem to think this happened because of me and my influence. I do take credit for teaching her little tricks and major truths in order to be more than subpar in her energy accumulations. I also taught her to play into her defensive instincts instead of just swinging wildly. Yet to you, that means... despite her upbringing already twisting her into shape, she still became something ’foreign’ to your values."

The original document of their family’s first council of elders loomed large over her back in the next moments. A ’Projection’ of a parchment plenty large enough for all present to read. There was a copy in the main family archives, modified and extended in places as seems to happen when simple rules start needing addendums and amendments. Or erasures.

"The martial discipline she keeps, the protectiveness that is second nature, the stubbornness she chooses to hold her ground with, in situations when any reasonable person would retreat and regroup? Those are her and always were. That duty that drives the person I love to stand between danger, no matter how she was born and raised, with one of *your* style two-handed blades?

Three signed names on the document - names that were no longer present in the ’modern’ version - tore out into exclusive view. Associated sketches and service profiles, gathered from other books she scoured in her spare time, soon revealed how these individuals were accomplished women. Two of whom died at an age that would mean the eldest of their family, Lirades er Yecine, could have met them.

"That is more Yecine than any of you."

Elua met the Patriarch’s gaze again, as it fell from the possibly faked representations of history. The problem with such ’taboo’ Aspects was that it became harder to verify the division between truth and falsehood in any given moment. He’d even tempered his expectations toward the idea that he may even be the only one experiencing any of this.

And of course, the extremely practiced illusionist could feel his layers of mental construction. Just like she could clearly feel...

"Now. I’ve told you how you think things are. How others think things are. You have been duly informed of the situation. Plenty enough that I can now tell you exactly how things will *be*. You will-"

Two strong, calloused hands found either side of her head. Warm against her temples, they squeezed firmly but never painfully. And yet, like she could feel nothing but some kind of pain - the ’pain’ of numbed and disconnected nerves reconnecting and firing in all kinds of ways - Elua er Goltbred broke into tears before her speech could continue into her list of demands and surrender.

’Qat. Qat. Qat. Qat. Qat. Qat-’

They simply turned into a single nickname in her head that would not terminate, but also had slight variations to each. As if she was mimicking the infinite non-pattern of some sort of irrational number. How else could she deal with her partner’s spirit *slicing* through her form, not so much wrapping tight as spearing in place to hold onto what they’d finally caught!

...And waving warningly against people who did not have the training to notice it as clearly as Elua did. Her skull rattled with the idea of pulling all of her spiritual energy down tight, leaving everything to her beloved no matter what might happen from here on. Even being guided forward quickly into a minimal bow, along with the raven haired swordswoman’s attempt that was just enough to show a small sense of deference, was acceptable!

"My apologies for the inconvenience my wife has caused today."

Not just through letters of her accomplishments anymore - her low and steady tone of voice *genuinely* carried even more authority than El remembered. The reborn cultivator was rapidly undone for all to see - from a terror to an articulable toy - by every updated, real addition to the Qat she knew as it flowed into that exceedingly bright point in her self-protected spirit.

"We will convene again to discuss matters at a different time. With cooler heads."

As so many mature, well regarded swordsmen stared at the situation...

At being able to breath easily again. At the eldest Goltbred daughter being ’handled’ by a single individual instantly while they could do nothing...

It slowly sunk in that what they saw had not been another illusion added to the pile.

One arm had hooked beneath Elua er Goltbred while the other braced her back. Lifted like she weighed nothing, quickly into the air and onto the shoulders of their emancipated warrior, who knelt at the same moment so she did not have to toss her far. Even if her mint-drop would not have minded at all!

The sound that came out of the brunette as she realized she was sitting high up with thighs around her spouse’s neck... bore no resemblance to the hard edge from only a minute ago. Or even the sweet and spiced tone she had begun the conversation with. It was small, high-pitched and involuntary. Accompanied by that ’emptiness’ in her spirit revealing it was filled with mewling kittens instead.

’Hnng!’

Her face found the top of Qatrand’s head and buried there as her whole form hugged down tight. A whimper that cracked at the edges and devolved into something worse - a trembling, continuous set of whining noises that she would later deny making in public. Even if she made them again, in private... during very different circumstances that her spouse would still claim *sounded* the same for years.

The Yecine council had watched the two quick seconds after those noises began, as blonde pigmentation emerged like a wave of instant sunlight on the night sky, that started at the roots and swept outward. Pigeon blues that sat between the ’helmet’ of her Goltbred wife’s arms met the Patriarch and blinked once, without clear expression, before turning around and calmly escaping back the way she came in.

As quickly as she could while a person was writhing like a bag of snakes over your head.