Fausteo and his dancers left. Ranthia was left with so many questions, not enough answers, and vague information that she was expected by breakfast the next day. Supposedly things had been arranged.

  Ranthia still slept poorly, stressed out over the non-specificity of everything. It was clear that Hunting had gotten her involved in something else no one had bothered to tell her about! The man was an absolute menace. She couldn’t even appreciate the chaos involved!

  The next morning, Ranthia woke up as normal. Since there were no messages, instructions, or other forms of guidance awaiting her, she joined the other trainees as they assembled for morning exercises.

  Only to be immediately approached by one of the Sentinels she hadn’t seen since her sailing class. The one with the water name. Sentinel Sea? No… Sentinel Nostrum? No, it was the big one.

  Ranthia had to side-eye her own mind when it proffered Sentinel Pond after that.

  Oh gods, he was a short distance away smiling and waving at her. She needed to do something! She saluted, which seemed safe enough.

  She was so not at her best that morning, it seemed.

  “Let’s go!” Sentinel Ocean—certainly not pond—announced once she saluted.

  He then beckoned her to follow and took off at a run for the island’s docks. Ranthia was forced to follow at a desperate run in an effort to even keep up. Her speed had improved considerably—and [Steps into the Void] helped with the sandy terrain—but the man just had hundreds of levels on her.

  Once again, she was reminded of her folly when she claimed that A-Ranked Adventurers were equal to the Sentinels. She had been a fool back then, a woman who had no idea just how large Pallos truly was.

  All too quickly she found herself on his personal ship and they seemed to spear across the water, bound for Ariminum at speeds she had never known were possible. It was a bit of a struggle even with her sea legs—ingrained through the prior year—to keep a grip on her nausea and not collapse gracelessly onto the deck.

  “Master Fausteo, it’s been far too long! I must say I’m looking forward to your Winter Solstice show, I expect it to be the best yet with one of our promising Ranger trainees in it.” Ocean called out in greeting once he reached the man.

  Ranthia was several steps behind him. She still felt dizzy from the journey and was winded and sweaty from her efforts to run after the sailing Sentinel once they were back on land. She needed a moment. Or 32.

  “Hmph, her growth has been adequate, but this week will tell if she can keep up with her peers! But yes yes, I am glad to have your patronage! Now off with you, with respect! We must get her in costume!” The old man was more animated than ever.

  “Oh, and before I forget!” Ocean unslung a large, wooden box that was strapped to his back. Then tossed it to Ranthia, who caught it with a grunt.

  Dang thing was heavier than it looked.

  “These are your assignments from your instructors for the week, all of them aside from Master Fausteo. Don’t slack off!” Ocean offered her a handshake.

  Which was more than a bit awkward while she was wrestling with the giant box, but Ranthia managed to free a hand without dropping her burden. Ocean pressed a small key—the key to the wooden box, which made it a fancy wooden box—into her hand while they shook.

  Then he was off, and she was left to the theater master’s mercy.

  Ranthia was promptly handed over to two tailors and a seamstress that immediately stripped her and proceeded to paw at, poke, and measure every single part of Ranthia with strips of cloth. By the time they were done and gave her back her clothes, Ranthia felt incredibly violated. Yes, they were consummate professionals and never touched or let their gazes linger anywhere inappropriate, but she was wildly unused to being manhandled so summarily. It made her feel more like a thing than a person.

  “No problem, she’s close to the measurements you guessed, boss! We’ll have it ready by lunch!” One of the tailors called out while he shoved Ranthia out of their little workspace.

  Ranthia was distracted by dark thoughts about whether any of that had even been necessary, surely skills could have handled much of that without treating her like that!

  “Good good good! You, be back by lunchtime! Eat light before! One of the girls will show you your cot, leave your… crate there. Then off with you, we have much much to do!” The man seemed mortally offended by the functional wooden box.

  …Wait, more importantly—had she obtained actual free time?!

  And, of course, Hexara wasn’t at work that morning or at home. Ranthia decided to leave the ticket to the show at the salon for her.

  Ranthia was torn between being absolutely crushed that she couldn’t spend her bit of precious free time with the woman she—okay, fine, the woman that she loved, damnit—but she was also a tiny bit grateful. Honestly, she had no idea how to face Hexara after… well, dropping an “I love you” and immediately running away like some sort of freak. She’d only ever said those words to Xaoc before!

  Her blush returned while she waited in line at her favorite rabbit stew street stall.

  Belly fulfilled, Ranthia decided to sacrifice her free time to sate her own curiosity. Ranthia was perched upon her cot in the back room of the theater while she opened up the wooden box of scrolls and began her coursework. The scrolls from Hand-to-Hand Training, Ranged Combat Training, and Speedster training seemed to all be related to combat theory for their disciplines. Geography & Cartography was a single scroll, which briefly listed some descriptions of areas and expected her to write scrolls detailing how she would return to Ariminum from the described locale—a bizarre exercise that was unlikely to ever be practically necessary.

  The others were more interesting. International Studies provided scrolls encased in scripted wax that supposedly would only cleanly break for her—or rather the inscribed key Ocean had slipped her—the scripts would supposedly destroy the contents if the wax was broken without the key touching it. She was to read each scroll detailing the limited information Remus had collected about the elves, then feed a little mana into the inscription around the scroll’s border that would cleanly reduce the scroll to a puff of ash. Nothing for her to write for that course.

  Her Visual Exercises scroll was to be slowly unrolled. Each section of it was clearly demarcated and had its own rules. In essence, she was to unroll to the next boundary and the instant she hit it she was supposed to close the scroll and rewrite the letters she read or the symbols she saw. It was all on the honor system, but it was fun. The style of the writing varied dramatically too, which added a bit of challenge.

  Advanced Monster Slaying had dropped all names of creatures and became a series of hypotheticals about described monsters that could have been real or imagined. The hypotheticals covered things like how she would react to an opponent that regenerated damage rapidly, that was many times her size, and had multiple limbs that could deliver a crushing and piercing attack. How would her responses change if it had an aura that burned her if she got near it. Things like that. More scrolls for her to write.

  Field Leadership Training’s scrolls turned out to be some sort of procedure guide that went on for nine incredibly dry scrolls. Ranthia decided to read those scrolls before bed.

  Countering Sapient Foes was much more interesting and fun. Kallisto had written down some of his personal experiences as a Ranger when he opposed human enemies. Ranthia had never considered reading fun before those scrolls, but Kallisto was an impressive storyteller.

  Rigira’s scroll was attached to a small case filled with eight surprisingly heavy balls. The scroll itself had only a few words: Saw a juggler. Thought it was neat. Expect you to master juggling all of them at once.

  …Ranthia had no idea how in Xaoc’s name she was going to find the time to master an entirely new skill in a mere week—especially one that already had her busy with the full dance rehearsals and all of her other scroll work!

  Ranthia held the blob of blue and silver fabric that had been thrust into her hands with a blank look on her face.

  “What are you waiting for?” The Seamstress asked. Thankfully the two tailors were not present this time.

  “I… have no idea how in Xaoc’s name I’m supposed to put something like this on?” Ranthia confessed.

  The woman rolled her eyes and muttered something about performers.

  With the woman’s help, Ranthia was soon dressed. She still had no idea how in the names of the four glorious members of the five great gods the thing went on though—it was fiendishly complicated. But it was done, and she found herself in front of a conjured mirror while she studied the effect.

  The outfit was silver with intricately dyed swirls of blue (the designs were so complex and subtle that Ranthia couldn’t even speculate at how they could have been done, aside from just ‘skills’). Then there were, carefully woven in, small bits of arcanite of various—albeit tiny—sizes scattered about the outfit in fractal patterns that evoked ice. The outfit somehow clung tightly to every curve of her body. It covered her from her wrists to her neck and—most bizarrely—also covered her entire feet with built-in leather at the bottom. It was like she was wearing the softest, most flexible sandals she had ever experienced, except they were connected to the garment itself. From the back there were two puffy lengths comprised of light purple threads that formed a fine netting, each connected to silver rings that she wore on her middle fingers.

  “Now what are you waiting for?” The seamstress demanded, clearly annoyed.

  “What?” Ranthia asked distractedly.

  “Is this really somehow your first time? Of all the… Look, you can use inscriptions I hope? Feed some mana into the costume the same way.” The seamstress ordered impatiently.

  Ranthia obeyed and the outfit seemed to come alive. Subtle threads in the costume that had been dark suddenly became mirror-like and reflective. Light seemed to scatter and reflect around her off a subtle silvery sparkling shimmer that formed in the air near her body.

  “Excellent! Looks like it works well. What’s your second class’ element?”

  “Void.”

  “…Yeah, please don’t try feeding that in, I don’t think the weave would survive. Seriously, please do not, not even for a moment.” The woman blanched while she spoke.

  Ranthia promised she wouldn’t and admired herself in the mirror a little longer. The costume really was pretty, almost like something from another world.

  And then the door crashed open.

  “Why is she just standing there?! Come come come come coooome! They wait! The dancers! The bards! Not my muse though, of course not, that will be the final practice only! We must be perfect by then! So come, time wastes and you are to blame! Come!”

  Her Dance Rehearsal course had alternated between two different dance numbers; each one lasted through the full two gongs. Ranthia had always assumed that there were just two variations to give them more training. Then, when she found out it was real practice for an actual planned performance, she assumed the dances were two options they were trying to choose between. No, it turned out they were two halves to a gods forsaken four-gong length performance.

  At least Ranthia finally knew why several of the other fifteen dancers that were involved in the performance had mentioned that they needed to dump all of their free stats into vitality. Even Ranthia had, initially, been a bit worn out after just two gongs worth of dancing until she got used to it. Four just felt absurd! Ranthia, the ten men, and the other five women clearly had their work cut out for them.

  With the full stage to dance upon, their positions changed quite a bit too. The dancers were grouped into clusters of eight throughout most of the performance, aside from a few commingled components. There had always been parts of the dance where they paired up to dance in unison, and Ranthia was relieved that she still had the same partner for those: a woman that was several years her senior though remarkably short, barely much taller than Rigira.

  Since they were doing full dress rehearsals, Ranthia got to experience what her dance partner’s Ice element did with the costume. It was pretty, but Ranthia preferred her own Mirror. They were to keep their mana feeds to their costumes off except during specific parts of the dance, which the music cued. There were both brief flares of synchronized magic and continual displays for entire sections of the dance. The effects were stunning, to Ranthia’s untrained eye.

  Speaking of music, Ranthia was floored to learn that the three [Bards] they used in the prior dance rehearsals were just the three section leads. Each section sat sixteen musicians, so there were more [Bards] with instruments than there were dancers! Between the sections there was a dizzying array of musical instruments, most of which Ranthia had no name for. She enjoyed listening to music just fine—so long as the song wasn’t offensive enough to drive her towards violence—but she had never felt any drive to learn an instrument. And the less said about her singing voice, the better (the System actually suggested she not take the [Singing] skill it last offered her and instead give up singing entirely!).

  The dancers had practiced together and gotten into great sync over the past half year—and the [Bards] had clearly been practicing together as well—so the final week’s practices were mostly just getting them used to dealing with the excessively long dance and working out final kinks.

  “No no no no NO! You should have that foot on that board of the stage, not this one! You carried too far! And you! Your hand should be above his hip, not on it!” The excitable old-timer screeched.

  There might have been a few more final kinks than Ranthia expected.

  The muse that Fausteo had spoken of turned out to be yet another [Bard]. They were either a skinny man or a woman with minimal curves. Their long hair was rough and neglected and they had one of those faces that could go either way. They sat down in the submerged portion of the theater with the other [Bards], right below the center of the stage. Fausteo stood next to the person for their final day’s rehearsal while the muse mumbled something that seemed to always be at the edge of Ranthia’s range of hearing, but quite impossible to listen in on.

  After the rehearsal concluded Fausteo gave them his highest praise yet.

  “Well, good enough I hope! Yes yes! Rest, recover! Be ready! No alcohol! No rich foods! No nothing bad! Stay in and relax! I have THE [Stylist] coming bright and early tomorrow so we need you all here! We must put on the performance of our lives! And if we succeed well we will get the greatest of reward! The applause!”

  The dancers bowed in unison, eloquently and theatrically, their hands joined down the line.

  Ranthia was more than a little nervous, she privately admitted.

  “Let me guess, [Sexy]?” The tallest, largest man she had ever seen asked.

  “Um, yes sir.” Ranthia answered.

  How in Xaoc’s glory did anyone get over level 300 as a dual classed [Stylist]?! She’d never seen a non-combat class anywhere close to that! Even half that level was impressive for those that stayed in the cities and didn’t risk life and limb.

  “Right, sit down. We’ll need to start with growing your hair, hon.” He ordered in a smooth tone.

  Was buttery an appropriate descriptor for someone’s voice? Because his voice seemed buttery to her.

  “Oh, I actually prefer it short.” Ranthia answered.

  The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

  “That’s nice, but Fausteo’s word is law for this job, hon. Now hurry, I still have four more after you!” He chastised in a soft tone.

  Ranthia sat and the man set surprisingly gentle fingers on her hair. Moments later she felt the soft sensation of hair brushing against her shoulders and then against her back. Her hair had always looked amazingly healthy after Hexara finished with it, but with this man… well, she had no words! Her hair seemed more like something a master [Artisan] painted than true hair—such perfection felt downright uncanny! Her cosmetics came just as quickly, blues and silvers and whites, with a few tiny flecks of arcanite somehow embedded into the makeup in swirling patterns.

  Then a final Skill washed over her, one that tingled but didn’t seem to do anything?

  “And we are done. That Skill should keep your cosmetics from smudging and your hair naturally falling back into its current style and position for at least a full day. But try not to strain the Skill before curtains are up, okay hon? You’re done, please send in the next performer.” He requested while he gently patted her shoulder.

  Ranthia was impressed. The whole process barely took any time at all. He needed only a fraction of the time Hexara required. Hexara’d still be working on Ranthia’s hair at that point, even just for cutting and styling her short hair—let alone this flowing nonsense that hung down to the small of her back.

  But Ranthia had to admit when she stood in front of a mirror in the next room… she looked great. [Sexy] obviously agreed. It had… oh holy gods and goddesses!

  [*ding!* [Sexy] has leveled from 200 to level 210!]

  …Ranthia’s loyalty to her girlfriend for her hair styling needs wavered.

  It was time. The seats were filled. The music began faint and built by the moment. Ranthia and the other dancers were hidden in place among the gorgeous, elaborate stage set pieces. A small army of stagehands dressed in black were ready, out of sight. The Light [Mages] and Mirror [Mages] were up in the catwalks above the stage. The lighting dimmed.

  And a beautiful, haunting voice filled the room while the curtain smoothly rose.

  Ranthia had only a few moments to peek at the crowd before it was her turn to emerge from hiding and dance out to join the other dancers that appeared one-by-one for the audience. The place was packed! She had previously located the seat that matched her ticket and to her relief—and heightened nervousness—found Hexara in the third row, right where she should be. The eight raised VIP boxes on the sides of the theater were filled too, though the focused lighting prevented Ranthia from being able to tell who was in them. But the primary raised VIP box that faced the stage was far more massive than the others and, more importantly, was backlit so Ranthia could actually see into it. It contained Fausteo—of course, he was expected to be there—but he was sitting next to… …WAS THAT THE FUCKING EMPEROR!?

  Ranthia had never seen the man, of course, but his statues were everywhere, and it was kind of impossible to miss the Praetorian Guards that stood behind him!

  And then Ranthia was out of time to look. She hurriedly tried to sink into her performance and reached for [The Art of Battle], [Steps into the Void], [A Void Dance], and [The Art of Dance]—they didn’t all apply, she was just somewhat desperate in the moment. She was almost shaking, but she tried to calm herself down in her last precious moment or two. She knew her timings, she knew her moves, so she just had to trust what had almost become muscle memory. All she needed to do was to hold on to her experience and not lose to her own nerves.

  With a final breath, Ranthia twirled out on cue.

  Ranthia had never known throughout their rehearsals—not even the full-dress rehearsals that had dominated her recent experiences—but the entire dance told a story. That mysterious muse was the amazing voice that sang the story perfectly in harmony with the rich orchestration. Their voice filled the entire theater. It should have been deafening, but instead the voice always felt gentle—though powerful and moving—almost as if it came from nearby. Which explained why their level was higher than Ranthia’s, they had to be practically a living legend with such incredible talent! A voice so beautiful that it brought the story to life and practically—thank Xaoc, not literally—pulled the audience onto the stage with the dancers.

  The story was about the fae—which explained more than a few things about their costumes. The Court of Winter—Ranthia’s group—had discovered a way to perpetuate their season’s power and had frozen out spring. The Court of Summer—the other eight dancers—grew alarmed as their time approached, yet both the lands of men as well as their own remained locked in ice. They beseech the spirits of nature—played by works of art manipulated by the stagehands—to join them in their battle against the tyranny of winter.

  Ranthia and the other seven of the Court of Winter dominated the stage. They pranced about in a flittering, carefree dance. Content in their own position, confident in their power and authority. Engulfed in whimsy, they failed to notice the graceful, subtle movements of the Court of Summer’s approach.

  A battle was joined. The chaotic, energetic dance was a clash of power. Brief flares of harmless Radiance, Fire, Lightning, Mirage, Lava, and other warm colors flickered over their costumes as they aggressively danced toward the Court of Winter. But the Court of Winter, though initially cowed, struck back with their accumulated power. Far greater flashes of (equally harmless) Brilliance, Water, Ice, Mist, Mirror, and other cool colors illuminated their own costumes as they weaved and danced toward the Court of Summer dancers. The frenzied dance continued for a time, but at last the Court of Summer dancers gracefully and slowly spun away as they were defeated one by one.

  The Court of Winter held a grand celebration to herald a winter that would never end. Their eternal rivals had, at long last, been defeated by their ever-increasing power. They paired off and danced together with whimsical glee. Grudgingly, unable to resist a party, the Court of Summer dancers arrived in twos to join the outer fringe of the dance. The fae Courts danced together, though with the Court of Winter clearly under the spotlight. The celebrations continued and the Court of Winter’s power increased by the day (via impressive background work from the stagehands).

  The party faded slowly into the background. The triumphant Court of Winter dancers moved their ongoing revelry to the side as stagehands shifted the scenery with them to give the illusion of greater movement and a grander sense of scale. The Court of Summer dancers moved in the opposite direction and came together into the fore, backed by new scenery that had flawlessly transitioned in with their movements.

  Ranthia and the other Court of Winter dancers had a brief respite and were given small sips of cool, refreshing water with lemon and mint while they were tended to swiftly by the stagehands that awaited backstage. Three [Healers] buzzed among them to check them over too (apparently there’d been a whole thing over a lead performer’s ankle going out spectacularly mid performance a couple of years ago).

  Meanwhile, back on the stage the Court of Summer dancers danced to-and-fro, antagonized and upset by the erasure of the domain of their Court. They called upon the spirits of nature, as exquisite paintings, carvings, and murals shifted out, controlled by the stagehands. Nature itself suffered under the yoke of winter, which had been twisted from a time of rest and respite to a time of darkness and, ultimately, certain death.

  A plan was hatched, an alliance forged. Once again, the scenery was walked to the side as the dancers on stage fell back with it. Soon, the Court of Winter was back in focus, having returned to their dance of whimsy and arrogance. They flitted and twirled without a care in the world.

  The Court of Summer came without warning. This was no subtle ambush; this was the opening act of a war. Once again, the dancers began a frenzied dance, more energetic than the last. The Court of Summer came with their powers blazing. The Court of Winter met them with their own power. Each side kept their costumes activated endlessly now, aside from brief flickers when they were driven back. They pushed and danced toward one another, while Nature Spirits emerged and swarmed the field. Spotlights of carefully focused light shone from the [Mages] above on the Courts of Winter, which made their costumes shine brighter and and their harmless energy effects seem far more potent than those of their rivals.

  Nature Spirits fled, one by one. Still the Court of Summer fought on, desperate and driven. This was their final gambit; they could not afford to fail. On and on the wild dance continued. Dancers began to dim. Mana was cut to costumes as dancers pirouetted gracefully and slowly spun away, defeated before their foes’ elegant savagery.

  At length, the clash concluded. Ranthia and three other members of the Court of Winter remained, victorious. But they only weakly sashayed and moved, their delight gone. The game had turned sour, their victory hollow. They swirled and moved to the side, followed by the scenery. They returned to the four of their own who laid on the stage, unmoving. The music turned from melancholy to a subtle tune of misery.

  Ranthia and the others sat with their fallen comrades and the light on stage dimmed then went dark. The soft sounds of the stagehands were all that could be heard from the stage in the sudden darkness. Then light returned, a warm light focused on the other half of the stage, where the Court of Summer dancers lay. Slowly, the first rose. Followed, at length, by another. They gathered and began a slow, careful dance with half of the musicians playing a soft melody in their honor.

  Light returned to the Court of Winter’s side of the stage, blue in color and augmented by a soft, illusory snowfall courtesy of a Mirage [Mage]. The other half of the musicians began to play, as Ranthia and the other three ‘healthy’ dancers guided their fallen partners into their embrace and stood with them. They began to dance again, sharing their remaining power with their counterparts.

  Soon both factions were on their feet and dancing with their own Courts as the music turned more hopeful. Neither Court was defeated, but both had experienced the horrors of war. Perhaps through this revelation a better way forward could be found.

  The lights dimmed and the music slowed, then stopped as the curtains fell on the dancers that had frozen perfectly in place. Their feet were each on the proper boards of the stage that time. Their practice had paid off!

  A guest [Bard] emerged and announced an intermission. Five [Bards] specially invited by Fausteo’s Musical Theater would each provide their greatest masterpiece, after which the show would resume.

  The performance was halfway done.

  Modesty was no longer a concern. Stagehands helped the dancers undress, and they gathered nude in the break room for a desperately needed rest. Stagehands offered them quick, gentle foot massages while others gave them a quick scrub with olive oil to help with sweat. For Ranthia and the other dancers, they just reveled in their chance to get off their feet while they drank more refreshing water with lemon and mint. There was also light food on offer, though none of them seemed inclined to eat more than a bite or two.

  The [Healers] carefully checked each of them over while they rested.

  Other workers hurriedly cleansed their costumes of any trace of sweat and refreshed them while they ensured nothing had come loose or been lost.

  “I can’t believe that was half the show. It felt so much longer during rehearsal, but I almost feel like I had barely just stepped out on stage now.” Ranthia muttered.

  “Heh, yeah, I remember being bewildered the first time. I actually tried to argue with a stagehand that I wasn’t done yet while the curtain fell. Took me a bit to realize that I had done every dance number I had.” One of the men replied.

  They were too focused on their short break for anything to become lurid or unsavory, even eyes rarely wandered. They had only a short bit of time and had to return to form before the too-brief intermission came to an end, especially since they needed to reserve time to get into costume again too. The garments were far faster to remove than they were to don.

  The next act of the performance began. From the Court of Winter, the dancer that could shine with Brilliance danced slowly through a new landscape, one that had the barest traces of spring but was frozen in winter. He danced past flowers blocked by ice, trees that wished to bud beneath their snow, and bushes that remained buried and cold.

  From the opposite direction, from the Court of Summer came the dancer that could shine with Radiance. He moved through similar sights until they all but collided. They danced around one another, wary. Their costumes lit up with their glows, but those faded just as fast as they came. Neither wished to fight any longer.

  The light for the stage as a whole dimmed even as a brighter light focused on the two men as they slowly came to a stop, along with the music. A moment of stillness, a moment of silence. Then a new song began, one touched with hope and anticipation. The men embraced and began to dance together. Some of the snow and ice went away, but only a little.

  More dancers emerged, drawn to the scene. They were cautious and fearful. Though the song of hopeful warmth continued, some of the [Bards] began an accompaniment to help set the mood. Mana fueled costumes in brief flashes as the Court of Winter and Court of Summer menaced one another. Yet their eyes continued to fall on the two that had embraced.

  Gradually, and gracefully, the two factions danced toward one another. But this time they did not clash or dance against one another. They intermingled, then separated. Again, and again, the pattern repeated. Each time they moved a bit deeper before they retreated. Wariness slowly turned into playfulness. They weren’t truly dancing together yet, but as they flittered, their dances intermingled.

  At length, they began to switch sides of the stage. The ice and snow that had covered the set pieces was pulled away as they did. The energy of the music grew and the accompaniment transitioned into harmony with the main theme. The Court of Summer danced in earnest in a circle. One by one the Court of Winter danced over and slipped through the narrow and constantly moving gaps to reach the center of the circle. They each pranced and twirled about the inside of the circle briefly, before they danced back to the side.

  And so, the great winter came to an end.

  The Court of Summer threw a grand celebration and danced together. The Court of Winter paired up and stayed on the shadowed edges of the party at first. But, like any fae, they were unable to resist a good party.

  The dances continued, and pattern and tempo changed as summer came to its full power. Time passed, then summer’s dominance began to wane as the seasons again began to change. With this change the dancers intermingled once more, though the Courts still danced their own separate dances. Slowly the music turned, and the Court of Winter came back to the fore anew. Winter returned to the realm after summer, as the gods intended.

  The dance for winter was playful and rambunctious while the scenery froze and, soon enough, all was ice and snow. The music and the dance were filled with glee. But then the Court of Winter gathered together into a tight group that danced, always moments from disaster; there was practically no space between them though they danced with a frenzied passion. This sequence had been the hardest for them to learn and coordinate; the tiniest misstep was likely to trip someone else. Worse, they had to move about, constantly shifting who was where.

  It was the meeting of the Court of Winter. Would they repeat their sin?

  They danced and flitted away, as they beckoned the Court of Summer forward. The ice and snow began to slowly fade.

  Balance had been restored. The Court of Winter and Court of Summer had become reflections of one another. Neither could exist alone. Neither could be greater than the other. The powers of the Courts grew and waned, which heralded the turn of the seasons.

  Harmony had been reborn.

  [*ding!* [The Art of Dance] has leveled from 189 to level 217!]

  The dancers joined hands and bowed gracefully to an audience that cheered and applauded so hard the entire theater shook. The music had stopped. The curtain had fallen. In that moment, they were no longer fae. They were performers who had just put on a show that would be the talk of the town for many days to come.

  Ranthia would never forget how she felt in that moment.

  [*ding!* [The Art of Dance] has reached level 218!]

  [*ding!* [Ranger’s Lore] has reached level 218!]

  The afterparty had begun. Or perhaps it was a separate event that the performers had been invited to—Ranthia wasn’t quite sure. She was dressed in her own gorgeous purple garment; she had retrieved it from storage ahead of the performance after she was warned she would need something to wear. A beautiful iron figure of an eagle in flight with a laurel wreath seized in its talons, similar in shape to the Ranger eagle of their badges, hung around her neck. Someone had—during the performance—left it with her belongings along with an unsigned note that instructed her to wear it to represent the Ranger Academy.

  She was still stuck with long hair and the makeup on her face though, but she supposed that was on purpose. She was supposed to be recognizable. Dozens of complete strangers had come up to her to compliment her performance. She was embarrassed, but proud and happy. She thanked them, made small talk, and moved on.

  Until someone far more terrifying approached.

  “Ah, you must be Trainee Ranthia. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.” His strong voice preceded him.

  She was about to try to talk to the freaking emperor! Fausteo stood next to him, along with a buzzing entourage of sycophants, senators, and advisors. And the omnipresent Praetorian Guard a short distance away.

  Each of whom looked like they were ready to run her through with their spears if she even moved wrong.

  “Sir, it is an honor! I hope the show was to your liking.” Ranthia politely proffered while she saluted. The gesture felt silly while she was in her beautiful garment, but it felt like the best move she could make.

  “At ease, at ease! Yes, it was a splendid performance, and I hope any of our unseen neighbors that may have seen the show enjoyed it as well.” The emperor laughed.

  His entourage laughed.

  Ranthia nervously giggled and relaxed her fist from its position over her heart, though she found it quite impossible to completely relax her posture.

  How in Xaoc’s name had she ended up in this situation?!

  “I admit that I had my doubts when I heard one of our future Rangers was taking the place of an actor that had stepped down from the performance, but you were a credit to the performance. Are you from the military?” Asked the man whose statues dotted Ariminum.

  “No sir, I was an A-Ranked Adventurer and was recommended from there.” Ranthia answered. She was nervous as hell, but speaking of strictly factual matters came more readily than small talk.

  “Ah, yes. Your Guild is a credit to Remus, to forge such talent.” The emperor replied magnanimously.

  “My gratitude, but we cannot take all of the credit. Your Ranger Academy has managed to polish even our best.” The Guildmaster—Ariminum’s, of course—seemed to materialize out of the crowd and smoothly joined the conversation.

  He nodded and smiled to Ranthia (was that a wink?), before he and the emperor moved away while they engaged one another in rapt conversation. Much to Ranthia’s utter relief. Nothing quite put her on edge like being face-to-face with someone that could end her with ease if they decide to take offense to her mere existence. Being before him had reminded her of meeting Sentinel Night, except Night at least had felt… friendly, for lack of a better word. It certainly wasn’t the right word, but… In contrast, the emperor had eyed her like she was a tool that was being mishandled, and not one that he was sure he had any attachment to.

  Sentinel Ocean neatly cut off a richly dressed man who had begun to approach her. He beamed at her and came over, while the richly dressed man sought easier opportunities.

  “What a stunning performance! I thought Hunting had gone mad when he convinced me to recommend you, but that really did work out quite wonderfully. You were just as impressive as any of your peers; I can hardly believe that was your first time! I also found something that was lost in the crowds for you.”

  He spoke fast, but she was able to follow thanks to her vitality. But her heart soared when another, far more familiar, figure materialized through the crowds in his wake.

  “Oh my goddess! Babe, why didn’t you tell me you were going to be in the big Winter Solstice performance?! I was so floored when you sent me a ticket—do you realize how expensive those are?!—and then you weren’t there next to me, and I was so confused and then you were on staaaage!” Hexara embraced her giddily.

  Ocean winked at the pair, before he drifted away to intercept someone else that had been bound for Ranthia.

  “Ahehe, yeah that’s a long story. Let’s just say I didn’t know I was in it until the day was almost upon me. Then you weren’t at the salon and so I never got a chance to tell you! I saw you in the crowd though!” Ranthia finally felt the tension bleed out of her body. Once again, all was right with the world.

  They shared a kiss, but separated after that, though they kept their arms joined while they talked.

  “And your hair! Ugh, I don’t know if I could make it look that good. You must have gotten a hell of a [Beautician].” Hexara pouted oh-so-cutely.

  “Over level 300! Like, what? The guy was huge too, I mean I’m tall, but I felt like a kid again next to him.” Ranthia answered giddily.

  “No! I knew that theater was well connected but to get him to do you all? I’ve heard nobles pay thousands of rods just to secure an appointment years away!” Hexara gasped, while she squeezed Ranthia’s arm just a bit tighter.

  They just talked and enjoyed one another’s company while Ocean played interference with anyone that would have dared to interrupt the couple. Neither of them mentioned Ranthia’s L-bomb dropping incident. They just enjoyed the chance to be together for a time.

  The next morning, Ranthia returned her fancy garment to her storage first thing. With that done, she gathered her crate of scrolls and her few other belongings. The iron necklace had vanished at some point, and she wasn’t even sure when or where. She bid a final farewell to Fausteo and the handful of other dancers that had returned that night, then set out for the docks.

  She was expected; unfortunately she needed to get back to Academy life.

  Ocean once again ferried her across to the island, while her hair flowed obnoxiously behind her. She had, finally, managed to wipe the makeup off that morning after some aggressive scrubbing that had left her face sore. But the long hair still seemed to refuse to be cut by her knife. She wished she had been able to take the time to stop by the salon and see if Hexara could outpower the ridiculous [Stylist]’s too-powerful Skill—at the very least it would have probably given her some solid levels—but unfortunately Ocean had been insistent that they needed to reach the Academy before the 6th Gong.

  So unfair!

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  Nozomi Matsuoka.

  Sarah "Neila" Elkins.