❝ One who has all the power in the world but no goals — 

Is not worth more than the one with no power but great ambition. ❞ 

— Guidepost for the Saints; Chapter Seven — Clause Eight 

---o--- 

The warmth of the morning sun was welcomed upon her face, taking a moment to enjoy the serenity of finally being free from her bedroom. It had been almost three weeks since she was injured; her body was healing faster than anticipated. At least the collection of books helped serve her time without boredom, and Lady Iris often visited to check up on her or bring snacks. Elly had attempted to use her newfound powers to no avail, only serving to grant pounding headaches. That aside, she had some peace and quiet to catch up on much-needed rest. Iris kept a close eye on her recovery, scolding her for doing things before she was ready. A doting yet overly concerned elder sister as always.  

It was still challenging to move around; Elly had to rely on crotches so she wouldn't put too much pressure on her abdomen, and even then, she was limited in how much she could move. But it wasn't the worst shape she had been in, especially when she lost her left arm, a memory oft found herself drawn to when she felt it ache, a sensation that seemingly occurred when Elly was unwittingly in danger, a warning of sorts perhaps? Not that she ever took heed of such things. It took her a while to get used to it, and she broke plenty of the prototypes Areyth made for her. But despite the lecturing, Elly suspected that Areyth enjoyed the challenge, always ready to explore new things with an unsatiable mind. 

Her arm was almost fully healed, albeit her body not so much. The potion Elly haphazardly used ruptured one of her kidneys and severely damaged nearby organs. The mere fact she was still standing was only due to the exceptional ability of the local medics and her ability to heal. Still, while able to move around, she was far from being able to jump back into the action she so enjoyed. At least she could eat solid food now; the liquid diet wasn't particularly enjoyable. The bouts of nausea and weakness persisted, supposedly in response to the drug interacting with her immune system, causing lingering effects. 

Elly's main issue with her arm being out of commission was her inability to tend to her hair, though Iris helped tend to it while Elly was unable to. It was a small fixation Elly had since she was young, spending hours to make it look perfect. It wasn't entirely an issue of vanity; rather, her particular pigment drew attention — a unique tone of ashen pink. Her obsession with appearance was unlike her younger self, who had had little regard for it and refused anyone who attempted to groom the matted mess she had on her head. But Alina changed that, dying her hair to match Elly's so she didn't feel so out of place. Over time, Elly began to emulate her immaculate style, with Iris's help. She never let anyone other than those two touch her hair, let alone touch her in general. Veld was also an exception, and as she grew older, Elly found more people she knew she could trust. 

The Pinkette made her way down the large corridor bordering a large courtyard housing a sizable array of training dummies and other things. It was much smaller than the primary training grounds. Still, it served as being quite handy for those who wanted to do some early morning exercises without having to track all the way to the coliseum: The [Domus Chevallier]. Elly made good use of it, especially on those nights she found herself restless, a way to tire herself so her body would force rest when her mind couldn't. Right now, it was empty, though it appeared to have been used earlier on in the day as she noticed a few of the squires tended to the mess and replaced the test dummies that were far too damaged for further use, usually repairing and reusing them later. 

❛ I wonder how Kuvira is doing. Didn't seem like she was in good shape. ❜ 

Taking a moment to rest, Elly propped herself up on the balustrade, taking in the mid-morning sun and gentle breeze. The colder seasons were finally breaking for warmth, though it usually came with increased storms and whatnot. The momentary peace was cut short with a cold prickling shiver, goosebumps that made one's hair stand on end, and a tightened posture. The sudden alteration in the atmosphere usually indicated a particular individual Elly had disliked ever since she met them. A sudden urge to sleep, awash with unnatural fatigue. A signature of sorts for an odious man. Most would have little resistance to it, but Elly had an uncanny tolerance to his power, albeit it still made it challenging to stay awake for long. She couldn't figure out how it worked by design or happenstance. 

The turn of her head confirmed it, being none other than Adon Faust, one of the Paladins who leads the [Seventh Crusade: Adonai Jona]. Another accompanied him, Adon August Marik, The Paladin who is in charge of the [Ninth Crusade; Adonai Yahez]. Elly didn't particularly dislike August but felt uneasy around his blunt and a man of few words. His moniker, [The Belligerent], should give away his demeanour and fighting style. She could probably count on one hand the number of words he ever spoke to her; unsure of his opinions, but he might be kind of a nice guy? It was hard to tell, and he never seemed interested in idle conversation. But he was one of the few among his peers who approved Elly's training under Iris herself. He did, however, know Veld; apparently, they were old drinking buddies, and when August speaks with Elly, he mostly asks how the old man is doing. 

Faust; The [Oneiric]: 'More like Odious – Elly thought to herself.'; on the other hand, he spoke less than August and did so with an unnaturally florid accent and a peculiar vocabulary of ominous foreshadowing and strangely accurate assessments of situations he was otherwise entirely removed. To put it bluntly, the guy was a fucking creep. Elly was not the only person with similar ideations as Faust was widely known to be an oddity, albeit a man of such high regard that he was appointed as one of the [Knight King's] [Three Advisors], which outranks even the [Paladins] of [Adonai Herev]; More commonly known as [ARK: The Agrovian Royal Knighthood]. 

It also didn't help that he always wore a strange mask. One that he frequently changed, so it wasn't always the typical blank gladiator helm, sometimes taking a Greek-Esque choir mask or ones that were more...flamboyant. Even right now, he wore one that made his head appear upside down, and his mouth opened with its tongue curled outward to a sharp point, with a small bell that chimed every time he moved. His attire was usually the same bland mage cloak, but he occasionally indulged in the same peculiarity as his choice of masks. 

As always, Faust was always carrying that peculiar staff of his, or was it a cane? Whatever it was, the thing was as fickle as Faust himself. A grotesque form of such matter, the darkest shade of black, appearing solid as any steel yet shifting as though it were sand or dense ichor. Thin and branching like a finely woven vine, yet pulsed as a vein, its fine point echoing far longer than it had any right to whenever it touched the ground, wisps of black flog dispersing with each movement made. If one listened closely, they would hear the faintest whispers that permeated from it, inaudible and entirely incoherent.  

Most [Paladins] had their style of clothing, like August, who was known for his red coat, short-cut salt-and-pepper hair and beard, and glasses which sat on his careworn face that housed a scowl that never seemed to leave like the lingering scent of smoke and beer. Although he does not have it on his person currently, the sword August wields is supposedly the tooth of a dragon — despite them being considered to be long extinct, the rumour is that August slayed the beast with his bare hands and took it as a trophy. 

For Elly, she usually kept to the general attire of [Ohr Shefa], a white overcoat, and a matching outfit, some having the occasional streak of colour or purposeful scorch marks or tears. Elly always kept hers pristine, another sentiment of pride for her. Interestingly enough, it was a complete one-eighty of her younger self, which Romeo often called her a "Feral brat". Right now, she wore a simple tunic and pants, which she wouldn't find difficult to put on or remove. 

Elly attempted to ignore the strange aura Faust emitted, only briefly glancing over to August, who nodded silently at her. However, she did not dare look directly at Faust. As the two passed her by, she turned her gaze back to the courtyard with knitted brows. And, of course, Faust halted his walk behind her with a clack of his staff and boots. However, he did not look in her direction — Faust spoke in his usual unnerving accent and riddled vocabulary, which was only compounded by odd cadence, dragged vowels, and the tinny sound from his masks. His voice alone made her skin crawl; everything about that odious man filled her with disgust. 

❝ I see the little dove is well. Do be sure to rest your body and those eyes of yours. ❞ 

That nickname he so often called her was probably her primary cause of disdain for him. Nobody but he called her that, and by the visible nauseated fear she felt, it was one she had heard before. She couldn't remember exactly where or who called her that, but it put her on edge. She did not reply, even at his comment about her eyes, attempting to divert her attention and shake off the creeping fear. How did he know about that? Faust merely nodded and proceeded on as he had beforehand. The urge to sleep remained, gradually fading away as he left. She dared not yawn, thinking it was a show of weakness to his vile spell. 

❛ Ew. ❜ 

With him gone, Elly breathed a sigh of relief. She took a moment before she decided to continue her morning stroll, obviously in the other direction so she wouldn't bump into that strange man. As she made her way around the corner, which led to the mess hall, she almost walked head-first into another two. One was a man of tall stature and long, perfectly straightened blonde hair and greenish eyes fixed in a cold stare upon his otherwise expressionless face that showed the slightest hint of disgust — Adon Estel Markus, known for his tendency to bed many women. Estel is in charge of the [First Crusade; Adonai Yesa]. He was once considered for the position of leading the Knighthood, but his tendency to shirk his duties to indulge in his vices put no small doubt on his ability to lead. 

The other was ironically a woman, Adon Riley Markus, the elder sister to Estel and the person in charge of the entire Knighthood aside from Phinnis himself; she also heads the [Fifth Crusade; Adonai Yirma]. She has a short-cut head, greenish-blonde hair, eyes, and a wide smile. A source of mischief and an overly happy-go-lucky person, rather fitting for someone known as the [Pot-Luck Brawler]. This is mainly because of her unconventional fighting style, which uses only her bare fists. Riley may not look the part, but she supposedly has the highest defensive stats among everyone. Quite literally everyone — Not just in the Knighthood or [Ohr Shefa]. Those who doubted such claims had never seen Riley in battle, and as far as Elly knew, she had not once, ever been so much as scratched. It should also be noted that Ry just so happens to be a huge masochist. 

Ry was much smaller than her peers, yet slightly taller than Elly's petite stature. She was gifted a far curvier body than Elly's somewhat lithe form. She was also known for being a bottomless pit for drinking and for being "hands-on" with her female peers. Riley was always able to put a smile on Elly's face; her distinctive brogue accent stood out even among her peers who shared it with her.  Elly's was quite noticeable, too, though it was not nearly as strong as Ry's. Her accent wasn't the only thing she picked up from Ry; the other was her colourful vocabulary, which would put Veld to shame. She was another person who visited Elly often during her recovery, always managing to brighten any room she was in. 

It wasn't uncommon for Riley to gravitate to her younger brother, doting and tormenting him with her particular flavour of teasing. A polar opposite to her self-righteous narcissist of a brother. He paid Elly no mind, simply scoffing at her before walking away. On the other hand, Ry immediately jumped at Elly and squeezed her in her usual bone-breaking hugs. The pinkette had little chance to react, only to let out a squeak of surprise before having her face buried in Ry's chest. 

❝ Pinky! ❞  

❝ Big sis Ry! ❞ Elly just managed to muffle a few words about breathing, almost being suffocated in the woman's bosom whilst simultaneously having the wind squeezed out of her. She tapped on Ry's arm until the living bear trap finally released her, leaving Elly gasping for breath. For such a small woman, she has absurd strength. 

❝ Oh! Sorry love! I just wasn't expecting you to be up and out so soon. Are you alright getting around on your own? ❞ Ry asked, giving the younger female a once-over. 

❝ I'm fine; the doctor said I should rest more, but I wanted fresh air. Iris will probably kill me for going out without someone else in case I pass out or something. ❞ Elly coughed as she regained her breathing, taking a moment to ensure Ry hadn't done more damage to her. 

❝ You should take the advice. You needn't be more burdened than you already are, brat. ❞ Estel chided, his tone almost as cold as his gaze. He did not look back at her, merely stopping briefly to make his remark before continuing. His words used to hurt Elly, but by now, she had learned to brush them off since he was a dick to everyone. She did, however, stick out her tongue and middle finger at him whether he saw it or not. 

❝ Peacock! ❞ 

One of the nicknames Elly used for Estel, given his tendency to wear a rather vibrant overcoat, the typical white like most uniforms, but with a collar made of some kind of feathered fabric that reminded her of such birds. She used it often as it always seemed to anger him, and by his brief glare back at her, it worked as intended. For such a cold person, Estel had quite the exuberant taste for the most expensive things, only the finest fabrics and oddly colourful and often over-the-top style that made him stick out like a sore thumb. A cry for attention? As vain and arrogant as he is, he does seem to seek out the adoration of those around him. It was no wonder he was considered the most handsome man in Agrovia, always appearing in various magazines and other popularity contests, always wanting to be in the spotlight. But as Ry says, you can't polish a turd. 

❝ Don't mind him; he's just mad he's stuck here actually working and not wasting time in Piore with his fan club. ❞ Riley chimed, her arm hanging loosely over Elly's shoulder as she shuffled the two to the mess hall. 

❝ Well, since we're here, why don't we have brunch? ❞ A well-welcomed proposition, one answered with a rumbling gut.