Chapter Text
Her death is something she’s been expecting for a long time. It’s not a surprise. The amount of time she slept kept increasing and increasing, her immune system kept getting worse and worse, and the hospital visits kept getting longer and longer.
“You’ll get better soon,” they said. “And then you’ll be able to change the world with that smart brain of yours.”
She nodded along, smiling and laughing, when in reality, everyone knew it wasn’t true. She has had to miss so much school, and her once perfect grades are only barely kept above a C by the work she manages to get done from bed in between naps, when her head throbs so much she can hardly think.
She was always tired, and when she was not working or eating, she was sleeping. She’d sleep, and sleep, and sleep. She’d catch another infection, another disease, and spend a few months fighting that off, before she’d catch another and the cycle would repeat over and over again.
She kept on sleeping, and it went from eight hours a day, to ten, to twelve, to fourteen, to sixteen. Day by day, the clock counted down, and the hours of sleep kept counting up. It kept on counting, until one day, she hit twenty four, went to sleep, and didn’t wake up.
Until she did.
Lysithea von Ordelia’s survival is nothing short of a miracle.
Calling it survival is a bit of a lie, though. In reality, Lysithea von Ordelia died on a bloody, rusty table, and someone else took her place, and nobody seems any the wiser. Strange men —mages, something in her mind tells her— are delighted at her lack of pigment, and they run test after test in their excitement.
She’s not unused to prodding and poking hands, but the ones from her old life were far gentler, far kinder, rewarded with small sweets and smiles and hugs. Her mother and father were constantly by her side, bringing her treats, her older sister dropping by with a new puzzle or game for them to play.
There is none of that here.
Here, she is not patient, but subject.
They go about their business, and she has no energy to protest. A fire runs through her veins, burning and burning, turning her to ash from the inside out.
“Two crests,” they say, excitedly, at first. “We’ve succeeded!”
She did not ever used to know what a crest was, but now, she does. She is Lysithea and Lysithea is her, one mind, one body, one soul.
Lysithea has two crests, Charon and Gloucester. One minor, one major.
Lysithea used to have none.
They have her run, jump, have her perform all manner of physical feats, running and jumping until her bones feel as if they are breaking and her lungs are on fire. She coughs, and there is blood coating her lips, and her ears are ringing, and the blood drips down to the floor, drop by drop.
Their excitement falters, and they continue poking and poking, prodding and prodding, until they come to a conclusion that causes them to lose almost all of their interest entirely.
“She will likely only live roughly five years more, at most. Perhaps less.”
She doesn’t know what she did to deserve a second chance at life, but it’s ironic, in a way, that no matter who she ends up as, her time is always limited.
Five years.
The mages leave shortly after their discovery.
Behind them, they leave a scared little girl, a broken family, an estate haunted by the horrors that went on there. Behind them, they leave empty bedrooms, filled with empty beds and toys whose owners are no longer around to play with them.
Hers—no, mine—would have been the same.
The first thing she does when she finally gets to return to her room is to get rid of all her toys. She doesn’t have enough time anymore to spend any of it playing with toys.
She grabs a small cloth doll and throws it into the corner. She finds a small box of wooden blocks, and picks one up, turning it in her hands.
The waiting rooms at the hospital always used to have ones like these.
She adds the box to the pile in the corner. She finds a stuffed rabbit, a ball, and another doll, and puts them into the pile too. She throws the toys into a pile, one by one, doll after doll, block after block. She pauses, briefly, when she picks up a stuffed bear. It has beady, black, button eyes that stare at her, unmoving, unblinking, and fur the same pale white as her hair.
Beary, his name is Beary. He’s my favorite.
As the pile of toys by the door continues to grow, Beary is gently set aside atop her bedsheets.
A servant— Samantha, her name is Samantha— peeks her head in the doorway as she hears the commotion.
“Miss Lysithea, what are you doing there with all your toys, dear? You should be resting!” says Samantha. She glances over at the messy pile of toys and frowns. “They were all so neatly organized and put away before.”
“I’m not tired. And I don’t want them anymore,” she says. “Could you please get rid of them?”
“Are you sure, honey?” Samantha frowns, glancing over at the blocks. “You always used to love playing with these.”
“I don’t want them anymore,” she repeats. “Someone else will like them better.”
Samantha kneels down and places a gentle hand on her shoulder, giving her a look she is all too familiar with. Pity.
She is small, so small, seven years old.
My birthday is Septem—no, it’s not in September anymore—is the 28th of Pegasus Moon.
“I’m sure someone else would indeed love your toys, miss Lysithea. And that’s very kind of you to want to give them to other people. But are you sure you do not want them?”
“I’m sure,” she echoes, getting frustrated. She knows what she wants. She knows what she wants, and nobody seems to get that. “When do my lessons start again?”
“Not for a while, dear,” says Samantha. ”Your parents wanted to give you some time to recover, after everything.”
She doesn’t have time to sit in bed and twiddle her fingers.
“Will you ask Mother and Father if they can start my lessons again sooner?” she says, before her train of thought is interrupted by a cough. Samantha frowns.
“I’d really like for things to go back to normal,” says Lysithea.
“I know. I would too. We can talk about starting your lessons sooner if you still feel the same way tomorrow,” says Samantha. “For now, you should be in bed. You will never get over that cough of yours if you don’t get your rest.”
Samantha gets up and gently nudges Lysithea back towards the bed.
“But-”
Samantha cuts her off, pointing towards the bed.
“No buts, young lady. We’ll worry about it tomorrow. Bed.”
Lysithea reluctantly gets back into bed, and lets herself get tucked in by gentle hands. Beary rests under her arm.
Samantha leaves, and Lysithea stares up at the ceiling, lost in her thoughts.
You don’t understand. None of you understand. With every tomorrow, the clock counts down.
Five years.
She has no time to waste.
Mother and Father reluctantly agree to start her lessons back up again when Lysithea does not cease asking.
School is something she has always excelled at. And while the history, the geography, and the culture may be different, she dives into it with no less vigor than she used to study Ancient Rome and Egypt with.
Math is the same as it always is and always has been. It’s something that comes easily to her, which makes sense, considering she’s already spent many years mastering these skills. Granted, she’s no mathematician, but she’s definitely far above simple addition, subtraction, and multiplication.
And it doesn’t take long for her tutor to notice this, either.
The addition and multiplication sheets are quickly replaced, and she works her way through various levels of content until she reaches concepts that were more recent before, a bit more fuzzy. She starts to falter once they reach integration, series, and matrices. Calculus was never her favorite subject, and Linear Algebra always made her want to hit something. It makes sense that she didn’t remember much.
But Teacher is impressed nonetheless.
She sits and reads as Mother and Father meet with Teacher.
“Is something wrong?” says Mother, worried.
“No, no, nothing is wrong,” says Teacher. “In fact, it’s quite the opposite.”
“The opposite?” replies Father. “How so?”
“Your daughter is a prodigy when it comes to mathematics,” Teacher says. “I should still be able to instruct her in it, but I’ll need to prepare some different content than I had originally intended to use. In terms of History and Geography, she still has a ways to go, but the level that she’s at in mathematics is… well, it’s unheard of.”
Lysithea can feel the adult’s gazes turn toward her, but she does not look up from her book.
“Unheard of?” says Father.
Teacher nods. “In terms of her mathematical skills, she could easily match a student entering the Officers Academy.”
Mother and Father glance at each other, with a pensive expression. “Ah.”
“Have you ever considered giving her an education in magic?” says Teacher. “Because unless she plans to be a scholar in the future, there likely isn’t much point to continuing her mathematics studies unless she wishes to study magic as well.”
“Ah, no, we hadn’t really considered it,” says Father. “Due to her frail condition, I’m not sure if it would be a good idea.”
At this, Lysithea looks up.
She loves history, and math comes to her like water, but nothing catches her attention quite the same way as magic. There was no magic, before. It is something completely new, a new field of knowledge for her to learn and conquer.
“I’d like to learn magic, Father,” she says.
Father looks at her, clearly disapproving, and she looks right back, determined and unwavering. She is not asking.
“Should you wish, I can teach her magic instead of mathematics. I specialize more in reason magic than faith magic, and as magical theory utilizes a decent amount of mathematics, I suspect she will excel at it. As to having magical aptitude, that is something else entirely, but to even start is all theory work anyways.” says Teacher. “It would give her practice with the mathematics she already knows, as well as introduce new concepts and ways to apply them.”
Teacher looks as if he was going to continue, but gives a sheepish smile. “Pardon my rambling. Your daughter is a brilliant girl, and I tend to get a bit overexcited when it comes to magical theory.”
“Do not worry about it, we are not bothered,” says Father. “I appreciate all the information. If I were to have you teach Lysithea magic, you would only be doing bookwork, correct?”
“That’s correct,” says Teacher. “It takes a lot of theory work before one can even think about moving on to cast a spell. And with folks her age, it’s advised to keep them to a theory-only curriculum until they get a bit older, due to the danger involved in novices learning to cast spells. Will you be having me switch her to magic, then?”
Teacher looks to father and mother, and father and mother look, in turn, to her.
Is this really what you want?
She simply looks at them and says one word.
“Please.”
She starts learning the theory behind reason magic the next day.
Magical theory is an entirely different beast than anything Lysithea has ever tackled before. It is similar to something out of a fairy tale, but with enough restrictions and complicated calculations to make it less magical than it seems.
Energy is energy. It cannot be created or destroyed, only harnessed and transformed. Magic is just the same.
The energy for a spell comes from one of three places. Yourself, your environment, or some combination of the two. You must know how to harness it, how to channel it, how to convert it.
Fire magic is exactly like its element. It is wild, and powerful, a force of nature that if not kept in check, can retaliate spectacularly on the caster.
Thunder magic is wild, but in a different sort of way than fire magic. Where fire is largely contained, but needs direction, thunder magic stays contained only so long as you force it to be. The moment you let it go from your control, it will explode in a brilliant flash of sparks, reaching out for anything in its vicinity.
Wind magic requires a softer hand than either thunder or fire magic. The way you guide it must be gentle instead of stern, or the wind will not listen to your call, blowing around you instead of blowing for you.
Dark magic is a far less studied one of the bunch, due to the difficulty involved in performing the calculations for even beginning level dark spell circles. Dark magic is far different than the others in composition. If not handled correctly, the damage to the caster is far more severe. But if the mage knows what they are doing, the sheer offensive power of a dark mage cannot be matched.
There are other types of magic, of course. Ice, for example, is another form of magical energy that tends to fall under the umbrella of reason magic.
But Teacher said he cannot help her with ice magic, as it is one type he is not quite familiar with. While dark magic is rare, ice magic is just as much so, if not more.
And outside of the realm of reason magic is faith magic. But for now, Teacher says she should just focus on reason magic.
“If you wish to learn faith magic later on, having a solid foundation in reason magic theory will help you significantly. But learning both at the same time for a first time magic student can be quite overwhelming, so for now, we will stick to reason magic.” says Teacher. “I am not as familiar with faith magic, but should you get to the point where it would be suitable to teach you some, I can help you with the basics.”
Magic is full of rules and contradictions to said rules. For every rule, there is an exception, and while it makes things incredibly frustrating, Lysithea is no less enamored by it.
Like most things, magic is sequential. Before you can master Thunder, you must first produce sparks. Before you can cast Fire, you must first learn to light a flame on your finger. Before you can cast Wind, you must first be able to capture the breeze in your palms.
Miasma is one of the few you cannot do in steps. You must go straight from theory to casting, and if you do not know what you are doing, the recoil from an improperly done spell circle can give any novice mage a rude awakening.
But she has never been one to back down from a challenge.
She is nine when she masters the theory behind her first reason spell, and memorizes the spell circle composition for Thunder.
By the time she is nine and a half, Lysithea masters the theory for Wind and Fire as well.
And by the time she is ten, she has long since mastered the theory behind her first dark magic spell, Miasma.
She spends much of her free time studying. The library becomes one of her favorite haunts, full of old books and dusty tomes just waiting for someone to read them. And Lysithea reads almost every single book she can get her hands on.
The History and Origins of the Leicester Alliance
Reason Magic: Elements and Their Differences
Dark Magic Theory and Spell Circle Composition
Noble Houses of the Leicester Alliance
She reads everything from textbooks on magical theory, to journals of her great-great grandparents, to history books. She reads every genre of book, but the ones she constantly finds herself drawn to are the ones on Crests. Crests, these mysterious entities that grant people various amounts of boons, from feats of strength, to stamina, to magical fortitude.
She is constantly searching, scouring every page, every word, every letter , for anything that could help her push back the clock a bit. For the most part, she is unsuccessful in her efforts.
There are no passages in Crests and their History about people losing their pigment. There are no passages in Introduction to Crestology about coughing up blood or about collapsing in the middle of the day. The only mention she finds of anything similar to her situation, about having two crests, is in Crestology and its Applications. And it’s not anything helpful, either.
“It is impossible for someone to have two crests,” it says. “The strain on the body would kill someone from the inside out.”
It is impossible to come back from the dead, too. But here she sits, an impossibility in all forms. She died, and now she is Lysithea von Ordelia.
Lysithea von Ordelia has two crests, and less than two years left.
Tick tock.
She is eleven when a particularly bad flu season hits Ordelia territory especially hard, her included. She sleeps, sleeps so much it reminds her of what used to be.
Wake up, you have no time to waste sleeping. There’s no time, no time, no time.
Mother and Father put her lessons on hold, much to her dismay. But no matter how much she protests this, they will not budge.
She isn't a baby, she can work from bed. She can still think, not perfectly well, but she can.
She instead settles for asking Samantha to bring her stacks of books from the Library. The Library’s collection continues to grow ever larger as she spends her pocket change on more books.
She is in the middle of reading a particularly riveting fantasy novel about vampires (Samantha absolutely refuses to bring her anything even remotely nonfiction) when she hears a knock at the door.
“Miss Lysithea, are you awake? It’s time for your medicine,” calls Samantha.
Shit. Samantha will be furious if she finds me awake reading again when I promised her I’d rest.
She quickly closes the book and shoves it under the many pillows that everyone has been insisting she use.
“Yes, I’m awake,” she responds. “Come in.”
Samantha opens the door and walks in holding a small bottle of medicine. She hands it to Lysithea, who downs it with a cringe. It is the foulest herbal concoction Lysithea has ever tasted. Truly, this stuff makes Nyquil seem delicious in comparison.
“Couldn’t they make this stuff taste any better?” asks Lysithea, gagging a little as she quickly tries to chase the taste of it away with water.
“I’m afraid this isn’t made to taste good, Miss Lysithea,” says Samantha with a chuckle. Samantha runs glowing hands over Lysithea’s chest and she can feel some of her aches and pains fade away. The burning in her chest calms slightly, and the throbbing of her head stops.
“Samantha,” says Lysithea. “You’re good at faith magic, correct?”
“Yes, I am, that’s correct,” confirms Samantha. “I suspect that’s part of the reason your mother and father hired me to look after you.”
Lysithea pauses for a moment.
“Do you think you could teach me?” she says. “I’m sure I’d be able to get the hang of the theory rather quickly, as I’m doing quite well in reason Magic theory.”
“Faith magic, while still magic, is quite a bit of a different process than reason magic.” Samantha frowns.
“I can learn,” says Lysithea. “I’m good at learning.”
I need to learn. It might help me live just a little bit longer. I’m running out of time.
“I know you are,” says Samantha, “But for right now, you need to be focused on getting some rest and feeling better.”
She glances over at the haphazard pile of pillows behind Lysithea and frowns.
“You should sit up for a while,” says Samantha, “Let me help you get propped up.”
Lysithea wants to protest, and she watches in horror as Samantha picks up the pillow that was hiding the novel.
“You weren’t sleeping before I came in, were you,” says Samantha, as she gently sets the book aside on the nightstand and props Lysithea up on the pillows.
“Miss Lysithea, you really need to rest. If you stay up reading all the time, then you won’t get better, and you won’t be able to go back to lessons for longer.”
“But-” protests Lysithea, but Samantha hushes her, gathering the empty bottle and picking up the book. “For now, you rest, and I’ll bring back the book later. It will still be around after you take a nap.”
“But I’m not tired,” she says.
She is, but she’s used to working through being so tired she can hardly think. It’s nothing new.
“You haven’t given yourself the chance to be,” says Samantha. “Just close your eyes, and your body will take over and you will fall asleep.”
“I can have the book back after?” asks Lysithea.
“You can have the book back after,” confirms Samantha.
“And then you’ll ask Mother and Father about faith magic?”
Samantha gives her a soft smile, brushing a strand of hair out of Lysithea’s face and gently tucking it behind her ear.
“After you get better.”
Lysithea closes her eyes. She can hear the door shut quietly as Samantha leaves. Lysithea doesn’t quite realize how tired she feels until she starts to doze, and quickly falls asleep.
Samantha never does teach Lysithea faith magic, even after she recovers. Mother and Father won’t let her. No matter how much Lysithea asks, Mother and Father do not budge on the prospect, already worried she is pushing herself far too hard.
They aren’t going to change their minds anytime soon, so she stops asking.
But if she happens to pick up and read through a few books on the fundamentals of faith magic, well, what Mother and Father don’t know won’t hurt them.
She has one year left.
Lysithea casts her first reason spell, Miasma, at eleven and a half. Teacher is furious at her for even trying, as she wasn’t supposed to move on from theory anytime soon. But if she continued at Teacher’s pace, she may never get to cast a single spell.
Even though her condition hasn’t gotten much worse than it was before, she is still somewhat worried. If what the mages said is correct, she has about half a year or so left.
She doesn’t care if casting a spell improperly at a young age can adversely affect you later on. She isn’t going to have much of a later on, so what does it matter? (She also isn’t going to do it wrong, so there’s nothing to worry about anyways.)
She wants to make the most of the time she has left.
When she casts Miasma at a tree in the garden, Lysithea feels alive for the first time in a long time. Her blood rushes, and the storm that lies dormant in it bursts to life, rushing through her veins and out of her hands.
The spell circle forms in front of her, and the sign of the Major Crest of Gloucester flashes briefly, before a rush of dark energy explodes from her fingertips and rushes towards the tree.
The tree wilts and smokes, and she watches it with glee.
She tries it again, and again, until the tree is nothing but a sizzling husk where a plant used to be.
She feels a bit guilty for killing the plant, yes, but the guilt is far outweighed by the sheer thrill of being able to finally do something, anything, other than sit and bed and read.
Her greatest curse is also a blessing.
She has power. And she’d be a fool not to use it.
Her twelfth birthday comes and passes without much fanfare. (And more importantly, without her death.)
Much to everyone’s surprise, and her parent’s relief, her condition hasn’t changed much.
Samantha says its a sign that the goddess is smiling upon them all. It’s nothing short of a miracle, she says.
Is it?
Lysithea will never say it, but she does not believe her survival is a blessing from the goddess. Everything she has done, everything she has made, has been with her own effort, her own two hands, not by the hands of a deity that may or may not exist.
She is her own savior. She’s not stupid enough to doubt the power of willpower and the human spirit. Before, people were able to make miraculous recoveries, to succeed in the face of great adversity, and to not only survive, but thrive . And the same thing is true here.
Lysithea is only alive because she refuses to simply lay down and die, to let the mages who ruined her second chance control her.
With regular healing sessions, they are able to reduce some of the symptoms. The coughing fits are far less frequent, her energy level is slightly better, and she is nothing if not determined to keep it that way.
With the doomsday deadline no longer looming over her head, her parents have been far less overprotective, recently.
They still worry, of course. Everyone is well aware that even though the five year estimate proved to be inaccurate, her time will run out eventually, sooner rather than later.
Crests can’t be removed, as far as she knows.
(And despite what people say, she knows for a fact that they can and are able to be given to those without. Blood reconstruction surgery is horrible, and unethical, but not impossible.)
Her crests are a part of her, as much as her arms and legs, embedded in the very blood that runs through her veins.
And each one has its own feel. Gloucester is strong, but in a precise, controlled fashion. Charon is like a storm, much like the same way thunder magic is known to shock anyone who unsuccessfully attempts to tame it.
They are two sides of the same coin, pushing and pulling like the tide, and she is caught in between them. And eventually, the waves will suck her in and drown her.
She doesn’t know how many years she has left anymore. In a way, it’s just as discomforting as it is comforting. Ignorance is bliss, but it also brings with it uncertainty.
She is fourteen when Teacher is no longer able to help her with magic anymore.
“I can’t teach you anymore,” he says.
Her thoughts race, with all the possible reasons why.
Am I not good enough?
Do Mother and Father want me to stop?
Teacher places his hands upon her shoulder, and smiles at her, as if reading her thoughts.
“You did nothing wrong, Lysithea. We’re just reaching a level of magic I’m not familiar enough with to teach,” he says, and she breathes a sigh of relief.
I did nothing wrong.
“You’re an absolutely brilliant girl, and might I say, you are the best student I have ever had.”
“But if you can’t teach me anymore magic, then what do I do? I don’t want to stop learning magic,” she says.
“Have you ever thought about attending the Officers Academy at Garreg Mach Monastery?” says Teacher. “While currently, you’re likely a bit too young for it, the education one can get there is truly top notch in almost every field, including magic. Their library is filled to the brim with rare and valuable texts, and given your enthusiasm for learning, I’m sure you’d do quite well there.”
In truth, she hadn’t thought about it. For a while, she thought she wouldn’t live long enough to ever attend. (Not to mention Mother and Father were always far too nervous about her health to even consider sending her away to school.)
The Officers Academy is not a tutor. It is a real, formal school. And not only that, a private school. It’s not cheap.
Lysithea is well aware of her family’s noble status. She’s not poor. In fact, she’s far from it. But she still despises the majority of most of the nobles. Their attitudes towards people without crests, towards the poor, even towards each other tended to be nothing but disgusting, and she hates to even be associated with people like that.
But she is also aware that here, not everyone is fortunate enough to get tutors, or an education at all. While public schools might not have always been well funded, or perfect, they were there. People had a chance, however small.
Many people here do not. She’s taught several of the servant’s children basic mathematics and reading in her spare time, and has had a few of them say on several occasions that “she’s not like the other rich people.” She smiles and laughs, but it makes her so uncomfortable.
Fodlan is a shitshow. Politics always are, it seems, no matter where you are. People will be people, and there will always be classist, racist assholes. Despite how much she wishes everyone could just get along, it’s a lot to ask when most places don’t even have anything close to plumbing. Fodlan has magic, and is far ahead of before in some ways, but is far behind in others.
Private schools are always full of rich kids, and Lysithea suspects the Officers Academy won’t be much different. From what she’s heard, there are some commoner students at the Officers Academy, but they are far outnumbered by those of noble blood and deep pockets.
The Officers Academy is not only a school primarily attended by the rich, but it is also operated and run by a religious organization. It’s less than ideal, but it’s the only option she has. Magic is far too interesting to simply stop learning it, and she is far too good at it to simply give up and accept that she’ll never surpass the level she’s at now.
“I don’t suppose you’d be willing to help me convince my parents, would you?” she says.
Teacher smiles.
“I’d be happy to,” he says. “There is nothing that would please me more than to help you reach the potential we all know you have. You’re a smart girl, Lysithea. It’d be a shame to not encourage that.”
She begs and begs and begs, and after a while, finally manages to convince Mother and Father to at least let her take the entrance exams. They reluctantly agree to enroll her on the condition she passes. Everyone knows she will, but she suspects this is just a way for Mother and Father to comfort themselves with the idea that there’s a chance she will fail and won’t leave home.
But even though they are worried about her health, they really have no reason to be. The Officers Academy, while it is a fantastic academic institution, also has the advantage of having many, many practitioners of advanced faith magic. Were she to have a flare up of symptoms, someone there would easily be able to help.
There’s no formal age limit on when you can attend the Academy, even though most people do not attend much before seventeen or eighteen. But she knows all the content required to attend, if not more. She has no time to wait until she is seventeen.
She takes the entrance exams shortly before her fifteenth birthday, and passes with flying colors.
Mother and Father enroll Lysithea for the upcoming term, as agreed, although they do so reluctantly.
She is set to be one of the youngest students in the Academy’s history.