AKAME ASSASINATION (51)
"If you were busy, we could have rescheduled," Joy offered, her voice light but careful, as if testing the ice on a frozen pond. Conversation with him still felt like navigating a formal garden—beautiful, but full of paths she was afraid to tread. It was understandable. Until recently, her world had been walls and whispers, servitude and survival. Some part of her was still that girl, conditioned to speak only when spoken to, to apologize for existing.
Germain turned from his quiet study of the village wall, his crimson eyes softening from distant memory to present focus. "No, it's quite alright. I was merely… reminiscing about older days."
"Back in Midland?"
"No," he said, falling into step beside her as they ambled down the cobblestone lane. "Midland was not yet mine then. It was a different world." He paused, his gaze drifting over the thatched roofs and winding streets. "Might I ask you a question, Joy?"
"Um… yes, of course."
"Why do you cultivate moss along your walls?" He reached out, his pale fingers brushing the velvety green surface that climbed the stone and timber of a cottage. The touch was delicate, almost reverent.
Joy blinked, caught off guard. "I'm… not sure, honestly. Insulation, maybe? It grows naturally here."
"I see." A faint, approving smile touched his lips. "It gives the village a very… ancient and homespun feel. As if it has always been here, breathing with the forest. I assumed that was the intention."
At the town square, he moved ahead, drawn to the central well—a ring of worn, ancient stone. He stopped, not to draw water, but to slowly turn, taking in the geometry of the place. His analytical mind, usually reserved for battlefields and political stratagems, was now quietly deconstructing a village.
'They use a modified Romanesque foundation,' he noted internally, 'but the timber work is distinctly local. And there… solar-powered lamp posts. An elegant integration. He asked them to build not just shelter, but a statement. A bridge between the old world and the new.'
Joy watched him from a few paces back, a strange warmth blooming in her chest. The mighty Count Saint, the legend from across the sea, looked less like a conqueror and more like… a child discovering ice cream for the first time. The thought was so disarming, so unexpectedly tender, that a small, genuine smile broke through her usual caution.
It would have been fine, had she not been spotted.
"Watchu doin'?" a voice chirped directly beside her ear.
Joy stumbled back with a gasp. "Purity! Don't do that!"
Purity grinned, her tablet clutched to her chest like a schoolbook. "You're smiling a lot lately. Got a secret?"
"Jesus, weren't you supposed to be with Blake?"
"Yeah, well. He told us to take a breather. Two days of finding exactly nothing tends to kill morale." Purity's gaze shifted past Joy, landing on Germain, who was now standing on a wooden bench, one hand shading his eyes as he seemed to measure the angle of the sun against the bell tower. "He's still here?"
"Blake gave me the impossible task of showing him around… two whole days ago." Joy sighed, the old anxiety creeping back. "Now I'm just worried he'll get bored of me."
"Why?"
"He started talking about architecture. Honestly, I'm not that deep."
"Aren't you the one who mapped the underground power grid? The one who figured out the water filtration bypass?"
"Well… yes."
"Then you're plenty deep. He seems… interesting enough." Purity observed as Germain hopped down from the bench and began a quiet conversation with the baker, his gestures animated in a way they never were in council chambers. "You two are weirdly similar."
"Similar?" Joy followed her gaze.
"He seems like the type who thrives in unknown places. Finds the patterns in the chaos."
Joy considered this. "I guess so. He told me his homeland was in a constant state of war. The instability… it meant he never really had time to just be. To explore something simply because it was new."
The two women stood in companionable silence, watching as Germain ventured into the small confectioner's shop, its window filled with jars of honey-glazed nuts and candies shaped like forest creatures. He moved with a graceful curiosity, no air of superiority, no hidden agenda. Here, he wasn't a Count Saint or a vampire lord. He was just a man, marveling at the simple wonder of a place built in peace.
"I guess we are the same in that way," Joy murmured.
"In what way?" Purity asked.
Joy just waved a hand, realizing she'd spoken aloud. "I wonder what made him like this?" she whispered, more to herself.
Purity didn't press. "Anyway, enjoy your little outing. I need to head back to the cathedral and catalog some equipment."
"Oh! I forgot to ask—how is it going over there?" Joy turned, a flicker of her old, eager self breaking through—the one who loved gears and grids and grand ideas.
Purity's stern expression softened. "It's fine. Honestly, what you're doing seems far more interesting."
"How so?"
"Mr. Blake just has us setting up tents and calibrating sensors. It's… technical."
"Tents? Sensors? Like the satellite array on Germain's boat?" Joy's eyes lit up, her earlier shyness evaporating. "The ones that work by bouncing microwaves off orbital satellites? The triangulation potential is insane! Oh, I'd love to see the schematics!"
Purity gave an awkward but fond smile. "You really love this stuff, huh?"
"Who wouldn't? The creative thinking alone—building something like that from scrap and theory…" Joy shook her head, a grudging admiration in her voice. "I hate Blake, but I can't deny he's a genius."
Over Joy's shoulder, Purity's eyes caught movement. She smiled, a mischievous glint flashing in her gaze, and gently spun Joy around.
"I've discovered the secret," Germain announced calmly, standing directly before them.
Joy's face flushed a deep, mortified crimson. "How long have you been standing there?!"
"Since you began your passionate discourse on orbital mechanics and passive-aggressive praise for Dr. Blake."
She covered her face with her hands. "Please. Just… end me."
"I don't see why I should," Germain said, his voice surprisingly gentle. "I found it rather endearing."
"It's embarrassing."
"Passion is never embarrassing. It adds a profound dimension to one's character." He took a step closer, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial tone. "If you look at me, I'll tell you a secret."
Joy peeked out from between her fingers. "A secret?"
Germain nodded solemnly. "A very embarrassing one of my own."
"You're just going to make something up, aren't you?"
He leaned in, his voice a whisper meant only for her. "I collect stones. I have an entire cabinet in Midland dedicated to interesting pieces of geology. River-smoothed quartz, volcanic pumice, sedimentary shale with fossil impressions…"
Joy's hands fell away from her face, her eyes wide. "You have a rock collection?"
Germain nodded, a faint, self-deprecating smile on his lips. "A rather extensive one."
A surprised chuckle escaped her. "Okay. That is pretty embarrassing."
"Extremely," he conceded. "But I happen to enjoy it immensely."
The tension shattered, replaced by something lighter, warmer. Joy's smile returned, less hesitant now. "I'd like to hear more about it. What makes a stone 'collection-worthy'?"
Germain's smile deepened, a true, unguarded expression that reached his crimson eyes. "Good. And I would like to learn more about you, Joy. Starting with your thoughts on parabolic signal amplification."
And for the first time, walking through the dappled sunlight of a village that was learning to be free, Joy didn't feel like she was talking to a legend, or a saint, or a relic of a war-torn past.
She felt like she was simply talking to a friend.
"Oh! I should introduce the two of you," Joy said, turning—only to find empty space where Purity had been moments before.
"She departed rather stealthily a few moments ago," Germain observed, answering the question before it fully formed.
"She seriously needs to stop doing that," Joy muttered, a scowl briefly darkening her face before she smoothed it into something more polite. "Well, never mind. Let's head to the training grounds. There are a few more people I'd like you to meet."
"Of course," Germain replied, his tone carrying no hint of reluctance. Together, they continued through the village square, their progress marked by waves and smiles exchanged with locals who had begun to see the pale stranger not as a threat, but as a quiet, curious guest.
TO BE CONTINUED!