Chapter 603: Chapter 603 - Dainty Sweet Carrot, Hidden Sharp Stick, & The Wielder Of Both Is...
The brunette did not clear her throat like the blonde had, but she did get their attention by checking her voice. Inhaling a deep breath, she released a sustained note - a sound filled the city that was sweet and bright at the front... with a strength and maturity rolling in the undertones. A layered quality that set it apart from the last time in this life that she had addressed a larger crowd.
At her wedding, she had tried to request the anonymous benefactors leaving suspicious gifts to come forward. However, other than that moment and up until now, her voice was... often only deliberately assembled to reach exactly who it needed to, to help sell her public persona. Arguably *that* was no different now, because the entire population in the city ’needed’ to hear her, but it still meant that this was the first time she had claimed a giant crowd’s attention with her speaking...
And not just her pillar climbing actions.
"I am incredibly happy to be introduced to all of you. As Elua er Goltbred, wife of Qatrand gil Yecine, you absolutely have my heartfelt thanks."
A small, theatrical lift of one hand rose with palm out, before trailing in a wide arc that eventually was secured to her chest. As if sweeping in the whole people-filled bowl of tiered stone and the streets beyond it into her clutch. Unlike her beloved, she was not nervous for herself as she curtsied as perfectly as always... with every action she took, she only worried that it would reflect poorly on Qatrand.
"That gratitude I hold is for making things as smooth as you could for her, as she made them smooth for you. Leading a new territory was surely not easy, but you made it easier. I know it. I can see it in the result on the streets. And I want to be honest with you - I understand that none of this, beyond the choice of venue, is actually for me."
The heiress opened her eyes and stood her bent form back to her full height. The flow of that white dress they saw looking almost like a downward blooming flower, before the thin layering became almost rigid stone when her hands sat primly in front.
"You were not cheering because a rumored-to-be-famed sigilist came back. You know this and I know it. You cheer because she is happy. The Hero you adore who has carried this place since it was still mostly a field of tents. That you love her enough to have constructed a city’s welcome for the person she cares about..."
Until now she had relied on her voice. And while she usually could not effectively reach everyone, everywhere, all at once with her spirit... the work she had done to spread ’sound’ had accomplished two things. As it was actually spreading an illusion of their voices, that meant she could spread illusions... of *anything*.
"It honestly means so much more to me, than if you had loved me."
She let that sit, let them feel her replicated Intent as it shared a glimpse of what she genuinely felt. A cultivator who had almost drowned in their feelings not long before now reflected her own back on them. That light of love that pulsed like a polestar inside a lonely cultivator, many magnitudes greater in brightness than any of theirs individually. And then, without the warmth leaving her voice at all... she said the *other* thing.
"Your appreciation for Qatrand is the most valuable thing in this territory. And I think it should be kept. For her sake - and your own."
A ’thing’ hung in the air behind her, visible for the length of a heartbeat... or the length of a blink that called your attention to a flash or shadow in the area. With a disconcerting feeling of the uncanny nature of the emptiness, as you stared waiting for an answer to what called your mind that way. Coppery and edged, the long shape of a sword was something that almost everyone in the crowd would later swear they saw clearly.
Others, fewer in number, would insist they had all just confused the metal on her dress with the blade Qatrand always wielded, also currently up on the stage. That some *floating* thing with blue and green stone fuller had never existed at all. No matter if those deniers also held some sliver of terror for Elua... caused by that ’bright’ spiritual Intent being shared with them. Caused by it gaining a single instant of dark, biting, tundra-like cold.
But that one instant folded back under the ’honey’ thick gratitude drowning them. Buried so completely, at the time, that the cheer which followed was not a complicated stutter to life. The medical fairy, as some recognized her from the competition grounds, adored their leader as much or more than they did. That was feeling they could get on board with.
Only a scattering of cultivators, the ones who had stood deep in Descent operations and had gained a bit more instinct for danger, clapped with a smidge less enthusiasm as their comparatively undeveloped but non-mortal spirits *did* stutter. Mostly because she could - and did - safely use more threatening ’force’ on them than everyone else...
The reincarnator clapped her hands together once, and the whole register of her countenance and body language shifted from personal address of a politician to the public performance of a different sort of actress. It was subtle even for the heiress, but there was indeed a difference!
"Now. You came to us with a celebration as a homecoming gift. Let me give you a souvenir worth that walk and wait. Let me show you something you couldn’t have seen, no matter the tales you have heard told. No matter the experiences that have made you appreciate her so far. Let me show you... who Qatrand is."
The air above the city went dark. Not literally, of course. Fine little tricks inside the minds of others could be... surprisingly efficient for a master spiritualist. The level of darkness cast into their visual cortex was intimately familiar to Elua, having patiently stood in it herself on that particular night, five years gone. Which is also how a render of a not-evacuated town in the middle of the early invasion could have such incredible fidelity.
Even with her techniques, it was quite a strain to link the imagery to all the viewers. Allowing them to see it the same from any angle, floating almost like an augmented reality monitor at numerous locations. But it was worth showing the crowd inside and out of the amphitheater. Their Warden Patrician on her proving night.
A figure with a heavy blade and raven black hair, notably younger than now but still clearly the former Yecine herself. They watched her, in a narrow alley, choose to wrap both arms around a sobbing child and shield the girl with her body rather than keep her hands free to fight.
They watched her rely on others - an archer’s name bellowed, an arrow answering the call by slamming through the lunging vantablack horror. The weeping mother thanking her, the turn back toward the dark to hold the line. And then all of it stopped abruptly.
Paused like a carved moment as mint eyes blinked and squinted as though unsure of herself, a close up of current events on stage superimposed past the halted images. Visible to everyone... pulling out like a cameraman backing away to also frame the swordswoman. A blonde who stood quietly on the stage and let her wife do as she pleased.
At least for now.
