Chapter 602: Chapter 602 - A Faith Carried Further Than Voice, Hewn Into Stones Carried Farther Together

The acoustic limitation... was the first thing the reincarnator would bother to fix.

Approaching the stage, she had seen how cleverly the structure had been built by her mother’s people and Qat’s residents... to carry Sound through physical properties alone - and how the space for the right rituals to be carved was just there waiting. Mint eyes followed the lines of essence delivery already laid into the stone of the amphitheater, reading the craft of the continent’s sigilists the same way she always had done so - unamused.

’Beyond the novelty of it, anyway.’

Being the most efficient she could be within the constraints of matching modern sigil theory, intentionally using present, inferior renditions of things solved thousands and thousands of years ago still took much mental effort to lower herself into. Building whatever she wanted in the Exclave all that time did make her a bit more reluctant to work under this kind of handicap again, but eventually her fingers moved.

Reaching into her bag, she grasped a metal chisel and wooden hammer she brought back. Made from an even springier steel body than her old ones, with a sintered tungsten carbide edge, it was a tool that her peers would adore. Of course the hammer was alright as well, picked and shaped from a nice hard tree. Her head tilted toward Qat behind her, as she passed ahead for the first time along this route.

"I’ll finish quickly."

"No rush. They’ll know you did it for their benefit and can wait."

"Please. I do it for yours - and you know it. Besides, you’ve waited on me enough."

The blonde only blinked and let her cute wife win that point. Before looking down at the steps up to the stage with a thoughtful gaze... wondering if her scheming spouse intended to use that sort of statement as a cudgel in the future. To do more and more things hastily and blame it on reparations.

She decided to watch out for that, as Elua did have a habit of extending herself past what was wise - or so Qatrand felt. In fact she was quite sure that whatever the plan was in her cute skull, it was probably ’too much’. As an example of that-

Stone parted like butter as hardwood struck steel. The speed of that work alone already brought gazes onto her, but the fact that she seemingly didn’t slow down to double check her work was the bigger part of it. At least for those who knew how setting sigils worked.

You didn’t really have to do that all that much... when you were capable of superimposing the perfect angles and depth with spiritual barriers that literally blocked you from smashing through more than needed. Then refining what you did not manage to take out in bulk with that first series of physical force, by using a compatible Element for the work to clean behind yourself.

Inert heavy gas sweeping out tiny chunks from the sigil channels did the work of an apprentice helper with a brush. While the highly localized, tightly controlled wave of hydrogen fluoride gas - the same Acid used to etch the onyx pieces - ’ate’ the remaining peaks in the silicate geometry into a cleaner shape. Smooth and acid etched, saving the work of yet another pass on the material as would be proper.

If she was dealing with a carbonate rock instead, she would have used a superheated gas and enacted thermal spalling on the rock... which basically turned those remaining peaks in the geometry to dust. Followed by a superchilled gas that would halt the expansion process past the layers she was removing and prevent unnecessary fracturing inside.

Though that process left dark burn lines on the stone which could or could not be attractive depending on the location. Key to both methods, however, was the *precision*. If sigils had to be truly, utterly perfect, then no one would have been able to use them below a Defier. But there was a vast gulf of difference between achieving a measurable effect as a novice... and the essence efficiency that a real master sigilist could achieve.

’Cannot have either of us collapsing in focus just to feed it, after all. We are important statespeople. Perhaps I should look for that one convergence nearby and hide an underground conveyance system to power this entire place. Mom wouldn’t have to know the details, hm?’

Her work took her all across the stage and up one pillar over the course of twenty minutes. The original looks of adoration had grown a bit more complicated the longer she engaged in her craft. Especially the use of the strange tools that looked something like handles but stuck solid onto stone with their silver discs, to act like a piton instead of showing off her *personal* Adhesion. A set of items she brought back even though they *kind of* broke her rule on technological advancements.

’No way I was leaving them for Madrigil to use and climb down deeper into the earth than he already had...’

They absolutely trivialized the entire idea of a tower climb competition in the hearts of the onlookers, all with the power of sigilist ingenuity. Though the speed at which she removed and reoriented them using hands and feet alike was its own kind of impressive. As too was the fact that she was doing all of this in a very pretty white dress that had made her look far more dainty and helpless on the parade route...

Once on top of the glass roof, she had begun the real task. Taking that routed Sound and converted essence that was powering the ritual... and turning it into something that would blanket the whole city. That giant arena in the distance would have been a better venue, she was sure, but the people had led them to the Clearer Skies Society area with purpose.

So the least she could do to reciprocate being led to a place that should have more meaning to her, being Yatrel’s daughter, was to make sure that everyone stuck out on the parade route - and on roofs looking at the event from afar - could hear her Qat speak. Which meant a bit of forcefulness with her own Illusion ability and a number of spiritual fragments shunted into stones and thrown ’haphazardly’ hundreds of meters in parabolic arcs across the town.

Before slotting the Obsidian mirror onto the top of the pillar, as a temporary control center for extending the range of her Illusions without exponentially draining her energy. Something more proper, like an alert and communications system she made for the Exclave’s mansion, would take more time and dedication. This would be a temporary arrangement for the sudden situation, but a more than adequate one.

’There. Now everyone gets to listen to my darling’s rousing talk.’

According to all the talk in the city over the coming weeks, it may have even been ’too much’. Most of what she would do today was deemed so. But they would get used to the Warden Patrician’s wife... eventually.

⟠ ⟠ ⟠

The front row seating had been the next small problem to fix, briefly. It was occupied when Elua came back down. By exactly the people one would expect to take the honor: the members of Qatrand’s retinue and immediate employees, as well as other important figures of the city. Leysah, the so called First Adjutant, was chief among them when it came to the location that annoyed El most.

Taking the best available seat while Qatrand still had Onya and Aurehl up on their stage, even if off to the side, was... a reasonable assumption. But a very wrong one. The look the reincarnator gave her, with hands on hips at the edge of the platform, was not the *old* ancient hatred thing once festering between them. That had existed on her side of things, at least.

Elua had smoothed that out through her own effort and by acknowledging the service shown by this ’battle-sister’ to her ’fortress’ in this life. So, only the flat, unhurried expectation of a powerful woman remained behind the unspoken threat... a woman who has decided where her household will sit and is waiting for that to happen. Before she had to clear her throat and make an obvious fist.

The curved-blade wielder felt the weight of spiritual pressure - not a fist to the gut, but probably worse - and she stood to attention. Her hands grabbed for the blue-clothed adjutant that had been seated beside her, the most expedient way of it being taking his sleeve and locking her arm in his. Just in case she shook from terror or passed out from a deeper spiritual attack that might come from the vengeful heiress.

"We’ll take the stage flank. Be part of the security. Come."

Hoolov, who had detected no threat more pressing than the expense of the real silver bunting on the parade route, that he deeply suspected would probably have been stolen in less patriotic places... nodded at her. Even if he thought there were already plenty of people doing that job. He knew he didn’t have a choice anyway. She had been pulling him along like this for a while now from place to place... and he *still* wasn’t sure why!

And so two prime seats opened and were promptly filled by an urging look. A personal servant lowered herself next to the six year old, who did not mind getting off the platform at all. When the Warden Patrician cleared her throat on the ritual platform, Onya clapped along with everyone else. The crowd earlier in the parade was not cheering for her, but it was cheering for two of the people she loved most in the world.

One more than the other, but she didn’t make a habit of *thinking* that distinction all the time, like her beloved sister did.

"Most of you have heard me say the words when asked. You’ve heard my faith that she would be coming back to me."

She had not wanted to do any speeches today. This was evident in the set of her shoulders... and in the blonde hair that could not treat this event as a dutiful formality no matter how she tried. However, with her wife standing only four feet away radiating contentment... as her cloud-like spirit enveloped the crowd that was slamming all their positive attention on Qatrand gil Yecine - she also did not have the heart to tell everyone to go home.

The swordswoman just gripped onto the hilt of her weapon, as it was held vertically - in reverse - with its tip planted softly down on the ground. Her blade was the more dutiful part of her that didn’t do silly things like change color with emotions. At least, it didn’t so long as El neglected to finish a few micro-sigil lines... as it still had many features at the ready to enact inside of its lovingly dense scripting.

"Some of you believed without an ounce of proof. You agreed to believe because I clearly did. Those less certain in my conviction still did not press, you just tended to what was important to you - which is a different kindness."

Pigeon blues swept across the familiar crowd of her territory’s people. Seeing faces, feeling cultivators, knowing so many of them from little meetings and stories that shaped daily life these last years. They had been her purpose while Elua er Goltbred was sequestered away. And the low voice that spoke to her entire city, that same one which had ordered timely retreats and rallied lines to hold during the Descent... did not waver.

"She is here with me now."

Even as it bent toward an amount of emotion it did not usually permit itself in public.

"Thank you for waiting. Thank you for believing in this with me. For making your lives and this territory better over these years, together with me. So that my beloved wife could be given this sight. So that she could see our love has paid off."

A pause struck as she realized finally that she was being ’sappy’. Qat’s throat cleared again - a bit too obviously - drawing many smirks, giggles, and so many happy thoughts in the crowd that Elua felt like she was drowning in bubbles of light, in Intent returning to their source tenfold. The care that some people showed to others was not always acknowledged in words or actions, but for others it washed back to them tangibly as it picked up the weight of meaning.

"I think she will appreciate what we have built. Thank you for welcoming her today."

And whether it was her Cynosure, her Anchor, her Gravity, or just the alignment of all three... Qat’s superpowered, altruistic goodwill had become a magnet for similar emotions. Precisely why such a warm cheer was given for such a short speech, with its rough edges and on-the-spot thoughts. Several thousand people recognized her Qat’s goodness all at once...

"El, would you say something to them too?"

The ancient cultivator just let that flux of spiritual power, released like a cloud of plankton by all those people... wash all the way through her. Like a fizzy drink opening and spilling in her heart, before she stepped forward to take the hand of her darling husband-wife who was standing outside of the speaking area. But she didn’t hug her as tight as she wanted to - she just stood beside the swordswoman for a better... effect.

"If you insist I should speak to them, I will."

"Do you want to?"

"Do you want me to?"

"El..."

"Yes?"

"You’ve slid your foot into the ritual area, haven’t you."

"I believe I have. Should they not get used to our banter? I do not want to have to hide our conversations everywhere we go. Unless you request that we do so, of course. You know I will listen to anything you say."

A crash course in *subservient* but ’mischievous’ cut cleanly through the city. Those without lines of sight could almost picture the smaller wife, somehow arguing but somehow also completely giving in to the tall leader of the territory. The laughs and smiles it brought out in them were a bit more awkward and less pure than they had been for the adorable Qatrand’s flustered throat clearing...

’But that is fine with me. They should love her more. I only need *her* to cherish me. They can think whatever they want as long as it doesn’t displease my Qat~’