Except Felt, apparently, hadn't read the 'be reasonably cautious when cornered' script. Instead of trying to bluff or negotiate, her eyes darted wildly between me, the furious Emilia, the downed thugs, and the alley exit. Pure, unadulterated panic flared on her face.
"You'll never take me alive, guard-helper-weird-accent-guy and shiny-magic-girl who I definitely didn't steal anything from!" she shrieked, the denial utterly unconvincing even as she scrambled to her feet with surprising speed.
And then she ran.
Not back towards the main street where Emilia and I partially blocked the way, but deeper into the intersecting network of smaller alleys behind us, dodging past the groaning forms of Chin and Kan like a startled rabbit.
"Wait! Stop!" Emilia cried out, taking a step after her, pure instinct overriding thought. As Felt vanished around a corner, Emilia's hand snapped forward, frustration and desperation fueling her magic.
Fssh! Fssh! Fssh!
Several glittering shards of ice materialized in the air and shot down the alleyway after the fleeing thief, impacting harmlessly against the stone walls where Felt had been moments before. It wasn't an overwhelming attack, more a panicked, poorly aimed attempt to impede her.
But the sound of magic, the sudden flash of ice in broad daylight, coupled with the sight of downed thugs and a fleeing blonde girl, was enough. The carefully constructed diversion immediately dissolved into chaos.
People on the nearby main street, witnessing the tail end of the commotion – the ice shards, Felt darting away, Emilia looking distressed – started shouting. Some pointed, others backed away nervously. The fragile peace of the morning shattered.
"Magic!"
"A fight!"
"Did you see that girl?"
"Call the guards!"
The noise level spiked. Doors slammed shut. People hurried away, creating a widening circle of nervous energy around our alley entrance. This was escalating fast, spilling out into the public eye exactly as I'd hoped to avoid.
Nonono, keep it contained! My mind raced, trying to think of how to de-escalate, how to prevent this from drawing more unwanted attention—
And then, cutting through the rising civilian panic like a hot knife through butter, a calm, clear voice resonated. It wasn't loud, but it carried effortlessly over the din, instantly commanding attention.
"My apologies for the disturbance. Is everyone alright here?"
He stood at the edge of the crowd on the main street, having seemingly appeared from nowhere. Impossibly handsome, clad in the immaculate white uniform of the Royal Guard, radiating an aura of calm competence that felt like a physical force. Fiery red hair framed a face that could charm kings and slay dragons.
Reinhard van Astrea. The Sword Saint. Oh thank gods, and also crap. The biggest gun imaginable had just arrived on scene, drawn by the very chaos I'd inadvertently helped create. This situation was now officially FUBAR, just a different flavour than the frozen kind.
The chaotic scene – shouting civilians, panicked Emilia, fleeing Felt – seemed to hang suspended for a moment as Reinhard van Astrea took it all in. His gaze, calm and impossibly sharp, swept over the scene: the downed thugs, me looking bewildered, Emilia looking frantic, and most importantly, the small blonde girl darting deeper into the alleys. Even as she ran, his eyes locked onto the pouch at her hip. And in that instant, unseen by anyone else in the chaos, the insignia within must have resonated with his presence, with the fate of the kingdom he embodied. It glowed, a faint pulse of light visible only, perhaps, to one blessed (or cursed) with the Divine Protections he possessed.
He wouldn't recognize Felt's face or lineage, not yet. But the glow? That was unmistakable. A sign. A candidate for the Royal Selection, however unlikely, however unknown, was fleeing the scene of a crime involving another potential participant (Emilia). Duty clicked into place, overriding any other consideration.
He took a single, seemingly casual step forward from the edge of the crowd.
And was suddenly there. Not running, not blurring, just present, directly in Felt's path deep within the secondary alley she'd fled into. It was less movement, more a localized reality warp. Felt, sprinting blindly, practically ran right into him, stumbling back with a yelp of shock.
Before she could react, before she could even comprehend who stood before her, Reinhard raised a hand. Not in anger, not in threat, but with a gentle, almost dismissive wave. A flicker of unseen mana, softer than a whisper, brushed against her. Felt's eyes instantly glazed over, her body went limp, and she crumpled to the ground, unconscious but unharmed. Effortless. Absolute.
Reinhard stooped, plucked the glowing insignia pouch from the unconscious girl's hip with delicate fingers, and then straightened, turning back towards us at the alley mouth. In another instant that defied conventional physics, he was standing before Emilia, holding out the stolen item.
"My apologies for the abruptness, Ms. Emilia," he said, his voice calm and reassuring, cutting through the lingering panic. He offered a small, polite smile. "This situation, while perhaps not quite reaching the level of 'nation-imperiling crisis', certainly appears significant enough to warrant proper handling." He placed the insignia pouch gently into Emilia's outstretched, trembling hands. "I believe this belongs to you."
Emilia stared at the returned insignia, then at Reinhard, then back, speechless. Puck hovered nearby, silent but watchful.
Reinhard gave a slight bow. "Please excuse me. There are procedures to follow." He glanced briefly at the unconscious Felt assistants, then back towards the main street.
And just like that, he was gone. Not walking away, just… absent. Vanished back into the city as quickly and inexplicably as he'd appeared. Leaving behind three stunned onlookers (me, Emilia, Puck), one unconscious thief, and two groaning thugs in a suddenly very quiet alleyway.
All's well that ends well, I guess? Especially when 'well' involves the literal god of cheating at life, tragic backstories, and convenient plot resolutions showing up to hand-deliver you a win before vanishing into the plot-convenience dimension. My own bumbling, violent efforts felt utterly insignificant next to that single, effortless display. Reinhard van Astrea. Right. Definitely someone to avoid pissing off.
The silence that descended after Reinhard's departure was thick and slightly surreal. The distant shouts of the crowd faded, leaving only the sounds of the city, the groans of the still-downed thugs, and the faint rustle of Emilia clutching her returned insignia as if it might vanish too.
I broke the quiet, unable to help myself. The sheer whiplash from near-death brawl to god-tier intervention and abrupt exit was jarring. "Supreme anticlimax," I stated, my voice flat, deadpan, the Irish brogue almost entirely faded now that the adrenaline was receding. I stared into the empty space where Reinhard had been, feeling vaguely cheated out of… well, something. Probably more near-death experiences.
Emilia blinked, startled out of her daze by my blunt assessment. She looked at the insignia, then at the unconscious Felt, then back at me. A small smile touched her lips, quickly dissolving into a cascade of incredulous giggles. The tension of the last few minutes finally broke, bubbling up in laughter that was bright and relieving in the grimy alley. Puck floated nearby, giving a small, cat-like smile himself.
"Y-you think so too?" she managed between giggles, covering her mouth slightly. "It was all so fast… he just… poof!"
"Aye," I agreed, rubbing the back of my neck. "One minute, knives an' magic ice shards. Next minute, Mr. Perfect Hair shows up, waves his hand, job done, vanishes. Bit much, yeah?"
Seeing her relax made me relax a fraction. Okay, maybe things could get back on track. Or at least, a track. My stomach rumbled, reminding me that surviving multiple death scenarios works up an appetite, and I had arrived with exactly zero currency. Time for some shameless opportunism.
"So," I began, trying for casual and likely failing, "uh… fancy grabbin' some tea or… somethin'?" I gestured vaguely towards the main street. "I mean, after all that excitement… and I am totally not just tryin' t' skimp off a free snack from a clearly important person 'cause I'm flat broke an' haven't eaten since… well, since before I got here." Smooth, Shamrock. Real smooth.
Emilia's giggles returned, softer this time, mixed with amusement at my awkward transparency. "Okay, Mr…?" She paused, realizing we hadn't actually done the basic politeness thing yet. "We haven't even introduced ourselves properly, have we? After everything…"
"Right. Shamrock," I offered, extending a hand automatically before realizing it was probably grimy from tackling Chin. I retracted it slightly. "Shamrock Starson. Bit of a mouthful, I know."
"I'm Emilia," she replied, her smile warm and genuine now. She didn't offer a hand, maybe sensing my hesitation or maybe it wasn't customary. "Just Emilia. And this is Puck," she added, gesturing to the floating spirit.
Puck hovered near her shoulder, observing me with those unsettlingly intelligent eyes. He gave a tiny, almost lazy flick of his tail. "A pleasure," he chirped, the word stretched just enough, coated with a layer of dryness that hinted more at 'intriguing specimen' than genuine delight. It wasn't openly hostile, just… Puck being Puck. Sarcasm level: low hum.
Before I could respond to the distinctly unenthusiastic greeting from the cat-spirit, a small, tearful voice drifted into the alley. "M-mama?" A little girl, no older than five, with bright green hair, peeked around the corner, looking utterly lost.
Emilia's attention snapped to the child instantly, her earlier distress replaced by gentle concern. What followed was a brief, heartwarming detour involving calming tears, figuring out who 'Mama' was, and eventually reuniting the lost child with her frantic mother near the market square – a task Emilia threw herself into with characteristic kindness, and which I mostly just tagged along awkwardly for, trying not to look like I was involved with the earlier alleyway violence. Puck offered minimal assistance beyond floating and looking vaguely judgmental.
With the good deed done, the thugs presumably collected by the eventually-arriving guards (whom Emilia had discreetly flagged down while I tried to blend into a nearby wall), and the unconscious thugs mysteriously vanishing during the commotion (Puck offered no explanation when asked, just a smug little cat-smile), we finally found ourselves sitting at a small, outdoor table at a quiet canalside café. The afternoon sun was warm, the tension had mostly dissipated, and maybe, just maybe, I could finally start figuring out what the hell was actually going on in this broken timeline. And definitely secure that free snack. My stomach wouldn't stop reminding me about the 'broke' part.
The warm sun felt good on my face, a welcome contrast to the chilling memory of Puck's near-apocalypse and the grimy dampness of the alleys. Emilia stirred her own drink – something pale green and steaming – with a thoughtful expression.
"So," she began, setting her spoon down gently. "You mentioned… well, you said you were broke?" She looked at me with genuine concern, those amethyst eyes earnest. "That sounds difficult, arriving somewhere new with nothing. Puck and I… perhaps we could help with that? An introduction, maybe? At the place we're staying? They might have work, or at least be able to offer some assistance..."
Okay, good, getting somewhere! This was the standard path, right? Get taken back to the Roswaal Mathers mansion, meet Rem (!!!), get a job, inevitably die horribly a few times trying to navigate the political minefield and eldritch horrors disguised as housekeeping staff. An introduction was exactly what I needed.
But... just being handed off? Relying on the kindness of strangers I technically already knew way too much about? It felt… passive. Especially after getting a taste of actual, albeit stolen and minor, power. Maybe there was another way.
"I'd like that," I said honestly, taking a sip of the bright orange juice the waitress had brought. It tasted tangy and sweet, definitely not Earth oranges but pleasant enough. I set the glass down. "The help, I mean. Truly. Thank you." I met her gaze, trying to convey sincerity. "But maybe… instead of just an introduction somewhere else… hows about I work with you?"
I leaned forward slightly, lowering my voice a touch. "Look, I dunno how I know this – call it a hunch, a weird feelin' – but you seem… important. Like you're involved in somethin' big." I paused, choosing my next words carefully. "You're someone I feel like I know, at least… tangentially." I shrugged, trying to make it sound less like I'd binged her entire life story online. "Maybe you could use an extra pair of hands? Someone watchin' yer back? Especially after… well, today." I gestured vaguely back towards the direction of the alley incidents. "I might not look like much," – understatement of the century – "but I learn fast, and apparently," a wry grin touched my lips, "I'm surprisingly durable."