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halcyone-of-the-sea · 6 months

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The Invisible String Theory

PAIRING: König x F!Reader

SYNOPSIS: You didn't expect the man who gave you his coat to be the same one to bust down the door where you and the other women slept - sniper hood scaring everyone within an inch of their life. You didn't expect him to become so important to you, either. (Based on König's in-game backstory).

WORDCOUNT: 9.2k

WARNINGS: Human trafficking, mentions of unwanted touching, trauma, blood, gore, guns, bullets, protective!König, soft!König, nightmares, mentions of bullying, etc.

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

'DATE: 25, NOVEMBER, 2021

LOCATION: BERLIN, GERMANY

TIME OF EVENT: 0230

MISSION REPORT: PENDING….'

You don’t remember much from the day that could be called out of the ordinary. Ever since you’d been moved here with the other girls, everything was predictable down to the time the men would come over, to the point where the screams had to be muffled by pillows.

Never in your life did you think you’d be part of the nearly fifty million people stuck in this situation, and neither did you think you’d be the one in one hundred who got out. But before you can think about November twenty-fifth and those pale gray eyes, you have to go back to the beginning. To Al-Qatala.

You hadn’t been with this cell initially—you’d been moved around and bartered off more times than you could count; the initial founder of your predicament was long gone at this point. North and South America, Europe, Africa, Asia, and Oceania…you’d been practically everywhere and on every continent barring the obvious last. In Europe, you couldn’t name the countries, but you knew this for a fact: you’d never been to Germany before.

They had you with five other women in a large SUV in the beginning, this international ring of human traffickers. You had watched from the window, face blank and eyes unblinking, at the men who met near the docks. They had brought you in through Hamburg, first—not only the largest seaport in Germany but the third largest in Europe; you think you read that on a flier at some point. One of those flimsy ones that you find in gas stations with bright lettering to attract the tourists with their interesting facts.

You wished you were only a tourist.

You’d watched the men shake hands, and that was when you knew your fate, as well as that of the five other women, was sealed. You were going to all be here for a long time.

This Al-Qatala cell was ruthless, but you supposed with being around terrorists, ruthlessness was better than being executed.

For days you’d be exploited with the false promises of moments of freedom, breaks, food, and water. For some of the women it was drugs or money, but when your stomach was empty and your eyes blurring from lack of sleep, even addictions seemed to pale for brief hours. But above it all was the threat of death at every corner. These men would kill you.

It was only a matter of time unless you could give them what they wanted.

You yourself had developed a system, and it was probably the only reason you were still alive. Pick one of the handlers, gain his favor, and pray that he treats you specially while you keep up the act of a mindless, weak, woman.

Ivon was the man’s name this time around. Born and raised here in Berlin before the clutches of his fanatical ideations brought him to Al-Qatala. You hated him.

Hated his touch—hated his scent and how he talked; every bit of him was corrupted like a black dog at a crossroads, always leading people down the wrong path. Your only saving grace was that he was stupid. The other girls called you Cat—said you managed to nuzzle up to someone and soon after got them to give you what you wanted. Everything you wanted except freedom, that was.

You didn’t deny that Ivon did give you privileges, but that was the point. About a week into your stay in Berlin, he allowed you to go into public with him. Arm-candy.

A doll.

The townhouse you’d been stuck in had disappeared into a spec behind the rearview mirror, the chilled air from outside making you shiver at the lack of heat and the thin shawl you’d been thrown. No jacket.

The care of your health only extended to how well you were able to work—at the moment you were relatively healthy despite the bulge of bruises and constantly shell-shocked look behind your eyes.

But the trip—the trip. You supposed that was when it had fully started, and you didn’t even realize it before you saw those gray eyes again.

“Come,” Ivon orders, holding tightly to your arm and dragging you along from the corner shop without making a scene. Your hands loosely brush the wrack of clothes, fabric soft under your fingertips as it sways.

Fixing your shawl, you try to burrow your neck into it, gaining what little heat is available to you. It was cold out—you were shivering. People send looks, eyes tight as they shift up and down your form, but no one ever says anything. To be this bold, this cell had to have been at this for a long, long time. The realization didn’t make you feel any better.

That was when you first saw him.

You were standing outside a coffee shop, quivering like a newly hatched butterfly, Ivon making a call only a few feet away with fast motions of his arms. It was hard not to make a run for it right then and there; hard not to take those few seconds of open air and dash away—start screaming and yelling until the authorities came.

It would save yourself, but what about the others? They wouldn’t be so fortunate, you’d be sentencing them to death. None of this was simple—it needed to be thought out. Two games of chess being played at the same time.

The irony of it was that König had been off-duty that day. It had been a shot in the dark.

“Are you alright?” A thick Austrian accent makes you flinch as it appears beside your right ear, grating.

Your eyes snap to the side, moving one foot back as you blink wildly up at the blue-gray orbs that would become a staple. You liked to call it as everyone else did—the invisible string theory. A theory that stated that the universe connected people who were destined to meet one day. Through thick or thin waters, it was inevitable. He was inevitable.

“Yes,” you say quickly, holding your hands tightly around you. The man ahead of you was tall, almost startlingly so, with muscles more bulky than a boulder and his buzz-cut head open to the chilled breeze. He wore a surgical mask over his lower visage, his hoodie under the thick material of a canvas jacket. “Yes,” you say again, hearing Ivon’s voice behind you still on the phone. “I’m fine, thank you.”

Gray eyes furrow slightly, gaze darting over your head.

“Are you…sure, Ma’am?”

“Thank you for your concern,” you fake laugh, eyes pained, backing up farther. That invisible string snaps into place, pulling tight at only those few simple words.

His stature made you slightly nervous—large, intimidating; those hands could do quite the damage if given the chance. Your eyes had hit and bounced off the identity discs at his chest with little thought, too preoccupied to notice the fact that he was in the Service.

König’s eyes had narrowed softly, dark brows minutely moving in.

Ivon hangs up his phone.

“Can I help you?” He asks, coming up and sliding a hand around your waist. The man had stared at him for a long minute, and you had felt Ivon tense slowly at the unblinking eye contact.

This stranger had commented in German a long string of frim words, hands going to his jacket and grabbing at the arms—he slips out of it while still uttering.

Before you can react, the large coat swallows you whole and you snatch at the heat that’s still inside instinctually, now only realizing how much you were shivering. Your body sags into the weight of the fabric, the scent of sweat and coffee.

You don’t even pay attention to the growing tones, shocked. People look over to the two fast words being tossed.

Yet it could only last so long.

Ivon’s hand latches onto the side of your arm, beginning to drag you back and away from this kind stranger like a lap dog while throwing curses behind him. Gray eyes meet yours as old shoes skid and stumble.

König had taken a firm step towards you that day, his body tense and his hands clenched at his side—ready to do anything on a moment's notice should you ask for it. But all you do is stare, jaw loose, and the given coat still on your shoulders. You just couldn’t understand why he would do that.

The stranger gets swallowed by the crowd, and just like that, he’s gone.

That was all it had been; a moment—a few mere seconds in the large plot that was this almost impossible tale. You were glad it had been him, or else the events of the future could have been very different.

Of course, they hadn’t let you keep the jacket, but the memory was enough to warm you for days even as old pains faded and new ones took their place.

But those gray eyes would help you in the future, like a guardian; a protector in your dreams as you watched the snow fall from the sliver of outside light in your room with the others. Your mattress was on the floor like the rest, thin blankets and clouds of cold breath wafting up from sleeping forms.

This was the time it happened, and you’d just woken up to find the curtains shifting as one of the women near it moved in her sleep. Shadows slip past, the light interrupted as it shifts over your tired face with broken fractures.

You were always kept on the ground floor.

'CLEARANCE: APPROVED

TRANSLATING MISSION REPORT ‘RED FREEDOM’…

STAND BY…

Operation Red Freedom took place on November twenty-fifth, 2021, at approximately 0230 in the neighborhood of [REDACTED], at the residence of [REDACTED], Berlin, Germany. A squad of ten highly trained [REDACTED] personnel covertly entered the residence in two teams of five. Fireteam One advanced from the back entrance while Fireteam Two entered the residence from the balcony at the top floor, accessed via ladder.

Squad Leader [REDACTED], part of Fireteam One, set foot in the residence of [REDACTED] at approximately 0238 and began sweeping the ground floor as Fireteam Two cleared three of twelve known individuals belonging to the terrorist organization, Al-Qatala, on the top floor….'

You shift and shiver, your body trying to warm itself as the world blurs at the sides of your vision. Fingers twitch as your hand goes to wrap your waist, curled into the fetal position, creaking emanates from above you. Blinking softly, you frown and take a quivering breath, head nuzzling the thin mattress.

“Cold,” you say, the following low exhale of air out of your lips only making it all worse as everything seems to drop another degree. The darkness didn’t help either, only that one line of light trying desperately to fill the room like a bucket descending into a dry well.

You’re only clothed in the dirty and tattered remains of a large shirt, your legs feeling like they don’t hold any blood in them as they quiver without your knowledge—shaking the blanket above you. A few of the girls had said it would be okay to share, but everyone was afraid of the lock on the door clicking open and the men coming back in and seeing them. In the end, you could only look after yourself.

A thump makes you startle, drooping eyes snapping back open as you gasp.

Head shifting, you blink rapidly upward to the ceiling, confused as to whether that had been a part of a failing mind or if you’d really just heard a muffled bump upstairs. Brows furrowing, you lightly sit up, hands still around yourself and legs limply outward; spine hunched.

Your fingers had lost feeling, just as your nose had gone numb, but moving helped a little. Your hands dig into your flesh and your ears twitch at every creak in the wood—every pass of silent feet that suddenly becomes all the clearer as the sheen of fatigue slowly leaves your brain.

Walking? Small pains move along your body like needles, poking and prodding, but you ignore them as easily as you do the vile hands that had touched you. Survival had forced you into a constant state of self-preservation—pain couldn’t bother you, because if you stopped, you wouldn’t get back going again.

Your head tilts so you can side-eye the door to the room, sleeping forms all around shifting, singular groaning of tired lungs. But there’s something inside of you that stiffens like a prey animal, and you don’t know why. Inside of your sockets, your eyes hone in, bones stiff and your chest stilling as the grain becomes the most interesting thing to you beyond breathing.

There was someone….out there.

Watching, the sides of your vision shadow over to focus harder, your muscles tight. Your mind goes to the thumps from upstairs, the moving feet that sounded far more careful and deliberate than the ones your jailors took care to walk with.

Inside your ribs, your heart patters a bit faster, adrenal glands sending a certain flight or flight through the few veins you hold that aren’t chilled over.

Something was happening. Something wasn’t right.

Only when you move to shake the shoulder of one of the women sleeping beside you does it happen.

A yell.

A scream.

The girls in the room all startle awake, sounds of concern and shock entering the air that you mirror; faces snapping to the ceiling and the door. The townhouse erupts into gunfire and the sound of slamming wood—a warzone that only is separated from all of you by the thin material of the four walls.

You feel yourself being grabbed and held in fear in the dark, as your open face holds the expression of a rabbit in an open field, looking along the long, hidden grass.

The sounds persist, loud German shouts going up over the house and echoing with heated fever. This continues for minutes, added in with the sound of doors breaking off hinges, bouncing off the ground, and shaking the foundation so hard that you can feel it reverberate. The women go silent. Stone-still.

But the gunfire—so much gunfire. The constant pop of assault weapons and a pound of multiple booted feet.

What was going on? You can't make sense of it, so you only freeze and listen; trying to understand the longer the fight goes on, heart hammering; mouth slack-jawed. And then it’s like it never happened.

Silence.

You share quick looks with the others, all gripping one another and heads angled to the door. The heavy feet start back up again, coming closer. Your mind slashes to the window across the room, but it’s hard to think beyond the sudden body that shakes the door that leads directly to you all—the women scream, some standing up and racing to the glass with the same idea as you.

'…Squad Leader [REDACTED], and both Fireteams successfully eliminated all targets inside of the [REDACTED] residence, leaving the room occupied by known hostages last to prevent casualties and/or the usage of bargaining chips. Squad Leader [REDACTED] made contact with hostages at approximately 0244 after the final sweep of the townhouse had been completed and all personnel accounted for.

Local authorities had been contacted by neighbors due to noise but were dismissed.'

The door busts off its hinges and the room devolves into panicked yells and hurled bits of mattress material. Loud pleas and curses stuck like gums to teeth as they were forced out in fear and bone-crushing terror. You remember pushing back into the wall, many others doing the same, as a beast of a man enters the room with his face covered with a loose fabric hood of some sort.

Large—brutish. Like a demon walking with the color of black printed over his entire body; gear hangs from a combat vest, hands holding an assault rifle as a sidearm is strapped to his bulging thigh. Forearms the side of your head stays near his chest, and in order to not hit his head on the doorframe, the individual has to bend slightly. Over that hood, the lenses and head-gear of a night-vision rig sit heavily before it’s moved back with a firm hand that is nearly double the size of yours.

A monster.

Your entire being is tight with quivering tension, eyes blinking away tears at the smell of blood that rolls in from the hallway. The women at the window duck down, hands to their heads as if expecting a bullet to carve its way between their skulls.

“Cat,” one of the ladies behind you mutters, voice quivering. You shush her on bitten lips and move her farther behind you.

“Don’t speak,” you mutter. “Don’t move.”

You don’t know what you expect, but nothing about this is correct.

The man raises his hands, the rifle slapping his chest as it hangs from a strap. He speaks in German, and the heavy and fast noise of it makes your already addled head spin. No one answers beyond the slide of their own feet over the hardwood floors.

“Ich heiße König,” his head swivels from one to another, “Sprichst du Deutsch? Irgendjemand?”

You stare blankly, panting.

After a moment, and a slow step forward from the stranger, he speaks again, though this time, it’s in English.

“My name is König.” His voice is familiar to you, and you blink in confusion quickly, hidden near the back of the shaking bodies. “I am with the German Military, yes? We have conducted a raid on this residence.”

Military? Raid?

“...I am not here to hurt you.” He nears one of the women, beginning to bend down slowly. She squeaks, balking back—making him tense and halt. It didn't matter what he said, König was the epitome of a man who was intimidating on body alone; the gear wasn’t helping. Neither was the hood.

A soldier appears in the doorway, calling out to him in his native language as you flinch at the noise.

König calls back calmly, trying to keep an air of gentle strength around him.

The second soldier comes inside, dressed similarly despite the lack of fabric over his visage which instantly puts many at ease again. He clears his throat as König steps back, gargantuan hands coming up to rest at his vest collar as his legs shift. He seems a bit put off at the fearful stares from everyone, rolling his shoulders for a moment as he turns his head to look out of the doorway.

Your eyes don’t move from him, though. A nagging feeling in the back of your skull.

“We have to leave this place,” the second soldier tells you all, kneeling and resting a hand over his knee. “We’ll get you medical attention. Food. Water. There’s no need to suffer here any longer, hm? We can see to it that all of you will get the best care that can be provided.” A pause. “We can get you back home.”

That certainly got the attention that was needed.

Meek questions started falling out, then louder ones before pandemonium was roused in that tiny room pushed to the very back of the townhouse. Home. It was a word that had almost lost all meaning but was still that constant shining light in the back of everyone’s mind.

Home.

Did you even have one of those left?

As the rest of your fellows all got to their feet, taking you with them, you had to think over that fact as the soldier guided them gently out of the room to join the others waiting—trying to answer their questions and get them away from the gore before they saw it.

You stayed behind, feet shifting over the floor and your lips thin. As the silence settles in, you hold yourself a bit tighter and glance at the mattress all mashed together and stained—those thin blankets as you shiver.

“Are you alright?” Your head snaps over.

You’d forgotten about König.

He still stands there, still and with his hands at his collar; he clears his throat softly, speaking up from his low utterance. “Please…do not be afraid.”

“I’m not afraid,” you say tinily, your voice cracking in the lie.

You can’t see his eyes—not with the shadow from his hood or his head rig, but you can see the way his skull lightly tilts to the side, trying to see you better in the low light.

“That is good,” he answers, not convinced. “I’m glad. I did not wish to scare anyone.” He moves back and motions with a hand to the door from where they hang. “Please. It is best not to linger, yes?”

“Do I…” you hesitate, shivering. “Do I know you from somewhere?”

König’s face isn’t visible, but you can still sense the feeling of confusion leaking out of him. The man takes a small step closer, and you gaze up at him until his eyes are visible.

Blue-gray.

You stare, mouth parting in shock.

König blinks twice, quickly making a noise in the back of his throat at the sight of your eyes gazing into his—the same woman outside of the coffee shop from days ago.

That little invisible string pulls you closer, small millimeter by small millimeter.

“You?” You both say it at the same time, laced with surprise and shock.

It’s a long moment of gazing into each other, a battered body and another more strong than an ox. All fear of the man dissipates.

“You gave me your jacket,” you whisper, still torn up about it.

König’s hood shifts as he glances back to the door, German speech over the radio strapped to his chest which he takes in and processes in the back of his skull. But he always looks back at you, eyes crinkled with concern and perhaps even a bit of misplaced guilt.

A protective knife sides into his side.

“Come.” The man reaches out a hand, hovering it over your arm. You stare at the gloved limb for a moment before softly moving towards it with your breath caught in your throat, hesitant. König’s fingers delicately slide over the flesh, not closing around it until he feels your muscles loosen. “...Let’s get you warmer, Schatz, yes?”

You blink.

“It’s cold here,” you mutter, letting him guide you along, his gray orbs always keeping you in the side of his vision.

“Yes,” he agrees, nodding. “Very cold. Have you been to Germany during the winter before?”

Your head slightly shakes, bare feet padding along next to the pair of great boots—you lean closer unconsciously to the promise of warmth. König guides you away from the seeping blood on the floor and protects your eyes from the view of the bodies across the room with his own as a guard dog would.

“No.” He notices your leaning and brings you nearer to him, letting you use him as a brace. The man knows the effects of shock, and you wear it as plainly as any other. “I’ve never been here before.”

König hums and his free hand goes up to press into the radio, muttering in his native tongue. He releases the connection and asks as he blinks at you, “Do you require any immediate medical attention?”

Again, you shake your head.

“Where are the others?” You sink further into him, being guided to the front door, open to the soft snowfall and a chilled wind as your shoulder hunch.

“Just outside,” König glances at the bodies across the room—the ones he’d riddled with bullets that still twitch even as the minutes draw longer. Gray eyes going from one to another, the house is heavy with the weight of dead men. Twelve in total and all getting colder just like the temperature outside. König didn’t feel bad about it, and when he’d finally busted open that door to find you and the women, he was satisfied with the blood on his hands. If hell were to be his home, he would walk there with a golden-fanged smile.

But now wasn’t the time for that.

“I will bring you to them,” the soldier speaks, snow blowing in from the entrance. “Slowly, now, Schatz, watch the steps. Allow me to help.”

You stop at the doorway, bringing a hand to your mouth to cover a haggard cough as König makes his way down the first concrete step ahead of you—large armored vehicles had pulled up from a ways away. The women huddle around one another, the rest of the soldiers sticking by them and opening the doors to the vehicles as the night gets only more cold and stormy.

Gray eyes flicker for a moment down to your lack of proper protection, fingers twitching and tapping at his thigh as König remembers your expression the day he’d first met you.

“Do you want me to carry you?” He says slowly, cautious in his approach. The man wasn’t stupid—he wouldn’t touch you unless you explicitly stated it was alright for him to do so. “I will be gentle, I promise. I do not wish for your feet to freeze, I...” He pauses as you blink, staring into his soul. “I…will not touch you if you do not tell me to do it. You have my word.”

You continue to stand there for a moment, face unreadable before your head slowly turns to the vehicles in the street.

The neighborhood was so normal it still caused you to wonder how no one had spoken up and seen something. Rows of connected houses now with their lights on—faces peeking from the windows like little children on Christmas morning; trying to get glimpses of Santa and the man’s reindeer.

Finally, your gaze moves back to the hooded visage of König, able to see it better under the moonlight and the glare of falling snowflakes—a few of those frozen pieces sitting in the folds of the fabric.

“The hood scared them,” you utter about the others. König stiffens a bit, blinking at you but not looking away. “They’re used to people trying to hide their faces, but yours…with how large you are…”

“I understand.” König doesn't tear away his eyes. “...Did I scare you, Schatz?”

You don’t know why, but for what seems like the first time in years, the question makes you giggle. The beast of a man goes still with his feet on the ground, usually jittery and moving body captivated by the sound as it echoes over the night’s air—the puff of your breath as it moves around his hood; rustling it like leaves on a tree.

Eyes widening only a sliver more, König’s breath is in his throat.

It was like listening to a bird’s song.

“Maybe only a little,” you whisper to him. “But it’s okay. I’m scared of most things.”

He licks his lips, but you’re unable to see the slight quirk of them afterward.

“Then I will make it up to you, yes?” He holds out a hand. “Let me? The car is warm and your friends are waiting for you. My men say they ask about your health.”

You softly nod, the shadow of the house trying to drag you back into it—its blackened arms reaching and latching onto old scars. When your hand connects with König's, the man takes his time putting one foot back to a step and scooping you up from behind your knees. With a tiny grunt, you settle at his chest, calming your heartbeat with the fact that you know he won’t hurt you.

“I’ve got you,” he says.

In his arms, your bare legs hang in the air, hand wrapping his neck, and with a slightly nervous look to you as your body hovers. König watches for a moment, hesitating before he begins walking to the same vehicle the other woman had been moved into out of the snowfall.

“Can you tell me your name,” he asks to distract you from his hold, to get you more comfortable with him as his boots crunch through the packed powder on the ground—making sure to watch his step so as to not jostle you.

“Everyone calls me Cat.” Gray eyes blink your way, visible skin painted black. König’s head tilts. You can’t help but find it endearing.

“Katze?” He hums, and you can imagine his lips moving slightly upwards from the innocent tone of his voice as if taken by the strange moniker. “That is…interesting.”

You huff tinily, shivering again as your body moves to curl a little more.

The soldier quickly reassures you. “Nearly there.”

The vehicle is in front of you, and a nearby man opens the door for König as he carries you over. Nodding in thanks, the large individual eases you into one of the seats as the blast of warm air makes you sag—the other woman in there mulls closer, grabbing onto you and laughing through tears.

Looking back at them, you smile and feel yourself get a bit teary-eyed as everything starts to slowly come into focus.

Glancing outward, you stare at the snow that hits the dark hood of König, sticking and hanging off until the tiny white dots melt from the heat of his body. With his legs shifting he moves back a step and nods to you, eyes moving to stare at the ground for a moment.

“We will take you to base. From there you will all be given dorms and fresh apparel to—”

“Thank you, König,” you interrupted him. He stares, lips parted with the half-tones of cut-off speech. “And please extend my thanks to your men as well.”

“...Of course, Katze.” König stands straighter, always twitching fingers moving to the car door as engines start with a grinding roar. He nods again, the loose fabric swaying as the lenses of his rig stay firm at the movement. “There is no need to thank us. Relax. Sleep, if you wish to do it. The ride will be long.” The man’s gray eyes linger for a moment on your own, studying the bumps and small marks on your face. His hand tightens over the door as your gaze is stuck with his own; warmth blooming in his chest. He was glad he had found you.

König slips out a soft, “There are blankets under the seats,” before he closes the door with a firm thump of metal.

You can’t help but smile.

'…Hostages were taken back to [REDACTED] and received minor medical attention on site. Housed in [REDACTED] and were admitted for needed treatments/medications - all details/names listed in File 3 Section 6 for future reference. DNA was placed into databases.

Next of kin were informed of their family members’ position and/or state of being via phone call to the corresponding government official that then traveled through the appropriate channels once identified.'

You sit as a nurse hands you heating pads for your hands, which you take with a small thanks and clenched tightly, sucking every ounce of warmth from them to stop the shaking. Your body was heavy with the weight of new clothes and heated blankets, the room utterly normal in a way you’d not known for years. A corner table with books and a chess board—a connected bathroom stocked with amenities you may need; even a rug on the tile floor. You don’t know why that was shocking to you, but even the simplest thing was awe-inspiring. Your eyes had even slipped over a tiny nightlight near the door.

It nearly made you cry.

Your nurse moves back a bit, smiling down at you kindly.

“Is there anything else you might need, Dear?” Her accent is prominent, though not as much as König’s had been. She waits for your answer diligently as the pitcher of water and a similar glass sit on your nightstand.

“No,” you say, shaking your head. Your socked feet rub together like a grasshopper. “I think that’s all.” Your eyelids blink. “But…” you stop.

“What is it?” The lady asks gently, hands slack at her sides.

“The man—König,” you pause. “Is he here?”

Blinking at you, the nurse tilts her head to the side in curiosity. “Not currently, no. At least, not in this specific building. He and his men are being debriefed across base. They will be there for a long while.” At your blank look, her brows slightly move up in accommodating comfort. “Would…you like me to tell him something for you?”

Playing with the heating pads in your hands, your face gains a slightly embarrassed sheen. You liked the thought of being near König, truthfully. No one had made you feel safe like he did—him and his selfless action of a large coat given with no intention of getting anything in return.

“Just,” you breathe softly. “Just that I’m sorry for losing his coat, and that I hope it wasn’t expensive.”

The nurse stares, very much confused but not about to question you. Her feet shift over the floor, and a light nod is sent your way.

“Of course. I’ll tell him.” She motions to the bed with a hand and explains that whenever you wished to sleep, you were free to use the bed—and the TV was open to you as well, though you might not be able to understand the local stations. With that, she exited the room.

Left alone, your head moves around the room slowly, taking it all in once more as the small bandages under your clothes pull at your flesh. The tears start slipping down your cheeks with no warning.

Wrist coming up to your eyes, the limb presses in tightly, water staining the flesh as it dribbles down, and your lip quivers like a worm below it. You don’t know why you’re crying now and not when König had gotten you out of that townhouse. Why now, when there wasn’t anything prompting you to do so?

But something was prompting you—the knowledge that you would never be going back to anyone who would mistreat you again. You had your own room. Good food. All the water that your stomach could drink down. A nightlight that pushes back the darkness even if you’re so used to living in it.

Through your soft sniffles, chuckles move out, filling the space with a warm echo. You pull the blankets closer to you and collapse backward onto the mattress, smiling widely at the ceiling.

That little invisible string dances as your heart pulls at it.

—

König’s leg lightly jumps from under his table, signing off his name at the bottom of a report before he stands and rubs a hand over the top of his un-hooded head. He grabs the paper and slips it into a manila folder, hands pale with deep scars running the length of them like fissures in the earth. Deftly taking the item, he walks out of his office and begins moving down the length of the building, fingers tapping over the yellowish material with a small connection of flesh and thick envelope.

Tap-tap, tappity-tap.

His fingers were always fidgeting—moving, tensing, twitching. It was one of the reasons they never let him become a recon sniper; the more obvious being the blatant size of his body. Both of which had been the cause of much teasing throughout his childhood.

But König’s mind was on something other than the report in his hands, and it was starting to become a very strong distraction. You. The women. Al-Qatala.

He was angry he hadn’t acted outside of that coffee shop—angry he hadn't noticed the signs right in front of him even if he had been powerless to stop it then. The soldier’s jaw clenched, the strong muscles of his jaw roving.

“Verdammt,” he hisses under his breath, glaring at the tile. “Should have done something.”

König gets to his commanding officer’s office and knocks, only staying long enough to hand him the folder with his finished report and leave once more. His mind wouldn’t stay silent tonight. There’s no doubt that he won’t be able to sleep unless he reassures himself that you and the others are okay.

The man’s head shifts back to the email he had gotten from your assigned nurse, whom he’d taken it upon himself to know the name of when he carried you into the base’s hospital—Eva.

‘...She says she wants to apologize for losing your coat…”

König’s heart had twisted at that—that was what you were concerned about? He had to tell you that it was alright, or else he would never know peace. Perhaps even ask how you’ve been treated so far, just to make sure that everything was comfortable for you.

The man’s eyelids move slightly downward in thought, a pull at his heart to walk outside. He passes a few other soldiers in the hallway, nodding to them with a tiny greeting but unwilling to stop and talk. In only fatigues, König exits the main doors quickly, lightly moving into a jog as his body shivers at the sudden chill touching his arms under the black compression shirt. Under him the snow has grown deeper, the large lights illuminating the almost greenish reflections of the winter landscape of open roads and large buildings.

Curfew was long past—this had to be quick.

Just a check-in, König tells himself as he nears the hospital, his breath puffing in the air. Then I can wipe my hands of it.

He slows as he nears the doors, huffing a breath as he pushes on the barrier, opening it with a squawk of hinges and metal. Entering, the front desk staff looked up at him in surprise, muttering his name in question.

“Katze?” He responds, pushing a hand over his head and feeling the melting snowflakes. His cheeks are a light shade of exposure-red, and inquisitive eyes shift over the two individuals slowly. “What room?”

The pair share a glance and tell him in the same breath. Room ten.

It’s no sooner after that König finds himself there, hand hovering over the handle as the hallway clock ticks beside his right ear. His gray eyes blink at the door, feet shuffling from under him before he clears his throat under his breath, glancing away for a second in hesitation.

Was this appropriate?

König didn’t have an answer, but the pull in his chest was tight and firm—he just needed to see you. A glimpse, nothing more. He raises his fist and raps his knuckles over the wood delicately, three tiny knocks that hit his ears like bullets from a gun; the bullets he’s put into pathetic Al-Qatala bodies and watched burst like sacks of fluid.

He waits, hands going to grasp at his shirt collar, pushing out a low breath to calm himself.

After a long moment, his foot taps the floor, blinking. Again he knocks—a bit louder.

“She is sleeping, you evolutionsbremse,” he utters, accent low and grating. “Leave her alone.” But even if you are, his nerves peek their head over the brimstone wall of his brain.

With his fingers caressing the handle, slowly moved to clutch it fully, swallowing the metal in his grip. König takes a deep breath into his lungs, letting it fill them up. Again, he tells himself, just a check-in.

He twists the doorknob and sets his forearm on the wood, pushing the barrier open.

König moves so that his body makes no noise, even with how large it is as he angles the side of his head through the opening. He finds a large mound of blankets atop the bed—stacked and layered so heavily that he has to blink in surprise at how you can breathe under them; because you were under them.

Gray eyes make out the small sliver of skin peaking out from the side of the bed—fingers—and the top of your forehead near the pillows formed around your skull. Unconsciously, a soft smile works its way over König’s lips until he finds himself chuckling.

“Niedlich,” he mutters, scars over his face shifting as he speaks.

Sighing lowly, König pulls back his head, beginning to close the door once more.

“König…?” Your tiny voice makes him halt like he had in the townhouse.

Eyes wide and lips parted at being caught, the door remains open, only a sliver visible to your vision as your furrowed brows are stuck at the barrier. A red sheen moves across the soldier’s face in a slow sweep of embarrassment that goes bone deep.

With a lick of his lips, König re-opens the door slightly.

“I did not mean to wake you, Katze.” He finds your eyes and nods to you. “I apologize. Go back to sleep—you must be tired.”

“Wait,” you utter, moving your head fully out from under the blankets. König pauses, eyes staring as his other hand comes up to itch at the back of his neck.

“What is it,” the man asks, opening the door fully and moving inside. “Do you need anything?”

The question had hit you in your thin slumber, interrupted only partially by the opening of your door to the familiar pull of gray eyes and a strong build. A buzz-cut head. You take a slow breath to wake yourself up more, watching him from your bed. “...Did you know that I would be in that house?”

König tilts his head at the question, sighing slightly and glancing at the clock inside of the room on your nightstand. He frowns.

“No,” he explains gently, coming closer. “No, I did not. I do not get told such things—only where to shoot and where not to.” The man tries a small smile, kneeling on one leg down by the bed and staring into your sleepy eyes. “But I am glad I found you again, yes? You had me worried.”

“You were worried?” You can’t quite grasp it.

“Ja,” he nods. “Your eyes—they have stuck with me, Schatz, you understand?”

Your eyebrows pull up your face, blinking in shock.

“...Yours, too,” you confess. König’s heart flutters, listening until your lips have fallen still. “They’re very nice, König.”

He goes sheepish, lips flicking up into a smile and his eyes daring away for a moment. “You can thank my mother for them, then.” He chuckles. “I have stolen the family's eyes, I was told.”

You chuckle with him, hand coming to rub at your cheek. A silence falls between the two of you.

“I don’t sleep well,” you tell him in the relative darkness, light from the hallway and your night light illuminating the dips and bone structure of his face. “I was awake when you opened the door.”

He nods after a moment. “Ja.” A pause. “I don’t either…Nightmares?”

You watch him before nodding tinily.

“Ah,” he mutters. “They are not pleasant, I’m sorry that they have been plaguing you. Do you…” König wonders if he should leave—this was far more than he had anticipated. “Do you wish for me to stay?”

Why had he said that?

The string between the two of you tightens evermore, gaining another thread just as it would for the years to come until it became as unbreakable as steel.

“I don’t want to be a nuisance,” you begin but are quickly interrupted with a shake of a square head and a huff of a sharp nose.

“You are not. Do not call yourself such.” His accent deepens with emotion, eyes narrowing as the dark brows on his face pull in. “If you want me to stay, I will stay. Wake you if you become shaky, yes? Keep the bad dreams at bay.”

“But what about you?” Your voice moves around the room as König stands and goes to the table in the back, shifting one of the chairs so that it’s angled your way. You shift so you can watch him sit back, grunting as his legs move out in front of him, opening so he can be more comfortable. He needed a bigger chair, but he wasn’t going to complain about it.

“I’m not tired, Schatz.” A lie. His muscles are heavy, and he longs for his bed in the barracks. He pushes out, “Please, go back to sleep. I’ll watch over you.”

You stare for a long while, studying him and how he fidgets in his seat of choice. A small laugh meets the man’s ears as he crosses his arms over his chest. König pauses, blinking over in confusion. His lips move upwards slowly.

“What are you laughing at, then, hm?”

“You look like you’re about to break it,” you mutter, head nuzzling the pillow under you as fatigue claws its way under your skin.

König huffs, fingers twitching over the meat of his biceps as he slouches. He nods jokingly. “Perhaps,” he shrugs, the window behind him letting a slight tinge of cold air in from outside. “It would not be the first, I’m afraid, though it would be quite the embarrassment to do it in front of you, Katze.” He smirks. “But I’ll say, hitting my head on door frames hurts more than letting my arsch kiss the ground.”

You laugh under your heap, your body jerking to the movement of your lungs.

“I bet,” you say, fingers grasping one of your blankets and pulling it closer. “It’s a funny image.”

“You can laugh all you want,” König jokes, eyes soft as they gaze at you. “It does not bother me.”

Your sweet sounds of amusement waft out from under the crack in the door, where a small group of curious nurses mull and listen with glances to one another. A doctor moves past the hallway where they stand, and all scatter on quick feet.

'…Signed,

[REDACTED]

SUBMITTED: 0517, 25, November 2021

END OF MISSION REPORT ‘RED FREEDOM’

RETURNING TO SELECTION MENU…

STAND BY…'

It’s only after most of the other women leave—sent home to awaiting families or loved ones—that you know your time is coming to a close here in Berlin, Germany. While you’re excited to put this behind you, you can’t help but feel a bit…lost.

There’s something that keeps you here, on this base, until you’re the last out of all of them, waiting. And then you’re given the green light to go—go home—and suddenly you have a backpack full of necessities and you’re closing the door to your room with the little nightlight’s plastic body pushing against your spine. Yet, you stand in the hallway for a long minute, fingers interlocked.

You take a long, deep, breath.

Over the weeks of recovery, König had been a constant companion when he wasn’t needed. He had eased you back into a comfortable state, letting you somewhat lose the black-and-white view you had gained of the world. But there was only so much he could do, even if his soft eyes were still stuck in your dreams—the good ones, of course.

You needed to go home, and, today, the C-17 was whirring on the tarmac, waiting for you to be transported to a military base far from here where you would be processed and, ultimately, let go.

Let go. It was jarring to think about, all of that freedom. What would you do with it? Right now, you don’t have the faintest clue. It was the best feeling you can remember having.

Smiling, you take one last look at the room behind you and walk on.

At the entrance, you say a heartfelt ‘thank you’ to the nurses and doctors in broken German, shaking their hands as Eva kisses your forehead and whispers how happy she is to have had you here for such little time—you know what she means and you chuckle with her at the double-edged sword.

König waits by the door, holding it open with…you blink at the item in his hands as well as his sudden appearance. Canvas fabric. A coat.

The coat.

“I had to have it processed,” he says, smiling as you gape at him. “Very long process. It was found in the closet in the townhouse.”

“Then why are you handing it to me,” you ask, tilting your head and walking closer.

“I gave it to you, did I not?” The man hums, head tilting as he motions with it again. “It’s a good coat, Katze. Winters get cold.” Gray eyes crinkle gently. “I would hate for you to shiver, wherever it is that you end up, yes?”

You shake your head, cheeks hot. But your hands don’t hesitate to grasp the item, König’s hold on it remains fast, though, and you blink at him as you both keep it gently clasped like it’s worth its weight in gold.

König stares at you, the door still kept open behind him. He opens and closes his mouth for a moment as you tilt your head.

“Keep it safe for me,” is what he ends with, but his expression tells you he’s not talking about the coat.

It makes your arms tingle—your heart skips a beat.

“I’ll be sure it never gets lost,” you smile warmly, eyes malleable as the make of their color glints. There is a connection to this man that transcends words, and it is tied to you just as heavily as it is to him; unexplainable, incomprehensible, non-describable.

Enigmatic.

König’s reverential face is soft with care.

“Good,” he mutters, unable to look away. “Very good.”

Clearing his throat, his grays dart to the floor, shifting his feet to move backward. He pushes open the door wider for you, and you hold your backpack in one hand as you shift past him and slip into his coat.

It was exactly how you remembered it, and you sank into the fabric with a thankful sigh and a fluttering of your lashes. You shift the bag back over your shoulders, letting the straps fall into the bulk of the extra material.

The snow wasn’t falling today, and the ground was shoveled of any white powder too. On the air, you can hear the whir of the C-17.

König comes up beside you, a hand hovering over the small of your back as he guides you along. For the most part, the walk to the tarmac is silent with the weight of the future. You had no phone. No socials. You didn’t even know if you wanted any, to be honest. Your mind had convinced you that a good bout of soul-searching was exactly what you needed. And you had to do that alone.

Your lips are thin as your legs take you closer to the plane, König’s scent stuck into the stitches of the coat and covered your senses.

At the ramp, he stops as your feet take you onto the metal. Closing your eyes for a moment, you turn and lock gazes with him—gray hiding away what other, more human, emotions to be found. It was a slate of carefully crafted acceptance, and your own followed soon after.

It had to be this. The string wouldn’t break, no, but it had to be stretched to such a point to come back stronger.

“Thank—”

“Don’t,” he says, not blinking, looking up at you.

You smile. “What do you want me to say, then?”

“You don’t have to say anything to me.” You hadn't known it then, but the both of you had truly thought that this would be the last of your meetings. It produced a pulse in both of your hearts that would never be told aloud. “....Live well,” König utters. “Heal, Mein Schatz.”

The soldier wasn't one to give his chances to hope.

Your eyes follow as he backs up, moving away as you stare. In his head, König pleads with you to stop and give him a reprieve from the hypnosis of your gaze, the addictive movement of your head as it tilts to the side.

Live well.

You send him a smile, a delicate thing, and then you back up a step and turn, disappearing into the darkness.

The string follows, and it continues to do so even as your hands slip into your pockets hours later, bumping into the small form of a black flip phone. The note hidden inside of it.

‘For whenever you find what you’re looking for.’

'REQUEST FOR ADMINISTRATIVE DISCHARGE

REQUESTED BY: [REDACTED]

ENTERED: DECEMBER 15, 2021

TIME: 1422

OPEN FILE?...

REQUEST CANCELED….

RETURNING TO FILE SELECT MENU…

FILE SELECTED….

TRANSLATING…

STAND BY…

REQUEST OF HONORABLE ADMINISTRATIVE DISCHARGE OF [REDACTED] APPROVED ON JANUARY 2, 2022

OPEN FILE?...

REQUEST CANCELED…

SYSTEM SHUTTING DOWN'

You sit in a coffee shop in Berlin, Germany, by the window. It wasn’t just any coffee shop, but you try not to think about all of that. It was all in the past—three years, now. You like to think you’d learned something in that time.

“Danke schön,” you say to the woman who brings you your drink, nodding kindly. You take a small sip, humming and winking at her teasingly. “Perfekt.”

She chuckles, wiping her hands on her apron. “Möchten Sie noch etwas anderes dazu?”

“Nein, nein,” you shake your head, waving a hand that soft bumps the flip phone on the table. “Danke.”

The lady walks away, and you take another sip of the hot beverage, never put off by the heat.

It was winter again, and your eyes followed the flakes as they fell from a cloudy sky, finding the beauty in it easily as you sat inside. The scarf around your neck is loose—your gifted coat open. You smile to yourself and hum, watching people walk past outside, thinking about their lives and how they live them.

A large form travels out from a shop across the street, a plastic bag in his loose grip. He was not small, no, this man was a beast of height and strength alike. The loping, canid-like, walk was accented by the twitch of his fingers over his quarry.

Your wide eyes stay stuck to him for a long moment as he moves to the crosswalk, people shifting out of his way as he ignores them. Familiarity strikes like lighting—a buzz down your spine that leaves you straightening.

After a long moment, a breathless laugh sneaks out of you.

There were just some things that people were never meant to understand.

Your hand places your cup back on the table, picking up the old flip phone and pushing it open. Your thumb runs the keypad, moving to the only contact that had ever been entered into the device.

Pressing, you move it to your ear as you watch with a soft expression, heart pattering.

Across the way, the man tenses, hand patting his leg before the other hand moves inside his pocket and shifts the item out. People walk away, moving to the other side of the crosswalk as he stares at the contact.

A minute passes, and all the while you hold your breath.

He presses and moves the phone to his ear, staying as still as stone. As still as a man afraid his hood might scare a group of terrified women.

His voice graces your ear.

“...Katze?” You beam, trapped in the warmth of the coat around your shoulders.

“How do you feel about coffee, König?”

Blue-gray eyes had never been more beautiful than when they snapped up to meet yours.

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hiraganasakura · 4 months

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[ID: A map of Vericitias, a fantasy land. The land is split into three continents: One in the northwest with an archipelago connected to it, one in the northeast, and one in the south.

The northwest continent's mainland is colored in brown, and is a long strip of land with a delta at the southernmost tip. At the top is a label reading "The Deadlands". From top to bottom, the three towns are Dimhearth, Bogreed, and Deltaspring. A harbor is marked with an anchor symbol at the bottom of the delta. There is a small mountain range at the northernmost tip, from which two rivers flow and eventually join when they reach the delta. A yellow star marks crossroads between Deltaspring, the other towns of the Deadlands, and the road to the archipelago.

East of the Deadlands is an archipelago, labeled at the top as "The Wavelands" and colored in sandy brown and light green. From top to bottom, the three towns are Anchorfall (note: It should say "Anchorfell" instead), Tropicharbor, and Saltshore. The bottommost island is small and has an anchor symbol denoting a harbor. There are also two more harbors, one beside each of the other cities. A dark blue star marks the path between Saltshore and the nearest harbor.

The northeastern continent is split into three regions, each labeled accordingly with a label above them. From top to bottom, they are the Peaklands (colored in white and full of mountains), the Mistlands (colored in gray and covered in fog, continuing the mountain range in the northern areas), and the Autumnlands (colored in orange and full of trees, concluding the mountain range in the north). From top to bottom, left to right, the towns are Winterchapel, Ridgegate, Snowcap Abbey (all in the Peaklands); Fogshade, Cloudport, Cogsmount (all in the Mistlands); Hollowvale, Fenrise, and Spirereach (all in the Autumnlands). One river cuts through the Peaklands; three that become two, and then one, through the Mistlands; and two that become one through the Autumnlands, one of which flows through a lake beside Hollowvale. There is a port at the bottom tip of the Mistlands, a port beside Fenrise, and a port beside Spirereach. A light blue star marks the path from Snowcap Abbey into the Peaklands; a black star sits atop Cloudport's icon; and a purple star is on top of the western river in the Autumnlands.

Finally, there is the southern continent. From left to right, the three regions are the Badlands (colored in sandy yellow, full of dunes and cacti and almost completely surrounded by cliffs), the Brushlands (colored in light green, occasionally dotted with trees and hills), and the Blossomlands (colored in dark green, full of trees). From left to right, the towns are Oasishaven, Clifthall, Canyonsong (all in the Badlands); Riverglen, Shrubsteppe, Breezegrave (all in the Brushlands), Bloomcrown, Petalcreek, and Lushhart (all in the Blossomlands). There is an oasis in front of Oasishaven. Two rivers become one cutting through the Brushlands, while three rivers join to become two through the Blossomlands. There is a port at the uppermost tip of the Brushlands, a port beside Bloomcrown, and a port beside Lushhart. A red star sits on Canyonsong's icon, an orange star marks the path leading into Shrubsteppe, and a green star is on top of Bloomcrown's icon.

Roads on land are denoted with dotted black lines. On the sea, dotted dark blue lines make paths between Deltaspring's harbor, the harbor closest to Saltshore, the harbor closest to Shrubsteppe, Bloomcrown, and the harbor closest to Cloudport. Medium blue lines make paths between Tropicharbor and the harbor closest to Saltshore, Bloomcrown, and Cloudport; as well as Fenrise with Bloomcrown and Cloudport. Finally, light blue lines make paths between Anchorfell and the port closest to Deltaspring, the port closest to Saltshore, and Tropicharbor; as well as Lushhart with Bloomcrown, Fenrise, and Spirereach. The sea is dotted with several ships and hazards. There is a compass rose in the bottom right corner. End ID.]

I don't make IDs often and I just made an absolutely massive one, pls lmk if I need to change it or the alt text in any way to be more accessible!

Anyhow, you're probably wondering what the heck this is! Vericitias is the location for my hypothetical Octopath Traveler III. I realized how important the worldbuilding was to the story, so I decided to make this post to both show off the map (which I made in Inkarnate) and explain a lot of the worldbuilding in a way where all of the important information wouldn't be so scattered and split up.

Due to length, the rest of this post will be beneath the cut. Also switching up my writing style to be my more formal and professional one after the cut lol

Before I get into the different regions and towns, I actually want to explain the star marks first. They show where you'd meet the travelers to add them to your party if they weren't chosen as your protagonist. Yellow is the apothecary, dark blue the thief, light blue the cleric, black the scholar, purple the merchant, green the warrior, orange the hunter, and finally, red is the dancer.

And with that concluded, time to actually talk about the land's locations!

THE DEADLANDS

Once known as the Marshlands, a horrible sickness known as the Blight struck the region during the Eight Years’ War. The Blight stole life from the once vibrant swamp, destroying crops and killing citizens, until it became the desolate and decaying wasteland most know it as now. Nobody knows for certain where the Blight came from; it could have just been any other sickness, or an enchantment by some sinister scholar, or something else entirely. But one thing is for certain: The Deadlands earned their name thanks to it.

Deltaspring

A small farming town at the mouth of a delta. Ever since the Blight hit the region, agriculture has greatly slowed; while before, Deltaspring produced enough crops to feed the whole region, it can now feed itself with a slight surplus. That being said, this is one of the few areas of the Deadlands where farming is at least possible. The region has had to mostly sustain off trade from other regions, but it’s primarily Deltaspring that prevents the region from being entirely reliant on others. Here, an apothecary named Tao makes her home, desperately trying to stop the Blight from affecting the people of her town.

Bogreed

A village on stilts, nestled into the swamp. Bogreed was hit rather hard by the Blight, with most of the agriculture industry being wiped out, even worse than in Deltaspring. The desperation of the townspeople has led to an underground crime ring taking root here, gaining and spending money through illicit means — including a gladiator ring — to stay alive.

Dimhearth

Dimhearth was once considered one of the major political powers of the world, and a historically important aggressor in the Eight Years’ War (on the side of Blizzardchapel, Spirereach, and Bloomcrown), but now, none of that power remains. Once an additional headquarters for the Church of the Sacred Flame, Dimhearth has since been abandoned after the Blight, leaving the people with tattered faith. In the time since, a gang of pirates known as the Crimson Cutthroats have made their base here, demanding the people pay tribute to them — or else.

THE WAVELANDS

An archipelago in the Shattered Sea, the Wavelands are considered the mercantile center of Vericitias. From the smallest of businesses to the grandest of corporations, all can be found here. However, the area is also a brooding ground for pirates. In particular, two factions of pirates combat one another for dominance in the seas beside the Wavelands: the bloodthirsty thugs called the Crimson Cutthroats, and the noble yet misunderstood Hawk Raiders. The Crimsons target ships near indiscriminately, as long as they look like they have something worth plundering; meanwhile, the Hawks only target ships connected to merchant companies with evidence of immoral activity — nonetheless, travelers are wary of both.

Saltshore

A humble fishing village on the edge of the Wavelands, Saltshore has a tight-knit community of close neighbors. Due to its location, it often finds itself the refuge of shipwrecks and stowaways — including a certain noble pirate named Crowley, who winds up marooned here after a harsh storm.

Tropicharbor

Tropicharbor thrives off trade and tourism, which it gets in spades thanks to its strategic position near the center of the land of Vericitias. It’s also noted for having a sizable beastling population, further spreading the town’s influence thanks to its multicultural reach.

Anchorfell

Anchorfell is perhaps the most successful trading hub in the whole land. At its beating heart is the Oracle Corporation, a massive trading company that’s all but monopolized shipping across Vericitias — though rumors persist of its past, and possibly present, corruption. Anchorfell remained a neutral party during the Eight Years’ War, keeping its role as a supplier for both sides.

THE PEAKLANDS

The home of this land’s Church of the Sacred Flame, the Peaklands is a harsh, frigid, and rugged land. The snowcapped mountains completely surround the region, save for a more open area close to the border with the Mistlands. In this unforgiving environment, many have found solace and support in the church — however, twenty years ago, the church began showing signs of corruption, leaving many disillusioned and lost.

Snowcap Abbey

An abbey town not far from the border with the Mistlands. Many people who have grown unsatisfied with the Church of the Sacred Flame gather here to live and worship instead of the church’s capital, Winterchapel; while the monastery follows the same religion as the church, it is of a different, more tolerant sect than that the increasingly corrupt church propels. Among the monks and nuns here is a cleric named Phaedra, among the people most vocal about the church’s mistakes.

Ridgegate

A militaristic town situated perfectly in the valley between Snowcap Abbey and Winterchapel. This is the home base of the Paladins of the Flame, the church’s elite soldiers. Nobody is permitted to pass through the gate to or from Winterchapel — not without the church’s permission.

Winterchapel

The capital of the Church of the Sacred Flame, and a victor of the Eight Years’ War alongside Spirereach and Bloomcrown. It’s a massive city, built into the basin between mountains. At the very peak of the city is a huge cathedral, the largest belonging to the church. Generally, lower-class citizens live near the bottom of the basin, while high-class citizens live near the peaks. Interestingly, you’ll notice that people’s classes are usually positively correlated with their positions in the church (people with little to no power in the church being of the lower class, while people with high power in the church have a higher standing in the city’s society), to the point where people may struggle to afford their needs if they don't have some sort of position of power. That’s totally not a sign of something wrong, right [sarcastic]?

THE MISTLANDS

The Mistlands get their name from the near-constant rain and fog in the area. It’s a somewhat mountainous region, but not nearly as much as the Peaklands (or any mountainous Octopath region, like the Highlands or Crestlands, for that matter). The region is an industrial center, filled with dense cities and productive factories. Unfortunately, it also finds itself the den of unsavory folk, including an infamous black market and a criminal organization that lives in the shadows.

Cloudport

A bustling city near the coastline, Cloudport is a big trading hub, a place where goods are both made and sold. On the other hand, Cloudport has a rather high crime rate, with everything from burglary to murder being a regular occurrence. It’s a good thing that the scholarly detective, Trixie, is on the case, aiming to help stop this injustice — on the path to solving a mystery she’s been trying to crack for years.

Fogshade

While another big city, Fogshade has a quiet, sinister air to it that even the dangerous city Cloudport lacks. After all, it’s where you’ll find the notorious Black Market, where all sorts of unsavory goods are on sale for hefty prices. Forbidden magic, the services of assassins, weapons and poisons fit to kill — nothing is considered too dangerous or illegal to sell on the market.

Cogsmount

The center of industry in all of Vericitias, countless inventors and merchants make their homes here. From the outside looking in, it seems like a technological paradise, with steam power fueling many aspects of life — and the list continuing to grow — making it a convenient place to live. But the citizens know differently. In the shadows, something rotten lurks, though few can say quite what — and the few who can are often wise enough to keep their mouths shut, else the Desire of Fortune force their silence. The organization has gripped power since very shortly before the Eight Years’ War, but strangely enough, not even Cogsmount’s loss made Desire lose power. In fact, some wonder if Cogsmount’s loss was *purposeful*, if they intentionally sabotaged Riverglen and Oasishaven.

THE AUTUMNLANDS

The Autumnlands is a temperate forest region, with an exceptionally long autumn making up most of the year, alongside short winters and even shorter summers, hence the name of the region. The region is known for being a relaxing countryside with small towns, and is recommended to anyone who tires of the bustling cities of areas like the Mistlands or the Blossomlands. In addition to the Deadlands prior to the Blight, the Autumnlands have consistently been an area of major agricultural output, though with different exports due to the different climate. Ever since the Blight struck the Deadlands, however, agricultural practices have increased drastically throughout the Autumnlands, more and more people relying on these goods now that the Deadlands can hardly produce much of anything.

Hollowvale

A small, quiet town in a hollow at the base of the mountain range leading into the Mistlands and the Peaklands. A waterfall that falls from a mountain spring trickles down into a pond, and then a river, which continues through the Autumnlands all the way to the sea. The town has settled around this pond, using irrigation techniques from it to water their crops and slake the thirst of their people. It’s a calm, quiet place, and a favored vacation spot for people from the nearby Mistlands as a result. The lord in charge of the town is rather strict on collecting tax and debt from the local farmers and workers, however, and it is rumored that he has ties with some shadowy organization in the Mistlands. This doesn’t sit well at all with a seasoned, charismatic merchant named Hanzo, who runs a small antique shop on the outskirts of town — and doesn’t exactly hold that organization, or the lord of Hollowvale, in high regard.

Fenrise

An agricultural town much like its neighbors in the region, this one is unique due to the predictable floods that occur in the area, with it so close to the river and the coast. The town itself is high on a hill to avoid the floods, and the docks on the river and the coast were built to float and take advantage of the tides. Additionally, the flooding creates fertile soil, and the predictable pattern allows for easy farming. Humans and beastlings both live and work here, and have a tight-knit community with one another.

Spirereach

Named for the massive towers that stretch up into the sky, Spirereach is a seat of nobility. The noble bloodline is directly related to the royal bloodline of Bloomcrown, with the current prince being a cousin of Bloomcrown’s current king. A lot of the agricultural production in Spirereach is offered to the noble family as a sort of tax. Interestingly, despite the nobility’s close blood and political relationship with Bloomcrown, they aren’t nearly as beloved by their citizens as their cousins in the Blossomlands, causing tensions to rise between the two branches of the family.

THE BLOSSOMLANDS

A lush, dense rainforest on the southern continent, filled to the brim with life. It’s also a heavily developed region, with some of the biggest cities in the land, aside from the Mistlands. While, for the most part, cities in other regions tend to govern themselves with little political involvement from other city-states, the Blossomlands are slightly different. While the towns are technically considered independent of one another, the largest city, Bloomcrown, has some level of government over the other two cities of the Blossomlands, more as overseers than actual law enforcers or political figureheads.

Bloomcrown

Nicknamed “the crown jewel of the Blossomlands”, Bloomcrown is arguably one of the most powerful city-states in the entire land of Vericitias, if not the most powerful. It was among the victors of the Eight Years’ War alongside Blizzardchapel and Spirereach. It is ruled by a monarchy, and the current king is, comparatively, the most laidback in a long line of strict and stern monarchs, even more so after the war. Though, his daughter is even more progressive, even to the point of drawing ire from her other family members; on the other hand, the citizens of the city absolutely adore her, and her staunch stance on equality between humans and beastlings has led to a larger beastling population in Bloomcrown than ever before. Ever at the princess’s side is the warrior Akiva, a member of the Royal Guard more loyal to the princess than the crown in general — and fiercely loyal, at that.

Petalcreek

A small, idyllic town settled on the large river that cuts through the Blossomlands. It was once a bustling city like its neighbors, Bloomcrown and Lushhart, but was completely razed in the Eight Years’ War by the combined forces of Riverglen and Oasishaven. Even now, eight years later, it’s still in the process of being rebuilt by its survivors. As a result of their past, they can be somewhat judgmental to outsiders, but on the other hand, they have a very tight-knit community.

Lushhart

A primarily beastling settlement, Lushhart is mostly a mining town. The earth beneath the Blossomlands is rich with countless valuable minerals, and Lushhart takes advantage of that for their work and their trade. Of great interest is a cave that was found in one of the mines, filled with colorful, glowing mushrooms. Fungi of the sort have never been seen before, and Lushhart is currently in correspondence with scholars from Clifthall trying to figure out what the mushrooms are.

THE BRUSHLANDS

The Brushlands are a savannah region between the rainforest of the Blossomlands and the desert of the Badlands, on the southern continent. This region and the Badlands both have the largest overall beastling population of all the regions. The towns in this region are generally highly independent, not really engaging with other towns outside, or even within, the region beyond what is necessary. Like the Autumnlands, it is also a rather rural area heavily focused on hunting and farming.

Shrubsteppe

This settlement is almost exclusively populated by beastlings, and is rather isolated from the rest of the world. It rests in a basin between hills with an entrance hidden behind a waterfall; the town is built on winding wooden pathways on the side of the hills, with homes that look similar to hobbit holes built into the earth. This isolation ended up being a good thing for them during the Eight Years’ War, when they were hardly bothered by their warring neighbors, so they continued that lifestyle. In Shrubsteppe, by far the most respected job you can take is that of a hunter, a job that takes years of training and a trial to be considered proficient in. In the Hunter’s Trial, you must first kill a beast to prove your potential, and then explore the world for as long as you’d like to learn what it means to you to be a hunter. Ready and eager to take this trial is Oriel, who has a secondary goal while on his quest: To find his missing sister, who embarked on her own trial three years prior and has yet to return. Alongside him is Hoku, a firebird and the child of the current wardenbeast, who was assigned to go on the quest with him; Oriel's more relaxed nature is a welcome contrast to Hoku's brash and bold personality.

Riverglen

A town between two rivers that eventually join to reach the sea. Riverglen is a city with a mixed human and beastling population, and is unique because they don’t follow quite the same pantheon of gods as the other areas in Vericitias. They believe in a unique religion, forgotten by most and practiced by fewer, in which they worship only four gods who have dominion over different aspects of the world. (As an aside, it is by fighting these four gods that you can unlock the secret jobs, which I’ve yet to figure out at this time.) Unfortunately, the corrupted Church of the Sacred Flame does not take kindly to the worship of “false gods”, which leads to tension between the church and the people of Riverglen, in addition to pre-existing tensions from even before the Eight Years’ War — which Riverglen lost alongside Oasishaven and Cogsmount.

Breezegrave

The newest city-state in all of Vericitias, Breezegrave was created after the Eight Years’ War to honor the fallen, rulers and soldiers and civilians alike. Essentially, the town is a massive memorial; very few people actually live here, only those whose job it is to oversee and expand the place. It is seen as a highly sacred place that you should only visit if you intend to mourn or honor the dead of the war.

THE BADLANDS

The Badlands is a desert region, and alongside the Brushlands, has the largest beastling population of all eight regions in Vericitias. In general, the people of the Badlands highly value art and academia, and firmly believe in a sense of community between people in the blistering, rocky environment.

Canyonsong

Canyonsong is a small town in the Badlands, just west of the Brushlands. This town, like many others nearby, has a mixed population of humans and beastlings. It is primarily notable due to its major cultural and religious influence. Most mythology of Vericitias shys away from even mentioning the Fallen God, Galdera, fearing the name itself is somehow cursed to say, that the story is somehow destined to repeat if retold. Canyonsong, however, is one of the few city-states that openly acknowledges the Fallen's existence. They have murals and stories dedicated to Galdera's fall from grace and eventual defeat at the hands of two different groups of travelers from distant lands and ages past, and an annual festival celebrating his fall. This festival, called the Festival of Spirits, also serves as a way to honor and commemorate the dead. At the center of this festival is the Book of Spirits, a book which contains immense magic power, should it be used, though it is considered a remnant of the past now. A dancer and musician named Octavian has been assigned to handle the Book, along with his two siblings, this year.

Clifthall

Clifthall is home to the most prestigious magic academy in all the land, Clifthall Academy. It was created over a century ago; for a long time, magic academies worldwide only allowed human students to enroll, falsely believing beastling students to be “incapable”. But a group of beastlings from Oasishaven established Clifhall Academy themselves. The work from their students and professors drew eyes from across all three continents. Eventually, beastlings from all over the world came to the school; even humans took interest in the academy thanks to its great standing, and came to study there. Over the decades, Clifthall Academy slowly grew to be respected and well-regarded, leading to less discrimination in magic academies overall, and Clifthall Academy becoming the greatest magic academy known in Vericitias and possibly beyond. The entire city is built around this academy, having lodgings for students and professors, and an absolutely massive library.

Oasishaven

Of all of the settlements with a primarily beastling population, Oasishaven is the largest and most respected. Even though they were on the losing side of the Eight Years' War, alongside Riverglen and Cogsmount, and have had to deal with the aftermath of that, they still manage to hold themselves up high. They have a matriarchal monarchy, and the previous queen, after the loss of the war, retired early to pass on the throne to her rather young daughter at the time. Compared to her mother, the new queen is much less strict, instead ruling with a more gentle, more patient hand. However, some fear that she is almost *too* kind, liable to be taken advantage of; still others believe that such a fear is an outdated remnant of the war.

THE EIGHT YEARS’ WAR

For the final section of this, I wanted to talk about this Eight Years’ War that I keep mentioning throughout my description of the world; as you can see, it’s kind of important to the worldbuilding of Vericitias. I originally wanted to limit what I said about it and only sprinkle in information through other characters’ stories, but I realized that it would get confusing fast if all of the important information was spread so far apart. So I’m going to give a brief description of the war here, but know that this is far from everything and other information will come in time.

To begin, the seeds for the war were actually planted about twenty years prior to the story, when the Church of the Sacred Flame began showing signs of its corruption. Back then, its secondary capital in Dimhearth was still at full power, as the Blight hadn’t hit the Deadlands yet. So, you can thank Blizzardchapel and Dimhearth for being the primary instigators of the Eight Years’ War, as they tried to strongarm their way into more power.

Additionally, there were a lot of other factors leading to the allegiances falling the way they did:

Centuries ago, it was the Church of the Sacred Flame that installed the monarchy in Bloomcrown, and by extension, later, Spirereach. As a result, the Church and the monarchy has always had a good relationship.

Oasishaven and Bloomcrown had a bit of a historical rivalry, due to Bloomcrown’s old discrimination against beastlings, and a past war many decades ago (they haven’t let go of the resulting grudges since).

The Church had great distaste for the alternative gods that Riverglen worshipped, leading to high tensions between the two groups.

Oasishaven and Riverglen are long-standing allies. Oasishaven, much more powerful and influential, would often help Riverglen stand up to the Church; Riverglen, on the other hand, would help Oasishaven by providing varieties of food and supplies that the desert city wouldn't have been able to obtain otherwise.

Desire of Fortune had secured their power over Cogsmount and wanted to spread their influence even further; they viewed the growing Church as a dangerous threat to that power. (Why is it suspected that they sabotaged their allies, then, you may ask? All I can say is that Desire will do anything for power and is willing to change their plans to get it; anything else is too spoilery to say.)

Cogsmount had usually been pretty distant from Oasishaven and Riverglen, but saw a potential for valuable allies with the two of them, and was the one who suggested the alliance.

Tensions rose and rose, until the queen of Bloomcrown was assassinated. While the perpetrator was never caught, it was widely believed that they were connected to Cogsmount’s rulers. The king, in his grief and rage — and desire to protect his rather young daughter, and only heir — sent forces to attack Cogsmount as a result. Immediately, all hell broke loose. War was inevitably declared, sixteen years prior to the story. On one side was Blizzardchapel, Dimhearth, Bloomcrown, and Spirereach; on the other was Oasishaven, Riverglen, and Cogsmount.

As the name of the war implies, it lasted for eight whole years. In that time, the mysterious Blight devastated Dimhearth and the rest of the Deadlands, evening the ground between the two sides. However, eventually, Blizzardchapel, Bloomcrown, and Spirereach simply outlasted the other side, emerging as the victors. As a result, the worldwide power of Cogsmount, Riverglen, and Oasishaven has been stifled. The war finally ended eight years prior to the story.

And the last thing I have to say that I'm not sure where to put is that beastlings are going to be entirely overhauled to be significantly less offensive in their execution (at least, that's the hope, but please tell me if I need to do something more to improve it)! Here's a short list of the things that change off the top of my head, though I may be missing some things as most of this story has simply been stored in my brain:

Remember how weird it was that most beastlings could only ever speak two works at a time except for Ochette? Yeah, well, not the case anymore. Human and Beastling are now considered two separate languages containing both speaking and writing. Like how many humans may not be able to speak or read Beastling, some beastlings you may meet may not be able to speak Human, and some Beastling scripts you find may not already be translated into Human; in these situations, you will need either Oriel (a beastling) or Octavian (a human who grew up among beastlings), both fluent in Beastling, in your party to understand what's being said. (I'm considering adding Trixie to that list as well, because she is a scholar and also spent a lot of time around beastlings, but I'm not entirely sure yet!)

There's more than literally two settlements mostly populated with beastlings! These settlements are also a bit more varied in culture and government. Even among towns that have a primarily human population, you'll likely find a couple of beastlings, as well.

Speaking of variety, I try to treat the beastlings like they're varied and individual people, and that's probably the thing I try to emphasize the most about the overhauled beastlings. I feel like Octopath 2 used the same sort of template for most of their beastling characters, even the NPCs (unquestioningly hospitable, food loving, clueless about the world, sometimes wanting to emulate humans, etc) and I wanted to try straying away from that. There should hopefully be more important, named, and varied beastling characters as a result.

Humans are actually aware of the beastlings' existence instead of being grossly uneducated like the humans in Octopath 2.

The whole thing where beastlings are incapable of experiencing greed thanks to how D'arquest made them is retconned into just a creation myth that's not necessarily true. Makes them more three-dimensional that way, I think.

And that's it for now! I'm not sure when I'll get around to posting more of this, as I'm juggling lots of projects currently, but I thought this would be the best place to start. I hope you enjoyed and feedback is appreciated!

#original post #i'm so happy i got to squeeze in name drops for the travelers hehehe #i've grown quite attached to this world and these characters so i'm excited to stsrt showing them off!#*start #fate's crossroads #octopath traveler #octopath 2 spoilers #(cus i talk about the beastlings lol)#octopath traveler oc

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