Headed by a Snake



Sasarame dismissed herself so Tycondrius could soak for some time, alone in the hot springs. 

He was partly glad for her absence, but also not. 

Minutes afterward, Gobbuto, son of Gobsuke, entered the hot springs chamber. 

Sasha had mentioned that the Nemayan General was present somewhere in the base. 

At the time, Tycon glossed over the fact. Gobbuto was a fine gentleman who acted with just as much honor and loyalty as his father before him. 

However, when that Gobbuto arrived in the bath, he was fully nude with the exception of his full-plate helmet. 

That massive gentleman offered to wash Tycon's back (which was already done!) and the voice he used for his request was loud enough to reach every rest chamber in the Dungeon. 

However 'kind' his intentions might have been, the awkward proclamation, Tycon was certain had sent the night-shift team into tumultuous fits of laughter. 

Tycon refused Gobbuto in a panic. He dressed himself in a hurry and fled the scene. 

He hadn't spent nearly enough time soaking his bones...

However, he took solace in having another five or six chances to do so, throughout the week. 

Tycon returned to Sasha's quarters, previously the master bedroom of Hero Ravidius. 

He made his way to the bed and slipped the lower half of his body under the silk-smooth covers. However, he remained seated upright, tucking the down pillow behind his lower back. 

In pursuit of efficiency in regard to time, he planned to spend most of the night reading the stack of battle reports he left on the bedside table. 

Sasha sat cross-legged, but floating lightly on her side of the large, luxurious bed. 

Tycon briefly wondered if it was socially appropriate for him to share a room with his daughter, considering her age and status... 

--but ultimately, he decided it was a non-issue. 

There was nothing wrong with a father sharing his daughter's company. 

Sasha was practicing an Elven meditation technique, circulating and refining her mana. 

In theory, as she did so, she could forego sleep. 

...Though from what Tycon knew, the practice had mostly fallen out of favor. 

Sleep was one of life's greatest pleasures. 

If given the option, Tycon would resign himself to sleeping and eating. On occasion, he'd solve a puzzle box. Once or twice a year, he'd attend a social engagement. 

For him, that was more than enough excitement to live a fulfilling life. 

Tycon took a deep breath, relaxing in the near-silence. 

The lavender oil in his daughter's silk-white hair was something she chose herself. He usually loathed such strong-smelling perfumes, but of course, Sasha's sense of smell and taste was just as sensitive as his. 

The soft scent challenged his ability to keep awake... but he willed himself to press on. He had many reports to scrutinize and, with morning training fast approaching, painfully little time to do so. 

He also noticed an amusing anomaly. 

His daughter... had fallen asleep, despite her magical floatation. Her head was bowed and her breathing was even, but unrefined. 

Tycon reached for a stack of reports, suddenly motivated. 

The more work he could accomplish, the easier his daughter could rest during the rest of the week. 

...

"Hm... how odd."

More than halfway into the stack, a particular report attracted Tycon's attention. 

The movements detailed within were highly unorthodox-- and the leaders involved were not well-known for... creativity. 

But the results... 

When Tycon reviewed the casualty report, he found the numbers were acceptable. 

No... more than that, he found them impressive. 

"It seems our forces have another Tactician," he remarked. "I'll need to find this person..."

"They teach strategy in school, Father," Sasha whispered. "It's not as difficult as some would believe."

Tycon pursed his lips. He was so engrossed in the reports that he forgot to mind his volume. 

"Ask thy questions, Father," Sasha said, her voice tinged with sleep. 

In that moment, Tycon felt that the proper course of action was to urge his daughter back to bed. However-- and it was shameful of him, his desire to sate his curiosity won out. 

"So this engagement... north of Pitchwall?" he said. 

"Far north of Pitchwall," Sasha replied, "The tree line prevented the effective use of the enemy's Drake Armors... a cavalry charge routed the infantry."

Tycon was skeptical, "You mentioned a tree line-- but I can't imagine cavalry being effective without clear, unobstructed ground."

"It was Nemayan cavalry," Sasha explained. "Sir Gobbuto assured me that that particular unit was accustomed to icy conditions."

Tycon closed his eyes, visualizing the battle in his mind. Much of the Sleeping Country was mired in ice and cold tundra. And Pale Riders with their skeletal horses were largely unaffected by the cold.

Also, they were terrifying for a regular force to encounter. 

Tycon skimmed the next bundle of reports... until, finally, he found another filled with contrary conditions. 

"Wyrmwatch," he said... "Peculiar name. Valuable to the lizard forces for its location near a crossroads... and perhaps for its namesake."

"D... dwaaa..."

Sasha let out an indolent yawn before continuing, "DwAAarven... ssssiege weapons. The enemy focused on them, Father... then, the goblin sappers..."

"Ah haha..." Tycon couldn't help but laugh aloud, "Daughter... I was unaware we had Dwarven allies so far east. And experienced goblin sappers? I wouldn't even imagine that."

"Neither did the enemy," Sasha answered curtly. 

As flat as her voice was, Tycon could tell she was pleased with herself. The end of her lips had curled up into her smile and, as she remained suspended midair, the subconscious wiggling of her bottom was slightly exaggerated. 

Tycon put down his stack of papers at the bedside table, tapping the topmost report with his fingernail. 

"Now, this one," he said... "Did you advise our forces near Crystal Lake?"

"I did not, Father," Sasha said with a soft sigh, "but due to a stroke of luck, I was able to coordinate our Plasmoid allies to cut off the enemy's supply line."

"Of course," Tycon said with awe. "The Plasmoids... and that afforded them the opportunity for a flanking attack." 

"Have I... done well, Father?"

"Doing well... is a gross understatement, Hatchling," he remarked. "You've performed most admirably, my dear."

"I'm... glad..." she said. 

Then, after a moment, she hissed, "(This one's heart is full and I am content.)"

Tycon took a deep breath. He was smiling so much that his cheeks began to hurt. 

That was rare. 

He generally had no use for smiles. 

But... he was alone with his daughter. If he could only smile for one person, it would be for her. 

"You've learned so much," he remarked, "my only lament is that I was not the one to teach you."

He felt a warm touch on his fingers. Sasha had reached over, gripping his hand tightly. 

Tycon looked up to see his daughter's shining eyes, staring into his. 

She opened her mouth to speak-- but closed it right away. 

Perhaps she wanted to mention the fact that he was the one who ensured her enrollment in the Holy Country's colleges. 

Or perhaps she wanted to speak of her inspirations or the pressure of being the daughter of a renowned tactician. 

Or... perhaps there was something else, something not so simple to describe with mere words. 

Whatever she was trying to say... he believed he understood. 

There was trust and love in his daughter's gaze. 

Tycon's heart was near-bursting with pride. 

He lifted her small hand, kissing it softly. 

"Well done, (beautiful child)... I'm so very proud of you."

Sasha willfully shook her head. 

"No... Sasarame is cursed," she said. "You are the one... who saved her."

Ah. So that was how the hatchling saw it. 

It was somewhat true. If Tycon had not taken her away from Saltspray Isle on that fateful sun, her development would have remained stagnant, even despite her Class. 

"Master..." she whispered, "Don't leave Sasarame ever again."

Ah. Ahhh... 

Tycon's heart began to ache, twisted painfully akin to a thick, hempen rope. 

"Promise me," Sasha begged. 

Tycon squeezed his pitiful daughter's hand... as he struggled to say the words. 

"I cannot..."

He wished he could-- desperately so. 

Never in his life was he so tempted to forswear his duty-- his promises. 

The selfishness of his daughter was boundless... but, even still, he forgave her instantly. 

"You're going to leave Sasha," she whispered-- "send her far away, to another Realm..."

Hm...

So she knew. 

"How did you learn of this, Daughter?"

"It's... what I do, Father," Sasha replied with a sad smile. "I dream and I know things."

"That..." Tycon frowned, "is in the worst-case scenario... But I will do everything in my power to prevent it."

He shook his head, "I... plan to live this life as if tomorrow was certain."

Sasha grew quiet for a moment. 

"Someone told you this," she said... "someone you love very much."

"Indeed," Tycon nodded, "and I want to save this Realm because I love you too."

"D-don't lie to Sasha," the willful child pouted, "If you love her, you'll stay. So stay."

Tycon chuckled softly and shook his head. 

That was absurd-- even his daughter should have known that. 

He loved her dearly. 

With his accumulation of strength and the development of his bloodline, he was unable to lie. 

Even if he could, he could never lie to her.

But he could not go to where he would send her. 

There was a Dragon to kill. 

And the Realm had but a single Dragonslayer. 

"I think I've read enough for tonight," he said. "Let us sleep. (Let us sweetly dream.) Every moment of rest is going to be precious in the coming suns."

Tycon lifted the blanket, bidding his daughter to join him. 

She did, without hesitation-- her uncommon willingness taking him by surprise. 

He felt his heart swell as she nestled into his arm. 

He placed the blanket down, ensuring they were both covered, safe, and warm. 

And as she cried herself to sleep, Tycon cursed the fates...

He cursed the seven hells... 

He cursed the eleven heavens... 

But, most of all, he cursed his own, pathetic self. 

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