Butterfly Reign | Dream SMP & Remarried Empress fusion

Ch27. But it's completely fine

Ranboo spends his mornings taking lessons from Quackity, his days transcribing shabby old scrolls and fetching ink bottles in the archives, lanterns burning so bright that it feels like there's a second sun nestled in the ceiling, the buzz of lowered voices and scribbling of quills on paper merging into colorless background noise. Sometimes Tubbo would sneak in, carrying a basket of baked goods. This was Ranboo's favorite part of the day, chatting with his mouth stuffed full of still warm tarts, staining his fingers sticky with crumbs and sugar. As workers begin to leave, candles flickering out of life one by one, the buoyant atmosphere withers into something more quiet and sinister. Still, Ranboo stays, until the last of scribes file out with some scroll tucked under their armpit and he becomes a sole living soul amidst the dead city of empty desks and towering shelves. Ranboo sits down in his cramped corner, lights the reading lamp, and continues his search.

That one talk with George had completely flipped Ranboo's perspective on everything. The palace and court no longer seemed so confusing when he imagined them as a massive game of chess. Princes, servants, guards, commoners – all of them were just pieces rowed up on an invisible grid, following their own set of unspoken rules.

Manipulate, or be manipulated. Listen without question to those who have authority over you. Don't make unnecessary enemies, form useful alliances, fight for your position, struggle for resources... and most importantly, survive . Anything can prove to be useful when you're groveling at the bottom of the social hierarchy, receiving slaps and stinging words from everyone who sees themselves as standing above. Ranboo might not have much power as of now... but a pawn, too, can turn into a queen.

He searches for any information that can prove itself to be useful: historical records, old maps, records of travelers and diplomats who visited the newly formed kingdoms a thousand years ago, rewritten five times over as the old paper and leather wearies itself. To build a future, one first sorts through their past. Ranboo has made a full circle through his life and returned back to his roots in Esempi: the land of seas, bright colors, and powerful, mysterious creatures by the name of fae.

The palace archives turn out to be surprisingly scarce when it comes to that part of Esempi's history. No two records agree on what exactly fae – faerie or fairy, depending on which author you chose to believe – could do. Some write of malicious curses and memories stolen along with one's name, of forest spirits who mirror what they see and never stay in one shape for too long.

Southern nobility took pride in their roots, though they rarely showed much resemblance to their ancestors. Like feathered wings were a symbol of pure blood in the Antarctic Empire, so were green eyes among far descendents of fae.

Among other things, Ranboo has dug out a picture; a graphite pencil drawing pressed between pages of a travel diary. A young girl furtively peaks at the artist sketching her face. Two dragonfly wings rest behind her back at each side, translucent film curling into patterns so delicate that it seems like they're about to twitch and peel themselves off the page at any moment.

Princess Hannah. One of the last times she was captured on paper, measly months before King Schlatt had commanded her execution. There is something equally morbid and captivating in knowing that Ranboo looks at a portrait of a person who has died decades ago. It feels as though a part of the princess is still alive: in the sly curve of her lips, in fingers fiddling with a rose in her hair, but most in the color dripped into her eyes – mesmerizing, ethereal jade.

Floor creaks under someone's feet; the groans of old wood akin to a forlorn howl in a dark night. Ranboo freezes in the middle of a yawn, shivers herding along his back. He lifts up the lamp to spill more light around himself, but the flickering flame isn't enough to cut out more than a narrow circle in the oppressive darkness.