Recon & Planning

March was fast approaching, and the shift was felt in every corner of the city. The air carried a whisper of warmth, the last remnants of winter retreating as the ground slowly awakened.

Most welcomed the change with quiet anticipation, but within the study of the Magic Tower, the atmosphere was thick with something else entirely—concentration, tension, and an unspoken gravity as Delphia and Zypher pored over their timeline. A blend of his memories and her fragmented recollections of The Rose of Avalon, they were piecing together a story that no longer followed its original path.

Continuing her schedule she had, Delphia met Zypher at the Magic Tower on days when the Academy held no lessons, effectively halting her lessons here as Zypher had taken over the helm as her instructor.

It was the weekend when they met up again and Delphia sat across from Zypher in his personal study at the Magic Tower, the glow of the arcane lamp casting warm light across the stacks of documents, books, and scrolls gathered.

Zypher had retrieved his own collection of things as they started to cross-reference timelines and events playing out. His normally pristine appearance had faltered under the weight of their research—stubble shadowed his sharp jawline, and his hair, usually pushed back, bore the slightest disorder. There was a rawness to him now, an edge beneath the scholar's composure—as if obsession had peeled back a layer of his usual elegance.

Delphia exhaled, rubbing her temple as she leaned back into the settee. "I'll admit," she murmured, "my memory of the book isn't… comprehensive. I wasn't exactly reading it with the intent of memorizing every detail." Her gaze lingered on Zypher's profile, noting the way the lamplight softened the sharp angles of his face.

He glanced up from his notes, one brow raising in clear amusement. "That's obvious, considering how often you trail off mid-sentence when recounting events. Let me guess—you skimmed?" His lips curled into a knowing grin as he looked back down at his parchment.

She shot him a half-hearted glare, though her lips twitched with reluctant humor. "I might have." She stressed the words. "But to be fair, the novel wasn't exactly my cup of tea. It was a bit much at times."

"'A bit much,'" Zypher echoed with a laugh, his voice dripping with irony. "And yet, here you are, a supposed 'expert' on its events." He responded as he leaned back from the piece of paper he was writing on and looked at her. His eyes holding a gentleness that made her own heart flutter.

"'Expert' is a strong word," she retorted with a laugh, crossing her arms as she gazed at him. "I remember the big things, the events that stood out. Plot points, major shifts, things like that." She sighed, "But all the little details? The nuances? I should have paid more attention. I realize that now." She felt a pang of defense shoot through her as she, herself, lamented on the fact that she should have read the book with a bit of a closer eye the first time. But, as with everything, she didn't take it that seriously due to the cliché tropes.

"And nothing else?" He pressed, leaning forward slightly as his left knee brushed against her's on the settee, his maroon eyes gleaming with curiosity as he held her gaze. "What made you keep reading, then? Surely something held your attention." Delphia was seated on the far right-side of the settee, while Zypher had pulled a chair up to the corner of the short tea-table next to her.

She hesitated, caught off guard by his directness. Even though they were focused on the task at hand, Delphia's mind couldn't stop drifting back to their impromptu make-out session they had only days ago. She could feel her cheeks heating up when she caught herself looking at Zypher absentmindedly. When he held her gaze like that, she felt that she couldn't lie about it.

"I… well, you did." Feeling a little lost in his maroon gaze, the words tumbled out before she could stop them, and her cheeks immediately heated as she realized how that sounded.

The air between them changed—softer, heavier. The weight of unsaid things settled between the lines of parchment and lamplight.

"I mean, your character. You were the only reason I continued the novel in the first place." She tried to correct quickly, sitting up a bit straighter in her seat as she absentmindedly ran her hands over her skirt to smooth it out. She didn't realize how her correction only pushed her further down the hill instead.

Zypher froze, moving his attention away from the paper and solely onto Delphia. His gaze locked onto hers, a spark of surprise and something softer flickering in his expression before it turned into something unreadable. "Is that so?" He leaned back into his own seat as he regarded her, the papers motionless before him; His voice quieter, more thoughtful.

"I didn't mean—" She waved a hand in a small movement, flustered.

"Look, I just thought your character was interesting. Complex. You weren't just some flat, two-dimensional 'villain' that antagonized because they couldn't capture the Female Lead's heart. There was depth to you that made the story itself very interesting because you were set up to be the background Villain while Delphia was the foreground Villainess. Don't let it go to your head." She rose a hand to pull off the glove she wore, resting it atop her cheek to lesson the heat strongly rolling off from it. Her eyes slightly widened as she tried to regain her composure.

His lips quirked into a faint smirk at seeing how flustered Delphia had become over this, but his tone was gentle when he asked, "Interesting enough to finish the book?"

Delphia's blush deepened and she removed the glove from her other hand, as she used that one too, to cool her cheeks. "I didn't finish it," she muttered, avoiding his gaze. "I dropped the book… after you died." Her own gaze had drifted downwards toward the table itself, looking at Zypher's handwriting on the sheet and admiring the neat, strong letters befitting of his own character.

"It was only two or three chapters after the Midpoint—off page! It was straight bullshit how the author just killed you off through a few sentences without any follow-up." Having lost the pretense of the 'Vosswell' name, she easily slipped back into her speaking habits from Earth.

"I remember how the book described your death," she said quietly, her voice thin with the echo of that same rage she'd felt the first time she read it. "It was only a few lines. Just… tossed in at the end of a chapter like it was a footnote. As if you were expendable."

Zypher paused, surprise flickering through his eyes—clearly recalling the moment himself—but she continued, unable to stop the words from spilling out.

"They called it a 'routine mission beyond the southern ridge.' But it wasn't. It was a trap. A skirmish with cloaked insurgents—so vague it sounded like background noise. Just a sentence, saying: 'He fell before reinforcements could reach him, surrounded by men wearing cloaks marked with a silver-edged crest. His body was never recovered.' That's all."

Her hands curled into fists on her lap.

"But I remembered that detail. The silver edging. The insignia wasn't even described properly—just a throwaway line. But I knew it had to mean something. I kept thinking: if the author went out of their way to mention it, it had to be deliberate." She looked at him, eyes sharp now, voice low. "I was furious. You'd been this—presence, this anchor in the early chapters. And then you were just gone; No fanfare; No closure. Just a smear of ink and a lazy excuse for a death."

She noticed how quiet Zypher had become in the silence that hung between them. The weight of her confession and retelling settled like a stone. She found Zypher watching her with a mixture of surprise and something she couldn't quite place.

"…Because I died?" He asked, with a soft exhale and a laugh, though it lacked humor.

She nodded, swallowing the lump in her throat. "I didn't see the point in continuing. You were my favorite character—the only one worth reading about, and without you… well, the story just felt hollow with pointless drama."

Zypher leaned back in his chair, his expression unreadable. "Your favorite character," he repeated softly, almost to himself. Then, with a wry smile, he added, "So that explains it."

"Explains what?" She asked, tilting her head since she couldn't quite follow what he meant. What she did feel though was heat running down the back of her neck from that smile. What did he figure out this time, she wondered.

"Your behavior at the Faremont Celebration—and now," he said, his tone light but probing. "The way you reacted to me—not with hate, fear, or distrust, but familiarity. It all makes sense now."

Delphia fidgeted under his gaze, her composure slipping. "That event was a little overwhelming," she muttered, "but I didn't think it was that obvious…"

His smirk deepened. "It wasn't—until now." Then, with a gentleness she wasn't prepared for, he added, "But knowing this… it puts things into perspective."

She wasn't sure how to respond, so she simply nodded, returning her focus to the table where the timeline they'd been constructing rested, trying to ignore the warmth his words sent through her.

Zypher was quiet for another breath or two before he spoke again—lower now, more deliberate. "But it wasn't just a vague detail. That silver-edged crest—it wasn't random." His fingers drummed against the edge of the table, slowly, steadily. "I remember it too. I didn't realize it back then—not fully—but it was real. That insignia… it was Gideon's."

Delphia looked up sharply.

He nodded. "Not the Tower's official seal. Something older; A personal variation he sometimes wore stitched into his formal robes. I'd seen it only once or twice before, never on soldiers. But that day? Every one of those cloaked men bore it."

Her breath caught. "So it wasn't just a throw away—it was a direct link."

"Exactly. He covered it by making it look like an unclaimed crest—just a decorative edge. But I should've known. He sent me there deliberately. They didn't fight like trained soldiers, Delphia. They were zealots. I wasn't meant to come back."

He met her gaze again, the weight of that realization settling between them like iron. "They wanted me to vanish. Not die with purpose—just disappear into the margins."

"And the book delivered exactly that," she whispered. He nodded at her, the air heavy with both of their revelations as they slowly refocused on the task at hand.

They worked in relative silence for a while, the only sounds being the scratch of Zypher's pen and the rustle of parchment. Delphia detailed what she could recall of The Rose of Avalon's midpoint—the assassination attempt during the Royal Summit and Tournament on both a Duke and the Crown Prince—and Zypher filled in the gaps with his own recollections.

Then, a realization struck. "He was never one to act alone…" The thought slipped out of him as he sat upright. He had been musing on Delphia's words.

Delphia looked up at him, "Do you have any idea who his partner might be?"

"Not yet," he admitted, "but Gideon's involvement gives us a direction. If I can track his movements before the Summit, it might lead us to whoever else is pulling the strings. We'll need to make an appearance at some upcoming events so that I can do some snooping and confirm a few things." He paused, then looked at her with a flicker of hesitation. "You've already altered so much, Delphie. The story, the events… they're shifting because of you."

She hesitated. "Zypher… what if I'm changing too much? What if—what if it doesn't matter? What if, no matter what I do, the outcome stays the same?" Her chest tightened at his words, both at the nickname he had given her and the lingering fear she couldn't clear from her mind. "And yet, the outcome hasn't changed," she murmured, her voice barely audible. "In the book, you still…" She trailed off, unable to say it aloud.

He looked at her then, all amusement fading. "It won't happen this time," he said firmly. "Not while I have the advantage of knowing what's to come."

"You're sure?" She looked up at him, throat tightening as her eyes searched his face for any hint of doubt.

"I'm sure. I haven't taken the same path I did once I woke up. I didn't need to since I still recalled everything I had learned up until that point." He spoke, his voice steady as his gaze softened. "And you have my word, Delphie. Whatever happens, I'll ensure a different ending—for both of us." His reassurance didn't entirely banish her fears, but it was enough to steady her frayed nerves.

With a small nod, she returned her attention to their timeline, determined to work on the task at hand. Now entirely focusing on the nickname that he had given her, and how it seemed to warm her body like a nice cup of tea. 'Delphie,' so simple but so effective.

For now, they had a plan. And for the second time since she'd woken up in this world, Delphia felt the faint stirrings of hope.