Invariable Support for a Young Emperor [Zub/Jaja]

The yellow hues of morning overtook the dreary blues, lending light to the purple-haired girl who was travelling along a dusty path nestled within the Jade Mountains. Her footsteps were light upon the uneven ground, weaving in and out of the rock-strewn slope, yet her brows were heavy upon her forehead, furrowed deep in thought. There was a distant look in her eyes, as though she were not observing the mountain which surrounded her, but one would be fooled by her uncanny ability to swerve around the dangers which littered this pass.

    Zubaidah had not intended to take such a path, but report of the rival armies’ clashing on her planned route forced her to tread elsewhere. She was not fond of either side, nor their reasonings for taking up arms, and wished to remain separate from their petty squabble - she had witnessed the results that had arisen from their inability to see past their own desires. It had disrupted and reaped the lives of so many who had wished to just live as they had before, without fear.

    The grey of rain-clouds overtook the golden hue decorating the sky, moving Zubaidah’s thoughts towards seeking shelter, such a dreary occurrence dissuading her from dwelling on even drearier matters. Hurrying onwards, she found refuge in an abandoned farmhouse, left by the owners when war had arrived at its doorstep. With no other way to pass the time, Zubaidah set about to her usual routine of strenuous exercise and practice in flexibility, stretching her muscles past her limit in an attempt to reach past the levels of that despicable, handsome, Jynx. She had observed his agile and smooth movements, using his style as a base for her to act upon, tracing his ability and overlaying her one unique form into it as she practised.

    As she trained in this flowing art, Zubaidah heard the sound of footsteps approaching the battered door into the now-occupied farmhouse. Upon the expected follow-up of a polite knocking at the door, she reached to open it, revealing an unknown man wrapped in a dark cloak, just as Zubaidah had covered herself in a heather mantle, to ward off the rain. Tilting her head, quizzically, she asked,

    ‘Good morning, Sir, how can I help you?’


   

Upon hearing his introduction, Zubaidah troubled herself with keeping a bemused look hidden, instead replacing her exasperation at his flattery and pomp with a smile. It faltered upon hearing his name, of ‘Nikator’, but any questions that may have arisen from that were put aside with his untimely want for rest which she answered with a deft catch of his body, before laying him down in a stack of hay.
While she certainly had her doubts in him, she was in no position to warrant tossing him back into the rain, she had borrowed this farmhouse for her own needs, but was not of the mind to tend to this man in any way either. And so she started to practice again.

    As her feet danced among the leaves and wind, tapping out a complex rhythm, Zubaidah noticed a sign of awakening from that strange visitor of hers. Slowing to a halt, she finished her routine and strode across to his side, ‘So, Sir, how do you feel after your refreshing sleep? I trust you are well.’



   

The confidant response of the awakening emperor caused a smile filled with nostalgia to appear upon her face, memories of the arrogant patron of hers she had so devoted herself to arising to the surface. In spite of this, she saw through that cheap gaudiness and found a man with a genuinely powerful stature, deciding he would be of use to her in the future - the close future.

    That was not to say that she would treat him as if his claim of being the World King was true, it just meant she would not dispose of abandon him until she had found use of him and used him well; in such a way, she returned to training without a word. There would certainly be a time, and had she known how that man would help her, she perhaps would have treated him with a greater respect than at this present.