Another Day At Unity (3) (Patreon)

Lyra had been a servant as long as she remembered. There must've been a time when she did something else—she must've had parents, who had a different life in mind for her.

Service wasn't so bad, be it at Victini House or this new place called Unity. Given her age, there was only so much expected of her. If anything, Unity was an improvement: the further from Fae and the rest of Victini House Lyra could go, the better.

There was only one mythical at the place called Unity when Lyra first arrived: Chantelle. But that would change soon, hence the need for so many servants. There would be a school, a school filled with young noble lords and ladies from all over the world.

Here for the first time, Lyra was not terribly unique. A majority of the servants she saw wore necklaces, collars, or bracelets. They might look different, or display different writing—but the purpose was all the same.

The Academy of Unity had half a hundred “Oblates,” with daemons unsettled and humans all stuck in place.

Nor was she kept from spending time with them—if anything, it was encouraged. Their quarters were split only by sex, with common areas accessible to all when they weren't on duty.

For the first few weeks, that was almost never—the whole school was in a frenzy getting ready for students, and every set of hands was needed. Sometimes she helped in the laundry, other times she carried supplies to the painters on the upper floors, or brought fresh tools to the gardeners.

All that running kept her from getting bored, but it also meant plenty of opportunities to learn the layout of her new home.

Unity was not an ancient place, built piecemeal over many human lifetimes as the needs of the family evolved. There were far fewer secret and forgotten places to hide in. But it did have its own network of servants' tunnels, passages and so on. She learned as many of these as she could in the next few weeks—so she could do her duty well, but also escape from it when the need arose.

Then the first group arrived.

She expected them by train, but that was foolish. The mythical pokémon had other ways of getting around, and not enough time to waste on the means of physical conveyance. So one night there were only servants and staff, and the next morning the school was overflowing.

She lined up with the other servants, bowing and smiling at the newcomers as they made their way into the great hall and gathered for an assembly of houses.

She trailed along with the other servants, blending in with the identical crowd. She was nothing and no one—the less she did to make herself worth noticing, the safer she would be.

The Academy of Unity was made of mythicals. Not the handful she sometimes saw together at Victini House during family reunions—this was dozens, of every breed she knew and some she didn't. Some moved with poise and practiced elegance, like Fae. Others had none of that—they wore the fine silk of the school uniform with sloppy bows and wrinkly shirts.

Chantelle greeted all from atop a stage, itself crowded with representatives of every house. Master Aidan was there on one side. If he noticed Lyra, he didn't look at her.

"I think it's safe to say that all of you are surprised to be here," she said. "Among those born to the Great Families, you are likely shocked and confused by the need to attend. Haven't you learned everything that could be required of a lord or lady?"

"Precisely," Fae said, calling out from inside the larger group of students. There were two dozen of them in all—the ones who knew how to dress, and what all the extra forks at the table were used for. "This whole endeavor is pointless." Several other voices shouted their agreement along with him, voices drowning out whatever Chantelle was trying to say.

A much smaller group sat on the opposite side of the common room from the first, with several empty tables between them. All except two girls—a mew and a shaymin, who sat almost at the exact center. But why was that shaymin wearing a servant's dress?

Those sitting behind Chantelle muttered to one another. Finally, one lifted from his seat. The man had no daemon flying with him, though his pink tail and ears were enough to identify who he must be. "I know many of you are frustrated. You are not wrong to feel this way. Lifetimes the Great Families have spent, maintaining the stability and peace of the civilized world. It is disheartening to see that effort has led us here.

"But here is where we must be. Those... young people, across the room from you. They have not been legendaries for long. They did not ask for this life, they aren't usurpers or rebels. They will need your help to make meaning from their lives. Many of you have abilities unique to your family that they cannot learn any other way."

He gestured, and Lyra didn't hear whatever he said next. There was a faint pressure against her ears, a subtle warping in the air, and nothing.

"Why do you reckon they're sitting like that?" Don asked, whispering just beside her. None of the servants had dared say anything through the ceremony so far. But if the mythicals couldn't hear them...

"Dunno. Maybe they're opposite sides of war? Maybe those two in the middle tried to make them stop fighting."

"You ain't paying attention," said someone in the row behind her. Another of the “Oblates,” with a metal bracelet instead of a collar. His name was Silver, and he was awful. "Those ones aren't from the families. Settled on their own, I think. It's real, and it was them. Look how happy they are."

They did not look happy at all, instead various flavors of worried, confused, or outright terrified. She could hardly blame them, she knew that feeling well. Except that they were mythicals too: how much danger could they be in?

"Yeah?" She spun in place, shifting the empty tray in her arms. They would be delivering food and drinks through the opening banquet, as soon as it started. For a little while longer they were just part of the scenery. "That never really happens. You're either born to the Great Families or you aren't."

"That's how it used to be. Not anymore."

"What about those other two?" Don asked—not to anyone in particular. "How do they fit?"

Lyra nodded her agreement. "No way they're regular people who settled. That mew is floatin' off the floor like the grown ups on the stand."

There was only one other young mew in the room, in fact—a boy about Lyra's own age. He kept his little daemon in his arms all the time, as though afraid someone might hurt her. He didn't float like the girl. His hair was brown, not pink. Strange.

Silver shrugged. But one of the other servants spoke, a timid girl with a little eevee daemon.

"I've seen her before—at the spring solstice. One of the regular servants settled as a celebi, and she ran off with him."

"Don't tell lies, Elaine. Everybody knows Celebi aren't real," someone else said. Lyra usually would've agreed with them. But given the strangeness of this whole “Unity” school, maybe some other things she thought were true were wrong too.

Sound came back in a rush, with the mew sitting down and Chantelle standing back up before the podium. "Welcome and friendship to our newcomers. Those who have settled in this remarkable way—know that there is a place for you among the Great Families. You will need more time here, but that's okay. Learn, and when you're ready, you will graduate to your new life, adopted by a noble house.

"But along the same line, know that you will not ever leave Unity until you have learned what is required to be a functioning member of our society. Your new powers are dangerous, as much to the individuals you meet as to society itself. Make peace with that, work hard, and you will find your place. Otherwise, I hope you like snow. There's a lot of it up here."

The ceremony moved on. There was fine food and music and dancing, but none of that was for her. Lyra and Vel worked along with all the other servants, waiting on the young legendaries as they were ordered.

It wasn't so bad to deliver food. The mythical kids were so busy giving each other suspicious glances and angry looks that they didn't seem to notice her—even Fae didn't look her way.

Then it was over. The important kids moved on, leaving Lyra and the other servants to eat what was left. Incredible things she'd never tasted before, overwhelmingly sweet.

"You ever wonder why they brought us here?" Don asked, from the seat beside her in the servants' dining room a few hours later. They had a single large plate between them, filled with a mix of leftovers that had all blended together by then. Hilda sat nearby, occasionally picking at her own plate.

Without the pressure of performance to weigh on them, Vel was a furret again, currently pinned under her to give her something soft to lay on. Most of the time he did that to her, so it was only fair. Don was a rockruff today, while Hilda's joltik balanced in her hair, occasionally scurrying to avoid being squished.

"To work?" Hilda asked, annoyed. "Someone's gotta carry stuff around. They aren't gonna do it themselves."

Lyra stuck out her tongue. "Obviously. But why us? They gotta have all the servants in the world workin' for 'em. But they picked us."

"Maybe it's just to torment us," Hilda said. "Who knows why mythicals do anything? They want to, and the rest of the world just has to live with it. That's the way things are."

"Victini House would use fire if they wanted to hurt us," Don argued. "There are easier ways."

A collective shiver passed between them. No one could work for Victini House for any length of time without seeing what happened to its enemies. When those awful encounters were over, they usually only needed a broom to clean up.

"I think there's a better reason," she said. "Mythicals aren't crazy. The old servants were wrong about that. Their reasons are just... weird. If we pay attention, maybe we can figure it out."

"Not possible," Hilda said. "Not with that collar on your neck. Maybe if we could settle we would. But if we did that, they'd be really mad."

Someone tapped lightly on the wall nearby, startling them all to alertness. Lyra was the fastest to turn around, ready to run. Or more likely, make some clever excuse about why she wasn't in bed quite yet. She would get there soon!

It was Chantelle with her graceful daemon dancing along in the room behind her. Several others followed, each wearing servants' uniforms.

"You three are my last. Victini's kids. I have your new assignments. Stand up, please."

So far as great ladies went, Chantelle wasn't so bad. She hadn't ordered Lyra flogged even one time so far, which was more than she could say for the Victini House steward. So she stood up, shaking off the furret. Her friends stood too.

Of course Don had no spine, and was a minccino again before even opening his mouth. "Honored to serve the great lords and ladies of the—"

Hilda shoved him in the ribs. "Think she just wants us to listen, Don."

Chantelle nodded. "Each of our Oblates has been assigned to assist with one of the students. Every one has their own handmaid or page. You will obey their orders as though they came from me. Do you understand?"

Lyra nodded, sizing up the three servants Chantelle had brought. Two girls and one boy, that couldn't be a coincidence.

"Hilda, you'll go with Willow here. She's in service to Galena."

Hilda shuffled forward and curtseyed to the older servant. No collars on these—she had a real, settled daemon! "Pleasure."

"You will like Galena," the servant said. "They have simple needs. Easy to serve." She gestured, and the two set off. "We will meet them now."

"And you, Don. Damon. You should already know him."

Don nodded grimly. Damon was Fae's latest personal servant. He went through them pretty quick. "We've met, yeah. I guess the honor of... serving House Victini is mine."

"Indirectly," Damon said. "But yes, Don. I will rely on you to do as our master commands."

Don hesitated long enough to wave Lyra goodbye, then vanished down the hall with his new boss.

That left Lyra, and only one of the three servants. But this one was the strangest by far. The other two had looked entirely human, but this one—her skin was strangely smooth, her hair purple and stuck to her head as though she was soaked with something slimy.

The reason for it slid along the floor behind her—a misshapen blob with simple dots for eyes and a fake mouth. Ditto. One of the coolest daemons in the whole world, and the grossest.

"Lyra, this is Fa-Lady Eleanor of Shaymin House."

"She's way too important to be a servant," Lyra said.

It was only Chantelle's blank expression that told her she'd said something wrong. She said nothing, only waited with arms folded.

Lyra winced, then curtseyed. "Forgive me, Fa-Lady. I don't, uh... presume to tell... a noble lady what she should or shouldn't do."

She held that position, head bowed and body uncomfortable, for several long seconds.

"If you would like me to find someone else—" Chantelle said. "I could shuffle things around. There are more Oblates than we require. Perhaps I could send this one to the kitchens instead."

Lyra winced, but said nothing. Kitchen work was the worst. It was always hot in there, and stank the worst smells imaginable. But you couldn't even enjoy it, because they'd whip you if you ate any of what they prepared.

"No, I believe this one is perfect. As... unconventional as Hayden." She stuck out her hand, pulling Lyra into a proper standing position. Her skin was soft, and her hands moved in ways they shouldn't. Did this girl even have bones?

"Lyra, right? I see you can speak your mind. But can you work too?"

She nodded hastily. "Yes, Fa-Lady. I am not... skilled in any craft." She shifted, exposing the collar from under her dress with her free hand. "You see why."

Eleanor released her hand. "My lady expresses her gratitude, headmistress. Thank you for the assistant."

Chantelle nodded. Her smile turned distant and sad, looking past Eleanor more than at her. "It is a shame you cannot be one of our students too, Eleanor. Pity that you were born in such a degenerate age."

She turned, skipping away with her daemon just beside her.

That left Lyra alone with her new mistress—a young woman a few years older than she was, with hair made of slime and no bones in her body.