☀️ Arselia and Akonia

(need to stretch it out for a bit, because I couldn't find the extended version)

Four of them entered the Margel Academy of Arts.
- Don't scatter! Hold my hand! - the mother clucked. - Honey, you keep an eye on them too, okay??
- Mmm... - the husband groaned indistinctly.



The youngest made a face:
- Uhh?.. Actually, I'm not a child anymore, - she sighed heavily and drawled. - Did we really have to come here?.. Was there seriously nowhere else to go? This is a huge city...
In her head, she was picturing scenes of going to a house party with her friends, featuring plenty of young guys of all tastes—this was her own kind of "safe space," reserved for restless times.



- Ksu-ksu... No wonder someone with the intellect of a goldfish, like you, is incapable of appreciating high art, - the eldest smirked.



- What did you just blurt out?! - the sister flared up. - Do you know where I'll shove those glasses of yours right now?!
- Silence! Watch your language! - the mother snapped. - And stop picking on your sister!
Making murderous faces, the girl behind her mother's back performed a pantomime of the most terrible punishments, while the brother merely smiled nastily at it. The mother fussed, the father remained silent, his gaze fixed on the floor.
Their family scene was interrupted by the stern and gloomy look of the attendant, in response to which, shuffling and showering her with apologies, the mother hurried to shove the tickets under her nose and quickly drag her entire family into the exhibition.


Whether it took a long time or a short time, they finally joined the tour.
- Here you can observe the works of the great master, warrior-poet, man of the highest intellect, honorary fighter of the left Akonian wing of Margel, Sima Yun!.. - the guide proclaimed solemnly.





- Yeah... The organization leaves much to be desired, - the brother commented in a low voice. - Actually, it should be Yun Sima. There are some discrepancies regarding his origin, but it would be completely bad and colonialist tone to put the eastern (western) name before the surname...
The sister rolled her eyes, sighed, and shrugged with her shoulders and brows:
- Could you be any more lame and tedious?.. Yun-Shmun, Sima-Sila, what the hell does it matter, for Akonia's sake? - her eyes drifted to the portrait of the artist himself, hanging at the very beginning of the exposition. - For a handsome guy like that, these trifles aren't critical to being a successful person. You should take a leaf out of his book, if you weren't a water aphid.
- Pff, please, - the brother brushed her off. - A low-tier fuckboy.
The mother, contrary to her son's opinion, clapped her hands:
- I think he's a very cute and worthy boy! I wish someone like that would be friends with you! Eh? - she asked the children with glowing eyes.
- Maaa... This "boy" is already in his forties, if not fifties... - the brother sighed. - He's basically a walking corpse anyway. He'll be heading to the other side soon.
- Nuuu... And what do you think, dear?
The father only shrugged—he still hadn't looked away from the floor, or maybe he had, but it wasn't visible behind his hairstyle.
- Yesss, buuut... - the mother shook her head at the paintings with doubt and disapproval. - I don't understand this kind of art. It looks like shamelessness for the sake of shamelessness... It's too early for you to see such things! - she covered the eyes of her daughter and son with her palms.
Tearing her mother's hand away from his eyes, the son exclaimed:
- You don't understand anything, Mom! This is the highest form of art! This wonderful artist showed the entire community what everyone else was previously afraid to show! He brought an unprecedented freedom of self-expression into the world! He founded an entire genre that all of Margel, no—the whole world—adopted! If it weren't for him, I would never have gotten in here and become an illustrator!



- Ha-ha... - the sister smirked without any amusement. - So that's what it was all about. You just wanted to draw... something like that. Fine, go on, great expert, tell me what's depicted here and why it should exist?
Adjusting his glasses, the brother gestured toward the works:
- Shiris is one of the goddesses of Calcite, symbolizing luck. In the image of a young nurse, which gives her image an unexpected edge. I won't delve too deeply into the context; it would just go in one ear and out the other of an uneducated snail like you. But generally speaking, luck is what we need to survive in this world full of suffering and danger, and her image in the form of a medicinal injection drawn into a syringe symbolizes the corresponding attitude of mercenaries and lucky people who entrust their lives to her gentle tanned hands.
- Shiris?.. - the sister frowned distrustfully. - Doesn't look like her at all... Shouldn't she look older, have ears and so on? I think you're feeding me some nonsense.
The brother just brushed her off contemptuously:
- I didn't expect understanding from a plebeian like you. Next... See the ears?
- Ear. There's only one here.
Ignoring this remark, the brother continued:
- You think they're depicted here just for beauty? Knowing the author's style, one could easily assume that's the case, however, this is a goddess from Heles.
- Which one?.. - the sister asked without any interest.
After pausing for a few seconds, the brother decided to hide his ignorance behind a pompous comment:
- Heh... Clearly not one that a simpleton like you would know...
Not buying into this cheap demagoguery, the sister, with some surprise to herself, decided not to press her brother, allowing him to save face in this matter—after all, another argument would lead to nothing but exhaustion, and even while being a total loser and degenerate in her eyes, he was still her older brother. So she just sighed and nodded toward the remaining two:
- Well, and these?..
- Hmm... - squinting, the brother analyzed the remaining paintings for a while, then spread his arms. - This isn't so simple, even for me. I can only guess that the third is based on some island concepts, and those two... Perhaps some images from his experience?.. I don't know.
Sighing, the sister shrugged:
- One thing is clear for sure—this Yun Sima of yours has some kind of fetish for tanned skin.
- Hoooo? - adjusting his glasses again and licking his lips, the brother grinned in a sinister smile. - I can't blame him for that. Especially when there are untanned marks left beneath it...
- Beee, - already regretting her leniency, the sister made an ugly face of sharp disgust.
- Hey! The group has already moved on! - giving her a light smack on the back of the head for that, the mother pulled the family into the next section.

- ...were painted long after the debut of the 975th, - the guide was broadcasting full tilt, gesturing with her palm toward the new set.



- Ooo... - drawled the chubby glasses-wearer. - Works of Her Majesty Ayano!
- Majesty... - the sister only sighed.
- Her Highness, actually, - a random visitor corrected displeasedly, measuring the bumpkin with a contemptuous look. - Remember that, young man, so you don't find yourself in an embarrassing situation again.
- Hoooo? - the brother repeated. - Listen here, friend. What if I told you that she's practically...
His line was cut off by a smack on the head from the mother:
- Don't pick on people! - and an apologetic smile to the visitor. - Sorry, he's... a bit home-schooled.
Frowning at such rough treatment, the big guy stepped back to the paintings and fixed them with his offended gaze.
- Now, why are you... Everything is correct, after all, - after half a minute, he heard the hesitant voice of the younger sister behind his shoulder. - Just in case something happens. They might lock you up...
The brother remained silent, continuing to stare gloomily at the works of high art. Then he finally hissed:
- She was supposed to be the next empress. Just imagine how it would have been... - he shook his head, unable to find words that could express his feelings, until he finally let out a breath, his shoulders slumping.
- I don't know, - the sister drawled tiredly. - I have a C in history.
After another short silence, the heavy-set brother muttered:
- The Miko-Empire... stretching from the western shore to the eastern, from the north to the south... With temples and sanctuaries in every settlement, absorbing new and new territories—not by force, but by understanding, tenderness, sincerity, and a kind word... Caring for every citizen individually, having found a solution to all our religious and ideological conflicts of the past... With squadrons of mikes, flying in parade formation across the sky on the ninth of every May... In such wonderful custom outfits... - the brother spoke the last phrase with a loud exhale, letting a small thread of drool escape his flushed plump lips, though he wiped it away before anyone else noticed. - Anuzish has never lost so much after barely gaining it, - he muttered in conclusion.
- Eee... Probably?.. - the sister drawled. - Maybe she just didn't want to...
- She didn't want to, - the brother said firmly, as if he were a contemporary of those events, finally turning to his sister and flashing an unexpectedly steely gaze from behind his thick glasses. - And she let this chance go, rather than plunging the situation into something unsightly, - pulling back his sweater, behind which a T-shirt with a print of Princess Ayano was visible, he poked himself in the chest with his thumb. - I regret this more than anyone—and so do all my comrades, a great many of whom are hiding in basements, college dorms, and secluded rooms in their parents' houses. But any other development of events would have made her someone who would never have won our hearts. Therefore, this is one of those bittersweet stories that are good precisely because they remain on the edge of the unspoken.
He nodded toward the works hanging on the wall:
- As you can see, they are all executed in a single style, which some plebeians have defined as "monotonous." By general conviction, she didn't like to depict humans or the image of their urbanization of nature, preferring something real—the flesh and blood of Anuzish. And yet, from my point of view as an expert in the artistic field, having studied in this academy for three years, I tell you that this drawing and its modifications are the future. You'll see.
Smiling warmly and confidently, as if his 120 lbs of weight consisted of muscle and not fat, he patted his sister on the head, causing a flush of red to hit her cheeks.
- I-it's such a shame that this was all so long ago... - deliberately trying to sound displeased, the sister turned away, yet not rushing to free herself from her brother's palm. - Maybe you would have had a chance to marry her...
Sighing and remaining silent, the brother didn't comment on this, but moved to the next hall. Hesitantly looking back at the guide, who hadn't finished yet, and their parents, who were staring blankly at her story—the mother with her mouth open and the father drilling a hole into space—the sister hurried after him.

Hardly having entered the third hall, she bumped into a firm, hot mountain—it was the back and buttocks of her brother.
- What are you doing?.. - bypassing this obstacle, she glanced at the new set of paintings.
For the first few seconds, she felt confusion, then anger. Then she huffed, and then laughed softly:
- What... is... this?.. - the girl barely squeezed out through laughter. - Ahaha-ha! What nonsense!
But the brother didn't answer. His brow furrowed, and his gaze ran feverishly over the works.



- Is it because today is April 1st? Did they decide to hang this crap? A-ha-ha! - the sister nudged him with her elbow, but gradually her smile faded when she noticed sweat on her brother's forehead.
- Hey, what's wrong?.. Did you eat something? There's a restroom around the corner... - she said to him hesitantly.
- ...
- ...
- ...
- This... - the brother finally regained the power of speech—extremely partially—and took a few steps toward the exhibits, raising his hand as if he wanted to touch them.
- Some kind of scribble, - the sister said, smirking again, but the brother didn't share her amusement and she didn't start laughing again. - What?..
- I... have never seen them before, but... I know exactly whose brush they belong to, - the brother touched the painting and sniffed its scent, which caused his eyes to widen to five rems. - These are originals!!!
- Hey!.. What are you doing!.. - the sister tugged at his sweater, looking around anxiously, but there was no attendant in this hall, and the tour hadn't reached this stage yet.
- Ha! - the brother said, triumphantly poking the description plaque with his finger. - I knew it.
- Zig...fern...zwen...sven...zwai...sch... - the sister shook her head, unable to read the artist's name. - "All that I could" - she finished reading the title of the set. What nonsense? Some kind of schizophasia...
- Ha! - the brother repeated, casting a triumphant look at his sister. - This is from the collection of Queen Farellia's younger brother! Only he masters such a style so flawlessly!
- ...style?.. - the sister cast a pitiful look at the scribbles. - But this is just some...
- Stop! - the chubby one interrupted her speech, sealing his sister's lips with his index finger. - I know what you want to say, and here I understand you well. This isn't just advanced-level, but grandmaster; even I didn't get it right away. The style is called "ms-painting," and believe me, behind the apparent simplicity it hides much more than may seem at first glance. This is the style of the future, but not in the mainstream sense. To understand something like this... it requires a great mind and the finest artistic taste. But how did it end up here?.. And most importantly... wh... what... is depicted here?.. - with great suspicion, he peered at the drawing.
- Eee... - without much enthusiasm, the younger sister repeated his gesture. - Looks like that princess of yours, maybe? Look—familiar outfit and hair color, ha-ha! Eee... Sorry, I didn't mean to... - realizing her mistake, the sister shrugged her head into her shoulders.
- Hmmm... - not reacting to the jab, the brother stared intently at the painting, then finally spoke. - Yes... there are undeniable details of resemblance. Even behind this minimalism, it becomes clear to an attentive viewer that it's her. No one in known history wore such an outfit simultaneously with such shoes and such a hairstyle. Hmmm... but what does this mean? - his eyes frantically scanned the canvas. - What is in her hand? And who are her neighbors?..
- Looks like some kind of weapon? But why did she put it to her head? And so clumsily... And what's hanging from it? - the sister shrugged. - The uncle on the right looks like he's angry, and the one on the left—he finds it funny. I don't know what it's supposed to mean.
- Hmmmmmmmmmm... - rubbing his temples, the brother shook his head. - Okay, let's move on. And what's here?
- Well... - the sister thoughtfully tilted her head to the side. - Probably the same ones from the front. I don't know. Maybe some event is depicted.
- Hmmm... - the brother drawled again, moving to the third painting.
- Two princesses?..
- No, - he answered. - See, one has different hair. Besides, she's lacking other details. But what does the one on the right mean?
- Eee?-?-? - the sister didn't know how to answer. - And here?
- Hm? - the brother took a couple of steps to the next specimen. - Tsk. The guy on the left looks like my classmate... women are always swarming around him.
The sister sympathetically squeezed her hand on her brother's gelatinous shoulder:
- It's okay, someday you... - but she didn't dare finish the phrase. - Hang in there, anyway... Oh! I know this one! - she cheerfully poked the next canvas with her finger. - This is where they hang prayer plaques!
- Exactly, - the brother nodded importantly. - Listen, how do you know that? We haven't even entered the local temple yet...
- Ha! - the sister turned up her nose. - Did you think I'm a complete dummy? Don't underestimate me!
After remaining silent for a couple of moments, the brother just patted her on the head with a smile again. The sister didn't clarify that she had secretly studied the basic tenets of the Yanagist religion that her brother was so obsessed with, and preferred to spend the next few seconds in this position until she blushed and broke free from the situation:
- But what's drawn here? Some kind of graves...
- Looks like it... - this time the brother shrugged, unable to decipher the embedded meaning. - Next... Eee...
- Co..ro...nation... 981, - the sister read. - I don't know... I have a C-minus in history.
- Coronation 981?.. - the brother asked. - That was the year the previous empress died. There was a big rally, or even a holiday, when the new ones were appointed. But... all this contradicts the official version of events. Why?
- Maybe it's the author's artistic fiction or Farellian propaganda. How would they know what was happening with our people, well, think about it yourself? - the sister brushed him off. - Or the government, as always, forged the chronicle. What's the point of studying history if any official can rewrite it?
The brother didn't answer. Spending another half-minute on silent analysis, he moved to art object №7.
- Now this is just too much, - the sister grumbled displeasedly. - The drawing is even clumsier. I don't understand what's here at all.
- He-he-he, - adjusting his glasses again, the brother chuckled sinisterly. - The promised land for every man... I will definitely get there, no matter what. I'll run away from the hotel if necessary.
- Huh?..
- ...doesn't matter, - he shifted his gaze to the next painting. - Ooo!.. Even in this schematic style, I recognize who is depicted here.
- I recognize them too, - the sister sighed. - It would be strange not to, considering how your room is plastered and furnished with rabbits...
- Sasuga imouto yo, - the brother declared, not embarrassed in the least.
"Your mother is a dried-up husk" - the sister could have replied if this were a stranger. But alas, the closest kinship made this maneuver impossible, so she ignored this incoherent utterance.
- And what's this? - she nodded irritably at the ninth scribble. - I can't understand what's depicted here at all.
- Hmmm... thinking deeply, the chubby one carefully studied the painting, then licked the image of the same red-and-white heroine, after which he snapped his fingers with understanding. - Aaa!.. There is a historical theory that once Her Majesty (Highness), for some of her own reasons—perhaps described earlier?—left Margel and went on a... business trip? Or a vacation? What do you think, imouto yo, why is our wonderful religion spread in various parts of the world outside Margel? Not only because people spread it like a conscientious infection, but also as a result of the painstaking work of carrying the word by her adepts—starting with the efforts of the Very First Person. And this concerned primarily those territories that were affected by the metastases of Nephiria's pernicious influence—including the scattered remains of her army. But this is only a theory. Those were turbulent times, and chroniclers didn't always manage to record all events in their original form and reach a consensus among themselves.
Perhaps the sister could have perceived this excursion a bit more thoughtfully if not for the preliminary, completely disgusting and degenerative gesture of her brother, which instantly lowered his status in her eyes from a water aphid to a paramecium.
Turning her gaze to the last exhibit, she clapped her hands:
- It looks like your great royal relative got some new pencils.
Frowning, the brother silently stared at the tenth painting.
- Do I imagine it, or have I seen something like this somewhere before?.. - the sister spoke up again, but heard no answer. - So... what happened in the end to this... "waifu" of yours or whatever?
- ...
- ...
- ...
- I'm afraid that is unknown to me, - the brother finally squeezed out. - They say she is seen from time to time in this city and its surroundings. But you understand, in our times... This outfit and hairstyle don't say anything. And they don't just flicker here. Do you know the legend of the Lord in Black? A hero who appears at the darkest and gloomiest moment and rescues people from trouble, leaving only an incomprehensible card? It's the same vibe here, - the brother whispered excitedly.
- Maybe I should enroll in this art school of yours?.. I feel like you'll go crazy without me, - the sister sighed.

And only somewhere outside the window, groaning from the incredible cringe of the overheard conversation, a dark silhouette in the twilight lighting soared into the air and flew as far away from the Academy grounds as possible.