The Manhunt/Chapter 1

History is contained within you.

In every cell, there’s DNA. That’s representative of your genetic history. It’s a record of the ages – of loss, of gain, of irreplaceable mistakes and an extraordinary amount of luck. Generation through generation, it’s passed down, slightly altered, but inevitably, when trapped in short bursts of time, it is fundamentally the same.

Not unlike the legacies of Ever After High.

"Logically, it wouldn't work,” Bastion Fanfarinet capped the writeboard marker back to its lid. "A waste of funding, a waste of effort and a waste of time.” He spun around the writeboard, revealing drawings of cute little bar and pie graphs, and neatly bulleted lists.

“Listen–” Airmid leaned forward in their chair.

The next physician of Godfather Death was a practical guy, with sleeves rolled up and a constant fixated look of determination. Unfortunately, practicality and a love for stunts of reckless abandon were not mutually exclusive. Particularly if a certain reckless stunt meant further knowledge.

“I would risk a couple of bad grades for some knowledge about my predecessors. Who wouldn’t?”

“Someone who actually cares about their future,” Bas shot back.

“But my future’s sorted! It’s the past that eludes me, Fanfarinet. That’s what I've been searching for.”

When every retelling of Godfather Death concluded, Death would erase any mementos or accounts of the previous physician. With all physical evidence gone, the physician would eventually be forgotten from known memory, with only vague doubts that he even existed. Airmid Valerian had dreamt of the day they could go down in history, but how could people remember a guy with nothing to remember them by? They were earnest to break this cycle, desperate to be the one physician to survive.

“Aren’t you torn with curiosity?” Airmid continued. “There’s a trove of undiscovered facts and knowledge out there. Not just of my predecessor, yours too!"

“This is ridiculous,” Bastion slammed the whiteboard pen against the board with enough force that the lid fell off, quite uneventfully, to the ground. “This is– I cannot believe you are making me consider this idea."

As the nephew of the previous Ambassador Fanfarinet, Bastion was expected to follow in his uncle’s footsteps. Run away with a princess to an island, be a source of distress, and eventually get killed by her. The only part Bastion looked forward to was the ending.

“Aren’t you sick of Ever After High, Bastion?”

He had wanted to say, ‘who isn’t?’. Who wouldn’t be sick of Ever After – sick of being forced to follow a destiny, forced to go against your morals in every conceivable way, and forced to suffer marginalisation for it? But to question the ethics of this world was dangerous in itself. Raven Queen had done that, and destroyed everything.

Most importantly, she had destroyed the certainty of destiny.

It was a little known fact that Bastion Fanfarinet actually liked his story. Had he not been the heir to its villain, perhaps if legacy was a term nonexistent to him, he might have even cited the Princess Mayblossom as a favourite. There was purpose, there was morality, and there was self-defence in the face of total bastards. He respected that.

For the sake of the Princess Mayblossom told to the wider generation, for the sake of this tale reestablishing the once mighty position of Madame D’Aulnoy, Bastion Fanfarinet had once been willing to be begrudgingly dragged by a princess to an island and act like a total arse, simply for the success of the story.

Now, there was nothing to do, nothing to live for.

“I suppose there’s no actual point of me being here if we aren’t even going to follow destiny,” he said, finally.

“Then, why not get out of this place? Do your own thing. Be your own person. Punch Headmaster Grimm in the face. You are only young once!”

“Well, for one thing, I doubt you can obtain the Headmaster’s permission to let you go,” Bastion said. “He would never."

“You doubt? Never?” Airmid Valerian’s voice was lined with steely determination. “In that case, I will prove it.”

“Airmid Valerian. Bastion Fanfarinet,” Headmaster Grimm sat at his desk. “Listen, I am aware that you both align with the Rebel movement. It strikes me curious as to why people such as you two express interest about your predecessors.”

“I don’t know sh–“ Airmid was about to say, then stopped themselves. “I don’t know anything about them. It’s a struggle, Grimm."

He sighed.

Every generation, same complaint.

It wasn’t like he could control Godfather Death. That reaper seemed to be in his own world – idealistic and daft, thinking that people’s lives were not predetermined but rather nurtured.

“The other physicians seemed to manage fine without that information.”

They didn’t. Grimm knew that well. Previous physicians would tear themselves apart, go extraordinary lengths for knowledge. They always sought to be better – nothing less than the best.

And in their failure, they would too succumb to the story’s end.

“Didn’t they all… die?”

“Mx Valerian, that’s how the tale goes.”

“How morbid. Grimm, if you would."

As if he hadn’t heard that joke made metric tons before. Grimm rolled his eyes.

“On that note, listen. Godfather Death is one of your tales. And a fantastic one, at that. I just want to show my story – and those who carried it out spelltacularly – some appreciation, is that so bad?”

“And one should always greatly admire the works of Madame D’Aulnoy. It’s no secret that she paved the way to your success, Headmaster,” a small, self-assured smirk crept on the face of Bastion Fanfarinet. “After all, she did name us fairytales."

Milton Grimm fidgeted in his seat. It was a cruel reminder. When Ever After High had been first founded, the stories of Madame D’Aulnoy filled the land. People knew of the Yellow Dwarf, or of the Princess Mayblossom. Snow White’s reign was puny in comparison to the grand French Royalty of the time.

He ignored Bastion Fanfarinet, and addressed the physician instead. “Mx Valerian, I do agree that Godfather Death is a rather interesting tale. It’s certainly a worthy part of my collection. Yet, I fear, by allowing you, you’ll be…”. Grimm waved a hand in thought.

“Trifling with Death? Oh, I’m aware of that,” Airmid shrugged. “Surely you have no qualms about it, right? After all, that’s what I’m supposed to do. I can take full responsibility for any damage I cause, trust me.”

“And doubtless, you’ll find this proposition very important to our own development as characters in our respective fairytales,” Bastion cut in. He crossed his arms, then uncrossed them again.

“Mr Fanfarinet,” Grimm said. “Is there a particular reason why you wish to develop as a character?"

“I am quite possibly the worst Fanfarinet to grace the respectable halls of Ever After.”

“Please do not deprecate yourself to appeal to your argument.”

“No deprecation intended. I am merely stating facts,” Bastion sighed. “You see, I lack many defining qualities–“

“Headmaster Grimm, surely you can’t deny our request!” Airmid almost flew out of their chair. “You are the one who consistently emphasises the importance of destiny, and I feel by going on this research adventure, we are preserving legacy and maintaining the prestige of our stories.”

The Headmaster shook his head. “Mx Valerian, I am in no way actively attempting to deny your… journey, adventure, thing. There are several elements at work. One of them being the case that you two may be unable to keep up with your studies…"

“Look, sir, we’re both reliable young gentlemen! Have you seen a more perfect record of straight A*s?”

“Mx Valerian, you do not have a record of straight A*s,” Grimm said. “If I recall your Crownculus grade from last semester correctly…”

“Okay, but that’s mathemagics, and when am I going to use that in real life?”

Milton Grimm looked at the two. Airmid Valerian sitting slouched in their chair, and Bastion Fanfarinet upright and uptight. Things really don’t change, he thought, his mind recalling a volatile physician and tense ambassador from a generation before.

“Otherwise, I see no problem. The rest of the students here could learn a lot from you two,” he frowned. “You have my permission."

“Spell yeah!” Airmid shot out of their seat. They looked ready to punch the air, but quickly saw the growing look of disapproval on Grimm’s face. “I mean, Headmaster Grimm, we will do you proud on this one-hundred-percent-purely-absolutely academic trip.”

“– don’t make me retract it.”

“I’ve learned something today,” Bastion said, as the two left the Headmaster’s office. “Never give Airmid Valerian an absolute statement, lest one wants it proven false.”

“Unless it’s the Second Law of Thermodynamics, one should rarely use ‘never’ and ‘always’,” Airmid grinned. “You need to embrace new possibilities, Bastion!”

“Airmid, you know me. I don’t waste my time throwing myself into efforts of reckless abandon,”

“You think this is reckless? We can literally take a trip across France and Germany for a fortnight, with little to no repercussions. If successful? We learn about our predecessors and what they’re like and use that to advance ourselves. If not, we got an excuse for a holiday.”

“We don’t need a holiday,” Bas replied irritability. “I have work to do.”

“As I have proven, you can easily catch up on aforementioned work. That said, maybe learning to take a break will make you less of a boring person.”

A break. That was exactly what Bastion did not need. He liked work. He liked being so busy that he never had time for himself. He liked being lost in such a regimented structured life, so he would seldom have to suffer alone with his thoughts.

“I won’t be a boring person for long.”