Hello, How Are You
Maybe it's because Stella knows instinctively that she'll never live up to her father's greatness. She's not great in math, in socializing, in any aspect her father was. Her father was the Jack-Of-All-Trades, Master of All. She was the jack-of-all-trades, master of average. After an accident though, she realizes that maybe, just maybe, she did manage to do something far greater than her father had once done--to touch her Heroes' hearts.
Author's Notes
;w; It’s a vent fic. I don’t think I wanna write in Stella’s point of view after this. I know it’s a few days early but here it is.
Mentions of death abound.
“Great job, Stella!”
“As expected of his daughter!”
“You are definitely you father’s daughter.”
“He will live on in you.”
‘Yeah. He will. Not Stella. Not me. I don’t exist. I’m my father’s replacement.’
She knows that. In the end, 'Stella’ hasn’t made an impact yet but her father did. She has her father’s face, right down to the eyes and eyebrows. She doesn’t resent him for that, not really. What she does resent are the people who keep bringing up his glory days, as if they were there themselves (they weren’t) those who would say something for her to acknowledge, because she is him now apparently.
She wonders how long untill she disappoints them because she is nowhere near her father’s league.
And heaven knows why they’re still asking her why she stopped using F*cebook or why she moved homes with her mom and aunt.
Her dull maroon hair swayed with the wind, as she makes her way across the street. Her tired face and deadpan eyes is just a face among the many crossing the streets towards one of the “Top Four” prestige universities in her country. In this place, Stella is a nobody, she is not worth noting about. Her last name doesn’t matter, her existence doesn’t matter.
It hurts but it’s better than the alternative.
A year after her father’s untimely death and every single person that her father protected her from, his own blood family, came knocking onto their once-lively home. They were all talk, no help. They wanted her to fulfill his “legacy”, whatever that meant anyway.
She was Stella, her father’s last will. He lives on in her and all his greatness has supposed passed onto her.
What a load of bullshit–
Stella tripped, her face nearly planting onto the ground but she managed to hold on to the rail in time. She cursed, both mentally and outwardly, earning the stare of a few passerby.
It doesn’t matter, they’re just a few faces in the crowd. Much like her, they’ll also forget about her after a few minutes. It’s comforting, somehow, that these people have no expectations of her, no one knows her father’s greatness and how much she has to “live up to his expectations.”
The best of all, Stella doesn’t have to watch her every move, every word, everything.
At one point, the dull-red-headed girl realized just how much her father as saved her from the headache and heartache that his family would have given her. They were monsters in a sense that everything they did, everything they would do, it’s never for the sake of family. It’s for themselves, not once even helping out when her father was in his death bed…
They had no ounce of sympathy and humanity. They represent what her father had fought against.
Stella loved her father, for the man he is and for how he raised her. He’s taught her many lessons, told her many adventures. He’s always told her to live her dreams and be who she wants to be. He’ll catch her if she falls, he’ll support her no matter what.
“He shouldn’t have made promises he couldn’t keep.”
It was no doubt that her father was an amazing person. She still recalls his funeral, as hundreds of people whom he had helped had attended. They were people she did not recognize but apparently, at one point in their lives, they had been touched by her father’s kindness.
She momentarily thinks if she could step up to that. That somehow, she could do something eventful and helpful that will touch someone’s life.
She briefly wonders if anyone would come to her funeral when she dies.
Erandia woke up feeling soaked, as she stares at the high ceiling of the busy castle. She momentarily hears a scream and suddenly, everyone is crowding–
“Christ on a stick, chill the fuck out for a minute.”
After muttering that, she tries her best to ensure most of her heroes that yes, she is fine, no, everyone out training is safe and that she just got killed by a stray spell.
Suddenly, the crowding starts to part as a few of her generals have gotten back from the towers.
“Milady! Are you hur–”
“Lady Erandia, you’re here–”
“Mother, please respond–”
“Milady…”
At the last voice, the Askran prince holds his hand up as Erandia hungs onto it, finally getting out of the cold fountain. Like the rest, the generals inspected their summoner for any additional injuries. Aside from the obvious hole and burn onto her cloak, she was whole and alive again. They all let out sighs of relief, now knowing she’s not in any more danger.
“My apologies, milady.” Frederick bowed, taking the blame and responsibility for their summoner dying.
“It happens. The important part is, I’m still alive and I’ve never been so thankful that this summoner-hero bond is two-way.”
'Funny enough, wasn’t there a time I would have relished a quick death like–’
“Alright, Lady Erandia is okay. Everyone, back to your stations!”
She didn’t realize just how many heroes gathered around her resurrection point. It’s kinda weird, she thinks. In a way, she did die. She was partially dead. Technially, this would be her funeral if…
'Well… what do you know… I guess someone did come to my funeral after all.’
Her mind flashed back to that one event, how hundreds of people she didn’t know gathered to pay respect.
She wasn’t trying to compare but she thinks, for once all these heroes are HER legacy.
“Lady Erandia? Are you–”
“Oh hey, Alfonse.” The red-headed summoner waved, as she sets down the lit candle from her left hand. She kneels on the ground as she beckons the prince to come closer.
“So, how’s everyone after this morning?”
“Well… Sir Frederick is leading a few of the teams to train up more, Lady Lyn and Princess Fjorm are rechecking the castle’s defenses, and the rest are cooking up something.”
“Pleaaaase tell me that Eliwood finally got that recipe correctly!”
“He might have.” The blue-haired Askran laughed, his form relaxing after the big scare they had with her demise.
“So this means everyone is busy, huh… Say, wanna accompany me after this?”
“If you would have me.”
“Great!” She clapped her hands as she clasps her hands together in a prayer. Alfonse remains quiet, not really knowing what his summoner is doing. A few minutes passed by in silence before Alfonse could finally hear her summoner mutter an 'amen’.
“Shall we?”
“Right!” As Erandia heads back, Alfonse hears her serenely whisper a sentence that made his heart lurch at the implications.
“Happy father’s day, daddy.”