Darcias

'Ready to restore order.'

When people speak of the Vice-Commander to Bell Ringer No. X, they recall only a silver-clad warrior—expressionless, efficient, and swift to resolve all things by force.

While her youthful Bell Ringer superior dreamed up grand and unorthodox battle strategies, it was always Darcias who brought those impossible blueprints to life with flawless precision.

As an Ascendant from the second Silver Blood Trial, Darcias retained fragments of her past. She remembered it was hatred for the Black Blood that drove her to the Church and carried her through the trials. Yet in bitter irony, the moment she grasped power, the agony that once defined her vanished.

She knew all too well: Ascendants were forged to serve the Church. And the emotions stripped from them were the cruelest proof of that purpose. Still, in the stillness of certain nights, she could not help but ask: Can a warrior still be called a warrior, if they’ve forgotten why they ever drew their blade?

After Darcias called me pitiful, I finished the book she left behind.

It told the tale of a cold, wooden figure who journeyed to the Land of Iz with companions, in search of lost emotions.

But what does that have to do with Darcias? For an Ascendant, emotions are a hindrance in battle. Her duty is to stand at Bell Ringer No. X's side, executing divine will with unwavering precision. Her sins have already been purged by Silver Blood—so why seek what was stripped away?

I don't understand.

As a Bell Ringer and an Ascendant of the Church, Acappella and Darcias have more than proven their strength. I've heard they were both raised by Tris, which may be why they resemble sisters more than comrades.

This morning, I received a letter from Acappella—filled with complaints. She said Darcias had been unusually enthusiastic lately, and upon learning that we'd been corresponding, demanded to know if I'd taught Darcias something strange.

It seems the wooden figure has found what she was searching for.

Darcias once had a happy home—parents who told her bedtime stories.

'It's time for bed now.'

'But I haven't heard the ending! What happened to the wooden one?'

'You'll find out tomorrow night.'

But she never heard the ending. Her father, consumed by Black Blood, killed her mother before falling to Tris's blade.

She thought the sword would turn on her next—but instead, those hands held hers with a gentleness she didn't expect.

Young Darcias bit her lip, holding back tears. She didn't understand why her mother had died, why her father had become a monster, or where she would go from here.

She understood nothing—only the weight of sorrow.

Darcias painted a portrait of Tris, saying it was to commemorate sadness.

To her, the day she met Tris was steeped in sorrow—but it was that very sorrow that gave her strength.

Now, Darcias wishes to paint many more works, each one capturing a different emotion.

At this rate, I can't afford to keep paying for her paint.