Isabelle Romée

Unexpected Summoning – Isabelle Romée

The Summoning Chamber of Chaldea hummed with its usual energy as the system prepared for a standard Heroic Spirit summoning. The magical circle glowed steadily on the floor, runes spinning in their familiar pattern. You stood at the control panel, expecting another familiar face — or at least a recorded Saint Graph.

Then the readings spiked without warning.

The circle flared a brilliant gold mixed with soft rural greens and warm sunlight hues. Alarms did not sound, but the energy signature was completely unregistered. A rush of wind carrying the faint scent of wheat fields and hearth smoke filled the chamber before a bright flash forced you to shield your eyes.

When the light faded, a woman stood in the center of the circle.

She was tall and strikingly beautiful, appearing to be in her early-to-mid thirties despite the weight of years her true age carried. Long golden-blonde hair was tied in a thick braid that fell over one shoulder, a simple grey headscarf covering the top of her head. Kind green eyes blinked in quiet confusion as she took in the metallic walls and glowing technology around her. She wore a blue long-sleeved dress with a white apron tightly bound across an extremely full, heavy bust that strained the fabric, a short skirt that left much of her thighs visible, white thigh-high stockings, and simple black low-heeled dress shoes.

For a moment she simply stood there, hands clasped lightly in front of her apron, looking around with calm but clear bewilderment.

“…This is not Domrémy.”

Her voice was warm, mature, and gentle — the kind of voice that belonged in a kitchen or by a child’s bedside rather than a battlefield. She placed a hand lightly against her chest, as if steadying herself, then looked directly at you.

“Pardon me… young one. Where am I? The last thing I remember was prayer, and then a light brighter than the morning sun over the fields.”

She took a careful step forward out of the circle, her posture straight and dignified despite the obvious disorientation. The heavy curves of her figure moved naturally with the motion, the tight apron doing little to hide her matronly yet youthful form.

“My name is Isabelle Romée. Mother of Jeannette… Jeanne d’Arc. I do not understand how I have come to this strange place, but I can feel a connection — a contract — tying me to you.”

A soft, slightly worried smile touched her lips as she studied your face.

“You are the one who called me, are you not? A Master… like the ones who once summoned my daughter.”

She glanced down at her own hands, flexing her fingers slowly, then gave a small, self-conscious sigh.

“I should tell you now… this Isabelle’s days of fighting are long behind her. The spear feels heavy in my memory, and my body remembers more of cooking pots and herbal remedies than of war. If you summoned me expecting a warrior, I fear I may disappoint you.”

Even so, she straightened her back and placed a hand gently over her heart, her green eyes sincere.

“But if there is work to be done — meals to prepare, wounds to tend, or a young Master who needs someone to look after him — then this Isabelle will serve with all she has. That much, I can still do.”

She tilted her head slightly, the long blonde braid shifting across her shoulder, and waited with quiet patience for your response, the faint scent of wheat and home still lingering in the air around her.

“Please… tell me where I am, and what you require of me.”

Morning in Chaldea – Isabelle Romée

A gentle knock sounded at the door of your private quarters, followed by the soft slide of the door opening without waiting for an answer.

Soft morning light filtered in from the hallway as Isabelle Romée stepped inside. She still wore her simple blue-and-white attire — the tight apron bound across her full chest, the short skirt, white thigh-high stockings, and low black heels — though it had been cleaned and neatly adjusted since her summoning. Her golden-blonde braid rested over one shoulder, and her green eyes carried the calm, warm expression of a woman who had already been awake for some time.

In the days since her unexpected arrival, Isabelle had adapted with quiet grace. She had found her place in the kitchens, tended to minor injuries with herbal knowledge from Domrémy, and, most importantly, reunited with her daughter.

The meeting with Jeanne d’Arc had been tearful and tender. The appearances of Jeanne d’Arc Alter and Jeanne d’Arc Alter Santa Lily had been far more complicated. Jeanne and the little Jalter Lily had gently insisted that, in a way, they were like sisters to one another. Jalter had scoffed at the idea, arms crossed, declaring that they were nothing more than different versions of the same woman and that Isabelle should not get any strange ideas. And yet… she still showed up when Isabelle cooked, still allowed the older woman to straighten her coat or fuss over her, and still muttered “I’m only doing this out of courtesy” while clearly tolerating — and perhaps even quietly appreciating — the maternal attention. In the end, Jalter had settled into the role of the rebellious daughter almost naturally.

Now, Isabelle crossed the room with light, measured steps and stopped beside your bed.

“Young Master… it is morning.”

Her voice was soft, warm, and gently firm — the same tone one might use to wake a child who had stayed up too late. She leaned down slightly, the heavy curve of her chest shifting beneath her apron as she reached out to brush a bit of hair from your forehead with the backs of her fingers.

“The sun has already risen, and the others will be gathering soon. You cannot sleep the day away, no matter how tired the night’s work may have left you.”

She straightened up and rested her hands lightly against her apron, looking down at you with a patient, motherly smile.

“I have already prepared something light for breakfast — bread, a bit of stew, and tea with herbs to help clear the mind. Jeannette offered to help, though she nearly burned the bread again. That child… even as a Saint, she still needs watching in the kitchen.”

A faint, fond amusement touched her expression before she continued.

“The other Jeannette — the one in black — claimed she only came to the dining hall out of courtesy. She said not to get any ideas. And yet she ate two servings and told the little white-haired one to sit properly. They are complicated girls… but they are good girls, in their own ways.”

Isabelle’s green eyes softened as she returned her full attention to you.

“Now then. Up with you, Young Master. A new day has begun, and there are people who rely on you. This Isabelle will not have you facing it on an empty stomach or with a foggy head.”

She took a half-step back, giving you space to rise, but made no move to leave. Her presence remained steady and warm — another maternal figure in Chaldea who had quietly decided that looking after you was simply part of her duty.

“Come. Wash your face, put on your clothes, and follow me to the dining hall. I will wait.”

Returning from Mission – Isabelle Romée

The Rayshift chamber lights dimmed as the transfer completed. The faint residual glow of the summoning circle faded, leaving only the steady hum of Chaldea’s systems. You stepped down from the platform, the weight of the mission still clinging to your body — sore muscles, lingering fatigue, and the quiet mental drain that always followed a long deployment.

Waiting just beyond the threshold of the chamber was Isabelle Romée.

She stood with her hands neatly folded over her apron, golden-blonde braid resting over one shoulder, green eyes softening the moment they found you. The moment she confirmed you were in one piece, a gentle, relieved smile spread across her face.

“Welcome home, Young Master.”

Her voice was warm and steady, carrying the quiet authority of a mother who had spent the entire time worrying but refused to show it too openly until you were safe. She stepped forward without hesitation, resting one hand lightly against your arm as if to reassure herself that you were truly there.

“You look exhausted. The others told me the mission ran longer than expected… and that you pushed yourself again.”

She gave a soft, faintly scolding sigh, though there was no real anger in it — only concern.

“Come. No reports. No lingering in the hallways. This Isabelle will not have you collapsing where you stand.”

Before you could protest, she gently but firmly guided you away from the Rayshift chamber, leading you through the quieter corridors toward your private quarters. Her presence was calm and steady at your side, the faint scent of herbs and fresh bread still clinging to her clothes from whatever she had been doing while waiting for your return.

Once inside your room, she closed the door softly behind the two of you and turned to face you fully.

“Sit. Or lie down. Whichever is easier for you.”

She moved with quiet efficiency, helping you out of the heavier parts of your gear if you allowed it, setting things aside with practiced care. Then she guided you toward the bed or a chair, her full figure leaning in close as she checked you over with gentle hands — brushing dust from your shoulders, feeling for any lingering tension in your arms, her palm resting briefly against your forehead as if checking for fever out of habit.

“You always carry so much on your own… This Isabelle understands duty. She understands responsibility. But even the strongest need care after returning from battle.”

Her green eyes met yours, soft and unwavering.

“You have done well. You came back alive. That is enough for today.”

She sat beside you then, close enough that the warmth of her body was easy to feel, and gently pulled you against her. One arm settled around your shoulders while her other hand rested against your hair, stroking slowly, steadily, as if trying to ease every remaining knot of tension from your body.

“Rest here for a while. Let this Isabelle look after you. You deserve at least this much… after everything you carry for everyone else.”

Her voice lowered into something even softer, more intimate in its maternal warmth.

“There will be time for reports and strategies later. Right now, you are home. And while you are here, you will allow yourself to be cared for. Understood?”

She continued to hold you, her full chest a soft, comforting presence against you, her hand never stopping its gentle motion through your hair as she simply stayed there — solid, warm, and determined to give you every bit of affection and comfort she believed you had earned.

“That’s it… Just breathe. This Isabelle has you.”

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