《To Your New Era》 Chapter 1 Part 1: Iris When choosing the victim of their next petty crime, smarter thieves would not often choose on the basis of which wallet looked to be the fattest, but rather if the owner of said wallet was easy pickings or not. Someone with a hunched posture, quick stride and avoidant gaze would enter the sights of a thief in their attempts to avoid the sights of the public. Inversely, someone with immaculate posture and a confident gaze who strode through crowds like self-proclaimed gods amongst men were the most likely to cause a ruckus the moment they became aware of their predicament. Evalyn Hardridge''s posture, gaze and stride suggested to any potential wrongdoers that they''d be hunted down, beaten, and have their wallets stolen instead. Wherever she went, Evalyn Hardridge drew attention and deterred any passerby, her peculiar aura commanding respect and demanding a clear path forward through any crowd she found herself in. Even if not for the confident stride and unwavering forward-facing gaze, the bolt action rifle on her back and the handgun holstered on her shoulder were more than enough to convince the average civilian to steer clear. Underneath the strap of her rifle, she wore a dark green field jacket; a military uniform with no clear insignia but a myriad of pockets. When taking into account her already visible armaments, it was easy for the imagination to run amock, taking a guess at whatever she hid in them. Below her waist was a similar story; baggy, long, drab, and tucked into a pair of military boots that clacked against the pavement with every well-articulated step she took. The only things that stood in stark contrast to such a brooding figure were above the neckline of her plain white singlet. Her hair was a fiery orange she kept pulled back in a ponytail at all times, letting whatever was left haphazardly fall across her face in a careless yet charming way. On her left cheek was a marking, the image of a golden whale diving under her left eye, its shade not too dissimilar from her hair albeit much tamer. It was the combination of such physical features and habits of walking that left her as half soldier, half runway model wherever she went, turning heads and raising eyebrows much to her indifference. Though no matter how bizarre her appearance or how threatening her armaments, nothing seemed to brighten the streets of the city she waded through. A city of grey concrete, cookie-cutter buildings and a sore lack of character. Sidos city, her home city she had left for greener pastures, the city she equated to a scar. Where cities to her understanding were epicentres of population, history and culture, Sidos had swathes of the first, had erased the second on a regular basis, and had never had time to develop the third. War had marred its growth, continuous civil war for hundreds of years had seen it flattened, rebuilt and flattened countless times over. A need for quick recovery and reconstruction had resulted in samey buildings and repetitive structures that could be rebuilt efficiently. The city would heal, but the scars would forever remain. A banner across the roof of a storefront advertising a sale caught her eye, the year rather than the price. 1938, ten years after the end of the civil war between Sidos''s Humans and their Spirits, and the city had only just begun to change. In a backdrop of grey uncertainty, where the memories of conflict still hung heavy in the air, people had begun to poke their heads out of the ground and embrace the newfound era. Evalyn had never bothered to notice, but the seamstress her butler had fitted her dresses from had renovated, relishing a new coat of paint and a classy air befitting of their wares. The florist her maids had bought Evalyn''s weekly bedside bouquet from had also enjoyed a breath of fresh air, their wares sprawling out of their storefront and into miniature street stalls. The fish market her chef had bought his seafood from had graduated from a musky indoor affair to an open air, open stall exhibition of sorts, the salty smell clearing the synapses as she now walked past them. Even if Evalyn bothered to notice, she would not care. She was no longer that person anymore. She had changed before the city had, outgrown its constrictive ways and the constrictive life she led in it. She had moved on to greener pastures, strapped a rifle to her back and taken matters into her own hands. Not just matters that could be dealt with by maids, butlers and chefs, but by soldiers, diplomats and generals. Being a private detective was only her day job. After all, private detectives did not usually brandish guns in broad daylight. She was something greater than that, much greater. She was an absolute power. But even absolute powers had to make ends meet. She exited the fish market and was greeted by the local district''s main hub of foodstuffs. Grocers, butchers and delis lined each side of the street, advertising their wares to the continuing flow of morning commuters. The entire street as a collective had been one of Evalyn''s steady clients for the past three or so years, catching onto her knack for chasing down shoplifters after she had given them one job for free. By now, every petty crime they witnessed would culminate in an immediate phone call back to her desk, often resulting in Evalyn crossing the border to tell off one or two children for stealing a few coins worth of candy. She was paid, however, and could consider it easy money. It always seemed to be a coordinated effort by the whole precinct to scrape together all their loose change to pay her, even though any single store was more than well off enough to shoulder the charge. "Patricia''s Deli...sounds familar," Evalyn muttered as she scanned over the stores one by one, peering over the scalps of nameless, almost faceless commuters that avoided her without a single thought. She spotted the place, the owner''s name painted rather neatly to the oversized sign hanging above the storefront. Evalyn waded through the crowd, arriving at the Deli not long after. The bell hanging above the door chimed pleasantly as Evalyn entered the quaint establishment. She spotted the owner, Patricia, manning the front counter. "Oh, do put that dreaded thing away," Patricia scolded as she spotted Evalyn''s rifle. A common occurrence with many of the shop owners she served. Guns weren''t good for drawing customers. Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more. "This thing stays with me ma''am, company policy," Evalyn smiled back, moving through the store and up to the counter. "What seems to be the problem this time? Any more details at all?" "Nothing!" Patricia exclaimed from behind the register. "Absolutely nothing. I have been watching this store like a hawk for the past three days, I''ll turn away for a few seconds at most and a whole swathe of product from the shelves will be missing." "How many exactly?" Evalyn asked. "Oh, maybe six or seven? Enough for one person to carry at least but never anything more." One person. Stealing for themselves or stealing for fun? Anything organised was immediately out of the question considering the wares being stolen. Then again, who stole an armful of product for fun? One or two items maybe, but an armful? "I''d have to stake it out for longer considering how little I have on the suspect, but in the near future if you can provide more details..." She had been speaking her thoughts out loud and had mindlessly turned around while doing so. But there they were, the hands of a small child grasping a swathe of product with their entire arms width. Large, jewel-like purple eyes stared back at her, still processing what the unexpected eye contact meant. Evalyn stared back, half in disbelief and half enthralled by the eyes she found herself caught in. Swirling, ethereal purple, the sort of beauty you could not find in any human, the kind only afforded to Spirits. Was this child one? This distinctly human child? The distinctly human child began to bolt, flying through the doors with the pattering of bare feet, leaving dropped cans of meat and bread rolls in their wake. Evalyn gave chase not long after, reaching the door before it finished its swing. She looked around the crowd, thinner than it had been earlier but still much too thick for a manhunt. Left to right and everywhere in between she scanned for even a silhouette of the child she had locked eyes with only moments prior. A human child with the eyes of a Spirit...there was a chance, even though Evalyn prayed that she was mistaken. She closed herself, disconnecting every other sense and homing in purely on the movement of Aether, the formless energy that gave Spirits life, that gave them magic, that made her the absolute power she was. In a city like Sidos where everyone and everything was human, lacking magic whatsoever, a being like that child would stick out like a sore thumb. And they did. The child was indeed another absolute power. Evalyn dashed left, sprinting past the crowd and barging through when necessary. She re-entered the fish market, the salt making her nose crinkle as her eyes focused in on the hem of a woman''s dress, or rather what was in front of it. She caught glimpses; tattered rags, small frame and flowing, silver hair, yet no matter how close she got, it seemed as though the child was moving just as fast. Evalyn pressed forward, breaking out of the market and back into clear air. The crowd had all but subsided and it seemed as though the child was just as aware of that fact as Evalyn was. She focused again, scouring the Aether for that one signature she had pinpointed before. It was distinct and powerful which made it all the more simple. She looked up and found the child pulling itself over the roof of a stout building by purple tendrils. No, tendrils weren''t the right words...they were shapes, barely formed pieces of matter that seemed to comprise her magic. Evalyn pursued, hell-bent on chasing down her target now more than ever. She reached the side of the building, scaling it with her hands and feet instead of any supernatural method, and briskly cleared the rooftop without breaking so much as a sweat. She spotted the child again, this time determined to not let them out of her sight as she bolted forward. The child ran, dropping cans and bread rolls as they went, eventually resorting to more barely formed limbs when their legs began to fail. The ends of their silver hair would dissipate and reform into abstract shapes that pulled them forward, across rooftops and over alleyways. Evalyn pursued, her legs being more than enough to keep up, and eventually the child caught on. They gave up on flight and turned their attention to fight, reshaping their formless tendrils into lengthy purple blades, slicing through the air, concrete and metal framework alike. Evalyn dodged, confident in the child''s inaccuracy and lack of control over their own magic. She grew wary but did not let that stop her. The child, so adamant in staving away Evalyn with her blades that she had forgotten to maintain her footing. Evalyn watched as the child''s foot caught the edge of a rooftop and her body swung forward into an alleyway below. Evalyn cursed, praying the drop was insubstantial or the child had been able to use magic to break her fall. She reached the edge of the roof as quick as she could and dropped down, landing on her feet and feeling her knees chatter as the impact travelled through her bones. She stood upright and found the child in front of her, clutching her arm and cowering in Evalyn''s shadow. The alley only travelled one way, and Evalyn was blocking the only exit. She steadied her breathing as the chatter and commotion seemed to fade into obscurity, creating a pocket world where only her and the child existed. Behind her was an ignorant public, a world of many nations that wanted anything but their citizens to be privy to people...abominations like her and the child, people who thought like humans yet wielded magic, who had both gifts of ingenuity and sheer power, who suffered both the greed of humans and pride of Spirits. The child could not be allowed to enter that public so freely ever again, they would have to live in the shadow of it, stay behind the curtains while being put to work in the only ways their powers would allow. And as Evalyn stared into the swirling purple eyes of the child in front of her, the thought of it racked her with pain. The child was female, the most beautiful little girl she had ever laid eyes on. Messy silver hair that could do with a wash, skin bruised and cut from a life of exposure, yet the purple eyes shimmered with a fire to live, to survive despite fight and flight both failing her. Such a sweet, fragile girl. If only that was all she was. Evalyn inched forward as the child backed into the wall, a silent look of terror on her face as she did so. She pressed her body as far back as she could, and Evalyn squatted in front of her. Perhaps the eyes had enchanted her or the silver hair had wrapped her in some sort of spell. Perhaps it was some dormant maternal instinct finally awakening after years of suppression. She could not pinpoint why, but for a moment, Evalyn stopped working her nine-to-five. She stopped being the private detective, the soldier, the absolute power. She became Evalyn Hardridge, the girl who remembered and accepted her bitter past, who recalled the maids with love, the butler with respect and the chef with adoration. The twenty-eight year old girl once disillusioned with her life and now doing anything and everything to make up for so many years lost. She brushed the little girl''s cheek with her thumb, wary that she might bite it at any moment, but no such pain came. Instead, a warmth spread through her body, starting at her fingertips and working her way up her arm. The type of warmth she''d feel in autumn, when she was cosy in her own clothing while the cold wind whistled past her only milimetres away from her skin. And by the look of the little girl''s eyes, that warmth was contagious. "You look like your name would be Iris." Chapter 1 Part 2: A City to Stave Off the Night Civil war. A part of every modern nation''s history. Every existing regime on the continent had been forged through fire, a battle in each region to determine which side of the coin of life would dominate. The ethereal, Aether-breathing, magic-wielding beings known as Spirits, or the humans, who excelled in numbers, ingenuity, invention and technology. Sidos''s war between Aether and diesel had ended only in her lifetime, leaving in its wake an uneasy patchwork of human population and Spirit territories. A draw, something only seen in a single other nation, the one Evalyn happened to call home. An equilibrium of human and Spirit, perhaps the rarest phenomenon of any nation, where all too often one side would dominate the other. Yet even in these nations, a clear divide kept the two from mingling no matter how harmonious their existence. Humans remained as humans, growing in their population and overcoming their problems with a thirst for progress. Spirits remained as Spirits, wielding the excess Aether they absorbed as magic to overcome whatever stood in their way. In some cases, they would join heads, dream and construct wondrous machines that would resemble humanity''s inventions, yet harness the power of the Spirits. Evalyn Hardridge was a Witch. The mingling of human and Spirit taken to its highest degree, a human gifted the power of magic. An abomination, an entity that stood head and shoulders above both sides of life, who selfishly claimed a Spirits pride for herself and acted on her innate greed as a human. Witch was an appropriate word, and she''d certainly be burnt at the stake if every discovered by the public. She was an absolute power, a power which the leaders of her world sought to shamelessly bribe, threaten and abuse if it meant even using a hint of that forbidden fruit against their adversaries. Calling a child such a name that came with such connotations irked her to no end, so Evalyn had named her with the first thing that had came to mind. Between the hours of nine to noon, the little boutique on 14 Devalen Street East District was largely deserted compared to its larger counterparts. Family owned and highly specialised, it was rare to see many customers outside a select clientele. Of course, Iris, unaware of all this, stared at the young shopkeeper, whose mixed expression of bewilderment and anxiety violently contrasted with Iris''s existing library of facial expressions. Those were namely anger, indifference, and the strange face the lady with the orange hair had pulled, which had made her feel much warmer in her thin, tattered clothes. A more material presence kept her warm now in the form of Evalyn''s jacket; it was too big for her by several sizes, yet nonetheless served its purpose. Iris noticed the contrast between the bright, ebbing and flowing colours of the botique''s selection and the clothes on her own back. She had wandered into similar stores before, ones with lines of soft wearables that repeated over and over. Those buildings had been bigger, and their clothes much straighter, tighter and greyer, more in line with what she wore. The boutique in comparison was smaller, Iris could gather that much. It felt older, homelier, and its clothing items more eye-catching. They were fun to look at, but Iris had already taken to staring at the strange lady even more. No matter the crafted beauty of the clothing around her, the woman had caught her as something different, something more effortlessly beautiful. A person who seldom concerned herself with her appearance, but charmed in a much more fundamental way than simple looks. In that alleyway, when she had taken off her jacket and handed it to her, the first thing Iris had noticed were the markings on her right arm. Blue lines, curving like the waves in the river Iris so often sat on the banks of, carrying orange, three-pronged leaves from her shoulder to her arm. The woman slowly wafted past each rack of items with a dissatisfied look on her face. Her rifle remained on her back as it always was, which seemed to catch the shopkeeper''s attention the most. "I used to wear this stuff?" the woman muttered. Iris heard her, but did not understand what the sounds meant. She neatly placed the clothes she was eyeing back in place and walked over to Iris, her lips ever so slightly curling at its edges; another expression she could not quite recognise. The clacking of her boots made Iris jump, but not as severely as before. The woman had shown her warmth, and Iris would not forget that in a hurry. The woman bent down, coming face to face with her. "I''m going to need my jacket back," she said softly. Again, Iris did not understand her words. The woman reached out and tugged on the jacket, but Iris kept a hold of it, grabbing the sleeves and wrapping her arms around herself. The woman sighed and gave in, giving Iris another tired look. She stood up and turned her head to the shopkeeper. "Excuse me?" "Y-yes?" the shopkeeper stuttered. "I know this isn''t the best place, but could you find something that would match that jacket she''s wearing? She doesn''t seem to have any clothes and I''m in a hurry." The shopkeeper''s eyes grew frantic as he lips flabbered some half-hearted response. She rounded the counter, scurrying off through a door behind her. The woman watched for a moment before her eyes turned to Iris. "You think I scared her?" Soon enough, Iris was beckoned into a stall of sorts, where the shopkeeper pleaded with her to remove the jacket. Iris resisted, but the almost pitiful expression of the keeper persuaded Iris, and she let her do what was needed. Iris then emerged, a plain white t-shirt underneath the field jacket she hung onto, and a baggy set of pocketed cargo pants ran down her legs. Even down to the high-laced leather boots, she had all but become a spitting image of the strange woman, who, upon seeing Iris looked as though she was desperately suppressing a grin. "Thank you," she said to the shopkeeper, who quickly retreated to the counter. "How much do I owe you?" "W-will you be needing something for yourself?" "Oh, yes. There was a trench coat back that way that caught my eye." "Certainly," she said, scurrying away as the strange woman grabbed a leather pouch from her pocket and opened it. Iris had seen it not too long ago when the woman had dragged her back to the store where she had been most recently scavenging her dinner. She had called it something like ''com-pen-sei-shon'' as she took from it small bits of metal and paper, although Iris could barely make heads nor tails of what it meant. The woman sighed. "Between clearing the cost of your thieving, your clothes and mine...that leaves just enough for the train." She walked over to the counter, patting Iris''s head as she brushed past. "Kids are expensive, huh?" Four words, four distinct sets of sounds that undoubtedly meant something. The shopkeeper returned with a large, thick coat draped over one of her forearms which she handed to the woman. They exchanged words, words that Iris could not exactly keep up with while trading the clothes for the pieces of paper and metal. The woman unslung her rifle, propping it against a rack of clothes before pulling on the coat that draped over almost her entire figure, reaching halfway down her calves. "Thank you," she said to the keeper as she re-shouldered her rifle and headed for the door. "Uhm...," a small voice called from the counter. The woman swivelled her head. "Yes?" "Are you...police perhaps?" The woman smiled, turning her body fully in a display of honesty. "No, not me." "Then...." "Then what?" the woman said, gently. The shopkeeper squirmed, the sounds catching in her throat. "Are you someone from S.H.I.A.?" The unintelligable words seemed to mean something to the woman, who paused and hesitated. The smile faltered, but returned quickly. "No," she said. "I apologise if I gave off that impression." The woman gave another smile to the cashier before taking Iris''s hand and stepping out of the store. "Being mistaken for a terrorist," the woman muttered. "I guess I can''t blame her." The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement. She followed the woman through streets, crowds and large open buildings, letting herself be strung along the entire way. She would stop sometimes, demanding to know where they were headed, but never knew the sounds to express her discontent. Each time, the woman would kneel in front of her and say something. "I''m taking you with me. It''s not safe for you to be on your own anymore." From time to time, she''d repeat other phrases over and over. Even if Iris could not figure a meaning, she could recall how they sounded. ''Do you have a home?'', ''Are you sure you don''t have parents?'', and each time Iris would simply stare, unsure of what the woman was asking for. More and more the woman would speak to her, uttering sounds that felt familiar as though the meanings were somewhere in her brain and it was only a matter of finding where she had stored them. In that fashion, Iris found herself in a moving room. A small rectangular shape with windows that lined each side. She knelt on the green cushioned seats that ran the length of the windows, her body swaying with the room''s gentle side-to-side motion. From her perch, she watched the scenery outside the window trawl past at a speed she had never experienced. The grey concrete she had grown so accustomed to had fizzled out and faded all too quickly, leaving in its wake endless fields of swaying green and a harsh horizon of bright blue interrupted only by fluffy white giants. She could see a similar white giant above her if she craned her neck enough. A billowing mass of colourless stuff which seemed to disappear almost as quickly as it formed. She would look forward and see it escaping from a massive chugging black beast of sorts, another profoundly alien thing. The woman had fallen silent since boarding the moving room, closing her eyes and sitting peacefully with a single seat between them. Yet, Iris would catch her glancing every now and again in her direction, sometimes averting her gaze the moment they met and sometimes not. "What?" Iris muttered when she finally caught the woman staring red-handed. The woman''s brow furrowed, and she sat forward. "You can speak?" she asked. Iris stayed silent. The woman pouted, leaning back into the thin green cushion. "It''s nothing. I''m just worried. I don''t know what''s going to happen when we arrive in Excala, but I''m hoping nothing happens to you." The woman paused, her cheeks blushing ever so slightly. "I hope I get to keep...take custody of you." Iris watched the woman squirm in her seat, averting her eyes as though there was something to be afraid of. "Thank you for riding the Excala express line. As you may know, this is the last month of Aether-Steam engines being in service, and new Aether-Diesel engines are to be installed before the month is out. Thank you for your cooperation over the years and to¡­" The voice echoed through the room, and Iris searched for whoever was making the noises, but none of the other passengers'' lips were moving. The woman put a hand on Iris''s head, a gesture she seemed to like. "It''s just the intercom, calm down." Iris sat back in her seat, giving her knees a rest as she let the voice wash over her. The scenery through the far windows did not change much, it seemed as though they were riding through a flat in-between world. Amongst the noise of the intercom, the distant chugging and rhythmic clunk from below, Iris heard the weak screeching of badly oiled wheels. She looked to the end of the room and saw an older lady push a trolley laden with packets she recognised as food through the door. Iris instinctively reached out as the trolley moved past, her eyes on a particularly rectangular shape she had eaten before. The outer skin was tough, but the inside was brown, sweet and stuck to her teeth. She salivated at the mere thought, and sat forward in her seat, outstretching her arm to grab one as it passed. But the woman intervened, taking her hand and gently forcing it backwards. Iris looked to the woman, who''s expression had suddenly sullened, eyebrows downturned and intimidating. "Hey, no," she said, her voice stern. She recognised the expression as some sort of anger, but one that did not seem as violent as she was used to. Iris shrunk, retracting her arm and returning to her seat, deciding that listening to the woman was the right choice if she valued her safety. Even if the expression did not betray an iminent outburst, Iris found it just as intimidating. She turned around, getting on her knees once more and turning her attention to the window, doing her best to ignore the trolley despite her stomach''s protests. Then something hit her over the head, softly tapping it and crinkling as it did so. Iris flinched violently, grabbing her head and turning towards the woman, expecting another follow up blow. But the woman just watched her, a small grin across her face as she offered the particular rectangular morcel to her in one hand, and held a pair of sandwiches in the other. Iris looked at the food, then at the woman, who only smiled even wider. "You can have it if you say, ¡®thank you Evalyn¡¯. Evalyn is my name, so remember that." Evalyn wondered what it was like from Iris''s perspective, to be dragged around by an older lady whom she had just met and be talked at with words she barely understood. If anything, she could surmise it had been tiring judging by the way the small girl had passed out once discarding the candy wrapper and curling into a ball. Evalyn had watched every second as the girl''s eyes slowly drifted into sleep, aided by the train carriage''s slow back and forth rocking. The late morning sun danced across her soft features, reflecting beautifully off the silver head of hair. She looked to be at least nine or ten, yet not a single sign of severe degredation marked her besides some recent bruises and cuts. Her hair, although matted in some places and frayed in others, still gleamed in whatever light it could gleefully catch, and her teeth had shown no signs of rotting. It made Evalyn wonder if she had truly found a stray, but the tattered clothing she had binned shortly after Iris''s makeover all but confirmed it. The girl had not the first clue as to what Evalyn was saying, nor did she try and converse in any other language; if she did have parents, they certainly weren''t present in her life. Evalyn had considered the possibility she was mute, but even then mutes could shake their head if it was required of them. She watched Iris curiously, inching closer and taking up the free space between them. Her shoulder bumped Iris''s, but even then she did not seem to stir. No matter the person, it seemed as though a full stomach, safety and sunlight could lull anyone into a deep enough slumber. Evalyn''s mind relaxed for the first time that day, the sight of such a pretty sleeper making her envious. There was a protocol to such an event. After all, the only people in the field who could recognise a Wizard or Witch for who they were, were other Wizards and Witches. The protocol in question was typically notifying the closest federal authorities and leaving the new Wizard or Witch''s fate in the hands of their home nations, but Evalyn could not bring herself to do the same in her situation. Iris was a child, a lonesome child that acted as though she had been born yesterday. Leaving her in the hands of Sidos was something that, even now, her psyche was in conflict over. However, it was too late. She had gone and done it as easily as picking up a stray cat off the street. She had no clue if it was the right thing to do, but imagining Iris anywhere other than right by her side felt wrong. Evalyn wondered how life would treat Iris. She had become a Witch at eighteen in the midst battle. She been blessed in her time of need, when she had finally figured out who she wanted to be. But Iris was practically born with her power, in a way she was that power itself. As the girl sat on the shade of green so horribly aged by the passing tides of design and aesthetic, Evalyn wondered how kind the same passing tides of life would be to Iris, a life largely not of her choosing. She desperately wanted to leave the girl she had found somewhere better, but she could not give that absolute power to anyone, not even the girl herself. Would the power end up defining her, or would she find some sort of solid ground to stand on? Evalyn calmed, realising how ahead of herself she was getting. For now, she would not think so deeply about it. She was nothing but the courier. ¡°Dear patrons,¡± the intercom echoed. ¡°Due to a recent increase in suspicious activities in Sidos city, Geverdian border officials have requested the Excala expressed to be stopped and searched for suspicious people, weapons or other items before continuing. We sincerely apologise for the delay. I repeat¡ª¡± Iris was awoken from her rest by Evalyn, who had gently rocked her back and forth until she realised someone was forcing her awake. Eyes still bleary, she looked towards her as if to ask why she had been awoken at all. "Look, we''re almost there," Evalyn said, a look of subtle, everyday joy on her face. Iris began to pay attention to her surroundings. From the windows across from her was something she had never seen before. It was completely blue, shimmering with dull light and constantly moving in waves that seemed to stretch for eternity. There were no banks like the rivers Iris had frequented. It felt familiar to her, but she couldn''t fathom where the recollection came from¡ªanother mysterious memory, like the sounds the lady would make. Speaking of, the lady then pointed the other direction behind her, and there she saw something much less alien. It was familiar to her, not in the sense of those memories she couldn''t recall. It was a city. She could tell that, but it wasn''t what she thought a city could be. Buildings huddled together in irregular patterns, their roofs in different angles and shapes. Their walls were deep browns and oranges, but they didn''t shy away from including any number of other colours. The bridges looked weaker than the ones she was used to, but they looked prouder as if to say they held their weight and the weight of many others for millennia. Throughout the mangled, intricate grid of buildings were spires, some beacons of green, swaying with the wind. Others were tall and slim. Some were massive, towering over their surroundings, outshining them in both width and height, rectangles and domes. But what caught Iris''s attention the most was its aura. No matter how many people moved past her in Sidos, her surroundings felt still, trapped in time. They were built that way, with structure and planning in mind. But with this city, history, unpredictable history and unrelenting time had created a city that moved constantly. From the buildings, the canals, the rivers, the towers, the trees, the creatures flying in flocks above. This city was alive with something. "Welcome to Excala." Interlude: The Fortress Nation The following is an excerpt from the latest edition of ¡®The Complete History of Geverde¡¯, and acts as a modern replacement for the closing statement of the last six editions. However, the Queen herself admits little changed in her stance in the past three hundred years. ¡°Geverde is the only such state on our continent, that tolerates both human and spirit, encouraging their growth together and in harmony. In no other nation could the Spirits of the land not be blind sided by their pride, nor the humans by their greed. It was here, on this fertile land, across the banks of the great Alfante river, did this nation start. The first meeting place of Spirits, travelling westward, and humans migrating east.¡± ¡°From the day of it''s founding, when I was pronounced its Queen of Spirits, this nation has stood alone in the fragile framework of this continent. We harboured no friends, nor did we harbour enemies. Only traded with those willing.¡± ¡°But that never meant we weren¡¯t ready.¡± ¡°Every potential friend was a potential threat. Every inch of fertile plain was a weakness to our East and West. But our seas to the South acting as our sword, and the mountains to the North acting as our shield, bought us time. With the Spirit¡¯s magic we brought power, and with the human¡¯s abundance, we brought collectivity, ingenuity, numbers. We worked the land, dug for valuables, and used our ports to become the most powerful exporting nation of raw materials.¡± This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report. ¡°While others squabbled, we invested into education, training, inventing strategy, technology to use inward and turn our indefensible lands into a fortress of stone and aether. We pushed further our own people, created cities and factories. Those brought unions, powerful people with influence who sought to challenge my rule, and so I let them. The trust I had built let me keep my power, while that government created security for the people.¡± ¡°We¡­ I, for hundreds of years, looked inward, preparing for the day that we would be forced to look beyond our borders. And as nations settled, they doubted me. Those complacent began to doubt a need for preparations, that I was worrying over nothing, that we would never be a target. But I, and those who believed in me, resisted. The public, the many that fall under my great wings in their day-to-day lives believed, and therefore participated in their schools, their workplaces, their roads and towers, their factories and their armed forces. And the trust and participation is the reason, after the first external conflict of our time, we are still standing.¡± ¡°I have made many a mistake, and the ancient blood this nation stands on is a testament to our sacrifice. But in return, our nation is a cradle, a cradle with high walls for all that we, all that I hold dear.¡± ¡°I have given my life to this nation, and this nation is me.¡± - Her Majesty, Queen Amestris, 1938 Chapter 1 Part 3: The Thing in Her Ear Iris¡¯s introduction to the city had been a grand one. A city she could have never dreamed of had presented itself to her in such a luxurious fashion. But up close, she felt uneasy. The constant motion and flow, or rather spiral, of people moving throughout Geverde International Train Station irked her. Overtones of rich brown replaced the sterile grey. Looking up for some relief, she found what she thought was a glass roof to the sky, but on closer inspection, the clouds were in shapes of words that she couldn¡¯t read. Maywen ¨C 01:48 ¨C Pure Aether express line Penevgo ¨C 01:53 ¨C Aether diesel line The words were becoming more apparent, which only made her head hurt even more. She turned back forward, trying to keep her eyes on Evalyn as she cut through the crowd, slowly disappearing into the mass of bodies. The surrounding bodies snuffed out the last wisps of her beacon-like hair. A realisation hit that some of the commuters around her were entities she had never even seen before. Black masses wore the same clothes as people and formed the same shape but moved completely differently, at a completely different cadence from anyone human. They had no faces, just white masks with long beaks. Holes for eyes that turned towards her, slowly, like they were staring straight through her. And she was lost. The height of those around her had made an indomitable wall, suffocating her. She felt the constant flow of people nauseating. She couldn¡¯t focus on something in particular, so her vision blurred. The droning noise stuck to the inside of her ears and made her want to tear them off. She began to panic as though certain presences stuck out from the rest, watching her. She swivelled around, but any threat was indistinguishable from the crowd. Panic turned to aggression that she desperately tried to suppress. A feeling made her twitch from her shoulders to her fingertips. She could feel it; she could feel her hair disappearing like it always did. That sickening feeling of relief. A voice called to her. Something emanating from the crowd or even beyond it. It whispered so loudly in Evalyn¡¯s mind, but nothing made sense. No sounds formed words. A sound that felt like it was melting her brain. ¡°Iris!¡± She was a foot off the floor. Two hands around her torso had picked her up and brought her level. Iris, at first not distinguishing who it was through her vertigo, finally found the marking on her face, something to focus on. She found Evalyn again, and the world from there began to return to her, including her hair. ¡°Your hair really does disappear,¡± she muttered in amazement as she put Iris back on the ground. ¡°Let¡¯s not let that happen again,¡± she said, grabbing Iris¡¯s hand. Strung along this time, Iris felt much safer, enjoying the sensation of Evalyn¡¯s skin on hers. By this rhythm, they made it to an old building, five storeys tall. The paint was peeling, but it was overall still structurally sound. ¡°If you need me, then you come here, okay? Fifth story. That¡¯s my office.¡± Iris looked up and then back at her. ¡°You¡¯re welcome anytime if that¡¯s what you were wondering.¡± Apart from the boutique, the moving room, it was the first time Iris had felt welcome inside an interior and her first time in one that felt so homely. Things weren¡¯t on display solely to show off to someone, whether it be a service or a product. It frankly didn¡¯t care what it looked like inside; the building did what it needed to. Her boots creaked on the wooden floor, making Iris weary of her footing. Evalyn instead strode through to the staircase, utterly comfortable in her surroundings. Here, even Iris could tell that her eyebrows had unfurrowed themselves, and she wasn¡¯t looking over her shoulder constantly. The winding spiral staircase rose past every floor, letting her peer all the way to the top. Iris stood in the centre, following the polished railing to the ceiling, wondering if she could ever reach there with her purple limbs. ¡°Iris?¡± ¡°Mm?¡± ¡°Rules, do you know what rules are?¡± ¡°¡­¡± ¡°Rules are things that stop you from doing something. Just because you can do it doesn¡¯t always mean you should. That goes for your hair as well,¡± Evalyn said. ¡°Mm.¡± ¡°So, if someone can see you,¡± she said, pointing at her eyeballs, ¡°you don¡¯t do anything like this.¡± Up until now, Iris had been alone in a variety of senses. Physically and emotionally. She had sifted through crowds like water through a colander, something anyone would miss. But the power she walked with inside her had allowed her to take full advantage of that. And she had found some pride in that. When Evalyn exercised her magic, Iris¡¯s eyes lit up the same way Evalyn¡¯s markings did. A whale, moving, diving in her palm. Golden orange. Iris stumbled over, mesmerised by the small, fake life. As she got closer, the light grew more potent, and she realised that the solid mass was made of tiny leaves. Three-pronged leaves, the size of sand grains. And with the snap of Evalyn¡¯s fingers, it was gone. ¡°Ms Caney, how are you today?¡± Evalyn called. ¡°Oh, I¡¯m okay. Thank you for asking, Mrs Hardridge. Back so soon?¡± ¡°The case wasn¡¯t much after all. Did you end up tracking down that rent from two weeks ago?¡± Ms Caney was one of the shapes that looked so human-like. Iris had seen more on her way but couldn¡¯t help but stare now that she was talking. A black matter, like a shadow, wearing a floral dress and a haunting white mask. Hollows for eyes and a beak rather than any expression to speak of. Her voice wasn¡¯t normal, either. The warmth and rhythm that innately came with a voice such as Evalyn¡¯s were stifled. Mechanical. Iris felt she had to clear her ears one more time before Ms Caney spoke again. ¡°No, unfortunately. I might have to talk to you about that.¡± ¡°I¡¯d take a month¡¯s rent off as payment,¡± Evalyn grinned. Ms Caney sighed and succumbed, muttering the grievances of being a landlord. Evalyn turned to Iris. This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings. ¡°Here, you say ¡®hello¡¯.¡± ¡°H-hello¡­¡± Her tongue almost knotted itself in the process, but Evalyn looked satisfied. ¡°Hello, and who might you be?¡± ¡°She¡¯s a friend¡¯s daughter. I¡¯m taking care of her for a while.¡± ¡°¡­seems awfully dangerous for your line of work. Surely, it¡¯ll be your husband¡¯s job.¡± ¡°I¡¯m afraid so, but I must get going, Ms Caney; there¡¯s an important call I need to make.¡± ¡°Oh, I know better to interrupt a P.I. Wives are terrifying when they suspect their husbands of cheating, I must say.¡± ¡°I can¡¯t complain about my clientele, Ms Caney.¡± ¡°And I can¡¯t complain about never being married.¡± With that exchange, they walked past each other, Iris unable to tear her eyes away from Ms Caney. ¡°It¡¯s rude to stare, Iris.¡± ¡°What?¡± Iris asked, pointing at Ms Caney. ¡°Ms. Caney? She¡¯s the landlord. I give her money, and she lets me use her building.¡± Iris mumbled to herself, scratching her head. ¡°Oh, I see now,¡± Evalyn said as she turned to Iris, crouching down from a step above. ¡°Ms Caney is a beak. I know it sounds like a slur, but it¡¯s okay; they prefer it. They¡¯re a Spirit, and you¡¯ll see more and more in this city. You got your hair from a Spirit, so treat them with respect.¡± Iris looked at Evalyn, a semblance of the confusion dissipating. Evalyn stared back, her expression still cloudy with insecurity. She flicked the girl¡¯s forehead. ¡°I know I¡¯m getting through to you, so bear with me.¡± She continued up each flight of stairs while Iris hobbled behind, her forehead feeling betrayed for the first time in her memory. ¡°You see, when you can do the things we do, it becomes tempting to use them all the time just as long as no one¡¯s looking. I mean, why can¡¯t I blast myself up to the top or create an elevator myself? But beyond the fact that someone could always be watching¡­it isn¡¯t as fun, is it?¡± It sounded as though Evalyn enjoyed speaking, even if there was no one around to understand. To Iris, her lips were simply moving in ways she could not comprehend or even hope to replicate. Even then, certain sounds stuck out, ones that repeated and were easy to recall. ¡°That being said,¡± she muttered as¡ªwith a dull flash of her markings¡ªshe produced a golden key at the tips of her fingers and pushed it into the lock. ¡°It is bloody useful sometimes.¡± Click. Evalyn¡¯s office wasn¡¯t a large affair by any means, but it certainly had the layout of a police station one might find themselves sitting in after a row at the local pub. Iris glanced around, noting how many doors the space had compared to the shops she had visited or even the boutique. A potted plant, paintings and waiting chairs lined one wall, while the other had three doors. Evalyn walked to the very far one, strolling past the first two; unremarkable apart from the fact signs denoted their purpose. One, labelled ¡®Bathroom¡¯, and the other marked ¡®Staff only¡¯, which, even to an illiterate Iris, stuck out from the other two signs. The last door which Evalyn opened, was labelled ¡®Office¡¯. Evalyn¡¯s expert handiwork quickly unloaded the rifle of ammunition, leaving one bullet chambered before propping it up beside her desk. She slumped into her chair and it creaked backwards, tired of her abusive handling. She sunk into the pillow as Iris sunk into her surroundings. She saw walls lined with colourful bricks, and her toes mingled with the fluff on the floor. ¡°The carpet, I did just import from Rodhisva. I swear it¡¯s the best part of this room, apart from this chair. Suppose you¡¯re wondering about the books? They¡¯re mostly for show. Actually, let me get a window open.¡± The orange brick that seemed to make up every building in the city peeked out from underneath peeling white paint. A sturdy wooden beam ran along the centre of the wall, dividing it into two with a window on each side. Evalyn swung the gates of the closest window open, and her hair began flowing in the gentle breeze. Evalyn sighed deeply and looked back, leaning against the windowsill. She stared at Iris, and Iris stared back. ¡°Your hair is beautiful,¡± Evalyn whispered. ¡°¡­¡± ¡°Well, I¡¯m going to make a call, so please make yourself home.¡± And Iris was alone with herself once again, meandering from one end of the room to another. ¡°Hello, yes, is the Lieutenant-General there? I want to speak with her¡­Yes, I know this is a secure channel; why do you think I¡¯m on it¡­Hardridge, H, A, R¡­¡± Hearing the conversation made Iris realise that no matter how much she felt she was understanding, sometimes words could still sound like gibberish if she thought them too dull. The breeze and its source were what attracted her first. She had never been so high up before and tempted a look down. Below was nothing but water, a canal instead of a street. A little voice inside her told her to jump, to see what it would be like, but the fear of five storeys kept it at bay. ¡°Marie, please could you get me a direct line? No but you¡¯re never home, are you¡­well, I¡¯m sorry I interrupted you, but I¡¯ve got something here that¡¯s a great deal more important¡­no, it¡¯s another Witch, I¡¯m afraid¡­¡± The coloured bricks or ¡®books¡¯ on the wooden shelves felt soft and hard simultaneously, almost like wood but without the density. They opened with slight resistance and revealed their delicate insides. The pages, or more the black lines on them, looked like the shapes the clouds made in the station. She put the book back, unwilling to revisit the feeling just yet. ¡°I can fully confirm she¡¯s been infused with Aether, yes¡­I found her in Sidos, but we¡¯re in my office right now¡­what else am I supposed to do with her? She¡¯s the youngest Witch anyone I¡¯ve ever known knows about! I can¡¯t just leave her there and report it to Sidos Home Guard! They¡¯ll tear her to shreds!.¡± Iris looked back, and Evalyn was mumbling into a black rod wired to a box, and Iris, concerned for her new guardian¡¯s mental state, scampered off into the hallway, where she found the room labelled ¡®staff only¡¯. Rules. Just because she can do something doesn¡¯t mean she should. But for Iris, being non-fluent was a helpful excuse. She pressed her hand against the lock, bringing forth the memory of Evalyn¡¯s key and the shape of its teeth. The tendrils pressed against the pins, gently massaging them into a form that the lock recognised and thus yielding itself to her with a satisfying click. She looked back at Evalyn, her back still turned, seemingly unaware. Iris¡¯s curiosity overwrote the little sense of guilt in her mind, and she pressed it open. She scanned the room, whose layout was identical to the last, but its contents were vastly different. Two sets of metal beamed shelves lined with boxes of the same drab colours and contents. These were labelled like the books in the other room, ¡®1929-Jan¡¯, ¡®1932-Aug¡¯ and so on. If they were anything like the books, Iris could guess the contents already and had barely any interest in them. What she found more stimulating were pictures, particularly those pinned to the far wall. Iris followed the seemingly random succession from one pinned parchment to the next. Sketches that Iris could not recognise. Sharp things, scary things, things that, if were real, Iris would be wary of. The most intriguing of all, however, was the parchment set in the centre. A person drawn with sharp edges. Its arms were segmented into plates, intricate designs followed their lines, and each seemed to click into place with the other. Every paper was labelled ¡®edged weapon three¡¯ or ¡®ranged weapon sixteen¡¯, and their drawings were scribbled over with writing, but this one more so out of all the others. ¡®Armour¡¯. ¡°No, I can¡¯t discern her abilities yet, but you can add lockpicking to the list.¡± Iris instinctively jumped in her jacket, scrambling to hide. Evalyn, already leaning on the door frame, sighed, shaking her head. Iris understood what she meant with little thought and conceded, sneaking one last glance at the papers before leaving. Evalyn pressed the phone against her chest. ¡°Next time, you ask first, okay?¡± She resumed the call and began to walk back to her office. Iris watched her round the corner, intent on following, but found she couldn¡¯t. The hallway outside changed, morphed into something unrecognisable. It stretched past the confines of the building¡¯s structure that Iris was keenly aware of. The walls were pale white, and no natural light passed through them, only the sickly orange of the lamps above her head. Her bare feet against the carpet didn¡¯t feel the softness of its fabric. It was bristly, red, and hostile. Down each side were doors. These weren¡¯t labelled, but Iris had no sense of urgency to find out what was behind them. Her urgency fell entirely in the fact she feared them. The doors loomed quietly, inviting her to turn the brass knobs that kept her from something she knew she did not want to remember, could not afford to remember. She closed her eyes, wishing it would go away, hoping the doors would see she wasn¡¯t interested, but they pressed on. Their inevitability far surpassed Iris¡¯s protests, her insignificant protests. This time, the voice that sounded didn¡¯t come from the unending flow of bodies but focused on a singular point. The final door in the sequence at the end of the hallway became clear to Iris. Clear in shape, but not in meaning. She collapsed, her body falling onto the hardwood, her skin graced by the sun¡¯s light, and her condition finally brought to Evalyn¡¯s attention. Chapter 2 Part 1: Coming Home to Roost ¡°As you said, when she¡¯s stimulated into activating her magic, hair does disappear. But it¡¯s not just her hair; this matter comprises her entire body. If I were to conduct an autopsy right now, I¡¯d find everything I¡¯d expect, but she isn¡¯t a carbon-based organism. She¡¯s like a Spirit almost perfectly mimicking a human, or maybe even vice versa.¡± ¡°So, she could use other body parts if she needed to?¡± ¡°Yes¡­but I wouldn¡¯t recommend it. Everything is a perfect replica down to the nerve structure. Disassembling an arm would be like losing it. It would be too painful.¡± ¡°Can you trace it to its origin? Her magic.¡± ¡°Never mind magic; the way she absorbs Aether is too alien. We can¡¯t figure out an identity without running more tests.¡± ¡°How long would that take? ¡°Months. What are orders from above?¡± ¡°I¡¯ve been getting calls the entire time you were working. If tests are the alternative, there¡¯s plenty clamouring for that too, but just as many are calling for her deployment.¡± ¡°They want to utilise her already?¡± ¡°Depends on how they take what you just told me. What do you think is best?¡± The Aetherologist crossed his arms, resuming a debate he had clearly started long before Evalyn had asked him outright. In front of the two was Iris, unconscious on an operating table. The Aetherologist had conducted no surgery, but he had taken samples of hair, nail and skin. Evalyn felt guilty and resolved to treat her before the Aetherologist readjusted his bone white beak and spoke up once more. The voice box fitted in his mask sounded more machine-like than the newer models Evalyn was used to. ¡°In my mind, biologically, she isn¡¯t human; physically, she isn¡¯t Spirit. It isn¡¯t as simple as a human infused with magic like your situation, or even as simple as the weirdos in Aerilia with their fire.¡± What he said was true. Evalyn was granted the power she had by a Spirit, and the users of Aerilian fire had been rewarded it through a hellish ritual. But Iris was that power. If she couldn¡¯t be described as human or Spirit, power was the only thing that could describe her. ¡°But my concern is her mental state. If what you say is true, and what I¡¯ve researched suggests anything, it¡¯s something deeper than Schizophrenia or Aether-Influx. I¡¯m afraid continuing tests and keeping her down in such an environment would only worsen it. And you see, I¡¯m a coward. I don¡¯t want to deal with it when the bottle finally bursts.¡± The Aetherologist laughed off his own shortcomings, but Evalyn continued to think. Simply listing the pros and cons was no longer enough; she had to think carefully about what responsibilities it would put on not only her shoulders but all that came to raise and train her. ¡°What is her state if you were to take her as a human?¡± ¡°Well¡­ she¡¯s a normal, healthy girl. I can¡¯t pinpoint an exact age, but she¡¯s between nine and eleven biologically. Apart from her sporadic cases, she doesn¡¯t seem to be in any consistent mental trouble.¡± ¡°What about as a Spirit?¡± ¡°Aether flow isn¡¯t hindered whatsoever; she¡¯s working fine and could probably live off of Aether alone for a week or so. Magic conversion seems to be doing no damage to her, and her output is only limited by her imagination. A bit like you, I¡¯d say.¡± ¡°That¡¯s worrying.¡± ¡°Yeah, especially considering the last thing I want to add.¡± ¡°What¡¯s that?¡± ¡°Assuming her brain functions are that of a human, her age and the state you found her in suggests that her Amygdala is much bigger than ours.¡± ¡°What does that control?¡± ¡°Fight or flight. I may be mistaken, but that may shoulder some of the blame for her episodes. Unless she learns to control herself, her instincts might find it easier and easier to take over her rational thought process.¡± ¡°And combined with her power?¡± ¡°Being conscious of it might make her outbursts even worse. It would be like a violently unstable person who knows how to fight, or an insane Spirit who¡¯s mastered their magic. So I¡¯d say the best thing for her is learning to control it. The final call is up to you.¡± ¡°... I¡¯ll be leaving with her in an hour, so make sure everything is finished by then.¡± The Aetherologist smiled, satisfied with Evalyn¡¯s choice. ¡°Good. The numbing magic will wear off by then. Take her somewhere nice tomorrow.¡± Evalyn sighed, exasperated. ¡°Even if I did, she would not appreciate it as intended.¡± ¡°¡­¡± ¡°Candy bar?¡± ¡°Candy bar.¡± Iris¡¯s pace behind Evalyn was lagging, and her movements were sluggish. The streets had turned on their lights to stave off the darkness of the night, and the floating lanterns a few tens of metres in the air had replaced the stars. With the new lights came a new crowd, younger and dressed more extravagantly than the people Iris must have found herself accustomed to. People in fashionable dresses enjoyed the nightlife and all the spoils the city had to offer. A world utterly alien to Iris. Evalyn looked on as Iris practically collapsed into her arms, eyes only half open. ¡°It¡¯s only a bit more to the station. Here.¡± Evalyn turned around and crouched down, pushing her rifle to the side. This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it. ¡°Get on, hm?¡± Iris, barely conscious, clung onto Evalyn¡¯s back and let her do the rest, lifting her onto broad, capable shoulders. It was comforting and warm, too warm to keep her awake. The swaying motions and the constant chatter lulled her to lose consciousness. ¡°You¡¯ll be just like them one day. I promise.¡± Evalyn whispered to Iris, her soft cheek brushing up against hers, and Evalyn¡¯s heart twisted. Something only her husband had ever succeeded in doing. ¡°Me? It¡¯s not my scene, I guess.¡± Through the night they went, with only the occasional older woman to point out the adorableness of the sleeping beauty on Evalyn¡¯s back. It was an oasis in the bustling streets that surrounded them. Until now, Evalyn had never mingled with the nightlife unless she had to put on airs. She preferred her home. But now, it felt like she was walking alone without being alone. She was being kept company by an existence that threatened so many things, even threatened Evalyn¡¯s very foundations of the life she led. She oversaw this small life now, the small life that carried such big risks and unfathomable responsibilities. She had expected power, but nothing like what the Aetherologist had alluded to. Something that could rival her, that could contend for the title of most powerful. The small life on her back was a big hope and a bigger threat, to more than just her but to everything, to everyone. ¡°What am I going to do, huh?¡± These thoughts entertained her head while her legs brought her to the small ferry port along the nearest canal. She walked the steps down to where the soft waves lapped only centimetres from her boots. She waited patiently for minutes as she aimlessly stared forward; the night¡¯s sounds drowned out, and only the softness of Iris¡¯s breath kept her company. It wasn¡¯t long before the ferry arrived. No matter how old they got, the city¡¯s Fregola ferries were a staple of the canals. Spirits with rounded heads that cut through the water and iconic shells upon which the passenger cabin rested were always a welcome sight for any weary traveller. Evalyn greeted the Spirit as it pulled into the port, its oversized driver¡¯s hat kept on its head by a thick rope tied below its chin. A man on the ferry welcomed her and extended the boarding raft over the Fregola¡¯s large scaly flippers. She sat near the front and placed Iris beside her, leaning against her shoulder. She watched as the conductor gave the Fregola the go-to, and she heard the whirring of the spiralled flippers behind her. The water sloshed against the windows of the ferry as she watched the conductor¡¯s actions, soothing her to sleep as life outside the cabin and on the canal¡¯s banks faded into another world entirely. By the time Iris¡¯s eyes opened again, she was somewhere else entirely. Her surroundings were lit only by the moonlight streaming from the open window above her bed. She sat up, realising Evalyn¡¯s jacket was no longer on her. The gentle draught from the window met her hair and face, and she took in a sight that completely contradicted what she had seen when she first closed her eyes. Grasslands stretched for miles before her, drifting like the sea beyond under the wind¡¯s influence. Gentle mounds led her eyes to a small cluster of shimmering lights the size of her finger. Directly above her, stretching to the horizon, were specks of light, reaching across the blue of night, something she had never seen, never imagined existed. She racked her brain, wondering if those were unique to her room or if she had just failed to notice them. Her room wasn¡¯t built of the same white and brown bricks of the buildings she had seen or the concrete construction of Sidos City. She ran her fingers along the wall. It felt rough but more intricate than the concrete and yet more gentle than the brick of Excala. She recognised it as wood, the same stuff that had made up the beams of Evalyn¡¯s office. Wood painted a creamy white. She shifted in her sheets and looked at the rest of her room. A desk on one side. Papers, books, things that Iris was slowly learning and understanding. Another chair, the same model she had so adamantly abused in her office. Speaking of Evalyn, she had fallen asleep next to her rifle, a wet towel over her eyes. Her previously intimidating look had disappeared, and in its place was a gentler appearance: a white knitted sweater and a long, green skirt. Even her hair was flowing freely now. Iris couldn¡¯t help but stare. It was only now that Iris noticed the noise in the room. Words, words that she was slowly beginning to recognise even better. Now every sound had a semblance of meaning and every few words she would understand, allowing her to piece together something of an image in her head. She found the source of the noise. A slender box the size of her torso stood up on the bedside table, and even in the dim moonlight, she could see the brilliantly polished wood that furnished it. Across its broad side were grooves running up and down the length of it in unpredictable patterns, and as the sounds continued, so too did small blue lights make their way down the grooves from top to bottom. It was magic, like the magic she was so used to feeling. She could tell that. ¡°It¡¯s a pattern reader.¡± Iris jumped as Evalyn slowly lifted the towel off of the bridge of her nose. ¡°I thought playing a book for you while you slept would help speed up your learning. So? Did it work?¡± Iris knew roughly what she was saying. ¡®Book, slept, speed, learning, work?¡¯ were words she could now string together. And a nod was her answer. Evalyn smiled faintly. ¡°Well, that¡¯s good news then. Hungry?¡± Another nod. ¡°Good. You haven¡¯t eaten much today, have you.¡± Evalyn got up and passed into the next room. Iris followed her warily, remembering what had happened the last time Evalyn had rounded a corner. But she was met with nothing of the sort. Evalyn gracefully passed a carpet surrounded by soft couches and a wooden dining table into an area cut off from the rest behind a bench. Above Iris¡¯s head, the rafters were visible, but its visibility felt intentional rather than a sign of incompletion, adding to the beauty of it. The atmosphere felt homely. Even to Iris, who recognised that the whole place smelt like Evalyn, it still didn¡¯t feel entirely alien. She had permission to be here and was being welcomed. ¡°This¡­is nice¡­¡± Iris slowly blurted. She had no clue what the tip of her tongue was doing herself. Even Evalyn, for a second, looked startled but managed not to make a fuss over it. ¡°Is that so?¡± she asked, opening a large, silver, rectangular box the size of herself. ¡®Frostbox¡¯, it said on its left door in metallic letters, and the blue light emanating from within carried with it wisps of magic. ¡°It used to be a secret meeting room for the heads of Special Operations and their special meetings. But once the Lieutenant-General made those programs more official, she didn¡¯t need it anymore.¡± Gibberish. Pure gibberish. ¡°You¡¯ll meet her soon, though, the Lieutenant-General. It¡¯s thanks to her you¡¯re living here in the first place. She¡¯s taking care of all the hard stuff for us, paperwork and diplomacy and all that stuff.¡± Evalyn pulled a plate from the Frost Box, a sheet of foil over the top of it. Unwrapping it, Iris saw a small meal on it, already made. However, disregarding the presentation, Evalyn walked over to a set of rings on the bench across from her and pressed a button. The coils turned red in an instant, and Evalyn opened another cupboard, finding herself a pan. As she did this, Iris watched, astounded by the amount of magic Evalyn was using; none of it being hers. Every single object that functioned in some way pulled Aether from a pipe connected to the wall rather than its surroundings. ¡°How does the magic¡­the¡­Aether?¡± ¡°How does the magic work? Oh, the stove?¡± Iris nodded. ¡°Aether infusion. Only living things can absorb Aether, and only Spirits can use that Aether to create magic. But, if done correctly, other things like the stove,¡± she said, pointing at the pan, ¡°and me,¡± she said, pointing at herself, ¡°can be given a¡­blueprint of the magic.¡± She took the contents of the plate and dumped it into the frying pan, sending a symphony of pops and crackles through the air as she moved it back and forth over the glowing red rings. ¡°It¡¯s the same with the Frost Box, a Spirit gives a little bit of their magic to a scientist, and the scientist uses it to create new things. But since I¡¯m human, it makes things more prob-¡± A soft sound came from the door, just faint enough for the two to hear. Iris, experiencing so many new things at such a fast pace, took it for granted, but Evalyn didn¡¯t. Her attention snapped to the door, and she turned the stove off. Slowly, silently she rounded the bench, never taking her eyes off it. Another soft sound. It was the lock. The lock was gradually being forced open from the outside. Evalyn pushed Iris behind her. ¡°If I say run, you run. Do not try to fight.¡± Her markings lit up, and shapes formed around the hand, keeping Iris away. The same sharp shapes that Iris had seen illustrations of, the ones titled ¡®Armour¡¯. The lock finally clicked, and the door creaked open. Interlude: SNB News Seven oclock Geverdian Royal Intelligence Bureau: Foreign Intelligence File No. 19475960489314
Name/Rank Date Borrowed
Roman Travik/Inter-Alliance Analysis 18/3/1938
Maria Freizar/Groups-of-Interest Analysis 30/3/1938
Laurel Maquer/Urban Warfare Analysis 9/4/1938
The following is an exert from a regularly scheduled Sidosian News program on Channel 502.7 regarding recent S.H.I.A. activities. The report indicates a lack of Police input on the situation and suggests possible collusion between the two institutions. The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident. LEAD: GOOD EVENING, I''M JULIA FREKEBERJ AND THIS IS THE SEVEN O''CLOCK NEWS. RECENT CAR BOMBINGS NEAR SIDOS CITY''S INNER DISTRICTS WHICH LEFT THREE DEAD AND MANY WOUNDED, HAVE NOT COME TO ANY MEANINGFUL CONFUSIONS ALMOST A WEEK LATER. ROBERT LENNINGS HAS MORE. REPORTER: ROBERT LENNINGS: THREE WEEKS AGO, GREGOR STREET IN SIDOS CITY''S INNER PRECINCT WAS SUBJECT TO A LETHAL BOMBING. PERPETRATORS WERE QUICKLY IDENTIFIED HOWEVER, WHEN THE TERROR ORGANISATION S.H.I.A., CLAIMED THE ATTACK AS THEIR DOING. IN A STATEMENT MADE TO THE PRESS VIA ANONYMOUS SOURCES, REPRESENTATIVES OF THE ORGANISATION CLAIMED THAT THE ATTACK WAS IN ORDER TO "MAKE THE CITY EXPERIENCE THE WAR IT HAS NEGLECTED, AND WHICH STILL RAGES IN THE OUTER REGIONS." AUTHORITIES HAVE GIVEN LITTLE OUTSIDE AN INITIAL STATEMENT ON THE MATTER, LEAVING THE PUBLIC TO WONDER HOW IT ALL HAPPENED. KILLED IN THE ATTACK WERE NEWLY APPOINTED MEMBERS OF SIDOS COUNCIL JOE TASLIM AND HIS TWO EMISSARIES, MICHAEL CANEL AND SAMANTHA TRUDGEN. ALTHOUGH FAMILIES HAVE MOURNED THE LOSS, LITTLE HAS BEEN OFFICIALLY ANNOUNCED BY THE AUTHORITIES IN WAY OF ARRESTS OR RETALIATION. I''M ROBERT LENNINGS, SNB NEWS. Chapter 2 Part 2: International Incident ¡°It¡¯s one thing to ask for custody of a Witch or Wizard from the international community when your Monarchy is already allied with the most out of any nation, but it¡¯s a completely different story when you claim it with complete disregard for formalities,¡± said one man, his frail figure sat at the far end of the table. ¡°You people, more than anyone, should know the importance these existences hold to the world.¡± ¡°You do realise how thin the ice you are walking on is, Prime Minister, Lieutenant-General? I speak for all Spirit nations at this table when I say that magic is reserved for Spirits. Using it in inanimate objects as you Geverdians do is a point of contention we have always tolerated but do not think we approved of it,¡± a Spirit said, sitting much closer. Too close, considering the mounds of flesh its seat could barely hold off the ground. The back and forth had been going on for some time, and Lieutenant-General Marie Elvera of the Royal Military Special Operations, as she had been introduced, was growing tired of it. Prime Minister Fredrick Talwaul sitting in the chair next to her was as well, judging by his slumped posture and half-open eyes. The Prime Minister had already spoken to the members long before, members of a council seldom known by anyone outside its circle of members and protected under a tenuous oath. Despite his only recent induction to the job, the Prime Minister was responsible for gathering the congregation in the first place. The situation had been explained, but clearly not to the rest of the congregation¡¯s satisfaction. The Lieutenant-General stood. She cleared her throat, and the floor¡¯s murmuring ceased. ¡°Esteemed members of the middling nations, thank you for your patience and continued understanding. As nations where the relationship between Humans and spirits exists, even if ever so strenuous, we are the ones that must decide what happens to Wizards and Witches and how they are handled. Each of us requires a say, and having said that, may I present Geverde¡¯s matter on the situation.¡± As she began to sit down, a defiant voice attempted to speak from the cover of shadow. ¡°Without interruption, if you would be so kind,¡± the Lieutenant General smiled, sitting back down with no further issue, thinking nothing of it. The rest of the congressional looked on in agitated pause, too scared to speak. ¡°As far as we have understood from various tests results and observations, this girl is mentally unstable, likely tied directly to her mysterious nature. Now, further tests could have been conducted, but by a majority decision, it was determined that leaving an unstable Witch under close hospital surveillance and constant testing would result in nothing short of a ticking time bomb.¡± ¡°So¡­you¡¯ve released her?¡± asked one member, a pudgy woman who¡¯s head barely cleared the shoulders of the modestly sized man beside her. ¡°You just let that ticking time bomb go?¡± The outburst irked the Lieutenant-General, and she felt a nerve pop in her temple as she ground her teeth. ¡°We have put her in custody. I feel like you are forgetting a crucial point here. The subject in question is a minor, somewhere between nine and eleven years old. To be treated like a weapon is a human rights violation through and through.¡± ¡®Human rights?!¡¯ the entire congressional seemed to say silently. It was indeed true that Wizards and Witches were powerful beings¡ªpowerful enough to almost make someone forget they were still human in the first place, but the Lieutenant-General could never hold such an opinion. ¡°I¡¯m sure the subject¡¯s guardian needs no introduction; she¡¯s likely already come into contact with your regional governing bodies at one point or another. The girl has been released into the Wishbearer¡¯s care. If there¡¯s anything on this continent that can successfully terminate the subject in question in case of emergency, it¡¯s her.¡± The members could argue if they wanted to, but they knew they would be hypocrites. Every nation represented had interacted in some form or another with Wizards and Witches, and each wanted a say. Namely, how much power they could exert over their Wizards and Witches before the others became envious. In this room, those people were weapons, more incredible than a single nation could control. ¡°This was all done in a rush, to which we sincerely apologise on behalf of the organisations in charge and her majesty herself. However, the matter was settled with permission from the appropriate Sidosian authorities.¡± The Lieutenant-General passed the floor to the woman beside her. The recently inducted Prime Minister of Sidos, Dalena Fault, rose to her full height before bowing. ¡°As the subject in question is, at present, incapable of determining her origin or old enough to choose one, she will be treated as an expatriate of Sidos. As per this council''s agreements, the subject¡¯s nation of origin decides their fate. I fully agree with the judgement passed by my Geverdian counterparts. Any objections?¡± Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road. Moments of silence suggested the council members agreed, or rather had no choice but to agree, giving the Prime Minister the cue to take her seat. ¡°This alliance¡­between your two nations. You do realise our disagreements with it?¡± An awkward silence permeated the room. An old man talked from behind his moustache, blatantly pointing out the elephant in the room. The rest of the congressional stared forward, refusing to acknowledge the spoken sentence. ¡°Is that an objection I hear?¡± The Sidosian Prime Minister asked. ¡­ ¡°If not, then that is all I have to say.¡± The Prime Minister finally took a seat, and the council was adjourned. The Lieutenant-General leaned over to the Geverdian Prime Minister. ¡°You were falling asleep there.¡± ¡°It isn¡¯t much of a debate when you hear the same opinion seven times in a row, is it?¡± ¡°Debate students always irked me anyways. I¡¯m not much of a diplomat,¡± she said as she left. ¡°¡­student? I¡¯m forty-two!¡± But the lieutenant-general¡¯s mind was already elsewhere. The flight back from Rodshiva was short, but the woman wished it was shorter. She had a god-granddaughter to meet. Jamie Welrod sat in a darkened room, rays of sunshine peeking through the curtains illuminating the smoke circling the ceiling. He sat on a folding chair made of flimsy tin, the type to be bought en masse for the purpose of a community gathering or school recital. It was so squat that the tails of his grey trench coat almost dragged across the floor. Surrounding him were sets of sleeping machines, telegram lines which were¡ªfor the moment¡ªdormant. A control centre of sorts, one he presided over as its commander and thereby the commander of every force in its influence. Jamie Welrod was a powerful man. He sat in wait by the closest telegram, next to a grey telephone standing on its workbench. He sat in silence, puffing on a cigar and watching the hands of the wall clock as they counted down the minutes, then the seconds. Then it rang. Jamie Welrod let the ringtone play out once, then twice, then picked up the receiver halfway through the third. The bell chimed as he lifted it off the body and slowly raised it to his ear. Neither side dared to speak first and he waited with bated breath, listening to the soft breathing coming from the other side. ¡°Welrod,¡± Jamie said slowly, anxiously pausing for a reply. ¡°I got the number correct, then?¡± the voice from the other side of the line chirped. ¡°Thank goodness, these eyes don¡¯t do much for me when I¡¯m dialling numbers.¡± ¡°Yes, this is the right number,¡± Jamie replied, some of the tension in his shoulders relieving. ¡°We¡¯ve done what you¡¯ve told us to.¡± ¡°You speak of it as an order,¡± the voice chuckled. ¡°It¡¯s nothing like that, just some friendly advice. Sure, the funds are a matter of business but take anything besides that as nothing more than¡­optional. An act of goodwill.¡± The voice talked casually, making Jamie feel as though he was doing nothing more than organising a dinner party. Organising, yes, but Jamie had never been one to throw parties, let alone go to them. ¡°We find it hard to not take your advice seriously,¡± he said, ¡°as our sponsor, your advice has only ever been exceedingly accurate.¡± ¡°Well, why would it not?¡± the sponsor asked. ¡°The spoils of partaking in such a vast network are something to be shared with one''s allies. You¡¯ve garnered yourself quite a big web yourself, hm?¡± ¡°Yes,¡± Jamie answered. ¡°Most municipal Police forces in the Sidos and many in its Parliament since the last time we were in contact.¡± He had no intention of being vain, to show off his organisation¡¯s control over the city in an act of intimidation. He needed to be honest. ¡°Well, I hope you don¡¯t take offence if I consider your web as part of my network,¡± the sponsor asked. ¡°I do enjoy watching it grow.¡± ¡°No, not at all.¡± He could hear his sponsor smile over the telephone. ¡°When you¡¯ve got such a compelling motive, people can¡¯t help but lend you a hand. Almost like charity, I just feel as though I have to do everything I can to support you.¡± The sponsor had never bothered elaborating this point no matter how many times he repeated it. All he was, was a voice over the phone. A silky-smooth voice that would express interest, wire money and leak intelligence. Their largest funds as of late had been thanks to the sponsor, and their largest hits had been thanks to intel he had given them for nothing in exchange. Jamie Welrod had figured that his sponsor was rich and well connected beyond comprehension, but beyond that he had no clue as to identity or allegiance. His only saving grace was that Jamie himself had stayed as, if not more anonymous in their negotiations. ¡°I find great interest in your movement, Jamie,¡± the sponsor reinstated. ¡°I believe S.H.I.A. has wondrous potential to do good. Giving Sidos back to its people, its humans.¡± It was a regular event, every time they exchanged words over the phone, the conversation would lead down a similar path. Or rather, the sponsor would lead it down this particular path. Jamie would sit in silence, replying when needed and agreeing universally. It made him uncomfortable in his own skin to be reduced to nothing but a yes man, but swallowing his shame was something he could do if required of him. ¡°Those professionals I told you to kidnap, pardon my crude language, how are they working?¡± he asked. ¡°They work well,¡± Jamie answered. ¡°We¡¯re negotiating for parts from friendly arms factories and educating our own engineers on their assembly, maintenance and operation.¡± ¡°Magnificent machines, aren¡¯t they?¡± ¡°Yes,¡± Jamie replied. He had only seen them disassembled, the metal men that stood several storeys high and carried guns the length of automobiles. Grey men with cylindrical bodies and wiry, stiff appendages, he could imagine their movements as they decimated untold scores of whoever stood in their way, Spirit or Human. ¡°We have plans for them already, although they must be acted upon before the absence of those engineers catches up to us.¡± ¡°Yes,¡± the sponsor said. ¡°Some of them are Geverdian, so it¡¯s no wonder people will be searching for them sooner or later. Keep me updated on your progress and notify me when the first weapon is completed. I have more plans for your hostages.¡± ¡°Yes sir,¡± Jamie confirmed. ¡°Thank you.¡± ¡°No, nothing of that sort is needed. Until utopia begins, brother.¡± Interlude: Their Place on the Throne The following is an official statement by former leader of the unofficially recognised Sidosian Human Independence Party, widely condemned due to its connection with the domestic terrorist organisation S.H.I.A (Sidosian Human Independence Army). The statement was recorded in an article by The City Post on September 7th, 1937. Sidos, in its present state, is incomparable to any nation on this planet. It is the most militarily advanced power of the middling nations, one of the most highly urbanised and lastly, the only nation to concede to cowardice in their own borders. Human ingenuity brought Sidos its machines and its structures that defined its military as one of the most formidable, its great city as one of the hubs of international manufacturing and its people the prosperity that that same city provided. Through shortcomings we have evolved, and we can continue to rectify. But what has Sidos¡¯s Spirits brought us? A decentralized, primitive social structure not even comparable to that of Geverde¡¯s Spirits. A band of warlords that claim uninhabited land as their own through birthright and petty duels. Some say noble, however the truth is that humans conceding to them at the end of such an arduous civil war has brought shame to us. This book is hosted on another platform. Read the official version and support the author''s work. Shame on us, who brought forth such advancement to our nation, to concede ourselves to such beings. The events of the War of Aether and Diesel are a black stain on our nation, and we do not wish to relive another petty war over resources like many of our critics say. However, we do not wish to be friendly with Geverde either. They should not have such a standing to influence our internal politics to the degree they do now. We have come under their sphere of influence as a result of our history, and that is wrong. We differ ourselves from other righteous rebellions, from those who wish for human rights, or Spirits who wish to claim their freedom, even those who believe that two differing existences is entirely wrong. We only care about our people and our people only. Tolerance, let alone the coexistence the current government strives for is a mistake. Sidos can be its own nation, free of a pestilence that has been a thorn in our side throughout history. Sidos should be able to choose its own fate. To our brothers, sisters, mothers, fathers, and friends who fell to their wrath throughout the war, we owe them everything. - Leonard Griggs, 1937 Chapter 2 Part 3: Intruder ¡°Evalyn! If you¡¯re in here, I already told you to please answer the damn phone when you¡ª¡± The man stopped, leaving the door halfway open. His eyes locked on Evalyn¡¯s growing armour. Iris expected him to retreat, taking his sudden pause as fear. Upon first glance, the man appeared like he would sift through society¡¯s eyes, much like she did. No magic, no weapons. Completely Ordinary. ¡°All right, calm down. It¡¯s my house, too,¡± the man complained, closing the door behind him. Evalyn¡¯s armour receded instantly, and her wary posture dissipated. ¡°Elly? Why are you home?¡± Evalyn walked up to the man and took the hefty paper bag he was holding, letting him take his shoes off. He stretched like a cat, and as Iris continued to watch, she noticed his movements were sluggish. It was as if weights just heavy enough to be noticeable were strapped to every limb. ¡°Boss suggested I take my leave early,¡± he yawned. ¡°There¡¯s a joint exercise happening on the Steel Whale in a week. Some of the Sidosian rookies are training with ours. I have one more day tomorrow to meet them, and then I¡¯m off until then.¡± The man¡¯s burdened eyes finally met Iris¡¯s. He stared for a moment in confusion, and Iris grew wary. His eyes were sharper than Evalyn¡¯s, and they stared daggers at her without his expression even suggesting the slightest hint of anger. His actions were sluggish, but Iris sensed those as only temporary hindrances, not traits. ¡°Who¡¯s this?¡± he asked. His voice wasn¡¯t threatening, and Iris sensed no magic from him. Nonetheless, he looked dangerous. She thought that maybe he would be a genuine threat in another context. He walked towards her as Evalyn tried explaining. ¡°Ah¡­where do I start? We¡¯re going to be taking care of her. If that¡¯s okay.¡± Iris backed up a few steps, looking at Evalyn for a cue to run or fight, but none was given. Evalyn paid little attention, her focus on the groceries rather than Iris¡¯s predicament. Someone like Evalyn would not be so carefree if there was any danger to be wary of, and so Iris calmed, trusting her judgement. He knelt, his face coming up to her chest as he examined her. His eyes were piercing, and Iris had trouble looking directly at them. The man outstretched a hand, and Iris prepared for the worst, but all she felt was a hand on her head. It caressed her scalp back and forth; the hardness of his skin made soft sounds against her hair. ¡°She doesn¡¯t look like you.¡± ¡°Of course, she doesn¡¯t. I pick-¡± ¡°She doesn¡¯t look like me neither¡­.¡± The man began to think. A hand reached his chin as he pondered. The scruffy hair fell just over his eyes. It was dark but gleamed in the soft light of the room. Almost as if it was the polar opposite of Iris¡¯s dull silver. ¡°Maybe you were pregnant¡­¡± ¡°I was not!¡± Evalyn froze up, her body tensed, and her expression soured. Iris couldn¡¯t understand what had gotten into her so suddenly. It was as if the man had attacked. Perhaps he was dangerous after all. ¡°Yeah, I thought as much. I thought maybe my cooking had finally gotten to you.¡± ¡°Wha-!¡± The man continued to think as Evalyn¡¯s facial expression only worsened. Vulnerable anger. Another face that Iris had never seen before. She could sense this man, whoever he was, was somehow stronger than Evalyn and had her around his finger. ¡°She is a bit old, isn¡¯t she¡­¡± ¡°Yeah, of course she is!¡± ¡°Secret love child? Didn¡¯t have to take you ten years to tell me now, did it?¡± Evalyn¡¯s soured expression twisted and malformed into a sarcastic grin. It was as if it was written on her face. The five words, ¡®Do you want to die?¡¯ ¡°Okay, Okay! She¡¯s not yours! Not in front of the child!¡± Evalyn¡¯s fingers tapped on the counter, eager to do something violent. She saw Iris in the corner of her eye and gave up, returning back to the groceries while shaking her head in disappointment. ¡°I found her in Sidos this morning, and she¡¯s going to live with us,¡± she said, hesitating on her next words. ¡°She¡¯s a Witch, Elly.¡± The man stared at her silently, then back at Iris. He approached her once again and kneeled. Iris had begun to get used to his stare, but it was still hard to look at for too long. She sensed curiosity in his eyes. The playful kind. But that was drowned out by the overwhelming shape of them. ¡°And one was hard enough to deal with.¡± ¡°Well, you¡¯ve been at it for ten years; you¡¯re doing pretty well now, aren¡¯t you,¡± Evalyn sighed. A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation. The man giggled, catching Iris off guard, and he relished the look on her face. He pinched her cheek as his eyes traced over her face as if to memorise it. The man was strange. Playful, but with intent behind every action. ¡°I have, haven¡¯t I? Your mum¡¯s a tough nut to crack, so I hope you can take care of her, hm?¡± ¡°M-mum?!¡± He ignored Evalyn, not even giving her the etiquette of a quick glance. Iris had no clue, but the man was just as entranced by Iris as she was by his eyes. ¡°Elliot Maxwell, combat flight instructor and this klutz¡¯s husband. Nice to meet you.¡± As the night dragged on for an hour or two longer, Elliot did not cease to bother Iris. Her inexperienced voice left little room for conversation, so he took charge. Although his stories fascinated Evalyn, Iris paid the most attention to his mannerisms. His week had been filled with escapades in the skies as he taught students the cruelty of combat, and his time on the air base was rife with growing rivalries and tensions¡ªapparently. He led an exciting life, and Evalyn traded his stories for hers. However, Iris continued to be most keenly aware of the man¡¯s movements. They were a contradiction that she couldn¡¯t wrap her head around. Sluggish, yet precise. Lacking in conviction yet wasting no movements. He had seen combat, perhaps for much longer than Evalyn had. Even then, he did not look much older than her. ¡°Is the old Squadron still doing well?¡± Evalyn asked from the dinner table, her feet on one chair as she slouched in the other. Her voice competed with the searing pops and crackles of Elliot¡¯s frying pan. He was no magic user, but he controlled the Aether of each utensil as well as Evalyn had controlled her armour. ¡°Yeah, they¡¯re still all healthy, if not getting a little old for flying. Vaundrie¡¯s daughter Violet, you remember her?¡± ¡°I think I met her once?¡± ¡°She¡¯s grown up a fair bit, and he still treats her like a four-year-old.¡± ¡°How¡¯s Francis?¡± ¡°He¡¯s doing well. He¡¯s not flying as much as he used to, but he did stop refusing promotions, so he¡¯s quite high-ranking now. I saw him the other day in his office. Paperwork up to his gills.¡± ¡°Hell, I say.¡± ¡°That¡¯s very true.¡± Their chatter subsided as a telephone from a far room began to beg for attention. Evalyn sighed and relucted to get out of her seat, going so far as to use her magic to turn it into a wheelchair. A pair of golden wheels propped the legs off the ground and slowly wheeled themselves across the room. ¡°It¡¯s my office; I¡¯ll get it.¡± Elliot watched helplessly as Iris attempted to replicate Evalyn¡¯s bad habits, only failing to form the shapes so precisely. ¡°You¡¯re both useless,¡± he sighed. ¡°Hello, Excala International PI; how can I help?¡± Elliot cut the magic to the stove, and the simmering died, giving way to an uncomfortable silence. ¡°I see. Well, I¡¯ll be in my office tomorrow afternoon¡­I¡¯m sorry to hear that¡­I¡¯m sure we can resolve it¡­yes. I understand.¡± Iris walked over to the kitchen, where Elliot had begun dividing his cooking into several plates, wrapping each in aluminium foil. ¡°Thank you. See you tomorrow.¡± Iris stood on her seat to get a better view of Evalyn. The phone had long gone silent, but the whispers of Evalyn¡¯s anxiety permeated through the receiver, and she couldn¡¯t bear to put it down. Her hand slumped as she brought the phone together once again. That night, Iris¡¯s eyes wouldn¡¯t close. No matter how comfortable she was, the night was loud in her mind, and the sounds from outside the window were even louder. A soft chatter from her bedside table attempted to lull her conscience away, but Iris could only focus on each word instead. "-a misconception that morals or morality are universal is held by many. However, as the ¡®correct¡¯ pitch a singer should sing at differs from culture to culture, morality differs from person to person. Past experiences dictate what one values over other things; however, similar one¡¯s morals are to someone else¡¯s, they can never be completely identical. This is division. A primal division that one-¡± Iris¡¯s door was not fully closed, and the light emanating from the sliver practically seared her eyes every time she looked in its direction. She felt her hair dissipating as a small spindle of purple reached for the door handle, but she couldn¡¯t close it. A crumb of the conversation outside reached her ear, and she instead inched the door open, using her arm to turn the Pattern Reader off. ¡°The Aetherologist said that he isn¡¯t sure if it¡¯s brain development or something to do with her magic, but she¡¯s unstable. She could be a lot quicker to violence because of it.¡± ¡°No different from you, then?¡± ¡°I¡¯m not joking, Elly.¡± The two fell quiet, and Iris slowly got out of bed. The cool breeze stifled her momentarily, but she was determined to hear what was being said, if only to catch one or two words at the most. ¡°Are you sure you¡¯re okay with this? It¡¯s all so sudden, and I know she¡¯ll be such a handful.¡± ¡°I¡¯ve dealt with worse.¡± ¡°But-¡± ¡°And you¡¯re here to protect me, aren¡¯t you?¡± Iris¡¯s eye found the gap in the doorway. Elliot was lying on the couch, and Evalyn was lying on top of him. Only their heads were visible past the back of the furniture. ¡°You can be happy. You¡¯ve said you wanted to have a kid for so long.¡± She giggled. ¡°Have I?¡± ¡°I¡¯ll never forget all the nights you would wail about the dumb rules they had in place for you. You went to sleep crying one night because of it.¡± ¡°Yeah, I think I did. I understand why they have those now.¡± ¡°And a year later, you didn¡¯t even want to adopt one.¡± ¡°¡­By then, I realised how bad of a mother I would have been.¡± ¡°What makes you say that?¡± ¡°I mean, I¡¯m not the most fortunate when it comes to parents, am I? That¡¯s more your department. I¡¯ve had Marie, but not for the first eighteen years of my life.¡± Elliot thought momentarily, taking his time with his sentences and sinking deeper into the couch. ¡°I¡¯ve always thought you¡¯d make a good mother. You would have been a tough one, but a good one. Maybe with no idea how to parent from a mother of your own, you would¡¯ve followed your ideal. That in itself is beautiful. You can¡¯t deny that.¡± Evalyn¡¯s head bobbed as she turned around, head perhaps on his chest now. ¡°I¡¯m too soft. I¡¯d teach hard lessons then cry for forgiveness five minutes later.¡± She sighed. ¡°Seeing you at the end of every week is the only thing that keeps me going sometimes.¡± ¡°Teach her right, and you¡¯ll have family wherever you go. I¡¯m assuming she¡¯s going to work for you.¡± ¡°Yeah, I¡¯ll look into her identity, and she¡¯ll work in exchange.¡± ¡°Is that the cover story?¡± ¡°Yeah. The one catch to having her released is to have her abilities under control and for me to always be near her until she can do so. Well, that and also having her do the mercenary work.¡± ¡°Do you think that¡¯ll be good for her?¡± ¡°¡­no. Of course not. But no one in the world besides us can see her as anything but a weapon; there¡¯s no helping it. If she can¡¯t protect herself, she¡¯s as good as dead.¡± ¡°¡­I think you like her.¡± ¡°Of course I do,¡± Evalyn chuckled. ¡°She¡¯s adorable. And she¡¯s like me.¡± A final intermission in their conversation permeated Iris¡¯s mind, and she patiently waited for the following sentence. The two barely moved until Elliot shifted uncomfortably. ¡°What if she ever comes against you? If ever you¡¯re unable to prevent it. ¡°¡­Then I¡¯d have no choice. I have things to protect besides her as well. So, she¡¯d better eat her vegetables.¡± Chapter 2 Part 4: This is a Gun It was Iris¡¯s first-time stepping foot on the plains outside her window. Unfortunately, any chance for her to take it in had been dashed by the woman standing before her, still in her clothing from the night before. The one thing about her that had changed was that the rifle had returned to its place, slung across her shoulder. ¡°Iris, can you form a shape whenever you want to?¡± she said, no room for the dreariness that had all but enslaved Elliot. Half asleep on a rocking chair just outside the house¡¯s generous doorways, the man that was so cheery the night before was left rotting in the sunlight. ¡°Yes.¡± ¡°Good. Then I want you to close your eyes and picture what I¡¯m going to say.¡± ¡°Why?¡± ¡°Just trust me. There¡¯s nothing to hurt you.¡± Iris, only now realising her distaste for closing her eyes, finally knew not to take sight for granted. Her vision went black, and the recesses of her mind invaded her conscience, taking over her senses and heightening them. ¡°Picture a box.¡± A shape. Six sides, all squares. ¡°Picture a ball.¡± The picture was harder. The smooth surfaces reached the forefront of Iris¡¯s mind blurred, misshapen. ¡°Picture water.¡± The clear blue that flowed down the riverbanks. Or perhaps the endless expanse she had seen from the train, or the waves slowly lapping against the canals. ¡°A flow of water. A single stream. Can you imagine it, Iris? Can you imagine creating it?¡± She felt her brow furrow as her hair once again dissipate. She took the image of the box and imagined it first. The idea turned into one of a container with liquid sloshing inside. She pictured the bottom falling out. Splash. ¡°Incredible,¡± Evalyn muttered. Iris finally opened her eyes and discovered a small pool of purple at her feet. Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site. They both bent down and poked it. It wasn¡¯t cool like Iris expected of water. Instead, it was warm, unnervingly, as if someone had gargled it and spat it on the floor. As Iris¡¯s mind relaxed, so did the liquid contract and become viscous. ¡°It¡¯s all right, Iris; you can stop now,¡± Evalyn said, dismissing the liquid back into Iris¡¯s hair. Until now, she had only ever used the last five or so centimetres. If a day would come when she used all of it, she had no clue. ¡°All right, ladies, we¡¯ve got places to be. My students are assholes about my tardiness, and Marie won¡¯t wait all day¡­okay, maybe she might.¡± With that, Elliot dismissed himself. Hauling himself out of the chair seemed as if it was a goliath task in itself. Evalyn chuckled meekly at the sight of the grown man struggling to do basic tasks. ¡°You should see him get out of bed. He won¡¯t let go sometimes,¡± she muttered. ¡°Should I?¡± ¡°¡­maybe not. Forget I said that.¡± Evalyn stood up and began to head back. ¡°Oh, I almost forgot,¡± she muttered and turned back to Iris, unshouldering the rifle on her back. ¡°Iris, you know what this does, right?¡± Iris shook her head, and Evalyn knelt. ¡°This is a gun. A gun is anything with a trigger, handle, and barrel. Until I say you¡¯re ready, never ever try to fight someone with one of these, okay? Once you learn how to use your magic, you might be able to counter these, but without it, you¡¯re helpless.¡± ¡°How?¡± Iris asked, curious as to the magic in it. She couldn¡¯t sense any for the moment. Evalyn carefully racked the bolt back without ejecting the round. ¡°In there is a bullet. It¡¯s a small piece of metal; when I want it to, it travels faster than you could ever imagine. You can¡¯t dodge it, and when it hits you, it goes right through you,¡± she said as she poked Iris¡¯s chest, right where her heart was. Evalyn stood up and held the rifle by its handle. ¡°Elly, throw me something that isn¡¯t expensive.¡± ¡°What? Why?¡± ¡°Target practice.¡± Elliot groaned and disappeared into the kitchen. Moments later, he ran out and tossed something into the air. Iris could only recognise that it was a can for a split second before a loud bang pierced her ears. She yelped and fell back, continuing to hear the shot resonate in her ears and echo into the distance. The empty can lay a few metres away, torn in half, maimed beyond recognition. ¡°I¡¯ve killed many things one ordinary woman can¡¯t kill by herself, but I¡¯ve never put my gun down. No matter what I¡¯ve tried, I can never perceive the speed of a bullet, therefore, I¡¯ll never replicate or outdo one with my abilities.¡± She turned to Iris, racking the bolt and letting the cartridge fly out and fall to the ground. ¡°This is why I will always use these to kill someone personally. It¡¯s merciful that way. A shot to the heart will mean they can still have an open casket. Does that make sense?¡± Iris nodded, only half understanding what Evalyn was trying to convey. However, the use of a firearm in Evalyn¡¯s hands was explicit. To kill outright. No formalities, no powers, just pure execution. And for that same reason, Iris would be wary of them. ¡°One day, you¡¯ll shrug them off.¡± ¡°When?¡± ¡°Your armour. Once you forge your armour.¡± Chapter 2 Part 5: The Steel Whale God. God was one of the new words that Iris had recently learned. Often appearing alongside words like ¡®moral¡¯ or ¡®ethic¡¯, god or gods as far as Iris knew, referred to any being ranging from someone with a significant amount of power and legacy to a, or in some cases, the supreme creator itself. God was the only word that Iris could think of when she laid her eyes on the Steel Whale for the first time. Elliot had escorted Evalyn and Iris to their destination, and they had seen that destination an entire half hour before they arrived. The mass of metal loomed over the landscape itself, dominating it not only by its figure but the shadow it cast over the plains of rural Geverde, mimicking an eclipse itself. Indeed, its shape resembled the marking on Evalyn¡¯s cheek. However, the count of its fins was six rather than two. Massive oars the size of entire towers lay dormant for the time being. They only led Iris¡¯s eyes to the body of the beast. A mighty bow that gently curved from bottom to top. Along its back were small towers and buildings where minuscule specks took off and buzzed about in the surrounding air space. However, its cannons were perhaps the most striking. The artillery in their size and the cannons in their numbers littered the ship from bow to stern, or rather, tail. Like maggots on a corpse, they were numerous. Elliot turned to Iris, her backside not touching the seat as she desperately leaned out the window for a better look at the great behemoth. Magic did not radiate outwards, instead she sensed hundreds and thousands of smaller pieces, combining to create a single mass. It was like a city in itself. ¡°That thing flies,¡± he said. And Iris believed it. The fact that something like the Steel Whale even existed at all meant anything was possible. Iris imagined it ploughing one of the mountains she could make out in the distance. They were far, far north of her and shrouded by a haze, but Iris recognised them. A landmark she was oddly familiar with. But for now, the mountains were dull. Boring compared to what was in front of her. As the car neared the landing zone, they reached a small building, barely big enough for one person. Two men stood at the gate, both wearing the same clothes and holding onto boxy metal instruments. ¡°Iris, put your head back in the car for now,¡± Evalyn said, ¡°and keep the window down.¡± The car slowed as a guard in the road signalled them to stop. Elliot rolled down his window and greeted the unimpressed officer with a smile. He produced what looked to be thin, small books from his coat and began to talk. The other man began to slowly circle the vehicle, running his eyes over every inch while he clutched his weapon. Trigger, barrel, handle. He started with the front, opening the bonnet. He moved to the other side, where Evalyn greeted him with an awkward smile and even further papers, pointing to her rifle in the back seat. He stuck his head through the window. A menacing glare swept inside the car, and a gloved hand opened the glove box. Seemingly satisfied, he moved closer and closer to Iris. She did not want the man to come closer. He wasn¡¯t like Evalyn or Elliot. He was someone she didn¡¯t know; with something she knew was dangerous. The adrenaline made her jitter in her seat as the man stood outside her doorway. Her vision tunnelled on the man¡¯s finger, gently brushing on his gun¡¯s trigger guard. He leaned in closer, and the gun went out of Iris¡¯s line of sight, and she only panicked further. ¡°Don¡¯t worry; we¡¯re here,¡± came a whisper from the front seat. Iris turned her head and found Elliot looking back at her. His sharp eyes gained some warmth, if only for a split second. By the time Iris turned back, the officer had already moved on to the car¡¯s boot. Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit. There was something intangible in the way of the men hurting Iris. Some mutual trust between strangers that she was yet to understand. Elliot rolled the car past the gates into the belly of the beast, and Iris was greeted by a city hidden inside. The vehicle stopped on a platform, and it began to shift upwards. It ascended through the layers and layers of buildings, railings, pipelines, platforms, vehicle bays and living quarters, creating a mish-mash patchwork of little lights as numerous as the ones of Excala. Men and beaks alike walked the platforms, manned stations, drove vehicles, and worked away at whatever they were doing. From Iris¡¯s perspective, they were like ants inhabiting a space just as complicated as the schedules they were following. A metal city, not built from the ground up, but from the walls inwards. The sight and the sound surrounded her. The clanking of metal, shouting of orders, and roaring of engines filled her eardrums. From around her emanated booming voices. ¡°Maintenance crews, six through ten, stand by to receive fighter fuel.¡± ¡°Maintenance crews six through ten, standing by.¡± ¡°All personnel working lines sixty-five through to one hundred and four prepare for pipe replacement assembly.¡± ¡°Runway doors opening, clear for fighter assembly.¡± ¡°Control tower, fighters standing by.¡± Elliot¡¯s face soured, and he opened the car, stepping on the moving platform. He looked around, meandering to the platform¡¯s edge and called out to someone standing on a beam not too far away. ¡°Hey! I thought the fighters were scheduled for ten-thirty!¡± The beak reached under his mask and fiddled with his voice box until his words boomed over the cacophony of the Steel Whale. ¡°Everything¡¯s shifted up an hour!¡± ¡°Ugh!¡± Elliot returned to the car and slumped in his chair, fiddling with the pedals. ¡°We¡¯re going to be a bit late. Thank god I tried to be early. Program leader¡¯s going to kick my ass.¡± ¡°It¡¯s not your fault if you didn¡¯t know.¡± ¡°Yeah, well, I probably got a call this morning. You know, while I was sleeping in.¡± Evalyn snorted and began to laugh. By the time Evalyn emerged with Iris onto the open-air deck atop the runway control tower, two fighters had already been lined up below side by side. Evalyn recognised one as the newest Sidosian Air Force fighter. Sporting a modest wingspan and a single propeller engine, it was standard looks-wise. Any important distinctions were all made underneath the metallic shell. On the other hand, the Royal Geverdian Air Force was a lot flashier. Although its colour was a dull grey, the design was that of a flying wing. Sleek, with a much broader wingspan closely resembling that of a bird. Its Magic had been borrowed from a Higher Order Spirit, one of distinct power and intelligence, but Evalyn knew little besides that. Planes were Elliot¡¯s specialty, not hers. Nine students walked up the stairs to the flight deck alongside Elliot, all in uniform. ¡°Marlow, Tannis, you¡¯re up next. Get your asses down there when they¡¯re ten minutes out. Got it?¡± ¡°Yes, sir.¡± ¡°Yes, sir.¡± He shouted orders as he approached Evalyn and Iris and leaned over the railing to get a better look at the fighters. ¡°One of the kids is out cold with a fever, so I¡¯m going to stand in for him.¡± ¡°How¡¯s the class?¡± Elliot chuckled grimly, the wind not being as kind to his shorter hair as it was to Evalyn¡¯s or Iris¡¯s. He looked back at the students, who had all begun chatting in anticipation of the take-off. Out of the corner of her eye, Evalyn watched as two pilots in full flight gear walked onto the runway and began to board their planes. ¡°Certainly charming to see Sidos¡¯s newest generation. Lets me know that the S.A.F aren¡¯t completely fucked without me. They remind me of myself when I was younger.¡± ¡°What, cocky?¡± Evalyn asked. ¡°Like a damn rooster. Marie should be here soon, by the way.¡± Elliot, with his free hand, hauled a boxy radio he had been carrying onto the railing, balancing it before extending the wiry antenna. He turned it on, and Evalyn recognised the sound; she was keenly aware of it. It was the same radio he would sometimes steal from work, bring back and sit in front of as he relaxed, listening to the muffled chatter. ¡°Training group three fighters one and two, runway check.¡± ¡°Check.¡± ¡°Check.¡± ¡°Controls check.¡± ¡°Check.¡± ¡°Check.¡± ¡°Flaps check.¡± ¡­ ¡°Check.¡± ¡°Check.¡± ¡°Final fuel check.¡± ¡°Check.¡± ¡°Check.¡± ¡°Training group three fighters one and two, you are clear for ignition; I repeat, you are clear for ignition.¡± Chapter 2 Part 6: King of the Skies ¡°Advanced BFM classes, putting what they¡¯ve learnt into full practice. Hard floor of two hundred metres and bubbles of fifty metres. I¡¯ve got to admit it¡¯s pretty standard,¡± Elliot stated, frankly coming off quite bored. However, Iris¡¯s heart was racing as soon as the planes began. Between the roar of the propellers and the concentrated booming of the pressurised Aether, the cacophony from the deck below was monstrous. The chatter on Elliot¡¯s radio only added to her anticipation. ¡°Catapult release in three, two, one.¡± In an instant, the planes were propelled forward at blistering speeds and kept true to their trajectories as their landing gear cleared the tarmac. The two split off in opposite directions. ¡°Ascend to five hundred metres.¡± The two aircraft slowly shrank into small, fingernail sized blips, contrasted against the blue above them. ¡°They¡¯re at five hundred now. They¡¯re going into the merge,¡± Elliot observed. They began to turn inwards, towards each other, nose to nose. The neutral pass signified the beginning of a training engagement, and they did so as close to each other as possible. ¡°The Rapacian is staying with fixed wings, so he¡¯s probably going to try and keep his distance.¡± Both planes began to head away from each other, their vapour trails forming two circles in the sky. As they did, the Sidosian plane began to ascend further. When the two met for an engagement, the Rapacian fighter had given up the high ground, and the Sidosian plane was diving. ¡°That¡¯s a hit,¡± the control tower called. And it was over, disappointingly quick for Iris. She understood vaguely the concept of winning fast, but such loud noises, high places and big machines had excited her, and all for nothing. ¡°Damn,¡± Elliot sighed. ¡°I didn¡¯t want to talk shit about his tactics, but¡­.¡± ¡°What about them?¡± Evalyn asked. ¡°At this altitude, the air is so thick that there¡¯s not much of an advantage by going fixed wing. The Sidosian planes are better divers anyway.¡± ¡°Would free wing have been better?¡± ¡°Oh, absolutely, but only some boys and girls here can dogfight with free wings. Garel up there just started.¡± As the two fighters readied to land, the two people Elliot had pointed out before made their way to the locker room. Just as they approached the stairs, their bodies stiffened, and they hastily saluted. A woman in a high-ranking military uniform passed them, casually returning her salutes. Her eyes were mean but beginning to wither, and her hair had begun to grey in some places. The air of experience was what Iris sensed first, rather than one of pure intimidation. The soles of her boots clanked against the deck¡¯s metal floor, and with each clank, another pilot saluted her. Evalyn and Elliot both raised their hands to their foreheads, with only Evalyn hesitating afterwards and dropping the gesture. The woman carried a presence with her, from the way she walked to the way she stared. Although they looked nothing alike, Iris recognised the mannerisms as identical to Evalyn¡¯s. ¡°Weather¡¯s lovely, Lieutenant-General,¡± Elliot mused. ¡°You could have enjoyed it from your office.¡± ¡°What¡¯s the point of lovely weather when you¡¯re inside the whole day? If there¡¯s fighters training, I¡¯d like to watch.¡± Her footsteps slowed as the pilots eased. The woman approached the railing with her eyes focused on Iris. The movement of her pupils was irregular, like a cat about to pounce, and they seemed to follow every time Iris even did so little as to twitch. The Lieutenant-General crouched down, looking over her sharp nose straight at Iris¡¯s small face. Not once did she smile, but her expression suggested earnestness. ¡°H-hello.¡± ¡°Nice to meet you. My name is Marie Elvera.¡± She outstretched a hand, inviting Iris to shake it. Iris watched her as she did so. Her fingers reminded her of Evalyn¡¯s. She concluded this was the ¡®Lieutenant-General¡¯ that Evalyn had mentioned before in passing. On her left breast were rows of colours that she hadn¡¯t seen on anyone else¡¯s uniforms, at least not to this extent. ¡°You¡¯ll be in my care as well as Evalyn¡¯s from now on, so you¡¯ve got nothing to worry about. Welcome to Special Operations headquarters.¡± Her hand was cold, but her words weren¡¯t. There was a disconnect between the person and the appearance, like with Elliot. Without warning, two hands reached for Iris¡¯s flank, and she felt an uncomfortable sensation that made her want to squirm. However, before she could, she felt herself rise. She was level with Evalyn and Elliot even though they were standing up. She looked behind her, and some of the pilots¡¯ faces had seemingly melted as they gave small waves. Iris clung to Elvera¡¯s shoulders for balance as her gaze took in the view from an entirely new angle. She felt a slight hint of adrenaline as her body realised it was so high in the air. From here, the magnificence of the Steel Whale against the blue sky was even clearer. The cars that Iris had taken just half an hour ago were nothing but specks. She watched in more clarity as the engines of the planes below roared once again and took off. ¡°First impressions, Marie?¡± Evalyn asked. ¡°As good as yours, I¡¯d imagine. She looks a bit like you with your jacket on.¡± Evalyn blushed and clung onto her new trench coat a little tighter. ¡°She¡¯s a lot calmer than I expected. At first, she was pretty wary and still is to strangers. But it¡¯s only been a day, and she seems fine around me,¡± Evalyn said. ¡°Is that a bad thing?¡± ¡°No¡­I think she might be¡­a little slow? Maybe she doesn¡¯t realise danger well.¡± Iris frowned. She was plenty capable of running if she wanted to. She could go even faster using her powers. Elvera pondered. The wrinkles around her eyes gave them some softness. ¡°No, I think she just trusts you. You have that effect on people,¡± she said. ¡°You and your magic,¡± she added, whispering the last line. ¡°You think so?¡± Elliot leaned further over the rail and squinted intently, grabbing the other three¡¯s attention. The Rapacian fighter was turning towards the Sidosian one, seizing its six. ¡°Keep your closure! Come on!¡± The Sidosian plane sensed the proximity to its enemy and slowed down, causing the Rapacian fighter to overshoot its target. Elliot slumped his head and sighed. If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it. ¡°The Sidos fighters are always so easy to fly. Why do Rapacians have to kick like damn Broncos?¡± ¡°Senior Captain Elliot Maxwell, your students aren¡¯t doing so well right now.¡± Elliot tensed up at Elvera¡¯s glare, which Iris, being on her shoulders, felt partly involved with. ¡°Uh¡­no, ma¡¯am, they¡¯re doing just fine.¡± ¡°You¡¯re not going to blame it on the engineering division, are you?¡± ¡°No! Never! Please don¡¯t tell them. The number of beers I¡¯ve had to buy them just this week.¡± Elliot meekly returned to observing the fights as Elvera chuckled ever so lightly. ¡°When are you in Sidos city next, Evalyn?¡± Elvera asked. ¡°All three of us are going tomorrow. I have a case there, and Elly is visiting his parents.¡± ¡°I see. It¡¯s come down the pipeline that the next citizenship ceremony is in a week from now. So, if you¡¯re still there by then, they¡¯d like to have Iris there.¡± ¡°Citizen of Sidos? Just like me then,¡± Evalyn said. ¡°I thought you switched your citizenship already?¡± ¡°Elliot did so he could serve. But I didn¡¯t really see a reason to since I can¡¯t do the same.¡± Elvera frowned, dissatisfied. ¡°Yeah, R.E.D. isn¡¯t the same without Wizards and Witches.¡± ¡°Can¡¯t go around calling it ¡®Royal Espionage Division¡¯ anymore, can you?¡± ¡°No, not really. I settled for ¡®Royal Intelligence Bureau¡¯ and thanked god the acronym didn¡¯t have an S on the end. Have you talked to many of the old members?¡± ¡°Not too often, mostly when they¡¯re in Excala, I¡¯ll visit them at a bar, that¡¯s about it. You?¡± Evalyn said. ¡°No, can¡¯t be seen doing that. I get phone calls often, though, particularly from those two. Mostly unofficial reports, but¡­.¡± ¡°They¡¯re spies now?¡± ¡°Well¡­I¡¯m not officially paying them¡­.¡± ¡°Don¡¯t you dare ask me to be one. I¡¯m plenty comfortable with my career.¡± Elvera smiled for the first time in Iris¡¯s recent acquaintance with her. It was faint, as if the moment she blinked, it would disappear. ¡°Yeah, I know. I think your mentor would¡¯ve been the same.¡± The two fell silent for a while, not looking at anything in particular. Even Elliot looked on, catching Iris¡¯s eyes. He shrugged and smiled before returning to the dogfight in the air. ¡°She was a good teacher, even if only for a bit. Terrible choice in restaurants, though.¡± ¡°I think she rubbed off onto you quite a bit. You remind me of her sometimes.¡± ¡°¡­¡± ¡°Well, we all lost people. Might as well talk until their ghosts die of embarrassment,¡± Elliot chimed with a meek smile. Evalyn gave him a forlorn look, sharing a pain between themselves that Iris hadn¡¯t even begun to uncover. Conversations like this made her realise that she knew nothing about these people yet. Elvera rummaged around in the back pockets of her trousers and pulled out even more documents. A thin book, similar to the one Elliot had showed the guards. ¡°Her passport, in case she needs it going anywhere other than Sidos.¡± ¡°That¡¯s why we couldn¡¯t talk over the phone, huh?¡± ¡°Well, half the reason. Her date of birth in the documentation was set to yesterday, the day you found her. Once she hits puberty, you can say she¡¯s twelve or thirteen. No exact accuracy is particularly needed.¡± Dogfight after dogfight continued until it finally came down to a single pair left. Elliot turned to the three, desponded with the performance of his students. Evalyn had watched every fight with only a vague understanding, but even she could see the disparity between the two sides. ¡°That¡¯s four to one, for god¡¯s sake. I didn¡¯t think it would be that uneven.¡± ¡°By the looks of things, they weren¡¯t flying the planes properly,¡± Elvera noted. ¡°They were¡­just not well enough. These guys don¡¯t have their wings yet, so I can¡¯t blame them.¡± ¡°Are you ready, Sir?¡± one student shouted, a Sidosian pilot with a cocky grin plastered across his face. ¡°If you can make up for the losses, it¡¯s my beer tonight.¡± Elliot cheekily smirked at Evalyn, the tongue he stuck out at her tasting the alcohol already. ¡°Be back in twenty,¡± he confidently predicted as he strutted off, grabbing the student by the shoulders and guiding him down the staircase. The grin never left his face. Evalyn knew he would make up for the losses. One of his wins would be worth four of anyone else¡¯s. ¡°It¡¯s time for the main show.¡± A little light made it into Elvera¡¯s smile as she readjusted her arms around Iris. ¡°Highlight of my week.¡± The deck shook the final time that morning with the launch of Elliot and his opponent. The beginning of their fight looked similar to every other engagement that had already concluded. However, Evalyn smiled at the sight of the unique take off, the trump card of the Rapacian fighter. The wings were flapping like a bird¡¯s would. ¡°Elliot¡¯s the only one I¡¯ve seen fly free wing straight off the bat like that,¡± Elvera noticed. ¡°Most fly with their wings fixed to build up speed, but he¡¯s so good he doesn¡¯t need to bother. Or that¡¯s what he¡¯s told me.¡± As the two aircraft turned towards each other mid-air, the Sidosian one crossed Elliot, their speeds varying wildly. The Sidosian aircraft turned east, and for the first time that morning, the Rapacian fighter adjusted to follow, rapidly gaining speed as it screamed into its turn. ¡°He¡¯s forced a one-circle fight; it¡¯s up to whoever can get their nose in the right direction first. Either that or the enemy turns tail and goes defensive,¡± Evalyn recited. Which was precisely what it did. The Sidosian plane conceded, banked, and began defending, trying to outrun Elliot before he could get on his tail again. Evalyn keenly followed the vapour trails the planes were creating in their wake. Tracking them would be much harder if it weren¡¯t for the humid weather. The Sidosian plane began to take the vertical rise, soaring high into the air before diving. A manoeuvre the Sidosian planes had repeated all morning. ¡°Elly¡¯s built enough speed that the enemy feels comfortable diving after him,¡± Evalyn stated. Living with a pilot for so long had taught her a few things, even if she wasn''t an expert. And if she had listened to anything he had said over the past ten years, she knew that Elliot was setting out bait. And they were falling for it. The Sidosian plane dived closer, and Elliot countered by beginning to spiral. The metal wings of his plane folded in on themselves as did the wings of a diving bird of prey. The frame cut through the wind, whistling as it did so. The two entered a descending dance, circling and following each other¡¯s vapour trails like rabid dogs. However, Elliot was still on the defensive, scathing past his enemy¡¯s nose by a few degrees each time. Five hundred metres quickly turned into four hundred, and by the time they had reached three hundred and fifty, Elliot decided to pull the rug. The wings that had been so sharply tucked away spread out like a parachute. His trajectory rapidly lurched upwards as he killed his momentum. The Sidosian plane, who could barely register the manoeuvre in time, desperately tried redirecting himself. The reaper above him turned their nose at an impossible speed, approaching a lead pursuit position. And by some miracle, the Sidosian plane¡¯s propeller tips scraped by the hard deck just above three hundred metres. But it didn¡¯t matter. The moment the pilot had given Elliot his six, it had already been over. ¡°And that¡¯s a hit,¡± the control tower called from the radio balanced on the railing. She grinned, satisfied and proud at the same time. Her husband was one of the few who could talk as much crap as the kills he stacked, if only in training exercises as of late. ¡°I¡¯m glad he¡¯s still serving you so well,¡± Evalyn mused. Elvera could do nothing but agree, both knowing exactly why the Lieutenant-General permitted herself to be so casual around a subordinate. The man had been born with wings on his back. No one was entirely sure if that made him an angel or a demon. The wings of his aircraft flapped intensely, slowing its descent onto the runway, not requiring the wire that caught the Sidosian plane¡¯s landing gear. Evalyn strangely felt like a businesswoman, deliberately choosing somewhere with sophisticated entertainment to talk business. Sophisticated or not, dogfighting was dogfighting, and she hadn¡¯t felt like she had wasted any of her time watching. ¡°The final thing I want to mention, Evalyn,¡± Elvera started, putting Iris back on the ground. ¡°You¡¯ve been keeping up with Sidos government policy, right?¡± ¡°¡­no. Not necessarily. Most of it is too obscure that I gave up keeping track entirely,¡± Evalyn admitted. Elvera pursed her lips, pondering for a moment as though ordering the information in her head. ¡°Dalena Fault, Sidos¡¯s Prime Minister. She¡¯s a lot more¡­neo-nationalist than her predecessor. Big on the Sidos-Geverde alliance, big on anti-civil war, all that sort of stuff. But I have issues with her methods.¡± ¡°How come?¡± Evalyn asked. ¡°Well, you saw how they recently repealed the ban on Higher Order Armour?¡± Evalyn nodded, recalling the news from several weeks prior. Higher Order Armour, wartime machinery that scarcely existed outside of the Steel Whale and its Sidosian counterpart. A treaty had limited their production after the final days of Sidos¡¯s civil war, which by the end had dragged Geverde down with it. ¡°She¡¯s sighting the rapid progression in similar technologies amongst other countries, saying we shouldn¡¯t be left behind militarily, but I don¡¯t think that¡¯s her only reason. The terrorists are worrying her.¡± The shopkeeper at the boutique, the search on the Excala Express, Sidos City and by extension the government was bordering on hysteria. If neo-nationalists needed to stomp terrorists out of their city, they would be more than willing to legalise the tools needed for it. More likely than not, the terrorists would retaliate appropriately. ¡°Sidos had new designs and factories the moment the treaty was repealed, which goes to show how eager they were to get going.¡± Elvera sighed, the gesture switching her from work to family mode. ¡°Be careful with that case,¡± she said, with none of the sternness that came with an order, but all of the urgency. ¡°If it connects to S.H.I.A. in any way, I want you to leave Iris with me first.¡± ¡°You¡¯ll babysit?¡± Evalyn smiled. ¡°Yes,¡± Elvera stated. ¡°If she¡¯s hurt by terrorists, I¡¯m never forgiving you.¡± Interlude: Iris Remembers I It''s taken a while to recall all of it, but I think I''ve gotten a lot of it back now. What? No, I don''t think I ever lost it. I just think I couldn''t articulate it well enough until now. What makes now special? I don''t know. I don''t think it needs to be, but it''s the only part of time we have any control over. Where to begin... I think the first memory I have is finally reaching flat ground for the first time. Green waves in front of me, all sort of...dancing in unison. The way they shifted wasn''t in any way demanding of my attention. It simply greeted me, whenever I felt ready to be greeted. I don''t think I was much taller than the grass, but I could still see enough over it. The guiding stars were still dotting my way forward, and I remember imagining them like little versions of myself, pointing me in the right direction. It made me feel less alone. I don''t think I knew what the feeling was back then. It''s a retrospective observation. And I remember that little voice in my head. I remember asking it a question, albeit without using words. How? I don''t know. I''m magical. All I remember asking it was if it knew where we were. All it said back was ''I don''t know''. I turned to try and get a grasp on where I was, and I remember seeing the ground rising from underneath my feet. A sheer wall, east to west. The grass that clung on to it wasn''t nearly as tall, and it didn''t travel very far. Jagged rock faces waited to impale anyone who slipped on the ice caps and tumbled. It didn''t get me though...somehow. A great aegis of the grass plains. It only makes sense something so pleasant had such a fearsome guardian. Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings. Aegis is an interesting word. Perhaps toll gate is more accurate. It took something from me, and I''m sure that''s why I don''t remember anything before this memory. But the plains were what gave me self-awareness. For the first time I found that I had ten fingers, and ten toes. That there was dirt in my pores and between my digits, and I remember trying to scrape it all out. I heard my breathing for the first time, and I found there was a piece of me that I could take off, and put back on. Where I got those rags, I honestly couldn''t tell you. My hair, I recognised it to be the same colour as the moon. I remember being chuffed with myself at that revelation. I remember walking for the first time, how the soil and grass played with my sensations, and how the wind that carried the grass into dance carried me into it as well. I began to run. I remember running. I remember how free it felt knowing that I was running, feeling that I was running. I remember how self-awareness betrayed me, when I questioned why I was running, what I was running from. I remember running fast, and faster. Not caring for the dance of the grass plain, nor the sound of the wind, nor the bastion that stood watch behind me. There was something in the places I couldn''t see, and I wasn''t confident I could outrun it. Darkness? Yeah, there was plenty of that, but I was used to it. In there. In my head. I couldn''t see what was in there, and I had no clue what else to do but run. So I ran. I followed my guiding stars as their little shrill laughs mocked my fear. The grime in my pores grew in presence, and it felt disgusting. The grass grew. The lying grass grew around its prey and it invited the absolute darkness to sink its teeth into my neck. So I kept on running, and running, and running. And there was a village. It was on fire. Chapter 3 Part 1: When Leaving the Nest As Iris waited patiently on the sofa of her new lodging, it dawned on her the futility of Evalyn¡¯s concern when she had first met Elliot. Most windows and doors around the house were often open, allowing for infinite routes of invasion. With nothing but fields around, the house was left practically defenceless. If anything, someone opening the front door with a key was the least suspicious method of entering she could think of. That was until the two adults opened the front door and ushered her through it. She found herself in an apartment block hallway. Her heart dropped momentarily, fearing she had been again taken into that illusionary liminal space. Yet the light was natural, the carpets were softer, and the doors either side of her were just that. Doors. Evalyn¡¯s door was the only one the least bit suspicious; Iris couldn¡¯t even sense any Aether circling it. ¡°You locked the door?¡± Elliot asked. ¡°Yeah,¡± replied Evalyn. ¡°And turned off the stove?¡± ¡°Yes.¡± ¡°You checked the lights were off, right? The electricity bill last time you didn¡¯t, made me cry.¡± ¡°Check, check and check, so would you please calm down? I¡¯ve got a meeting to get to.¡± Evalyn shoved the keys into her trench coat pocket and ushered her husband and ward onto the street, each adult holding onto a suitcase. It was a back road, but still one of a decent size, allowing for the passage of cars and carriages. The noise the city made at lunchhour was lighter than the racket of the nightlife. Everyone had somewhere else to be, and so the streets breathed softly. Iris and Elliot kept Evalyn between each other as they travelled the pavement, Iris getting glimpses of each building¡¯s inside as she went past. Wood-furnished lobbies dominated the area, but the occasional coffee shop or boutique gave the street something more interesting to stare at. Above the street ran a light railway, its pillars running along the median between the road¡¯s two lanes. The rumbling of a train going past sent vibrations through the soles of her boots. She watched the lines of the track curve past the maze hedge buildings and into the distance. She could only assume the train would congregate at that place¡ªthe station she dreaded. Elliot¡¯s eyes were finally a little livelier after coming into their element earlier in the day, and he confidently kicked stones into the gutter beside him. His steps felt as though each was brought forward only by the momentum of the last. He swung himself forward, and it was relaxing to watch. Evalyn, on the other hand, enjoyed the wind as it came to her, observing each tree¡¯s rounded silhouettes and how they were framed against the rigid lines that composed much of the city. The three walked in silence, and that felt fine. The largest intersection in their commute saw Elliot and Iris part ways with Evalyn, who had promised to meet with her client as the other two made their way to the station first. Seeing Evalyn saying her temporary goodbye to Iris was a first, Elliot watched as the small hands learnt what waving goodbye meant. Once it became just the two of them, the awkwardness between he and Iris had nothing to stop it. The melancholy Evalyn had kept it at bay, but now the silence was audible. ¡°Is she taking care of you?¡± he asked. Iris nodded, obviously comfortable speaking just yet. Elliot smiled. ¡°She¡¯s pretty excited about it. It¡¯s things like that that remind me about how much of her is still a kid.¡± Iris cocked her head to the side, and Elliot had no choice but to take it as confusion. Whether it was confusion as to how Evalyn was a childish or what his words meant¡­. Elliot pursed his lips, taking guesses at how Evalyn had communicated with Iris until then. Evalyn wasn¡¯t that smart, she probably treated it as though talking to herself, and so Elliot followed suit. ¡°Some people don¡¯t grow up, but I wonder if she grew up too fast sometimes¡­¡± he pondered, unable to finish his sentence with proper punctuation. ¡°She¡¯s pretty¡­¡± Iris muttered, her words slurring by the end as her tongue got caught between her teeth. ¡°Yeah, she is,¡± he sighed. ¡°I guess she, you know, as a person, can be pretty dazzling sometimes. If I didn¡¯t know her as well as I did, I¡¯d probably be intimidated,¡± he admitted, shrugging his shoulders. Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation. ¡°Were you?¡± ¡°When I met her? No, she had butlers and maids and fancy dresses. I didn¡¯t feel any sympathy,¡± he scoffed, but was only met with two big, brooch-like eyes. ¡°Okay, she was attractive, but if I¡¯m asked if she was pretty in that sense¡­eh? Don¡¯t tell her I said that.¡± ¡°Okay.¡± Elliot chuckled at the muted response, laughing off the fact his gravestone might soon read ¡®death by babbling¡¯. But it was true; the woman he loved had grown into who she was, and no one other than her had led that growth and seen it through. That, to him, was beautiful, if not blinding. ¡°What does she do?¡± ¡°What do you mean?¡± ¡°Work.¡± ¡°Oh, work¡­.¡± Elliot thought of a definition that Iris would find satisfying, a sentence that would encapsulate Evalyn, her work as a Private Investigator and her shadow obligations as a Witch, the same tasks Iris had to live up to without much knowledge or any consent. ¡°She helps people? Yeah, I think that¡¯s how you could put it. She helps the people she¡¯s paid to help, sometimes even if she doesn¡¯t want to.¡± ¡°Why?¡± ¡°Why?¡± Elliot asked, scratching his skin and searching for an answer. ¡°Evalyn and I are from Sidos, same as you. Her daddy was a very important person, and he was running out of things he needed to fight Spirits. Fuel, metal, food. So one day, he told a lot of people with guns to come here, to this city, and steal all the things he needed. Evalyn fought back with everything she could and one day got her powers. The war ended, but she could only keep her powers if she used them to help people, no matter what.¡± She remembered asking his wife as they sat as newlyweds on their cottage¡¯s veranda, her hair taking on the wind like the tail of a shooting star and her face ever so blissful. ¡°She said that she wants to live happily. Not much else besides that.¡± Iris seemed taken aback making Elliot wonder if his explanation had been too long-winded. But how could he express it? The complexity of the physical power manifested by a single, simple dream. A wish even. And it was perhaps only Elliot who truly knew the cost of that single wish. He held out a hand to Iris. ¡°Take it, hm?¡± She timidly grabbed it, and he guided her through the slowly thickening crowd. The buildings became taller and the streets wider, but Iris seemed as though she couldn¡¯t take her eyes off Elliot. ¡°What about you?¡± ¡°What about me?¡± ¡°Why? Flying?¡± ¡°Oh, that¡¯s easy. Because I¡¯m the best,¡± he grinned. ¡°It¡¯d be a waste of talent otherwise, no?¡± Evalyn had taken an uncomfortable seat in the woman¡¯s home. Her client¡¯s mask was still as it always was, but it somehow betrayed such painful emotion as she stared out the window. ¡°When was the last time he contacted you?¡± Evalyn asked her. She barely registered, seeming to have forgotten letting anyone into her apartment in the first place. ¡°Mrs Farehn?¡± The woman turned towards Evalyn slowly. She carried herself as if all hope had been lost and the mourning period had already begun. Her voice box was quiet, and it crackled as she spoke. ¡°A month ago. He said he would call me every other day but hasn¡¯t in weeks.¡± ¡°What did the police say?¡± ¡°They cannot say it¡¯s a missing persons case.¡± Which was correct. Moving out was a harsh reality for some parents, and police couldn¡¯t waste their time with everyone who opened a case to find their child. In most cases, they didn¡¯t have the time or did not want to keep in contact frequently. However, this case was different. ¡°Can you give me an idea of his last known whereabouts? Anything that could point me in the right direction.¡± Evalyn, if not the best at solving convoluted murder plots, could follow leads to a target with relative ease. ¡°He gave me an address; I-I can write it down.¡± Her body strained as leaned out of the corduroy couch, bending over the circular coffee table to scrawl a quick hand note. 14 Docking Street, Sidos City Zone three. Near the industrial district. ¡°Was your son in manufacturing?¡± ¡°He left for a job as a mechanical engineer. He didn¡¯t talk much about what exactly his speciality was. I¡¯ll write down his work address as well.¡± ¡°Thank you,¡± Evalyn said, unsure how to console her for the time being. Of course, the best thing she could do for her was find her son. ¡°I can start by investigating his residence and his workplace. I''ll let you know if I can pick up a lead.¡± She nodded at Evalyn¡¯s words. ¡°Thank you. Thank you,¡± she whispered. Evalyn got up to leave, giving her another meaningful, reassuring look. ¡°Do you have a child, Detective?¡± ¡°Recently, I¡¯ve gained a ward.¡± ¡°Take care of her.¡± ¡°I intend to, ma¡¯am.¡± Iris spotted a head of orange hair amongst the crowd bob closer and closer, until she could recognise Evalyn¡¯s face, and Evalyn spotted them. She jogged over, waving her hand. ¡°Why aren¡¯t you inside?¡± she asked, looking first at Elliot then at Iris, backsides firmly planted by a bench near the front gates. ¡°She said she¡¯s too scared to go inside,¡± Elliot said. ¡°Did something happen yesterday?¡± ¡°Yeah, she got real spooked the last time we were here,¡± Evalyn said, kneeling. ¡°You sure you can¡¯t go inside?¡± Iris shook her head. No matter how much Elliot had tried to allure her with ¡®rest-ronts¡¯ and ¡®soo-venir¡¯ stores, just the sight of the main entrance gave her shivers. ¡°I can¡¯t see,¡± she tried to explain, ineffectively articulating how the coats of the people around her would form suffocating walls. ¡°If you could see, would that make you feel better?¡± Elliot asked, and Iris nodded. ¡°Well, that¡¯s easy then,¡± he finished, standing from his chair and kneeling in front of Iris. He beckoned her onto his back with his hands, and she nervously obliged. She climbed on, wrapping her arms around his neck as he stood, and she once again felt the unnerving sensation as her feet left the floor. They waded through the crowd, Iris watching her surroundings over the top of everyone¡¯s heads while felling none of the nausea she had experienced before. In her surveillance, she saw the train she had boarded the day before and pointed. The moment she did, a high-pitched screech bellowed from it. ¡°Ah,¡± Evalyn said. ¡°We¡¯ve got to run.¡± Chapter 3 Part 2: Purple Gas ¡°Welcome all passengers of the Excala Expressway service. We expect to be crossing the border momentarily. Do expect heavy rain as the train crosses the international Aether boundary. This rain is expected to continue for the coming days in varying intensity. Thank you once again for your continued patronage.¡± Iris peered out the window but failed to match reality with the conductor¡¯s notice. The skies, as far as she could tell, were completely blue. ¡°I think I only have one umbrella,¡± Elliot sighed. ¡°I think it¡¯ll be big enough for all of us.¡± Evalyn groaned a routine annoyance. ¡°Your majesty, we revere you, but please, at least tell us you¡¯re going to make one side sunny when the other is raining.¡± As if on cue, a torrent of rain cascaded around the train carriage, startling all three. Iris looked out the window once more and found the sky¡¯s blue hue had degraded into blotches of grey, and the rain had stolen her visibility. The plains, what once seemed vast and endless now only extended a few tens of metres. Many commuters began complaining while the prepared few readied their umbrellas for battle. By in large, post-war Sidosian immigration offices were heavily regulated. Many conservative officers were either shifted to other positions or removed entirely and replaced with progressive-thinking ones of similar competence. Records of who was denied and allowed entry were heavily monitored, and any cases of refusal were scrutinised for any semblance of anti-spirit biases. By in large, this change played a significant role in easing restrictions and encouraging Beaks to explore new avenues of work. However, the absurd amount of extra diplomacy and room for error when denying entrants meant that many officers were unwilling to deny all but the most suspicious immigrants, let alone Beaks. Outside of regular commuters such as Evalyn, identity checks were never exactly speedy, often taking the better part of half an hour. Despite this, Iris¡¯s hastily assembled paper bundle of a passport lacking a completed date of birth saw her through in less than five minutes. This, by in large, was worrying. The three exited the station, Elliot and Evalyn holding a suitcase each. They found themselves amid a wet struggle to make their way through temporary pathways. Aluminium safety barriers funnelled an overwhelming number of commuters down narrow lanes circling a central construction site. A town square was halfway through construction, and Evalyn observed the freeze frame of reality as she passed the dormant project. Far from the city¡¯s only renovation, and she guessed that every single one had fallen silent amidst the wet chaos. The centre already sported the beginnings of a fountain, and green space had been reserved for trees. Part of the original, pre-planned makeup of the city was an intentional lack of public gathering spaces only allowing people to go to their work and then go home. Public protests and threats to authority had no significant place to demonstrate or operate until now. Democracy returned to the street just as the rain flooded them. De facto military rule was well and truly over. Beyond the tallest, innermost district came a minor business district of smaller-scale offices. Minor companies and family-owned practices laid their claim to small portions of valuable real estate amongst one of Sidos¡¯s busiest areas. It was here that Evalyn¡¯s planned lodging for the night was. A larger family-owned inn with recently refurbished interiors and Evalyn had grown fond of the look. They arrived well past sundown, and Iris had once again suffered through a lesson on the usage of cutlery. Their room once they got to it was small yet serviceable. Two beds a metre apart, and a sizeable window that looked out on the grey wall of the neighbouring building. Iris found that if she dangled herself from it, she could almost see the street. It was in this small room, with their stomachs satisfied, that Evalyn sat Iris down on the bed opposite and attempted some controlled practice. Evalyn had explained her inability to replicate water, a sandy substance being the closest she could get. She had taken further interest in Iris¡¯s ability, and pondered if solids and liquids were as far as Iris could go. The kettle across the room began to boil as Elliot tended to it. ¡°Iris? Do you see the steam rising from the water?¡± Evalyn asked, receiving a nod in return. ¡°If you close your eyes, can you imagine it?¡± Iris did so. She pictured the water first; that much she could muster already. It sloshed in relatively predictable patterns, but the gas that arose from it was anything but. When asked to imagine fumes rising, it was easy enough. However, to picture every swirl, every waft of gentle air, and every unpredictable particle was beyond the capabilities of her mind¡¯s eye. ¡°Can you do it, Iris?¡± Evalyn asked, receiving a meeker nod this time. She knew that to be successful, she had to surrender, let her power take over and guide the process. Reluctantly she did so, easing herself as her hair slowly dissipated, and the fumes became clearer and more precise. This book is hosted on another platform. Read the official version and support the author''s work. ¡°It¡¯s working, Iris.¡± She opened her eyes to a waft of purple gas rising behind her and plumbing around her face. Beyond the veil sat Evalyn, same as before. But Iris could not find Evalyn¡¯s face. It wasn¡¯t like last time. Vertigo wasn¡¯t taking her over. Her body itself felt unaffected. Evalyn¡¯s face, a white cloth had been sewn over it. The twine tugged at her flesh, drawing fresh crimson blood. It dripped through the sullied white fabric as it rose and fell with every breath she took. Every laboured, shaking breath. Iris¡¯s tunnel vision subsided involuntarily as she clawed at her neck. The gas was out of her control. She couldn¡¯t control its movements. It invaded her mouth, travelled up her nostrils and stung her eyes. Purple began to fill her vision as her feet desperately pounded the ground. She began to withdraw, refusing to continue any longer, but too much control had been given up. She was no longer the master, and her body was against her. She could only helplessly watch as Evalyn reared her ugly, faceless head towards her. Evalyn inhaled the gas deeply, wheezing and coughing until her lungs burst. Crimson blood poured from her chest as the gas inside it solidified and punctured it. The blood seeped through her clothes and pattered on Iris¡¯s thighs as she tried to desperately back away, but her body wouldn¡¯t let her. Her eyes started to roll into the back of her head. ¡°Iris! Iris!¡± The voice penetrated the gas, shattering its grip on Iris and forcing a retreated. She was shaken violently back and forth by a set of calloused hands. Elliot¡¯s sharp eyes had widened with shock, his breathing fast. His eyes traced her like they always did, this time to confirm she was okay. He sighed and let go, sitting beside her and letting her body fall onto his. She looked across at Evalyn, paralysed with shock. Her eyes were glassy. ¡°I¡¯m sorry.¡± She cautiously hobbled across the metre gap, taking Iris¡¯s hand and caressing her cheek. ¡°I¡¯m sorry. I¡¯m sorry. I¡¯m-¡± Evalyn¡¯s vulnerability had reached a peak, and it confused Iris further. ¡°¡­It¡¯s okay-¡± was all she could muster. Her voice croaked and crackled off before she could finish, but she felt that she had to say something. She liked how she was being held but felt guilty for enjoying it. The woman she had feared only a day ago was softly babbling. Iris had no clue anymore. Who was Evalyn Hardridge? Elliot wrapped his hand around Iris, letting her sink into his flank. ¡°Are you okay?¡± he asked. She nodded, struggling to speak again, refusing to take her eyes off Evalyn. ¡°Can you breathe?¡± he whispered. She confirmed again that her nostrils were clear, and her mouth harboured no obstruction. The steady rising and falling of her chest roused Evalyn from her meltdown, and she pulled herself together. She shuffled backwards and sat on her knees before Iris, her nose a soft shade of red. ¡°What did you see?¡± Elliot asked. His words were handpicked, and tone cautiously gentle. However, answering coherently was still too much for Iris. ¡°E-Eva¡­Eval-¡± ¡°What about her?¡± ¡°Her¡­face was gone.¡± ¡°What do you mean?¡± ¡°This, uhm¡­,¡± she tried to say, grasping at the bedsheets. ¡°Fabric?¡± ¡°Yes¡­Stuck to her face. With string.¡± The two adults looked at each other, a muted horror seeping into their expressions. Iris was all but certain her visions were nothing but abstract horrors, but their reactions seemed to all but confirm it. Elliot¡¯s attention seemed to turn from Iris to Evalyn, then back to Iris. He smiled, shaking Iris¡¯s shoulder. ¡°Evalyn¡¯s embarrassing, isn¡¯t she? She¡¯s always looking cool when she¡¯s working, but she¡¯s just a big baby.¡± He began to grin, and it infected Evalyn. Iris kept watching inquisitively. ¡°Do you know where she got it from? The scary part?¡± Elliot asked. Iris shook her head and Elliot smirked wider. He pointed at himself. ¡°I used to be way scarier, and people wouldn¡¯t talk to me because I always looked like I had just killed someone.¡± ¡°And you only got softer being with me, huh?¡± Evalyn said. ¡°I only made sure to adopt the good habits,¡± he teased. She smiled and weakly punched his knee. ¡°I guess not being a smart-ass wasn¡¯t a good habit?¡± ¡°Old habits die hard.¡± They both smirked at one another, and Iris felt as if she was caught between them. It wasn¡¯t an unpleasant feeling, but a small part of her wanted to join in, despite her lack of means to do so. ¡°Do you ever think Evalyn is scary?¡± Iris was caught off guard. During the brief period she had known Evalyn, she had seen so many different sides all at once that they all seemed to balance each other out. She was neither scary nor childish, collected nor sporadic. She was all of them, just as Elliot was, if only on different occasions and at different times. She shook her head, and it earned her a smile from the guilt-ridden woman across from her. ¡°Evalyn, you see, she was born here in this city. She lived her life in a big castle with high walls and pretty dresses. I was born in a small house surrounded by trees as far as my eyes could see. Do you remember anything like that, Iris? Do you remember where you were born?¡± Do you remember being born? Iris racked her memory. She scoured the recesses of her mind, trying to single out any significant moment amongst the blur that was her life as a member of the homeless. Something different from the cookie-cutter streets and days of pillaging. She remembered the cold. It was cold, and it was hard to breathe. Perhaps they were simply sensations she remembered, but it nonetheless felt inexplicably linked. Memories she wasn¡¯t sure were of her own making but felt distinctly engrained. A door opened for her in that long hallway that permeated her mind. A single doorway of many that begged to be opened by her tiny hands. It was the final one in the sequence, but also the first. Destruction and creation were all the same to that door. That is where she had been born or perhaps where she had died. ¡°Mountains,¡± she uttered. ¡°I came from mountains.¡± ¡°Those mountains? The ones you can see in the distance?¡± Evalyn asked. ¡°I¡¯m¡­don¡¯t know¡­¡± It wasn¡¯t much to go off. Iris vaguely understood that the mountains she could see in the distance weren¡¯t the only ones in the world, although where that information had come from she could not be sure. Yet, they were the closest and therefore most likely. ¡°Once we¡¯re done here, I¡¯ll look into it, okay?¡± Evalyn said. But Iris worried more about the fear of what she may find. She was teetering on a tightrope between her delusions and reality; one meaningful discovery could cause her to lose balance entirely. Iris did not want to open the doors in that hallway, let alone have Evalyn open them for her. Chapter 3 Part 3: The Men in the Grey Coats Iris had drifted to sleep on Elliot¡¯s bed, and he stuck with her throughout the night, succumbing to exhaustion himself once the lamplight was snuffed out. In the dark, Evalyn found herself still sitting on the floor, back propped against her bed. With her arms around her legs and chin on her knees, she watched Iris sleep. It had been the second time she had done so. She crawled forward, her face only inches from Iris, whom she had learnt was naturally a heavy sleeper when circumstances permitted such. The fact that her small frame was falling into the large depression Elliot¡¯s body was making in the mattress didn¡¯t bother her in the slightest. Evalyn stared, her heart aching in the sense that it was trying to suppress a happiness. The happiness of having someone to take care of had gotten to her, but there existed a worry she had always kept. No matter how much Elliot praised her, it would not go away. And it was like this that Evalyn told the first bedtime story of her life. One she had forgotten by the morning. But prying Elliot away from Iris in front of the station was a task for which Evalyn didn¡¯t remember getting out of bed for. The man had been stuck to her since they had woken up, and Evalyn began to realise how much of a falsity his apparent indifference to having children was. ¡°All right, Elliot, it¡¯s time to say goodbye,¡± she cooed, resting her hands on Iris¡¯s shoulders and waving. He reluctantly stood to his full height and began to return the gesture, disappearing into the crowd. ¡°Bye-bye,¡± Iris managed, earning her a grin and even more sporadic waves from Elliot as the morning commute entirely consumed him. ¡°Now that¡¯s over with, let¡¯s start, shall we?¡± Keeping the addresses in her pocket and a sidearm on her shoulder, she began her practical masterclass in pursuing missing persons. All firearms too large should be left behind, and only those that would go mostly unnoticed without being concealed should be used. Outright concealment of a firearm was outlawed in Sidos as were shoulder fire automatics; she¡¯d have to wear her gun on her sleeve or not at all. Of course, assuming she carried the correct paperwork. In such a case of missing persons, she would first establish a general whereabouts for the sake of saving time. This meant, first and foremost, confirming his presence in the city, and the immigration office at Sidos station opened at a healthy 7:00 am for any justified inquiries. Of course, if presented with the correct paperwork. ¡°Identification, proof of business practice, firearm licenses, proof of ongoing police cooperation¡­is there anything I¡¯m missing?¡± ¡°N¡­no ma¡¯am¡­this way.¡± The Department of Immigration headquarters and its attached archive kept tabs on every foreign resident in the city under temporary stay. Being allowed limited access, if only in Sidos and Geverde, sped up her investigations substantially. The chief archivist of the storage wing greeted her with a look of contempt for perhaps the third or fourth time that month. The flaps of skin on his face crinkled as he exited his office chair. His lifeless office was the last threshold between Evalyn and the archive, and he often proved more problematic than the guards outside his door. ¡°Mr Whitehall, long time no see.¡± ¡°F-,¡± he began to say before he noticed Iris clinging to her trench coat. ¡°Piss off. It¡¯s the third time this month. We¡¯re not a bloody business, let alone a daycare.¡± Specks of food flung from his moustache and disappeared into the air, blending too well with the brownish hue of the office¡¯s plastered walls. ¡°The paperwork is all correct. I¡¯m assuming that¡¯s why I¡¯m standing here.¡± ¡°To hell with your paperwork,¡± he cursed as he hobbled around the desk. ¡°It¡¯s cheating; that¡¯s what it is.¡± In Evalyn¡¯s experience, he was friendly to legitimate police officers but had a chip on his shoulder regarding her. ¡°I don¡¯t get why a P.I. like you gets a pass, for god¡¯s sake,¡± he mumbled. Evalyn knew he was probably used to rejecting them. However, she would turn up with paper after paper, suggesting equal jurisdiction as a police detective. She wasn¡¯t about to tell Whitehall that the same government that gave police detectives jurisdiction was handing it to her as well. Frankly, giving Witches and Wizards those permissions under the banner of ¡®police cooperation¡¯ was a lot more critical than handing them to an officer. If directly hiring an Aether-infused person was outlawed, then they would contract the freelance services of someone who just so happened to have all the needed papers. A loophole. A blatant and dangerous loophole, but one that had saved Evalyn a lot of time. Mr Whitehall reluctantly opened the civilian entrance to the archive wing and the three found themselves at the foot of a depressingly soulless interior. Concrete pillars throughout the room created a ring arcade which housed the cabinets, leaving for a small reading space in the centre. The walls were cold, and the room lifeless despite the library-like design. Even the reading lamps and ceiling lights were tinted blue. Police officers in grey trench coats sat at their desks and conducted their investigations, S.M.P.D proudly embroidered onto their chests, just under their coat of arms. ¡°Give me some search terms,¡± Whitehall demanded. Support the creativity of authors by visiting the original site for this novel and more. ¡°Incoming from Geverde city roughly one month ago. Beak traveller on a long-term working visa.¡± ¡°Name?¡± ¡°Kuarel Farehn, twenty-five.¡± Whitehall made his way to the right-most shelves in the library, greeting officers as he walked past until he arrived at his destination. The shelf was marked with a removable label reading ¡®1938: First Quarter.¡¯ Evalyn and Iris waited idly under the arcade as Whitehall disappeared into the recesses of his library. As Evalyn waited, she noticed Iris¡¯s gaze would drift from place to place, but eventually would settle on the pair of officers. They would avert their gazes, but would occasionally linger on Iris in a vaguely threatening way. A minute passed before Whitehall returned with a decently sized cardboard box under one arm. ¡°All the processed documents before, during and after that period are in here. Don¡¯t bother asking for more if he¡¯s not there,¡± he threatened tiredly as he began to make his way back to the office. Evalyn found herself a desk and began working through the pile of documents in front of her. Roughly fifty in total were organised into alphabetical order, and it didn¡¯t take long before she found her subject. ¡°Kuarel Farehn, twenty-five, long-term working visa. Yeah, a mechanical engineer. Place of employment is¡­Deckerman Industries, 14 Pearson Avenue, Sidos Industrial sector zone three.¡± A workplace, but more importantly, confirmation that he was, or had been in the city eliminated the possibility of being intercepted beforehand. The first step in his journey was clear, and she was ready to move on. However, she didn¡¯t get a chance to explain a thought process or instruct Iris whatsoever. The girl was burning holes with her eyes into two officers several tables down. Evalyn noticed her glare before remembering the two officers at all. She glanced herself and, by the patches on their shoulders, discerned they were indeed high ranking. Seeing an outsider, let alone a child in the archives would draw concern, but surely not to this extent. They were not looks of bewilderment, but rather something more threatening. Worrying about it now, however, wouldn¡¯t do them much good. The workday started in an hour and a half, and if they were to confirm his residency, they¡¯d have to catch him leaving it. The industrial district was distinct from the rest of the city. A hard contrast between residential buildings and full-scale factories with nothing much of note in between. Although technically the work rush hour, the streets around the subject¡¯s residence were sparsely populated. Attempts had been made to green the area, particularly near company residencies, but the dots of grass and occasional bush resembled the last bit of blue sky on a cloudy day, waiting to be swallowed. The rain had subsided, but it had left the streets and the buildings horribly slick, and puddles marred their path forward¡ªa bad omen to the rain that was predicted to make its return. ¡°When you¡¯re tailing someone, you don¡¯t want to be noticed. Sure, blending into crowds works fine, but if there aren¡¯t enough to speak of¡­.¡± Evalyn took Iris¡¯s hand and rounded a corner into an alleyway. They inched past a dumpster until Evalyn was sure no one could see them. The markings on her arm began to glow and culminated in the marking on her cheek. She raised her free hand, and a golden hooked rope shot from her palm high into the air, clearing the building and catching onto the roof. She checked that it was secure before grabbing Iris by the waist. And without her knowledge, let alone her consent, Iris was rising once again, but this time she looked terrified. The ground under their feet rapidly escaped, and Evalyn watched the girl internally panic. The momentum of their rapid ascent let Evalyn land feet first, and they lightly touched down on the slanted tiles, barely breaking a sweat. ¡°Rooftops are always better,¡± she finished. From here, they had an easy view of the entire street below, and like a one-way mirror, they were virtually invisible. Only a metre-high barrier kept them from tumbling, not necessarily an implement of safety per se, but nonetheless useful for cover. With the street being so narrow, it was unlikely for anyone to voluntarily look up at a rooftop without straining their neck, but it was always a possibility. She took the opportunity to scan the surrounding buildings. Most weren¡¯t any taller than her perch, but she had been caught on rooftops before. Often confidence would be enough to get her out of it, but she could never be certain. Yet as far as she could tell, there wasn¡¯t much of note to worry about. The slanted rooftop would conceal their backs and the barrier their front. Evalyn checked her watch¡ª8:27 am. For someone a short walk away from their workplace, soon would be the time to leave. Evalyn kept an eye on the door to the subject¡¯s apartment when she felt a tugging on her sleeve. ¡°There¡¯s someone there,¡± Iris whispered. ¡°Where? In front of us?¡± Evalyn asked, not daring to look up. ¡°Pretend you haven¡¯t noticed.¡± ¡°In front of us.¡± Evalyn had already checked the surrounding buildings; nothing in her peripheral vision had suggested the presence of anything compromising. Nonetheless, she glanced up. A single man, three, maybe five blocks away, nothing but a speck against the rest of the city, stood there looking in their direction. Hands in his pockets, the tail end of his trench coat flowing in the wind. Grey, like the standard police uniform. ¡°The hell¡­¡± Her eyes may have been deceiving her at such a distance, but the man was facing their direction. No subtlety whatsoever, like he wanted to make his presence known. And as if he felt his job was done, the man began to descend an out-of-sight set of stairs. Soon after, he was gone. She had no way to be sure, but it was always better to be safe than sorry. ¡®More to the case¡¯. Elvera¡¯s words echoed around Evalyn¡¯s head. ¡°Someone¡¯s coming,¡± Iris whispered. Evalyn¡¯s vision returned to the street as someone exited the target building. Beaks looked very similar to one another, but he was likely the only one in a kilometre radius. It had to be him. ¡°Iris, scratch the rooftops. I¡¯ve got a bad feeling about them.¡± She snatched Iris by the waist once more and walked to the edge of the roof. ¡°Don¡¯t scream.¡± Evalyn stepped over the edge and began to speed to the bottom. With a mere though, a pillowy golden mass raced upwards from the ground below, grabbing their bodies and killing their momentum. ¡°Did you see which way he was going?¡± Evalyn asked as her feet hit the ground. Rather than in the direction of 14 Pearson Avenue, Iris, once she had regained her footing, pointed back the way they came¡ªthe direct opposite heading from his workplace. ¡°Are you sure?¡± Iris nodded. Evalyn began to walk a parallel road, separating themselves from the subject by a single block. She glanced through each gap between the buildings, confirming the subject¡¯s route. A right turn and Evalyn followed suit at the next opportunity. There was nothing to confirm a connection between the man on the roof and the case at hand, but if there was, Evalyn couldn¡¯t afford to waste much time. And right now, keeping Iris close was the best course of action. If they had connected her to Iris, leaving her alone in the inn was not safe either. Even if it was speculation, Elvera¡¯s warnings had spooked her. She kept track of him, never intruding past twenty-five metres as he made left turn after right turn. The crowd and concealment got thicker, and it in turn became harder to track him. A final turn left, and he rounded the corner into a large factory. As Evalyn kept walking the previous street, she took mental record of the factory¡¯s address. ¡°There¡¯s no point pursuing further unless we want to get caught. Let¡¯s go to his listed workplace and see what we can find out there.¡± Chapter 3 Part 4: When the City has Eyes Evalyn¡¯s original hypothesis of the whereabouts of a Beak in Sidos City was bleak but realistic. Although one of the more progressive regions, the city still harboured remnant resentment for Spirits. Ten years wasn¡¯t enough to do away with that. But it started to set in on Evalyn that Kuarel Farehn was likely far from a victim of hate crime. Any merit in attacking him did not come from who he was but instead from what he was capable of doing. Taking several back alleys and side streets to minimise visibility, they emerged from cover into Pearson Avenue, and Evalyn was greeted with a site she could not truthfully say surprised her. Each warehouse along the endless avenue was a medium-scale manufacturing plant, and parts for small-scale Higher Order Armour units were being manufactured in every single one, just as Elvera had warned. Armour plating, bipedal movement systems, cabins, and engine frames. It was a hotbed for the most sought-after technology on the continent. 14 Pearson Avenue, Kurael¡¯s official place of employment, was a rifle manufacturing plant. The type of rifle that shot bullets the length of Evalyn¡¯s head, for use exclusively by the units. This was Kurael¡¯s valuable, valuable speciality. It was no wonder he never told his mother of his profession. Evalyn marched her way through the large open doors of the warehouse and spotted the manager¡¯s cabin that sat high above the assembly lines. Workers fitting barrels to chambers, polishing bolts, and furnishing guns stared at the two as Evalyn stormed up to the office, dragging Iris behind her. By the third knock, a large, moustached man answered the door, his eyes barely peeking out from under his horribly unkempt unibrow. ¡°Appointment?¡± ¡°Detective Inspector Pergol Harlep. Sidos Metropolitan Police,¡± she spat as she violently produced her proof of operation. ¡°Wow, wow. Calm down; I get it! You have questions. Come inside.¡± It was only then that Evalyn registered the racket of the assembly floor. She could barely hear herself think, let alone the manager. Reluctantly she composed herself and stepped into the cabin. ¡°What¡¯s with the child?¡± ¡°Police academy.¡± ¡°That young?¡± ¡°I¡¯ve come to run routine check-ups of your lead workers¡¯ whereabouts and working conditions. Your chief engineers on this project are a top priority to the state.¡± ¡°I¡­I don¡¯t recall investigations like that.¡± Evalyn crossed her arms impatiently, her boots tapping the coffee-stained carpet in a quiet but noticeably impatient beat. She scanned outside the window of the cabin. The assembly line workers were in no position to see her, and no windows matched their elevation. Still, she shifted her feet to avoid the full view of the window. ¡°New state protocol. What you¡¯re manufacturing here is extremely valuable, after all.¡± ¡°Are you looking for anyone in particular?¡± ¡°Not necessarily, anyone with specific qualifications, not just muscle. My Geverdian counterparts are also looking for detailed information regarding the state of their expatriates.¡± ¡°I¡­I can look into it¡­.¡± ¡°Thank you very much,¡± Evalyn feigned. The man turned his back to her, but her gaze was unrelenting. Kurael was possibly someone with intimate knowledge of Higher Order weapon systems, and Evalyn already had the hunch something was amiss. Not giving her real name was simple caution in case the man was a sympathiser, or the room was bugged. As the manager passed his desk, Evalyn caught him subtly brushing against a handheld radio, turning its transmission on. ¡°So, are you looking for anyone in particular?¡± ¡°A general list will be fine, along with their attendance, et cetera.¡± As the man¡¯s back was turned towards the shelf on the far side of the room, Evalyn dipped a hand into her trench coat and found her suppressor. She unholstered her pistol, screwing the attachment on underneath her jacket. ¡°Why the sudden change in protocol? We¡¯ve always been a weapons manufacturer. Some of the boys here worked on The Citadel project years ago.¡± ¡°Oh, you know. There¡¯s been a rise in S.H.I.A. activity recently.¡± The man was visibly irked¡ªa horrible actor. ¡°Iris, get behind me,¡± Evalyn whispered, and the child obeyed. Evalyn produced her pistol and shot the handheld radio, destroying it. The only sound between the suppressor and the subsonic bullet was the click of the slide racking another round. She stepped forward, each step sending the man further into the bookshelf as paper after paper flew out of his flailing hands. She pinned him to the wall, her silencer against his jaw. This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there. ¡°Assuming you had to turn on a radio, I¡¯m guessing this room isn¡¯t bugged?¡± The man shook his head desperately. ¡°I asked a fucking question,¡± she muttered. The man shook his head violently, the silencer block growing sticky from the sweat on his neck. ¡°I¡¯m going to ask now, and know it¡¯s no use lying to me because I will hurt you more than those bastards ever will. You gave him to someone; else, you would¡¯ve mentioned a missing worker sooner. Who has Kuarel Farehn?¡± ¡°S-S-S-S-S.H.I.A. They have him. They have all of them,¡± he blurted. ¡°All of whom?¡± ¡°A-a-a-a-anyone who can design those things. Put them¡­put them together.¡± ¡°And this has been going on for a month?¡± ¡°Longer¡­¡± ¡°Where?¡± ¡°A warehouse h-here in the city¡­they control¡­.¡± ¡°Delfare manufacturing?¡± ¡°Y-yes! That one!¡± Without warning, Evalyn struck the man¡¯s temple with the butt of her gun, allowing him to flop to the floor unconscious. ¡°Iris, pass me that rag over there before he wakes up.¡± Iris¡¯s small feet pattered as she did what she was told. Not a complete stranger to violence, she was oddly in tune with it. Evalyn undid the man¡¯s belt and fastened it tightly around his hands. ¡°We can¡¯t let him contact his friends while we¡¯re gone,¡± she said as Iris passed her the rag. She fastened it as tightly as she could around the man¡¯s mouth before turning to her. She clasped Iris¡¯s cheeks, staring deep into her eyes as if to drive the danger home. ¡°I¡¯m going to take you somewhere safe. If my hunch is correct, then we¡¯ve been seen together by that man in the grey coat. I don¡¯t know how far up this goes, and I don¡¯t know if they¡¯ve gotten their hands on the police as well.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t want to leave you¡­¡± ¡°I¡¯ve got no choice, you understand? This isn¡¯t something you¡¯re ready for yet.¡± ¡°Where?¡± ¡°It¡¯s not as homely, but there are people I trust there.¡± Under the assumption that her work became risky and the police were not on her side, Evalyn Hardridge kept an array of small safehouses throughout several cities where she frequently conducted operations. Smaller safehouses were harder to find, but relatively indefensible in the case of an attack. Old Chestrel manor was an oddity as it reversed the pros and cons. A large, eye-catching relic of a long-gone era of lords and ladies instead made up for its shortcomings in other ways. The winding hallways and myriad chambers meant that an intruder could not succeed in invading undetected. An attack would not work unless it was violent enough to wake the whole city. Evalyn¡¯s arduous game of hide and seek with an invisible enemy finally approached its end when she entered from the rear gates of the manor. Even in the taxi, neither her sidearm nor Iris¡¯s wrist had left her grasp. Each leg of her journey was marred by the presence of men in grey coats. Hidden amongst crowds or patrolling in police cars, Evalyn began to realise how omnipotent their presence was. S.H.I.A. may have tapped into that network, and the city was now watching her with its thousands of eyes. She could see them, feel them drilling into the back of her head. She kicked down her old family prison¡¯s back door and was flooded with an unsavoury nostalgia. The indulgent design of everything from the ceilings to the carpets held all the tastelessness of a seventeenth-century aristocrat. Not to mention that very entrance was where she had most often escaped to when avoiding disciplinary punishment. For what offence she could never remember, all she could recall were the hideous paintings on the wall. A line of noble ancestors from one side of the room to the other circled the small table in the centre¡ªnothing but an ashtray and a vase of flowers on it. Whoever sat there to smoke, gaze out to the garden or cry was eternally judged by those across the veil given life through painting. ¡°Oswald! If you¡¯re still alive, get me a fucking telephone!¡± A slight squeal from the hall yonder was the most immediate response to Evalyn¡¯s brash entry. A small, young handmaiden with a dust feather firmly in her grasp timidly rounded the corner. ¡°Is Oswald still here?¡± Evalyn asked with no hesitation. ¡°Y-yes¡­but who might you be?¡± However, the fiery woman paid her no heed as she dragged a child behind her further into the mansion, cursing the entire way. ¡°Oswald!¡± ¡°My lady, no need to shout my ears are perfectly fine.¡± As if on autopilot, Evalyn rounded a final doorway into the main hall, lined with banister railings and red carpet. The ground floor was populated with antique furniture a collector would quite possibly kill for. The place was hundreds of years away from the grey block city it was situated on the outskirts of, and Evalyn found that its divorced nature from the city was its only redeemable trait. Besides that, the only thing she felt for the home she grew up in was bitterness. A slender man swiftly managed his way down the far most flight of stairs, intent on serving his guests. His movements were so precise from years in the same manor it was as if his feet were attached to a set of automatic rails. ¡°I take it you have been well?¡± ¡°I would say that, but it seems I¡¯ve gotten myself in hot water again.¡± ¡°With whom this time?¡± ¡°S.H.I.A. A missing person¡¯s case I was involved with just so happened to connect to them. By the looks of it, they¡¯ve got eyes all over the city. Fuck¡­now that I think about it, those two in the archive¡­.¡± The two inquisitive police officers in the immigration office had worn the same grey jackets. She had thought nothing of it, but if there really were sympathisers in the police as well¡­ ¡°Tea?¡± ¡°No, a telephone, I already told you¡­get a cup for Iris.¡± ¡°Iris?¡± ¡°My ward. Keep her safe.¡± ¡°Safe, safe? Or safehouse safe.¡± ¡°I¡¯ll let you know if I need the second one.¡± ¡°I understand, my lady. Patricia!¡± ¡°Yes, master!¡± Another female voice from somewhere in the echoing chambers of the manner answered the old man¡¯s calls promptly and without question. Almost as if this special nook of the world was the only place that bent to his will and only his will. ¡°A telephone for the young madam. Let the house know the manor¡¯s owner is home.¡± ¡°Y-yes, master!¡± The man turned his attention to Iris, his aged skin and greying hair contradicting his youthful movements. His gloved hands were firmly clasped together above the glimmering buttons of his black tuxedo. ¡°Tea?¡± Evalyn noticed how Iris stood in silence. Thinking back, she had sat in the taxi wide-eyed and high on adrenaline the entire time. Evalyn¡¯s anxiety had been infectious, and even now she looked as though her hair would begin to dissolve and go berserk at any moment. The little girl sank into the nearest chair, the ageing wood¡¯s groaning sounding an awful lot like paper money being torn apart. ¡°Your telephone, madam!¡± chimed a woman as she almost silently stepped down the stairway towards Evalyn. The pleats of her skirt were louder than her footsteps, the mark of a professional handmaiden. Behind her, a trailing wire led to the phone in her hand, which she placed on a cigar table next to Iris. Evalyn immediately got to dialling. Anyone in Sidosian authority she could not trust completely. That only left her with one drastic best bet. ¡°You have reached the Royal Geverdian Military Special Operations. Please state your business.¡± Chapter 3 Part 5: At Her Mercy An hour had passed, and pieces had started to fall into motion. She had passed the baton to the authorities, or at least the only ones she could trust. Her usual methodology was crumbling as she waited for the telephone to ring. A confession would hopefully be forced from the rifle manufacturer¡¯s manager, and the legal groundwork for a raid would be cemented. State secrets were compromised, and expatriates were unaccounted for, possibly in danger. It wouldn¡¯t take long for a warrant to be organised, or at least that was what she hoped for. She conceded to her nerves and again stuck her fingers in the dial, answering the operator to connect her to a small village in western Sidos. The ringtone looped and looped, and Evalyn grew agitated. She kept the phone pressed against her ear as she coiled the wire around her finger. She looked over at Iris, still sinking into the armchair and managed to smile softly. ¡°Hello, Maxwell speaking?¡± a gruff voice said through what Evalyn knew to be a thick beard. The husky tone crackling through calmed her down; she needed to hear something familiar. ¡°Hi, Dad,¡± she said timidly, never getting used to the title he had so insisted on her using. She remembered the first time she had tried she had stuttered so severely, Elliot had not let her live it down for an entire month. ¡°Evalyn? How are you? Why didn¡¯t you come?¡± ¡°It¡¯s been a bit busy recently, in and out of work. I promise I¡¯ll make the visit next time. Is Elliot there?¡± ¡°Sure he is. He¡¯s helping Jessica with the weeds right now, Elliot! ¡­Evalyn¡¯s on the phone!¡± he shouted. Evalyn waited for a few silent moments. She found Iris staring at the teacup in her lap, fixated on the liquid with the eyes of a corpse. Eventually the phone change hands, and his unmistakable voice crackled over the speaker. ¡°Evalyn? Everything all right?¡± ¡°I hope so. The case blew up a fair bit, and I don¡¯t think it¡¯s something Iris can handle,¡± she admitted. ¡°Do you need me to come back?¡± ¡°What? No. You just got there. We¡¯re staying at my old home right now, so we¡¯ll be safe until Marie or someone can come to pick her up. Just¡­¡± ¡°Just what?¡± Evalyn paused, unable to continue talking. It was a familiar conversation, one that she had repeated over and over again. One that made her wish she never had to leave Elliot¡¯s side. ¡°I¡¯m sorry. I don¡¯t know from what point they¡¯ve been watching us or how far their reach is. Are you armed?¡± ¡°Hunting rifles and shotguns. The entire village has got them.¡± ¡°Keep them handy. Just in case. I¡¯ll let you know when we¡¯re in the clear.¡± ¡°Okay. I trust you.¡± ¡°¡­I love you.¡± With everything that needed saying being said, Evalyn put the phone down gently. ¡°Elliot?¡± Iris asked. ¡°Yeah¡­he¡¯ll be okay.¡± Evalyn sank into a seat, giving a quick glance at Oswald, who stood at attention, refusing to leave his master¡¯s side. ¡°Thank you, Oswald.¡± ¡°Think nothing of it. This is your home.¡± ¡°No, it¡¯s not. It¡¯s a hotel, isn¡¯t it?¡± Oswald smiled fondly at his mistress, acknowledging the once adorable face¡¯s newfound maturity. ¡°The best in the business.¡± Evalyn chuckled at the strangeness of it all. Seldom returning to a place for years at a time skewed one¡¯s memory of it. For some reason, the place she had so desperately rejected was now somewhat welcoming. However, the brief respite was just that. Brief. Iris¡¯s tired haze was broken by an oncoming ringtone. Bleary-eyed, she saw Evalyn pick up the receiver and press it against her ear. ¡°Chestral manner hotel services, how can we help you?¡± Evalyn answered. The silence persisted, and Evalyn¡¯s lax posture froze over into glacier. Rigidly but carefully, she looked at Oswald and silently signalled. Like telepathy, Oswald clapped his hands. ¡°All staff, you may take your breaks now. Everyone to your rooms immediately,¡± he shouted, sprinting up the stairs as fast as could still be considered ¡®gentlemanly¡¯. ¡°Yeah¡­I¡¯m still listening,¡± Evalyn said. She beckoned for Iris''s attention and mouthed the words ¡®follow him¡¯ before turning away. But Iris couldn¡¯t; something had once again caught her eye. As Iris slowly approached the front window, the thing behind the thin white curtain became clearer. In front of her stretched an elaborate array of trim hedges, but one thing amongst them stuck out. A figure in a grey coat, whom Evalyn had once referred to as a police officer. The man talking into Evalyn¡¯s ear had only named himself and his cause. Jamie, S.H.I.A. ¡°We know you¡¯re at Chestrel Manor. This is our city, and we have eyes all over it.¡± ¡°I asked what business you have with our establishment.¡± ¡°There¡¯s no point hiding, Pergol Harlep. We don¡¯t know who you are, but any officer dealing with H.O.A. in the metro police wouldn¡¯t be as bold as you¡¯re being. I don¡¯t know what line of investigation you¡¯re on, if you¡¯re a journalist or some P.I., but I¡¯ll spare you the trouble. There is nothing down the road you¡¯re going. And if I¡¯m not clear enough for you, we can arrange it to be.¡± ¡°How¡¯s that?¡± ¡°We¡¯ll give you a warning that you will take seriously.¡± The final thing that Iris saw before her vision cut out was a gun barrel. Even from this distance, it was clear what it was. The unmistakable dull glint, the silver colour. Her last thought was ironically about how right Evalyn was, that guns were utterly unfair. If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation. That was a lie. The last thought was cut short. The door at the end of her mind¡¯s hallway had asked her something as imminent death approached, and she had answered. Do you want help? The first thing that Evalyn saw before her mind went blank was a small body hitting the carpet. Its head led the movement, where a small purple hole had appeared on its forehead. The second thing that she saw was a man in the garden. A grey coat, the same coat she had seen every police officer wearing¡ªthe man on the rooftop, the two in the archive. The final thing she saw was the man putting away a handgun, silencer first back into his coat. When Evalyn would call upon her power, she would imagine a thing, an object, and it would form for her. Yet when her logical mind died, and what was left was a steaming vat of primal instinct, she would only ever think of a single directive. Come here. And by the golden light emanating from her body, her wish would be granted. A deathly vine of thorns shot out from underneath her sleeve, completely shattering the broken glass window. It latched onto the man¡¯s coat, the thorns digging deep into his flesh and staining the grey with a dark, deep red. She watched as the man¡¯s image grew in size until his body was railed against the shards of glass, smearing him in cuts and blood. The instant Evalyn¡¯s hand touched the man¡¯s throat, it and her entire left arm were armoured. Golden plates curved from the tips of her fingers to her shoulder, each finger guard moving by itself with only one intent. Crush. ¡°I got your message,¡± she softly whispered into the phone, ¡°your friend looks like he got the memo as well.¡± ¡°What¡ª¡± ¡°So, I will tell you one thing, Jamie, lest the message slips over your head. I will find every single one of you, every single person that stinks like you, and I will tear them, limb from limb, in front of everyone that loves them. I have burnt down cities before and will do it again.¡± ¡°The fuck do you¡ª¡± ¡°Shh¡­I think your friend wants to speak to you,¡± Evalyn¡¯s said in a deathly cold hiss. She passed the receiver to the man in her vice. With every ounce of strength, he struggled against the plates of magic that had his throat like a child squeezing clay. ¡°Help¡­me¡­¡± Iris¡¯s hand moved to her forehead before her conscience had even fully returned to her. It passed over her brow, which wrinkled healthily at the soft touch of her fingers. No blood, no bone, no brain. She made absolutely sure by poking it, checking for any bullet-sized holes. But thankfully, she couldn¡¯t find any. Iris slowly sat up, and her fringe softly fell forward, obscuring her vision. Brushing them aside and over her ear, she found her surroundings to be equally as sumptuous as the grand hall of her last memory. It was probably in the same building. She interpreted the sparsely lit ceiling through the light of the dull silver shine streaming from the curtained windows, a colour matching her hair¡ªthe moon. The bed was much larger than the last one she had slept in, and its softness threatened to consume her, as did the hefty covers. The feeling of them against her skin brought with it a wave of unprecedented comfort she could not quantify. Like a quagmire, it was soft, warm, and threatened to never let her go. The sensation of being able to feel something at all gripped her. The ability to still feel, draw breath, and notice the paintings¡¯ crookedness was something she could no longer take for granted. They had all taken on new meanings, new weight. Her left hand gripped the covers, and her right gripped another hand. She followed the feeling and found Evalyn at the end of it, sleeping uneasily beside her bed. Iris felt her throat grow hot, and she gulped down whatever was exciting her in such a way. Her light squeeze roused Evalyn, who shifted like a dormant giant and silently found Iris¡¯s eyes. Her own eyes were weary, betraying her exhaustion. Her hair that was tightly tied before was now lazily strewn across her scalp, the hair tie barely holding anything together. Without warning, she softly dived into Iris¡¯s abdomen, wrapping her large arms around her small flank. ¡°Are you alive?¡± ¡°Mhm¡­¡± ¡°Do you remember me?¡± ¡°¡­Evalyn.¡± Iris felt Evalyn¡¯s smile through the thin gown someone had changed her into. ¡°The cavalry came. This place is safe now until I send you home, and Elly will be waiting,¡± she said, pulling her face away but not her hands. ¡°I¡¯m sorry. If it weren¡¯t for you, you¡¯d be dead. Before the next time I take you out on even a mild case, I¡¯m going to make sure you¡¯re trained. So I¡¯m¡­I¡ª¡± The glassy eyes of last night were now overflowing, and Iris almost felt like returning the gesture if she could learn how. She flung her arms around Evalyn¡¯s neck and squeezed herself as closely as she could manage to her guardian. That moment was the best moment Iris had ever felt in her short recollection of life. ¡°Police authorities have warned of continued violence as the paramilitary terrorist organisation S.H.I.A. continues its attacks that left six federal officers and two army officers dead, and several citizens in critical condition after a car bombing last Sunday. Although the alleged political wing of the organisation has denied responsibility, it has faced major backlash by both its opposition figures and some members of the public.¡± Evalyn massaged the dial on the radio until the news reporter¡¯s voice was replaced by the soft swellings of an orchestral piece being played somewhere in the city at that very moment. There were two worlds, one chaotic and another tranquil in the same realm of grey, just a few turns of the dial apart. ¡°I saw that wreckage the other day while you and Elliot were eating breakfast, and I had gone for a walk. I could¡¯ve sworn that car was still smoking. It was that bad.¡± ¡°Are they bad?¡± ¡°Who?¡± ¡°The people in the grey coats.¡± ¡°Oh,¡± Evalyn thought. ¡°Depends on who you ask, I guess. To people sick of war, they¡¯re a threat, and to those who had their villages destroyed by Spirits, I guess they¡¯re heroes.¡± Iris struggled with the answer that wasn¡¯t black nor white, but to her, what felt like awkward shades of grey, refusing to judge even when lives were at risk. It didn¡¯t fit her image of Evalyn at all. Evalyn was supposed to help people. ¡°What do you¡­think?¡± ¡°Like I said, I can¡¯t blame them. But I once bet with my life to stop the war they¡¯re trying to restart, and I¡¯ll be the first person to get in their way if it comes to it.¡± ¡°But what do you think?¡± ¡°Hm¡­that they¡¯re the enemy. They¡¯ll do whatever they can to achieve what they want, so I¡¯ll do the same. In that respect, we¡¯re similar.¡± ¡°No, you¡¯re not.¡± Iris¡¯s assertion made Evalyn chuckle softly, the moonlight blessing her skin with a sombre, ethereal silver. ¡°You¡¯d be surprised. Well, it still goes that I¡¯ll never forgive them for what they did to you.¡± A telephone ring from the dresser Evalyn sat beside caught her attention. She picked up the receiver and answered, idly coiling the cord around her finger. Evalyn made the face she would make whenever Elvera called her on the telephone¡ªa face of furrowed brows and stiff lips. ¡°Yeah, she¡¯s awake. No damage. The Aetherologist that came by said it might be some self-defence mechanism. Her flesh liquidated along the bullet¡¯s trajectory. Now it¡¯s back to normal¡­No, I don¡¯t think she can control it¡­we don¡¯t know.¡± Iris barely remembered the final moments of that scene. They were hazy at best and as indistinct as the drone of the rain at worst. All she remembered was that flash of dull colour, the hallway. It had talked to her. Had it? Had she asked it to save her? ¡°Did you have him roughed up at all? ¡­I thought so. He seemed like a sympathiser until, well, until the moment I drew a gun on him. So? ¡­before sunrise,¡± Evalyn glanced at her watch, angling her wrist so the clock face would find the moonlight. ¡°It¡¯s only half an hour by taxi to get there; I¡¯ll be able to make it. I know, I didn¡¯t think going solo was an option; the feds are too invested in this not to take part. But if it starts to get hairy, I won¡¯t hesitate¡­. No, I don¡¯t care. It¡¯s stupid they¡¯re not just sending me instead¡­.¡± Evalyn nodded silently for a few more seconds before speaking for a final time. ¡°That¡¯s good, I guess. I think I was about to snap his neck for a second. No, I guess not. Yeah¡­bye.¡± Evalyn gently took the phone away from her ear and froze, paralysed before she could perform her next movement. She sat there, gripping the receiver as the static drone from it almost mirrored her mind at that moment. Iris watched her as she always did. ¡°They¡¯re putting him away for a long time, the man that shot at you. I¡¯m glad I didn¡¯t kill him in retrospect.¡± Iris caught on to whom she was talking about. The man in the grey coat who had shot her. She hadn¡¯t known what happened but could infer roughly. ¡°Why didn¡¯t you?¡± Iris asked timidly, forever confused by Evalyn¡¯s line of reasoning. ¡°Because that would make me a murderer. I don¡¯t want to live as a criminal.¡± ¡°Do you ever kill?¡± ¡°Sometimes.¡± ¡°¡­isn¡¯t that bad?¡± ¡°¡­Yeah¡­I guess it is. But orders are orders, and I¡¯ll be in trouble if I don¡¯t follow them. I don¡¯t want to live as a criminal.¡± Evalyn chuckled faintly. A pained smile tinted sombre shades of silver. ¡°It¡¯s hypocritical, isn¡¯t it?¡± Chapter 3 Part 6: S.S.T.U.D Sidos Special Tactics Urban Division, affectionately nicknamed Studs by their fellow police and military counterparts, was the fledgling division of the Sidosian Metropolitan Police. Evalyn knew them to be a middle ground between law enforcement and a full army intervention¡ªthe specially trained personnel of the country¡¯s revamped federal government. Experts in urban combat, hence their namesake, the unit had made its reputation off the back of the S.H.I.A. terror campaign, proving to be an effective arm of the new regime. However, Evalyn disliked their tactical gear. The heavy plated armour that supposedly stopped bullets, the steel helmets, deafening earmuffs, thick clothes, and tight kneepads restricted her. She felt like a small dog in a heavy-knitted sweater. She was tempted to use some of her magic to lift the weight off her shoulders, but the glow of her cheek would draw more attention than it was worth. If she was to pass as their plus one, she had to look the part first. No one knew that she was their failsafe in case things went wrong. She was simply one of several Geverdian troops mixed in as part of the joint operation. ¡°Janitor team one in position at front entrance right,¡± Evalyn¡¯s team lead informed. ¡°Janitor team two in position at back entrance, left.¡± ¡°Chimney sweeps in position, roof left side.¡± A silence filled the comms as each team fell into their starting positions. ¡°Blake, eyes down range and hold until we clear.¡± ¡°Sir.¡± From the end of her stack, one SC Blake scuttled forward, his tactical gear camouflaging him against the dark geometry of their surroundings. In addition to the uniform, he wore a set of ski goggles, the leather strap tight against the bridge of his nose. He took his place on the other side of the door, the side it would open to first. In his gloved hands, he held a long wooden rifle, more suited to precision suppressive fire than the submachine gun Evalyn was gripping tightly. A finger tapped the trigger guard in anticipation. ¡°Flashlights on. Remember your training,¡± the team leader said as he picked the lock on the door. He twisted the door handle and confirmed it was open. The bulky radio strapped to her shoulder crackled on once more. ¡°Control to ground teams; Geverde¡¯s recon Spirits confirm twenty-seven unknowns, nothing on the top floor. Chimney sweeps, please confirm.¡± ¡°Negative on movement from up here. Dead space directly below us, Janitor Two¡¯s trajectory. How copy?¡± ¡°Copy Chimney Sweeps. Proceed as planned. All teams begin phase one now.¡± The team lead, Sergeant Hitch, turned the doorknob and softly pushed the door open. Blake raised his rifle. ¡°Short wall right side, no traps. Ready.¡± The rest of the team moved in sync with the small pops they heard from inside, almost like fireworks. Evalyn saw a torrent of shattered glass as the Chimney Sweeps breached the upper windows and rappelled onto the catwalk. On the other side of the building, Janitor Two moved almost identically to her team, mirroring their actions. She raised her boxy sub-machine gun to eye level as she began to splinter off her line and clear the work benches, heading sideways across the building¡¯s width. Two columns of benches numbering roughly fifteen each ran down the length of the factory. Her flashlight only illuminated a tiny portion of the bench¡¯s underside for potential ambushes, but none came. ¡°Clear,¡± the Senior Constable to her left said. She echoed the phrase a moment later as she came to the centre pathway of the building. She felt a gloved hand pat her shoulder. ¡°On you.¡± She again echoed the movement to the Senior Constable before her until the Sergeant rejoined the team. They repeated this manoeuvre thrice over, meeting janitor two in the middle. Evalyn could hear the Chimney Sweeps kick open the office door and clear the room. Eventually, the two Janitor teams reached the other end of the work floor, confirming no hostiles. ¡°Rear man, move up,¡± the Sergeant ordered. SC Blake lowered his rifle and silently moved to their position as the Chimney Sweeps descended the staircase to regroup. The only entrance to the basement was a small doorway the three teams of four were already prepared to enter, stacking up on either side. Based on live reconnaissance the old concrete space looked to be significantly hollowed out compared to the building¡¯s original blueprint. Evalyn¡¯s team leader retreated to the back of the line as she moved up to the front. Another Sergeant from team two led a stack across from her. ¡°Deity, give us eyes.¡± The radio crackled as the information came through with blazing speed. ¡°Single hostile, armed at the bottom of the stairway,¡± relayed mission control confidently. Deity division was never wrong. When you were conversing with disc-shaped Spirits flying hundreds of metres high, capable of peering through almost any hard cover with their gargantuan ¡®eye¡¯, it was hard to see how they could ever be mistaken. Through contracts and agreements, that organ¡¯s use had gone from just hunting to including surveillance as well. ¡®Well, Police protocol¡¯, Evalyn thought, lamenting the precarious shoot-if-shot rules of engagement. If things got hairy, she¡¯d have to hope she could pass off her abilities as Geverdian Aether tech of some kind. ¡°Janitor one to control, ready to begin staircase breach, how copy?¡± ¡°Control to Janitor one, breach when ready, over.¡± ¡°Copy, over and out.¡± One door, a single staircase, and a second door. They would have to clear it as fast as possible if they wanted to maintain an element of surprise. ¡°Gerry, lights out,¡± the Janitor team lead ordered over his radio. ¡°Rodger.¡± A final Chimney Sweep still in the office cranked a lever. Evalyn heard the faint clunk of floodlights shutting off and small whispers of panic below her feet. In the cover of darkness, she checked the door handle. Unlocked. She nodded to the Sergeant across from her, who pushed it open. The men behind her clicked on their flashlights mounted to their helmets, and she followed suit. In a swift single movement, she rounded the corner, sub-machine gun pointing towards the end of the staircase. The man directly behind her had his pistol over her shoulder. ¡°Police! Drop your weapon!¡± ¡°Do it now!¡± The guard at the end of the hallway jumped violently at the shock of flashlights staring him down. She could see him spot each gun barrel, his eyes growing wider each time. He froze still as they kept yelling, descending rapidly. ¡°Drop your fucking weapon now!¡± The man did as he was told, letting Evalyn seize the weapon. Switching the safety on, she passed the gun up the line. Soon after, doing the same to the man himself. The rear men apprehended him and disassembled his firearm while Evalyn strapped on a gas mask. Iris was not used to tea. To her palette, it was too nuanced. The light orange colour led her to expect something sweet, but in reality, it tasted like off water. Nonetheless, she drank it anyway, forbidding herself to forsake anything she could consume, especially something given to her. Iris had slept for the better part of a day, and the fatigue that would should¡¯ve be consuming her at such an ungodly hour of the night was absent. She sat at a bedside dresser, surrounded by mirrors and make-up. She had no clue that the powders, the gloss, and the foundations around her were all ten years old at the least, or that the chair¡¯s height did not match hers, but instead an eighteen-year-old Evalyn¡¯s. Next to her was a man named Oswald, who remained standing at attention, similar to the armed officer outside her room, who wore black instead of grey. Oswald had not given in to fatigue either, keeping her company as the hours dragged. She asked him one more time, just to see if he would budge. ¡°Where did Evalyn go?¡± The man sighed through the greying hair on his face. ¡°She told me not to tell you in case you try to follow her. I know full well that you can.¡± Iris stayed silent, pondering, before finally coming up with another question, a different line of attack. Stolen novel; please report. ¡°Is she killing someone?¡± The man hesitated for a moment¡ªa reaction that suggested progress. ¡°Possibly,¡± he admitted rather uncomfortably. ¡°Why?¡± A question that made Oswald, of all people, speechless. He momentarily considered how to approach the extremely blunt line of questioning. Iris felt as though she was about to make progress, a breakthrough. She had promised Evalyn she would not try to follow her, but she at least wanted to know where she was going, as she did when they had last separated. ¡°My old master, General Hardridge, only ever worsened the civil war, going so far as to invade Geverde itself for resources. I remember asking him once why he did so, why he didn¡¯t try to find some compromise, achieve peace. He said to me, quite bluntly mind you, that peace was never an option as long as people were people and Spirits were Spirits.¡± Oswald crossed his arms and kept on thinking. ¡°I never found out his true intention, but whenever I find myself revisiting that phrase, I never think of it in a ¡®human versus Spirit¡¯ context,¡± he explained. ¡°He lost his wife during childbirth. He was staying in a makeshift hospital; the city¡¯s medical centre had been destroyed in a Spirit attack. Because of that, they didn¡¯t have the equipment to save her. That gave him a reason, at least. But not out of revenge, but paranoia.¡± He opened his mouth once again, but as if he realised he was rambling, he stopped himself, mouth hanging open. He began slowly, taking care of his words. ¡°I think Evalyn ended up taking after her father. They both carry the resolve to kill for the same reason. Even then, she prefers not to.¡± He chuckled at a sick joke Iris could never understand. ¡°I guess that was the cost of wishing on a star and making a deal with the devil all at once¡­maybe the way she loves takes after her father too.¡± Adults were terrible at answering her questions. In theory, anyone inside was still blinded by the sudden darkness, but they could not solely rely on that chance. Evalyn did a once over of herself and tore off a smoke grenade from her belt line, slowly twisting the doorknob as silently as possible, pushing the final barrier open. She pulled the pin on the smoke grenade and rolled it into the room. The hiss of the smoke pluming gave her the go-ahead that their entry was concealed. She was first up in the single-line formation, making her way in with her wingman; they veered right while the next person turned left in an alternating pattern. For a few moments, terrorists nor police dared to fire into the plume without knowing what they would hit. Evalyn kept the wall to her back and her gun facing forward into the room. The moment she exited the smoke, she found the presence of an armed assailant crouched behind one of the many concrete pillars. ¡°Police! Hands in the air!¡± she shouted, hearing the same from somewhere else in the room. Startled, the man swivelled to face her, raising his firearm. Evalyn hesitated for a split second, instinctively activating her magic under the cover of her clothing, but it was too late. Her wingman shot two suppressed shots from his pistol, one into the man¡¯s shoulder and another into his hip. She immediately turned her attention back forward as they moved up, the officer behind her cuffing him and disabling his weapon. They continued forward. As flashlights became more and more prevalent, so too did muzzle flashes. Evalyn did her best to keep her eyes forward. Another man, probably timing his movements with the approach of her flashlight, sprung out from under a waist-high bench. His gun raised immediately as he began to fire. Evalyn instinctively ducked and returned a barrage of suppressive fire as her teammate, now armed with his rifle, placed two shots on the man, centre mass. Kill shots. Evalyn stood back to her crouched height and pressed forward passed the almost certainly dead body. In the torrent of gunfire, they had no time for cuffing anymore. She risked a glance left and saw other teams move forward throughout the basement at a brisk pace. They were still on schedule. Evalyn approached another pillar, finding a muzzle poking out from the other side. She dropped her weapon, which hung idly by its strap and grabbed the foreign muzzle, rounding the corner to find the man¡¯s twisted face, pumped full of adrenaline. She instinctively reached for her pistol, normally on her shoulder, but halfway through the movement, readjusted and grabbed it from her hip. She kept the enemy¡¯s muzzle away from her body as he randomly fired into the wall behind them. Two shots. One placed perfectly on his shoulder and another on his forearm. She could afford to be accurate at this distance. The man¡¯s weak arm muscles failed his grip, and Evalyn tore the weapon from his grasp as her wingman tackled the assailant to the ground, apprehending him as quickly as he could as Evalyn kept lookout. Another two targets began to blind fire from behind a pillar, and Evalyn shrank into cover, a bullet tearing through her shoulder armour and grazing her skin, exposing raw flesh and blood to the cold, dead air. She planned to return fire, but the rapid booming of a machine gun caught her attention. A man was crouched behind a distant workbench, using it as cover while firing a stationery LMG from the back of the room. Its suppressive fire prevented anyone from moving forward. Even worse was that the bullet calibre tore through the concrete like paper mache. Solid cover no longer existed. Evalyn did not want to create another smoke screen and risk the fire becoming more erratic, but she knew her teammates might not think the same. To them, it was their best option, despite the certainty of hostages somewhere in the room becoming collateral. From her position, Evalyn solidified her resolve and left her cover. Immediately she was singled out and fired upon. The glow of her arm almost pierced her clothing as she created a full-body shield. The bullets¡¯ power pushed her further back into the wall, but it didn¡¯t faze her. She switched to her pistol with one hand and rounded the pillar with the two blind-firing men. She shot six times as quickly as her trigger finger would allow, only giving herself a second to confirm that they were neutralised. Another torrent of high-calibre fire came towards her, and she blocked it the same way, her golden shield giving her cover as she drew the gunner¡¯s attention. The concentrated fire drilled into and dented her guard, and in each moment, she repaired it instantaneously. With each step forward, she gained precious centimetres. Letting go of the shield, she reloaded her pistol. But there was no need. The fire stopped with another single gunshot. Her shield dissipated, and she found an officer standing over the gunner, his rifle pointed down at the wounded man. The gun smoke subsided, and Evalyn heaved an exasperated sigh. From somewhere in the room, Chimney Sweep leader radioed in for the lights to be turned back on again. Evalyn readied herself, but the light still blinded her for a solid few seconds. She blinked insistently until the room became visible through the blur. ¡°Ground team to clean-up crews; we need casevac and medivac teams on site pronto, over.¡± ¡°Oi! What the fuck was that?¡± her wingman asked her. A Senior Constable Fredrick ripped off his gas mask and shoved her shoulder. ¡°That fucking shield!¡± Evalyn removed her mask and breathed deeply the stale air around them. ¡°Untested Aether tech. It¡¯s in the early stages, so I took a risk using it.¡± ¡°Is that why you rolled with us? Testing?¡± ¡°Yes, it is.¡± ¡°Fucking hell¡­If that thing hadn¡¯t worked, you¡¯d be a pile of fucking flesh!¡± ¡°I guess I¡¯m glad it did then.¡± The Senior Constable wiped the sweat off his face and shook his head before walking away. ¡°All civilians! We are the police! Stand up slowly and put your hands behind your heads!¡± A group of roughly fifteen people stood up, most quaking violently from the adrenaline pumping through their veins amidst the now quiet calm. Fifteen. Even for a night shift, that was not nearly enough for a full workforce. ¡°Where¡¯s the rest of you?¡± Evalyn shouted. She couldn¡¯t see any Beaks amongst the group whatsoever. ¡°A uhm¡­a truck came today,¡± said a woman timidly from across the floor. Her squeaking voice echoed around the destroyed concrete pillars. ¡°A truck came and took them. There were another twenty of us. They¡¯re gone.¡± ¡°I¡¯ve been getting phone calls all day from the Sidos City Metropolitan Police Service. Left and right, telling me that they have one of your operatives in a jail cell, that the Federal Police are strongarming them out of their own operations, and that your plans have been compromised.¡± Someone had stolen Jamie Welrod¡¯s folding deck chair from him, leaving him to stand like a child in detention. Slender, imposing, wrapped in a pristine beige suit and, for whatever reason, wearing sunglasses even in the blacked-out room. ¡°Explain to me what happened while I was on my way here,¡± commanded the sponsor. ¡°Yes,¡± Jamie replied, resisting the urge to add ¡®sir¡¯ to his sentence. ¡°We were in pursuit of someone who we had flagged as dangerous. According to some of our Police officers, they were digging into the details of one of our hostages a¡­Kurael Fahren.¡± ¡°A detective? Journalist?¡± ¡°We thought as much, but suddenly our operative was taken out. We¡¯re not sure how. We only got so much before the Federal Police took custody of him. He mentioned ¡®golden armour¡¯ but could not elaborate further.¡± ¡°Golden armour?¡± the sponsor asked, his entire body seemingly perking up at the mention of it. ¡°Are you sure?¡± Jamie was taken aback, unsure of how to take the reaction. ¡°Yes. Golden armour that seemed to appear out of nowhere along her arm.¡± The sponsor sat back in Jamie¡¯s chair, face in apparent amazement. ¡°They¡¯re here, are they?¡± ¡°Who is?¡± Jamie asked. ¡°Nothing for you to worry about¡­I must tell you something.¡± The sponsor said straightening himself and the bottom of his buttoned suit jacket. He readjusted his sunglasses, collar and sleeves taking time with his pause, only making Jamie more nervous. ¡°Your hostages. I need twenty of them.¡± ¡°Twenty?¡± Jamie asked, bewildered. ¡°That¡¯s more than half.¡± ¡°Yes, I realise,¡± he admitted. ¡°But unfortunately, their services are needed elsewhere.¡± Jamie had never heard of this before, nothing about any plans to give up any of their hostages. Only one H.O.A. unit had been fully completed, which would barely suffice for his motives. Voicing such was so obvious it was futile. ¡°C¡ªcould I ask why?¡± Jamie stammered, in disbelief at the betrayal which only earned him an exasperated sigh. ¡°There¡¯s another activist group on the outskirts of the city-state of Fadaak, the Free Slave Army which I¡¯m sure you¡¯ve heard of before.¡± Jamie nodded. ¡°And I have offered them a small number of specialised Higher Order Armour engineers to get their own program up and running.¡± Small number? It was over half their cohort, something S.H.I.A. could not afford to lose. ¡°Your engineers are trained enough now to understand the workings of the Higher Order Armour, and there will be financial compensation from the F.S.A. of course.¡± ¡°I understand,¡± Jamie struggled, ¡°but these are our engineers, we still require them¡ª¡± ¡°Now Jamie, there¡¯s no need to be so selfish,¡± the sponsor cooed as though to scold a child. He leaned forward in his chair, letting it creak under the weight of his bony body. ¡°I, as a part of the network, colleagues, and ideology I represent, must think of the bigger picture. I only care about your cause insofar as it benefits the furthering of mine. Now, don¡¯t get me twisted I truly think it¡¯s wonderful. If I didn¡¯t, I wouldn¡¯t be helping you.¡± The sponsor stood, brushing off the seat of his pants and sighing, looking in Jamie¡¯s direction and chuckling. ¡°I do understand, Jamie. To you, it must seem as though there isn¡¯t an awful lot aside from S.H.I.A., Sidos, and your latest ploy. But to me, there is a whole lot more at play and I must continue to think ahead.¡± The sponsor wrapped an arm around Jamie, turning his body stiff and rendering his brain useless. There was an aura around him, an aura Jamie could not sense without being only centimetres away. Something greater than a mere human, something ethereal. Magic? ¡°I will leave it up to your imagination to guess what will happen if you do not comply. My advice is usually optional, but these are orders,¡± the sponsor whispered, the ever-present sly grin gone from his face. Jamie felt a pat on his back as the sponsor let go, skipping backwards and regaining his merry demeanour. ¡°The Federal Police are coming, Jamie. Move them tonight, before it¡¯s too late. Oh, and one more thing,¡± he said as he strutted towards the door. ¡°The woman you were looking for, the one that caused you problems. What did she look like?¡± ¡°Orange hair and a tattoo on her cheek.¡± ¡°Do you have a name?¡± ¡°No.¡± ¡°Get me one. Tell me as soon as you do.¡± Chapter 4 Part 1: Rivalry Jamie Welrod sat in his folding deck chair as if it were a throne. It was not his intention but simply his natural disposition to sit like a king no matter the chair. Still and silent. He seldom spoke, even when there was no cigar sticking out of his parched mouth, lips aged beyond his years. Or that was what people assumed of him. But he liked it that way. It was his staunch belief that actions carried louder than words; leading by example was a given to him, like the sky being blue and his trench coat being grey. Detective inspector was his title if he remembered correctly. Whichever insignia was sullied by today¡¯s droplets of rainwater, it did not matter. No one questioned the police but the police, and even then, all of the competent ones were vacuuming up the bribery money. ¡°Sir,¡± the woman beside him said, ¡°We¡¯ve got a report from Sidos border control. The truck got through fine; they should be a few kilometres from the F.S.A. outpost now.¡± ¡°The money?¡± Jamie asked her. ¡°It¡¯s been wired through to the account. Three hundred thousand.¡± ¡°See to it, those drivers make it back safely across the border. Hopefully, we don¡¯t end up with more enemies than we need.¡± ¡°Yes, sir,¡± repeated the radio operator as she refitted her headset and resumed working. The deal had gone through, and he had wiped his hands clean of it. It left a bitter taste in his mouth being played in such a way. The funds were reassuring, but being forced to trade assets for money he did not need was almost humiliating. It left a bitter taste in his mouth, but he could swallow it, just like his shame. Things were going smoothly otherwise; there was no point in dwelling on the past. A complicated array of wooden boxes, wires, speakers and microphones lined the wall from one end of the apartment to the other. Each instrument made an individual hum that one could never imagine unless one heard it for themselves. Alien, yet these operators controlled them expertly. Even if it was only one centre of telegraph communications in the city, it was still a vital part of the network. ¡°Any more news on that raid last night?¡± ¡°No sir, scouts still report heavy police presence, and anyone involved is Federal Police. Government men, none of ours.¡± ¡°Fuck sake. They¡¯re taking it seriously now, eh?¡± Earlier that morning, Jamie had stressed to his men that the clock was ticking for both sides once the raid started. If they took too long in their plan, the Federal Police would bust down the door to every one of their safehouses before they could even commence. If the enemy took too long, they faced possibly the largest terrorist attack in history. Like a ticking time bomb, right under the Prime Minister''s ass. Jamie¡¯s nine-to-five admittedly did not pay well, but money was not his motive, nor was it for the people he recruited. The fire of something greater had been lit in their eyes well before he had ever rolled up to their villages, offering them guns and a push in the right direction¡ªa way to enact their revenge. And that was all anyone knew about Jamie Welrod. That was all anyone needed to know. He stood up from his chair and found himself a telephone, the only commercially available technology in the room. He dialled himself the first number on a list that only he had, right in his breast pocket at all times. He rubbed his calloused fingers against the rough paper, scratches of grey pencil etched into it. The dial tone ended almost immediately, and Jamie internally praised how well-disciplined the staff were. It almost made him feel guilty. ¡°Hello, yes, is this Salan court hotel¡­yes. Hello, I¡¯m calling on behalf of Harman Food Co. Yes, about our next order, our schedule has been very messy this month, and staff schedules have been shifting and such. So, I was wondering if we could deliver a day early? Yes, of course, no changes to your order. If you could put that through, I¡¯d appreciate it. Thank you. ¡± He placed the handset back onto the telephone and walked to his chair. Throughout the next few hours, he called the same hotel twice more. At one thirty in the afternoon, he was a gruff man, inhaling the dust of his luxury rug warehouse, and at five thirty-four he was a nasally middle-aged office worker at an internationally renown pest control firm. By the end of the day, Salan Court was expecting three trucks from three of their Sidosian contractors. He made one final phone call as the sun began to set, reclining in his chair as he did so. Three rings later, he grew impatient and drew a small pouch from his coat pocket. Cigars encased in a leather holder along with a silver lighter. If there was one small luxury his new job could afford over his old life in the sticks, it was this. ¡°Who¡¯s this?¡± asked the call recipient. His tone was low, almost a whisper. ¡°Everything¡¯s set up. Give the signal to your men to jack the trucks. Distraction blows soon. They cross the border tonight.¡± ¡°Yes sir,¡± he said, not a moment wasted figuring out who his conversation partner was. Jamie put the phone down, returning to the cigar in his mouth. He took the note from his front pocket and lit it on fire. The tiny flame reflected off the black of his eyes as he watched every line of ink turn ash. He held it up to the end of his cigar, transferring the fire from one object to another. Breathing deeply, he calmed his mind in the face of what would come. With the smoke relaxing him, his breathing slowed. The engineers they had left over after the deal were an incomplete team, useless outside of being a resource sink to guard them. The factory had been cleared out along with the other twenty hostages, meaning the Police were unlikely to attain anything they didn¡¯t know already. Damn all for their efforts besides a mere portion of the missing persons; that was exactly where Jamie wanted his adversaries. The smoke plumed as it rose, caking the ceiling in a thin white veil that scattered the dim ceiling lamp¡¯s light, blurring the room¡¯s light and shadow. He finally noticed the smell, one that he liked but admitted was growing pungent. ¡°Send a telegram to our sponsor, say we need that paid off courier soon.¡± ¡°Yes sir,¡± came the reply as he stood from his chair and meandered for the door, driving the butt of his cigar into the wall and dropping its remains in his pocket as he exited. The old woman living next door greeted her on the landing as she began to descend down the staircase, and he returned the gesture. If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation. The real estate was nothing special; a small apartment block of orange brick sandwiched by two more of the same kind, the design repeating like a city-wide maze. This block however somewhat of a view, and Jamie would often smoke in front of the window by the landing. Excala did not get old, no matter how much he looked at it. He would admire the architecture, something he was not able to do at home. Despite his orders, Jamie kept his trench coat on even when stepping outside. Being a Police uniform¡ªor their intelligence division in practice¡ªmean it stuck out sorely anywhere outside of Sidos city. But Jamie seldom took orders as gospel. As far as manpower and reputation were concerned, most regarded him as the legitimiser of the organisation, the face of it. He had been the one driving recruitment and organising hits. So much so that his reputation had outgrown one city. Excala was one hell of a playground that he had barely started exploiting, and he would start with a gem of its tourism industry. At least, that was how people liked to put it. For all they knew, his dedication to the cause was inevitable, his knees in the face of oppression would not buckle, and his struggle would not yield, no matter the cost. The only thing he could do now to better his reputation was to become a martyr. ¡°Sir, you¡¯d better come now,¡± whispered the telecom worker. Panicking, she had thrown open the door, smoke wafting from the dark room into the stairwell. Jamie nodded, following her inside before it could get the chance to cloud the rest of the building. The telecom worker sat down, refitting her headphones and pulling her chair in as she talked. ¡°It¡¯s a transmission request from one of our Sidos outposts. 62 Grandwell Street, sir.¡± ¡°What does it say?¡± She read off of a notepad in front of her. ¡°It came in just then. Transmission has stopped since. It reads, ¡®Base taken on behalf of Sidos Fed Police. Members in custody. I am coming.¡¯ And that was it.¡± The room fell silent as she read it out. Between the phrases ¡®on behalf¡¯ and ¡®I am coming¡¯, anyone could make out that it was not anything official. Brutish posturing: it was a scare tactic. Her. It had to be. His bosses had chalked up the failure at Chestral Manor to be a police ambush, but between the rumours and the sponsor¡¯s obsessive interest, her presence was becoming harder, nigh impossible to ignore. Like the eyes of a hunting cat once you caught their glint in the moonlight, or the flash of a sniper scope in the distance. The plan was compromised, but it could not afford to reschedule. Scout positions would have to begin watching their backs as well as their targets. The clock was ticking just a little bit faster, that was all. The telecommunications team watched as Jamie left the room again, uttering nothing more than the word ¡®walk¡¯. The first response team watched as Evalyn left the room, uttering nothing more than the words ¡®fresh air¡¯. The rain had continued for days, and a symphonic torrent had masked the sound of her suppressed gunshots. Second one, the man had answered the door, seeing Evalyn standing there like a drenched dog. Second two, he noticed the gun by her waist, pointed directly at him. Second three, he attempted to draw his firearm, but at that very moment, he suffered two shots to the flank. Second four, he fell to the floor and dropped his gun. Evalyn stamped it hard against the wood with her boot as her attention turned to the next man. Second five, she ordered him to drop his sidearm, or else she would shoot. Second six, he tried and failed to reach for his gun. Six seconds. After calling up her Federal police associates who took care of the rest, she helped herself to the scene. A telecommunications machine, two grey coats and a small stash of weapons were what her eyes immediately drew to, but she needed a lead, not evidence. Police could be stingy with their crime scenes, and she had little patience for operations room politics. Now was her only chance to scour the apartment. She scanned through the cluttered content of the telecom desk, doing her best not to touch anything unless she had to. A barely coherent collage notes and papers the pair had probably not gotten around to burning, judging by their ash-filled dustbin. One note sat on top of them as the most recent: a telecom channel and an address. Evalyn tuned the machine to the correct frequency and, with her limited knowledge of radio code, sent her message to whatever station sat on the other end. The second was an address she would have to investigate, depending on if the two S.H.I.A. officers were willing to talk. But her victims were hired men, orders of magnitude tougher to crack than a paid-off foreman. It was a coin toss. Either way, she produced a notebook from her pocket and jotted it down. By then, the first responders had arrived at the scene and began to tend to the wounded. Serious by civilian standards, but nothing a field doctor had not seen before. Evalyn had received orders to capture suspects without her magic, and in the case she resorted to it, to kill the witnesses. Her job here could be considered squeaky clean compared to the worst-case scenario. That sort of target on her back was worse than the one she had already. The man she had almost killed prior was under heavy surveillance until his predicted death penalty was issued. Whatever secrets he blabbed could be passed off as near-death hysteria, but that would not work in every case. News spread fast in prison, and in a prison with guards possibly connected to S.H.I.A., word would get out quickly enough that the fiery red-haired woman with the whale tattoo was, surprisingly, not all she seemed to be. Evalyn knew that leaving witnesses only meant risking her anonymity, and that in turn meant putting those two in danger. But did not wish to make martyrs out of terrorists lest she helped stoke the flames of further bloodshed. If Sidos¡¯s government wanted to, that was their decision. Less to rest on her conscience alone. The rain had come back in full force that day, both she and the streets were already drenched. The trench coat was thick and water-resistant, but everything above the neckline looked closer to a drenched cat than a woman. Now that Iris was not around, she barely bothered to keep up appearances. Her eye-catching hair had been tucked away in a beanie, and she had traded her usual outfit for Federal Police detective dress code. ¡°The sunset should be over there,¡± she muttered, looking through a thick layer of grey clouds denying her the last of the sun¡¯s rays. Her back was to Geverde, to the small wooden building that kept her heart safekeeping. Everything felt so far. She could not get the hostages out of her mind. The remaining fifteen or so knew nothing of their whereabouts, but their case had to be put on the backburner as it was no longer the priority. Not her words. But by now, she was used to it, following orders like that. She turned to meet the Superintendent and his possie that had just made their entrance. He held a wet umbrella in his left hand, and instead of a grey coat, his was pitch black, much like hers. They exchanged information and were once again on their way, never staying in one place for too long. Evalyn would receive a location to scout, scout it, report her findings to the authorities and repeat. Her next location was a few blocks down from her, and seeing the state she was in, the Superintendent lent her his umbrella, insisting she kept it for as long as the rain would continue, however long that may be. A simple gesture that Evalyn could not fully express her gratitude for. Wet, tired, lonely, and cold; a state she hated being in, anyone hated being in. She cursed herself, wishing she was at least a bit more resilient. She had assumed the weather had made her so solemn, and while her heart did not believe it, her mind insisted on it. A small part of her knew that drawing a gun on someone numerous times in such a short period was never good for her. But ten years had dulled her senses. What would have had her weeping into Elliot¡¯s shoulder would now not make so much as a dent in her resolve. Something Elliot himself had helped her with over the years. Her quick feet carried her from one block to another, and while the puddles she stomped made her look like she was walking on water, that same sentence bugged her repeatedly. One that Elly, the once stranger, the ace pilot, had asked her years ago. Have you ever even killed anyone before? Iris had brought back dilemmas in her mind that she had resolved and pocketed years ago, ones concerning the reason she might brandish a weapon at all. But even then, her philosophy was bulletproof and her methods airtight. Adding one more to her family would just mean her wish had to grow larger and the price she paid for it more demanding. Iris¡¯s future asked a lot from Evalyn, but after mere hours of rumination, she had concluded the answer was nothing she had to think about in the first place. She would shoulder it until the end, and so she stepped out into the rain. Chapter 4 Part 2: Mountains or Dandelions The first thing Iris noticed when she opened her sleep filled eyes was that it was hard to stand. As though the weight of the Steel Whale had found a new home on her shoulders, her legs shook at every attempt she took. The second peculiarity she noticed was the doors¡¯ lack of a suffocating presence. It seemed that they were tamer when she dreamed the hallway in her head. Iris had looked over her shoulder six times already. She could not help but think that there was something behind her. Something breathing. But there never was. And that was the issue. Living life as she did now had taught her that hallways were places where people would walk past each other, emerge from, and enter their rooms. Even if it was empty, she would ordinarily hear chatter from behind a door or the mumble of the street outside. But here, there was nothing. No sense of life in a place where people were supposed to live. Her illusions were dead, and as far as she was aware, she was the sole exception. The doorways were not looming over her as they did when she panicked. They were foreboding but unintrusive. They kept their distance. Iris struggled to lift a foot and step forward, fighting against her weight for agency. For the first time, she reached out and touched the drywall. Stale, like spoiled bread. It felt old, but not in a charming sense. Rotten, fit to be demolished. Her hand, unsheathed from the sleeve of her jacket felt a chilling wind from behind. She turned cautiously, finding a single door barely ajar. It felt obvious, almost as if she had been the one to open it not moments prior. Mountains. The death temperature of a summit. That was the extent to which she could remember. Rounding the door, that was exactly what she found. An expansive mountain range unfolded itself before her like the layers of a picture book. Snow, metres deep, piled on top of the grey rock as far as she could see before the cold air stung her eyes shut. The jagged shapes drifted into the distance, where a grey haze obscured them, and made them feel infinite. Timidly, she stepped forward, aching to know what it all meant to her, and as soon as she immersed herself in it, the memory became clear. The haze receded another metre with each step she took, her clothes barely keeping out the bitter cold that stung her bare skin with pinpricks. Despite that, she pressed forward, her footsteps the only sign of life for kilometres, or even centuries. She continued until her feet reached the edge of a small plateau, and the tips of her toes stood facing a sudden drop. As she looked down, the grey haze receded, running away from her further down the slope of the mountain. The jagged cliff faces gave way to crumbling rock that bordered wet, green plains. And on those plains stood something that rivalled the stars for their heavenly place in the grand order of the universe. Shimmering pillars of white rose from the valley, dwarfing the great rivers that ran through it. They reflected the sun''s rays as if they were snowcapped mountains themselves, and the tips of their figures seemed to carve the very sky itself. The city had long forgotten it was not anything more than a city; it seemed as if it had surpassed that definition hundreds of years ago. The beacons pierced the landscape, splitting the horizon in two while light emanated from it in all directions, as well as Aether. The sheer quantity made Iris jitter as she stood. Whatever she was looking at was somewhere that held many answers, answers to questions posed by many for thousands of years. That was what Iris felt. If she went there, then it would all become clear to her. She may not have to open the doors of that hallway. The city had occupied her imagination long enough for a sudden cold to set in. A wind kicked at her body, and she almost lost her footing. She scrambled backwards onto flat ground, her bare hands falling deep into the snow, and each finger felt like it disappeared as their nerves overloaded. Numbness set in as the vast white sucked her of her energy, and her heat rapidly escaped. The clothes Evalyn had gifted her did nothing to protect her as she sunk further. Her breathing became rapid as she thrashed and fell deeper. Her arms and legs grew tired, and her lungs froze over. Her thrashing stopped, and she grew silent, the movement of her chest so rabid only a moment ago falling still. She watched the snow fall onto her face, burying her corpse in innocent, deadly white. She died. She died there for a second time. Iris seemed to have a sudden disdain for white. All morning, she¡¯d gaze up at the rafters for a moment before averting her eyes with a shudder, dismissing his inquest into her wellbeing with a simple ¡®I don¡¯t like it¡¯. She even refused his eggs. His eggs. After hearing the news, Elliot had expected at least some sort of behavioural change. Shot in the head and is fine were rarely found in the same sentence. Getting shot in the arm had been enough to leave him at the mercy of Evalyn¡¯s cooking for a week and out of commission for a month. Yet, when Elvera knocked on his door that morning, Iris was still Iris. She ate with the same appetite as she always would, if not for refusing the eggs. ¡°Iris? Evalyn asked me to try and train you. You remember hearing about that?¡± Iris nodded timidly. ¡®Training so far for her had not all been pleasant memories¡¯, would be putting it lightly. Something lurking in the crevices of her mind held the key to her power, and like a fail-safe mechanism, lashed out at any attempt to use it. ¡°I can¡¯t train you on anything magic-related, but basic close-quarters combat is something all pilots learn in case they crash," he explained, untying his apron. "Plus, it¡¯s how Evalyn keeps me in shape.¡± The word ¡®basic¡¯ seemed to put Iris at ease, only impressing Elliot at how blazingly fast she was grasping the language, like she was remembering, rather than learning. ¡°What is Evalyn¡¯s magic?¡± ¡°What do you mean? It¡¯s the golden shapes that she¡­you know¡­does stuff with.¡± ¡°No. What Spirit was it? What did it do?¡± She presumably knew the fundamental principle of movement, using magic to heat up, cool down, blow wind, and even fly. ¡°It is very vague, isn¡¯t it?¡± Elliot said as he wiped his hands on a towel and hung it back on the oven handle. Sitting down at the table, he thought up a way to explain. He had a way with words, at least he liked to think he did. Making something simple enough for a child to understand was not exactly his forte, but he figured it was not so different from telling a story. ¡°Do you know what a dandelion is? The yellow flowers out there?¡± Iris glanced outside, squinted, then nodded. ¡°Come spring, those dandelions turn white. This little sphere of seeds, each with its own parachute. Sometimes, people like to pick them and blow on them. The seeds then fly, and the person who blew on it makes a wish.¡± A wish. Iris nodded along in understanding much to Elliot¡¯s relief. Between her frequent questions regarding Evalyn, and Iris¡¯s rather idiosyncratic philosophy-oriented Pattern Reading material, he could surmise it was a concept she was growing familiar with more than anything else. ¡°People make wishes on dandelions, stars, and candles that stick out of birthday cakes. But none of them truly work. At least, I don¡¯t think they do. But do you want to know what does work?¡± ¡°What?¡± ¡°Wishing on Darminjun. The Wishing Whale. A powerful, old Spirit that only appears when someone¡¯s wish is strong enough. Evalyn met him one day, one of the hardest days of her life, the first of many, and he let her have one wish.¡± ¡°What was it?¡± ¡°Power.¡± ¡°Why?¡± Elliot moved around the table and crouched in front of Iris. He patted down her jacket, checking that everything was in its correct place. A stalling method while he thought. Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings. ¡°I think that¡¯s something she should tell you. Ask her when she comes back. For now, let¡¯s go outside.¡± Iris sighed and pulled a face of blatant dissatisfaction. Elliot could lie to himself and say he felt guilty, but playing with her in such a way was much more entertaining. Adults were annoying, he would have to agree. ¡°What would you wish for?¡± ¡°What would I wish for?¡± Elliot asked, stepping out onto the balcony. Elliot paused mid-stride, pleasantly surprised by the question. He had assumed he was an intermediary measure to learn more about Evalyn while the woman herself wasn¡¯t present, but apparently his new ward showed interest in him, albeit likely not to the same degree. After all, what was there to say? Of the hardship, pain, loss, happiness, bliss he had experienced¡­. ¡°You know, there was this thing called a no-stick pan advertised on the radio, and I was just thinking how good exactly a few extra thousand Ixa in my wallet would be right now. Anyway!¡± He swung his body past the glass doorways and into the grassy plain, just as the wind began to pick up. Iris scampered after him, pulling on her boots. She followed his movements onto the short grass, her solid metal heels making dents in the softness of the green. ¡°Combat! Where do we start?¡± Elliot hollered against the wind. He held up two fists to Iris, confusing the girl with a sudden sign of aggression. He beckoned her forward, letting her make the first move. ¡°No magic, just your body.¡± Iris hesitated at first, but eventually yielded to his brashness, a repeating trend. She unenthusiastically ran forward and punched Elliot square in the stomach. She looked up, expecting feedback, but he simply smiled back. ¡°What next?¡± She threw another punch. ¡°What now?¡± She eyed him up and down, looking for somewhere else to attack. She took her right foot and stomped on his left. This time he did not ask her what her plan was and simply moved. He kicked up her foot, undoing her balance and hooking the inside of her leg just for good measure. He watched as the girl flailed her arms, grasping at thin air for something to hold onto. She squinted her eyes as Elliot manoeuvred around her. Messing with her was exhilarating, almost as much as it was with Evalyn. But hard lessons did not need to be taught with pain; that was for later in life. Iris fell into his arms, rebounding with a light puff as though she weight nothing at all. Her body was still tense as though playing dead, then she opened her eyes. ¡°You golden?¡± Iris nodded. ¡°All right then.¡± He gave her body the momentum it needed to stand up straight, and he returned to his stance. ¡°When you¡¯re fighting someone like this, if they have a knife or even magic, you can¡¯t just attack however you feel. Each attack has to have both the intention of doing damage and a follow-up in case that damage isn¡¯t dealt. That way, the only thing that can stop you is your opponent. Now, what do you do if they stop you?¡± ¡°You-¡± ¡°Exactly right. You counter and follow up intending to do damage. What if they try and hit you back?¡± ¡°You-¡± ¡°You do everything you can to set up your next attack. If it¡¯ll neutralise you, avoid it. If it won¡¯t, use that to your advantage-¡± ¡°And hit them!¡± Elliot smiled, satisfied. ¡°Good,¡± he praised. ¡°When you fight, you can¡¯t afford any wasted movements. If you can, that¡¯s what we call a martial art.¡± No wasted movements, a phrase he had long since engrained into his core. Elliot had practiced such while flying, and it permeated his everyday life. When he did anything, not a single move had no purpose. Even when he swung his legs to walk, the momentum would carry the rest of his body forward. Yet he still found himself tired. ¡°Now, I don¡¯t care what you do or how you do it. Techniques and forms might be useful, but if you don¡¯t know how to react when they¡¯re broken, then there is no point. So, let¡¯s do this again!¡± The final sentence he shouted over the wind seemed to compel her, and the wind itself made her restless. A westerly that had guided civilisation for millennia now carried the sound of small hands, fighting back against bigger ones. ¡°Lunch?¡± was the cowbell signalling the end of Iris¡¯s training session. She lay flat on the ground, all her muscles failing to defeat gravity¡¯s pull. Her small chest heaved for fresh air, and her forearms were sweating like pigs, even after discarding her jacket. The prospect of food lifted her head, but not her body. She had no intention of picking out the grass stuck in her hair anytime soon, and the mere idea of standing was a far-off dream. Elliot looked down, sweat on his brow and a few bruises across his body. He had acted as her punching bag for the most part, occasionally sweeping her off her feet or flicking her forehead when she least expected it. Iris now had him pegged as an excellent instructor, even if sparring was not his forte. Instructing was his job, after all. He stepped over her body and offered her a hand. She summoned the remainder of her strength to lift her arm, enough for him to grab onto and pull. She had started to understand the concept of following up a blow with another but not yet how to react to an opponent¡¯s blow, let alone predict one. She would have to leave it for next time as her two aching legs trudged back inside, losing their last spurt of strength by the couch, making her collapse onto the cushions. Elliot returned to the kitchen once more and began to reheat breakfast and toast some bread. ¡°Iris? Can I ask you something?¡± he said over the sizzling meat in his pan. ¡°When Evalyn first met you, she said you could climb buildings and flail giant knives at her without hesitation. What happened?¡± What happened? Iris thought. He was right. Just a week prior, her delusions had never surfaced as often or as intensely as they did now. It had only started when she stared into Evalyn¡¯s eyes for the first time, as if those sparkling orbs of autumn had given her a conscience. To her, they used to be just another set of limbs, but now her magic was entirely foreign. Alien. She could perceive it for what it was. ¡°I¡¯m scared. It was normal¡­but not now.¡± ¡°But it is, isn¡¯t it?¡± Elliot lifted the pan off the stove and dumped its contents straight onto two plates, prepared with two pieces of toast each. He walked over and sat beside her, right by her head. ¡°Sure, it¡¯s dangerous, but hell, anything is. Take the pilots who test-fly brand-new planes. It¡¯s a dangerous job, but if they don¡¯t at least trust the people who designed it and put it together, they¡¯d never set foot in it in the first place. Same with cars, bikes, and even walking. Sure, accidents do happen, sometimes even frequently. But no one would get anywhere if they didn¡¯t put their faith in the fact it could work out. They do it with confidence, and eventually, it works.¡± But Iris had no clue where to place her faith. Whatever was behind the far door at the end of the hallway was probably the last thing she wanted to trust. ¡°Blind faith is never a good thing, and it has made people all the worse for it, in many cases. Thinking that it will never happen to you is a mistake. But I¡¯d like to think the trust I put in the hundreds of crew on the Steel Whale isn¡¯t blind. And if you believe that the trust you can put in yourself isn¡¯t a blind trust, then you¡¯re that much closer to controlling your power.¡± His hands finished putting a rudimentary sandwich together, and he bit into it. Talking through the mouthful as he chewed. ¡°Even if you don¡¯t trust your power, you have to trust that you can control it. I¡¯m in the lucky position that I can put my trust in my machine, and I¡¯m overconfident in my abilities. Don¡¯t be like me, though,¡± he chuckled. Putting trust in herself did not make much sense when she had no clue who she was. But perhaps that did not matter as much as trusting her abilities. Perhaps, the former would come naturally if she focused on the latter. ¡°Don¡¯t think too hard about it. When you start doing that, then you begin to doubt yourself.¡± She strained and sat upright, taking the food on her plate and biting into it. Finally realising exactly how famished she was, she began to demolish the meal, much to Elliot¡¯s amusement. He resolved to clear his own before it was time to go out again. Apart from trying to train Iris the best he could, Evalyn had given him one more task to fulfil before his week off was over. He had dressed as properly as his wardrobe would allow him. But he had given up on Iris. She was adamant in her field jacket, and he had yielded quickly, figuring it did not matter too much what she wore. He had stepped out of the house and onto Excala¡¯s streets, taking the same path he had taken a few days prior. However, this time, instead of continuing towards the station, he took an extra turn much to Iris¡¯s confusion, but even she caught on quickly. Elliot placed himself in front of the apartment door, his eyes level with the small brass plate. ¡®Farehn¡¯ was engraved on it in a blocky, stock standard lettering. He knocked twice, as politely as he could, but a few moments passed in silence, so he tried again. The latch on the other side clicked loose, and the door opened. A bone-white mask peered out from the other side. ¡°Mrs Farehn, I¡¯m here on behalf of Evalyn Hardridge. The P.I. you hired?¡± The door opened the rest of the way, and Mrs Farehn let them through. She silently beckoned them into a seat on the sofa while she took a chair for herself. She had no energy to offer them anything to eat or drink, but Elliot did not blame her in the slightest. ¡°Have you been taking care of yourself, ma¡¯am?¡± Elliot asked her, but he only got a dismissive nod in reply. Seeing that there was not much of a conversation to be had on the topic, he got down to business. ¡°The Royal Intelligence Bureau or the Sidos Embassy will come to see you shortly, but my wife figured it¡¯s best to hear it from her first. Or, well, someone close to her. Where do I start¡­.¡± Elliot shifted himself on the sofa and readjusted his sleeves. ¡°Your son was found, roughly three days ago from now. My wife saw him leaving from the address you gave us. After that, we have not seen him since, but we have a strong, almost certain reason to believe he¡¯s been caught up in a terrorist ploy.¡± She turned to him, perhaps the first movement of hers in months that had not travelled at a snail¡¯s pace. ¡°Excuse me?¡± she whispered. ¡°We are almost certain that he, along with many other people of his calibre, were forced into building and training men to use highly specialised weaponry. Through some course of events, he was taken elsewhere. But we believe him to be still alive.¡± Elliot leaned forward and placed a hand on her armrest, a painful centimetre from her hand. Rehearsed; it wasn¡¯t the first time he had to deliver such grim news. The only difference was the glimmer of hope that would ordinarily be absent entirely. Yet no matter how rehearsed, there seemed to always be a shaking of his fingers, reminding him that the gesture was genuine. ¡°Due to the situation, the case has passed from my wife to the relevant authorities, while the government has hired her to investigate the suspected terrorist ploy. However, I can assure you, your son will be in good hands, ma¡¯am. You will see him again.¡± Chapter 4 Part 3: Warzone Being the mayor of Sidos City was a perilous role to fulfil. As the head of the country¡¯s capital, both sides of the disparity between city and state politics vied to place their puppet in the coveted, cursed position. That in turn, attracted a certain kind of person. The type who wanted to change the city for the better but were so naive that they took the position. Having their backside in such a seat meant their head was in someone¡¯s reticule. Evalyn had not met the woman herself, but she was the first female mayor of Sidos, and along with the first female Prime Minister Dalena Fault, had run a tag team duo in running the city. That was to say, she was nothing more than Prime Minister Fault¡¯s mouthpiece, keeping the city under tight control as she attended international matters. One duty of the mouthpiece mayor was showing her face around city projects. Pictures would be snapped for the local newspapers in the hopes that public opinion would be successfully maintained. Evalyn first saw such a visit when she passed Sidos Station. She noticed a crowd congregating in front of the unfinished project still marred with mud and rain. Considering the rush hour¡¯s passing, there was no reason for there to be such a mob, particularly one so ill-positioned Evalyn saw no path through besides one paved with brute force and quickly depleting willpower. Her first thought was a protest, yet the crowd was much too tame to be of such nature. Their umbrellas made an extensive canopy that covered the collective and reflected almost blinding worksite floodlights. Seeing no option but forward, she closed her umbrella and began to force her way through the crowd, excusing herself in and amongst the enthusiastic onlookers. She kept her head down and her voice to a mumble, letting her hands and body do the work of swimming through the mass. Losing her bearing, she somehow found herself at the front of the pack instead and was pushed up against the metal railing. The rain had halted construction at its most efficient, but work had continued now that the worst had passed. Workers in thick jackets and warm clothing were setting up scaffolding and unloading cement bricks, readying themselves for the coming sunshine. In the middle of it all were two individuals. The man talking nonstop was tall, lanky and in a similar outfit to his workers, clutching an umbrella in one hand and a clipboard in the other. The person listening was a smaller woman roughly twenty years Evalyn¡¯s senior, a tailored suit showing from underneath the standard issue construction jacket. All eyes seemed to be on her. After further verbal exchange, they trudged through the damp dirt in the unfinished square to a small makeshift podium. The wooden planks under her feet sunk slightly with her weight, and she placed her hands on the podium itself. A grand bronze plaque had a logo seared into it. ¡®GARRIS FOR 1939¡¯. ¡°Thank you, Sidos! To all the people who could make it out here today, thank you!¡± A meek cheer drizzled from the crowd, barely leveling over the soft rain. ¡°As much as you all commute our wonderful city every day from your workplace to your home, I¡¯m sure at some point we have all wondered exactly this city has to offer us. Flourishing industries, easy access to goods, services, and homes aside, our city cannot continue to be the bare minimum! We want our home to reflect who we are! Who we-¡± At some point Evalyn tuned her out, her voice¡ªdespite the bravado¡ªas captivating as the drone of the rain. Yet, she couldn¡¯t tear herself away from her spot amongst the crowd. A five-minute break was all she needed, and pretending she was but one sheep in a large flock was amusing. Although the role she was ought to play was more akin to a shepherd¡¯s dog, chasing away the wolves hiding in their grey coats. She had spotted two. One a few metres to her left and another further in the crowd. For security detail they were doing awful jobs at protecting their VIP, and they weren¡¯t cheering in the slightest. Given the benefit of the doubt, they were out-of-the-loop officers investigating what the ruckus was all about. More realistically, the mayor¡¯s security detail was rouge, money or faith had given them a more attractive mission. As the speech continued, the men barely moved themselves in contrast to the crowd. Evalyn kept her trench coat¡¯s collar over her cheek as she watched. She spotted a third, a ways behind her doing nothing in particular. That was to say, acting rather suspiciously. She reached inside her coat pocket and searched for her pistol¡¯s magazine release. Weighing the magazine in her hand, she guessed only three to four rounds left, with nothing in reserve. A firefight would only disadvantage her, especially if she used her powers in such a publicised space. ¡°We are fortunate enough to have such cooperative construction companies willing and ready to assist us in our quest to make our city a friendlier place. My associates and I have thoroughly inspected the site and have assessed no potential threats to public or worker safety. We can safely say that this project is on schedule and progressing smoothly for your use early next year.¡± The speech began to wrap up to a close as the mayor began to thank a long list of supporters. One name after another, local donor after small-time practitioner after big business partner. With every passing name, the time ticked by and the window for an attempt on her life shortened. She could feel it in her fingertips, the panic when the mayor¡¯s head would go pop. The window only got smaller as the mayor returned to her car, walking by the conglomerate of supporters, waving, shaking hands and kissing babies. One final wave and her driver close the car door. The window had passed, and the men still did nothing. Behind what Evalyn hoped was ballistic glass, the mayor¡¯s smile was out of reach from the outside world. Car bomb. A possibility Evalyn had been too focused to consider. Evalyn rushed to the front of the crowd, shoving people out of the way without a concern for the mud they fell into. The moment the ignition key was turned, there was a possibility half the crowd would be taken down with the car. She struggled and struggled, but the car was nowhere in sight. She shouted in frustration, wishing she had the power to just part the bodies at her will. One she could use freely, that was. Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author''s preferred platform and support their work! She burst out of the mass, gasping for air as if it was a second birth and clutched the metal railing, ready to fling herself over it. But the car was gone. It had already made its way down the cramped street, running as smoothly as it had when it had arrived. The window had effectively closed, the future was out of Evalyn¡¯s hands. The crowd she had cut a line through begun to eye her up as if she were mad, but she paid them no attention, keeping her gaze on the car until it turned well and truly out of sight. She eased herself and let the tension subside. For once she had overestimated a threat incorrectly, a welcome mistake. She switched her sidearm¡¯s safety back on and opened her umbrella. She took deep breaths to calm herself, bringing her back down to earth. Boom. The monolithic sound and the shockwave that knocked her off balance heightened her senses again immediately. The force had sent a torrent of panic throughout the crowd. The people around her were still in shock, many were running off instinct, others quivering on the floor at the sudden injection of adrenaline. In contrast, she was used to it. Shaking her head, she bent a knee and hauled her weight off the ground. She looked behind her. A plume of smoke rose from an inferno, a burning beacon in the dark; what used to be a semi-truck full of bricks. Shrapnel. Lots, and lots of shrapnel. The screams only continued as Evalyn once again pushed herself towards the front of the dispersing crowd. She cursed the fact that she had no radio and prayed there were Federal Police agents nearby. As she got closer and closer to the railing, she started to see the hellish aftermath of the blast. Anything flammable had ignited, bursting into smaller secondary flames. The onlookers and workers standing a ways away from the blast had been hit by stray pieces of metal or brick and in some cases were bleeding badly. Other workers who were closer were missing limbs. Raw, crimson red flesh and stained bone exposed to the rain and mud. Their jackets had been riddled with holes, bodies mangled beyond recognition as the seedy mud and grime mingled with their exposed flesh. It was a warzone in the middle of a city; a horrible reminder of what it used to be. Without thinking, Evalyn pulled her beanie as far over her face as she could and leaped over the railing. ¡°Someone get a phone box!¡± she shouted as her boots hit the mud hard. The first man she spotted, she tended to. A pulse existed but was weak. He had been hit centre mass with fragments of brick and was fading quickly. She hooked her arms under his and dragged him across the mud to paved ground, immediately bounding back into the dirt. She repeated this several more times, dragging broken bodies towards the pavement. The men in the grey coats were nowhere to be seen. Soon enough, Federal officers in their pitch black arrived and partook in Evalyn¡¯s tireless struggle, dragging bodies to the pavement where the field doctors that had cleaned up her safehouse invasions had begun to arrive in droves. Some Metropolitan Police officers even entered the fray. The operation she had started was starting to run at full steam as the line-up of the wounded, workers, and onlooker began to lengthen and lengthen. One expedition took her close to ground zero where the truck was now flipped on its side. The cargo container was torn open like a plugged shotgun barrel, not a semblance of the original shape left. But the cabin was somewhat still intact, if not mangled beyond repair. Somehow the diesel in the engine had caught fire as well, the flames slowly eating away at its fuel. As far as Evalyn could remember, the truck¡¯s engine was silent. Without even idling, the temperature was nowhere near hot enough for diesel to vaporise, fire should have been impossible. Aether, that was the only way. She felt a tingle from her chest to her fingertips and down her spine. She could sense it around her, if not as strongly as Spirits did. There was Aether involved in this somehow. Was S.H.I.A. the type of organisation to trade in conventional explosives for magical ones? It went against their convictions. Unless that was their intention. As her adrenaline subsided and more and more help arrived on scene, the soundscape returned to her. The rain, the squelching of mud, the fire near her¡­the sound of pained moans. She turned towards the truck¡¯s cabin. That was the sound¡¯s epicentre. Avoiding catching herself on the fire, she mounted the unsteady vehicle. Inside was a driver. Horribly burnt but barely alive. The exposed skin of his face and hands had been charred a hellish red and he could barely make a sound. Without thinking, she grabbed the door¡¯s handle. The heat the metal had accumulated seared her flesh. She violently retreated and cussed the pain away. Evalyn tried again, this time withstanding the tear-jerking agony of her nerves slowly dying. The door had been mangled to the point it had intertwined with the chassis. Evalyn knew she could save him, but being the centre of the entire city¡¯s attention made her job difficult. A Witch in Federal police clothing. If the Sidosian conservative outlets didn¡¯t get a hold of it, the Geverdian one¡¯s would. Her disguise was backfiring splendidly. ¡°Argh! Fuck it!¡± From this distance, no one would be the wiser if she was quick enough. With a dull flash, Evalyn forged her right Gauntlet underneath her jacket, her hand turning gold. She grabbed the door by the broken window frame and began to pull, all the while willing the shapes to pull irrespective of her arm¡¯s strength. Her power was multiplied, and the door was torn off if it¡¯s hinges. As gently as she could, she used her magic like tendrils, gently wrapping around the unconscious driver and pulling him up into her arms. As soon as she applied pressure, however, he began to scream. ¡°I know, I know. It¡¯ll be over soon.¡± She grabbed the man¡¯s torso and slung him over her shoulder, clearing him from the truck. As gently as she could, she walked with the man to the other end of the site, her boots sinking into the mud even further with the weight of two bodies. Every step felt like a goliath task in itself, and every moment she was growing weaker and weaker. Death sucked the life out of her, and she had seen so much recently. The medics and officers received the man as Evalyn collapsed onto paved ground, her chest heaving for breath. Targeted towards civilians. The Aether bomb a plant. Such convenient timing. Create distrust towards the Mayor, towards Geverde, reignite the notion of Spirit attacks. The men in grey coats being there all but confirmed it. If their possession of the Higher Order Armour wasn¡¯t enough, they were setting everything ablaze in preparation for it. Their big finale. Evalyn was too tired to think of when it would come. She was tired of being one step behind. Jamie Welrod had proven to be one step ahead once again, the ploy being met with both celebration for himself and condolences toward the victims. The network was abuzz with the news of a devastating attack, and the intelligence divisions were already spreading rumours amongst the Police forces that the bomb had been magical in nature, a rumour that forensics would no doubt confirm. This rumour would spread to the public. Spirits or Geverde, he did not care. Either way, one taking the blame would be favourable for him. Discourse, distrust. The beginning of a war did not need to be genuine as long as the cause behind it was. It was this notion that carried him, fuelled him, and kept him from looking twice at the deaths he had caused. The telecom centre was awash with Police communications. Squad cars from virtually every patrol in the city was being redirected to the town centre. The blast had blown a crater spanning every nearby building, even the station itself. As of now the situation was still unsecure. The trucks had been successfully hijacked not long before. In the cover of twilight, three teams had managed to remain undetected, and the commotion had covered their escape. Three trucks were now headed west across the border where they¡¯d await their next role in a few days¡¯ time. Their roadmap moved at a blistering pace from one event to another, yet they had no choice. ¡°Relay a message to the sponsor, the attack was successful, and our plan is progressing.¡± Chapter 4 Part 4: Autocracy and Truck Theft ¡°Tell us Mrs Hardridge, who did you see before the explosion?¡± ¡°I don¡¯t see the need to explain myself once again.¡± ¡°Well because some of the thick-headed seat warmers in this room need it spelt out to them!¡± ¡°Prime Minister! Hold your tongue!¡± ¡°Oh, shut up! Evalyn!¡± Evalyn looked between the Sidosian Prime Minister and the rest of her council. She felt like she was observing a particularly dicey family fallout. A nuclear cabinet was never as smooth as the government wanted you to believe. ¡°Grey coats. I don¡¯t know if they were Police Officers or S.H.I.A., but it¡¯s safe to assume that the distinction between them isn¡¯t very significant.¡± Evalyn¡¯s podium was a degrading one. She stood on the wooden stand, flanked, and faced by a colosseum of politicians. The Lower House was in complete disarray as the threat of war finally dawned on them. Often, those who made the biggest decisions were the most divorced from reality, and this was no exception. With only a few hours of rough sleep under her belt, recovery had not been a real option for her. ¡°There is no basis for such a claim. Police were stationed at the event as previously organised! To say they were responsible is outlandish without further evidence to the claim.¡± A bout of jeering from the opposition backed up its leader, which however failed to deter the Prime Minister from her ceaseless march forward. It failed most likely as a result of its lacking members. An opposition¡¯s role was to oppose the ruling, yet the jeering party only held a vast minority of the consortium¡¯s seats. Their presence was but a mere formality. ¡°Every single S.H.I.A. hideout the Federal Police raided has had a Police uniform stashed somewhere. Sometimes not even stashed! Out in the open! Even if you could argue that the bombing wasn¡¯t their doing, the fact that the Metropolitan Police is riddled with their members already tells us enough.¡± Evalyn waited in silence for her name to be called again. Even if she had the option of leaving, the tension would have probably bound her in place. This time, however, it was the opposition that called upon her. ¡°I believe that you were at the blast site, ma¡¯am?¡± ¡°Yes, I was.¡± ¡°Then please enlighten me on any peculiar details, especially if it pertains to the kind of bomb that was used.¡± The opposition leader was simply being smug. Without her saying, everyone in the room already knew of the rumour, and Evalyn figured that the S.H.I.A. informants had already seen to that. Even if none of the members were sympathetic to S.H.I.A., their views nonetheless overlapped, and so too did their interest in such a rumour. There was no point in trying to feign ignorance; the entire court was expecting the same answer. ¡°The truck had been blown apart similarly to regular car bombs, however, the flaming diesel was¡­peculiar. Diesel in a quiet engine does not create flammable fumes in this weather, yet the engine ignited. The bomb somehow created enough heat to ignite diesel.¡± ¡°What is your hypothesis on how the bomb may have done that?¡± ¡°Not by human means.¡± The opposition smiled. ¡°In clearer terms please, for all the¡­ thick-headed seat warmers in the room.¡± ¡°Aether. It was an Aether bomb.¡± With the clicking of a typewriter¡¯s keys, the rumour had gained a documented legitimacy. ¡°Prime Minister, in this congressional that you so unashamedly, so pretentiously hold in your favour by underrepresenting parts of our nation, you cannot, by the law of common decency, deny the facts presented in front of you! This action you propose is simply a return to the iron claw the military used to keep on this nation. You continue to ignore the pleas of the outer regions and treat the capital as your own personal project!¡± The opposition leader turned to his crowd and back, rallying support as they reached a climax of sound, resentment and frustration pouring over the barricade. ¡°We shall not see a return to General Hardridge¡¯s regime! You are nothing but his reincarnation under a different cloak of misguided morals and skin-deep commitment to your people!¡± The entire assembly erupted. From all sides, a cacophony filled the soundscape. Every pitch, every volume, every direction. Sound, intense sounds of jeering, booing, and shouting was all Evalyn could experience until the repeated and feverish striking of a gavel finally quietened the stage. ¡°A vote will be called!¡± announced the speaker. ¡°All in favour of opposing martial law on the capital under the rule of the Federal Government, make yourself known.¡± A show of hands extended from one side of the room to the other. A show of hands which displayed the degree of unanimity amongst the members. A show of hands that would make no logical sense in a functioning democracy. Evalyn Hardridge had, for the first time, seen the process in which an authoritarian government was seeded and bloomed. To think she and possibly even her family were in the hands of such people terrified her. ¡°So, it is decided! Martial law shall be imposed on the City of Sidos by the tenth hour on the morrow and will remain indefinite until further discussion.¡± The court was adjourned in another eruption of jeering. Evalyn, long sick of it attempted to rush out of sight as smoothly as she could but was stopped by the Prime Minister¡¯s lasso-like glare. Evalyn sighed internally and remapped her course. Frankly, she wished her legs would give out from under her, preferably next to a soft bed. However, her years of training had backfired, they had at least one more painful meeting left in them. ¡°My counterparts tell me that you¡¯re to return as soon as possible to Excala.¡± ¡°The bombings must have spooked them.¡± The two walked down a cramped hallway, four security guards covering their every corner, or rather the Prime Minister''s every corner. With no windows and barely any ventilation, it was like the staff-only access areas of a stadium. An offshoot of the Parliament, this is where all the seedier happenings, dealings and operations took place. One guard opened an office door to an equally cramped room. A set of folding chairs around an off-balance metal table was the only d¨¦cor that the space was allowed. The aesthetic was not a priority, yet the purely business-like look only made the sour-faced Evalyn¡¯s mood worse. ¡°I understand their feelings, and I have no right to keep you here.¡± Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator. ¡°Excellent observation.¡± ¡°¡­However, I¡¯d still like to request you stay for one last thing. How does sound?¡± Evalyn had had enough of public safety work for the rest of the year, yet it was true she was still planning on investigating the piece of evidence in her possession. She swivelled one of the rickety chairs ninety degrees and sat down, propping her legs up on another. ¡°Hit me. I¡¯ll decide afterwards.¡± The Prime Minister sat down at the head of the table, back straight and hands clasped as if she was a salesman giving the pitch of her life. If only she worked on her smile, Evalyn thought. If she came off as too confident, she¡¯d alienate her demographic. ¡°We¡¯re planning on making our move under martial law,¡± Fault explained as Evalyn played with her thoughts as if they were putty. ¡°Once the military arrives, we have free reign to arrest anyone we deem suspicious. That will include the leader of S.H.I.A.¡¯s political wing.¡± Evalyn¡¯s putty brain, by some grace of the devil, began to snap. Between the stress, loneliness, death, and daftness of her situation, she began to let herself go as the slop between her mind¡¯s fingers began to stretch further and further. She chuckled. ¡°Take this from Hardridge¡¯s daughter, you make me oh so fucking nostalgic for daddy when you talk like that. The man didn¡¯t invent it, but he certainly took arresting political opponents to the next level. Compared to him, this is pretty amateur.¡± The Prime Minister was taken aback, yet Evalyn kept going as her feet came off the chair. She moved down a spot, closer to Fault. ¡°Take this from a Witch, I have seen every damn form of man and Spirit do what you¡¯re trying to do and trust me, it never worked out. If your forceful policies were the things that got you here in the first place, complete authority isn¡¯t going to reverse the trend, it¡¯s going to send you off the edge of the cliff. We tried to force Spirit-Human cohabitation down Sidos¡¯s throat before the war and it did nothing! Nothing to stop it!¡± ¡°Mrs Hardridge, please¡ª¡± ¡°Take this from me, with the stuff I¡¯ve seen all over the continent, over thirty, thirty different countries, conflict is the one language every damn one speaks. The harder you stamp it down, the harder it¡¯s going to blow up in your face. Take this from me, I will watch this whole world burn if I have to; that¡¯s my dedication. If yours isn¡¯t anywhere close to mine, then I suggest you quit now.¡± For an agonising fifteen seconds, the room was silent, save for the buzzing electric lightbulb above their heads. Evalyn¡¯s mind cleared as a form of clarity returned to her. She realised what she had just done but could not find the opportunity to even start taking it back, even in form only. ¡°I¡¯ll¡­take that into consideration.¡± Evalyn sighed, amply relieved of some stress. ¡°You¡¯d better.¡± Evalyn¡¯s boots hit the wet pavement with a muted clack as she lifted herself out of the car. A suited man closed the door behind her before returning to the driver¡¯s seat. The window was wound down and the Prime Minister gestured from inside. ¡°Report back to me as soon as you¡¯re done. By tonight the raid will have been over.¡± ¡°Do I get to listen in on comms?¡± ¡°If you so wish. Would be easier than having to call you if something goes wrong.¡± ¡°If someone called me every time something went wrong, I¡¯d have at least a few temples in my honour.¡± ¡°We cannot risk this, so we hope you understand.¡± Evalyn nodded dismissively as Fault¡¯s window once again shrouded her face. She was left only a few steps from the building¡¯s entrance. A modest office building a few floors tall fronted an equally modest warehouse. Boring, geometric shapes welded together with concrete and plaster. If its address hadn¡¯t been present at the last hideout she had investigated, it would have utterly blended into the background. She pushed through the revolving door and emerged into the small lobby to be greeted by a small receptionist. Her black hair waved down into a bob-cut that sat neatly above her chin line and her eyes welcomed Evalyn warmly from just under her straight fringe. ¡°Hello, how are you?¡± Evalyn hesitated. Ordinarily, she would introduce herself, but the speech in parliament where her father¡¯s name had sullied the debate was still fresh in the front of her mind. Only recently remembering something so obvious made her frustrated. Her last name carried weight. ¡°Hi, my name is Evalyn Maxwell I¡¯m here on behalf of the Sidos Federal Police department and¡ª¡± ¡°The stolen trucks?¡± ¡°¡­excuse me?¡± ¡°Oh, I¡¯m terribly sorry! It¡¯s just that everyone¡¯s been on edge recently. One of our delivery trucks has been stolen,¡± she said, awkwardly giggling. ¡°And you didn¡¯t report this to the authorities?¡± ¡°We tried to, yet because of the recent event, we haven¡¯t been able to get a hold of anyone for any meaningful amount of time.¡± Although it was true the police were lacking in manpower, the delay in any sort of help was likely due to duties still swapping from the Metropolitan Police force to the Federal, and by extension the Army. The police the people of Harman Food Co. were calling were just as much police officers as they themselves were, and there was not much of a chance for investigations happening soon. Perhaps it was just because of recent events, but her mind immediately snapped back to S.H.I.A. The timing was too perfect. ¡°Did they at least register your case?¡± ¡°I believe so?¡± ¡°Then there¡¯s a chance they¡¯re at least logging them¡­maybe this isn¡¯t the only one¡­.¡± ¡°Sorry?¡± Evalyn snapped back to the receptionist. ¡°Sorry, just talking to myself. May I ask for more detail? For example, what kind of truck was it, what was it delivering¡­¡± The receptionist sat back down at her desk and rummaged through the miscellaneous documents, logbooks, and notes until she found a singular sheet of paper. ¡°I¡¯ve written it down in case someone such as yourself came by. It is a Rivester F350, medium size truck, ID number one three five four nine nine seven two five. State registration FRWTCK. We have shared this information with all our bulk order clients in case it shows up elsewhere.¡± ¡°Where do you deliver? Where are these clients?¡± The receptionist scanned over her desk and picked up a thin black logbook from under a pile of paper. About to hand it to Evalyn, she hesitated. ¡°This has information regarding our clients. I¡¯m unsure if I¡¯m allowed to hand it to you without a warrant.¡± Evalyn cussed under her breath. She reached into her coat and pulled out all the documents she had on her. ¡°If you don¡¯t believe me after this then I¡¯m not sure what will. We can keep this off the books if that¡¯s what it takes. After all, it¡¯s me who¡¯s going to take the fall. This is important. I don¡¯t want more lives to be lost.¡± ¡°Lives?!¡± ¡°Yes, lives. For now, it¡¯s nothing but a coincidence, but you need to help me here. Please.¡± The receptionist averted Evalyn¡¯s eyes, unable to take the image of such an intimidating-looking woman pleading. If anything, that only confirmed the direness of the situation. Reluctantly, she handed it over. Evalyn thanked her as she took it, wasting no time in opening it and flipping through its pages. Each page held a history of bulk-order deliveries, with many clients repeating. She focused on those, looking for the obvious target of an attack. Salan Court. Evalyn couldn¡¯t recall a Salan Court hotel in Sidos. ¡°Do you know where this is?¡± she asked the receptionist, pointing at the order. She squinted as she read the address. ¡°That¡¯s in Excala, is it not? You can tell by the naming sense of the street.¡± ¡°Do you have any other deliveries to Excala?¡± ¡°No, they¡¯re our only client there.¡± ¡°Is apparently what she said. I know it¡¯s just a hunch, but the coincidence is too good to be true. We can at least investigate it,¡± she said to the Prime Minister, sitting on the other side of the desk, furnished for a king. The office was large, with the area occupied by said desk only being a fraction of it. An ambitious aerial depiction of the city as a diorama stood in the centre, with coffee tables, carpets, chairs, wall spanning bookcases all radiating outwards from it. It reminded her of her Father¡¯s former office, only a few doors down. ¡°We can look into it, yet I hope answers can be found before it¡¯s too late. If what you say is indeed true, the trucks are long gone. Probably used to transport troops¡­or the H.O.A¡­tell me more about this Salan Court.¡± ¡°I had no idea what it was called until recently, but I walk past it sometimes. It¡¯s an old aristocratic mansion refurbished into a hotel. There are usually quite a few people coming in and out whenever I¡¯m going past it. ¡°We¡¯ll add that as another parameter in the search, yet until anything is proven, I doubt Salan court let alone Excala¡¯s leadership will take it seriously.¡± ¡°What makes you say that?¡± The Prime Minister was taken aback, unsure how to answer. ¡°Oh, sorry for making assumptions, yet I sometimes wonder if the only reason any aggressively defensive policy is passed there is all thanks to the Queen¡¯s strong-arming. I mean, apart from recalling you, what have they done?¡± Evalyn¡¯s face soured precisely because she was correct. Years of peace made bureaucrats soft, and after ten years of a return to it, fate must have felt the need for another wake-up call. ¡°I¡¯ll see what I can do. Special Operations Command doesn¡¯t have all the power in the world, but their word carries weight. With a polite knock on the door, a group of suited men entered the room, one holding a large radio. Each found a different spot in the room to sit, cross their legs and pause. The man holding the radio was significantly younger, and once he had set it up, he immediately left the room. A soft whirring was all that anyone in the room could hear as the radio channel lay empty. The ticking of the Prime Minister¡¯s wristwatch counted down the seconds to 11:59, and in moments, a new day was born. A day that brought peeking sunlight, sleeping children and a decree of Martial law. ¡°Crimson team, beginning breach.¡± ¡°Aqua team, orders confirmed.¡± Chapter 4 Part 5: State your Purpose Iris¡¯s legs were tired of swinging. She had sat in Elvera¡¯s office watching the sky through the windows get darker, darker, darker, and darker. Elvera had not changed in the slightest, her body in a perpetual state of working the typewriter, line after line. Occasionally she would stamp a document, even steal a sheepish glance at Iris. A glance she would take back the moment Iris turned to look. With Evalyn in Sidos and Elliot choosing to cut his holiday a couple of days short, Iris was left in the hands of Elvera whenever Elliot was on shift. When every possible guardian had some sort of military connection, it was hard to find a caretaker when all hell broke loose. To Iris, it didn¡¯t look it, but Elvera had been busy in her own way. After a while of staring at every detail dotting the room¡¯s metal walls, Elvera stretched her arms high above her head, bringing an end to her work. She pushed herself away from her desk and stood up, stretching her arms outwards, then behind, then bent down. Iris watched quizzically as she acted the process out, and after a few moments, Elvera ran out of stretching methods. Finally facing the small, silver elephant in the room, she walked over to her. ¡°Sorry I made you wait so long, it¡¯s been busy recently,¡± she said as she rustled the girl¡¯s hair. ¡°Maybe the best thing about you learning to fight is that you can work with Evalyn instead of being babysat all day.¡± ¡­ ¡°Not that I don¡¯t enjoy it! Evalyn will be back soon anyway.¡± Elvera gave up on talking to herself. It seemed as though an anxiousness wouldn¡¯t leave her. ¡°We¡¯ve got a bit of time before Elliot gets off his shift. What should we do first?¡± At Iris¡¯s request, the pair made their way up the many levels of the mobile fortress until they reached the control tower¡¯s roof. Leaning against the railing, they felt the gentle breeze guide their thoughts over the edge. Small figures ran up and down the runways, performing maintenance and routine checks. This time of day was the closest to ¡®closing time¡¯ the ship had, as day shifts changed hands to night shifts, there was a semblance of a feeling the day was over. It was especially quiet as the sun slowly fell over the horizon, turning the shimmering daylight into a soft, uneven purple. ¡°Do you like it with Evalyn?¡± Elvera asked. Iris nodded, not feeling the need to explain why, but attempting to anyway. ¡°She¡¯s weird.¡± Elvera smiled at the conclusion. ¡°I guess she is. Then again, all first-time parents are. It¡¯s just that usually their children aren¡¯t old enough to notice.¡± She chuckled, realising something. ¡°I wonder why I call her your parent. Guardian¡¯s technically the right word. I guess I just like the sound of it, even if the meaning barely changes.¡± Iris looked up at Elvera as she swung her body left and right. ¡°Are you, her parent?¡± ¡°Hm? Ah, uhm. Ha, huh, no. No, I¡¯m not,¡± Elvera stammered. ¡°I met her when she was eighteen. I¡¯m something called her godmother.¡± ¡°What¡¯s that?¡± ¡°The person who¡¯s supposed to take care of a child if something happens to both parents. I never needed to fulfil that role, but sometimes I wish I had.¡± ¡°Why?¡± ¡°Well¡­I guess I regret not being there for her when she needed me. We¡¯re still making up for lost time, so I don¡¯t want to make that mistake with you,¡± she said, her voice trailing off. They found each other¡¯s eyes and Elvera smiled awkwardly. The moment was shattered as sirens began to wail. The sound¡¯s volume was exponential, and Iris, at first, was unable to distinguish it from the sound of working, but Elvera¡¯s ears perked up as if it was instinct. ¡°Scramble sirens,¡± she said. She tore herself away from the railing, beckoning Iris to follow. She flicked her wrist towards her face and checked her watch. ¡°Six twenty-nine, he was about to go off shift as well.¡± Elliot found himself running onto the asphalt not moments after he had fitted all his gear. His ride was already waiting for him, and he climbed the ladder into the cockpit as if it was second nature. ¡°All systems check, flaps are okay, canopy clear. Warper 1 ready for taxi.¡± ¡°Warper 2 ready for taxi.¡± ¡°Control to Warper, you are cleared for catapult taxi. Follow bearing one six nine, altitude one thousand metres, speed four fifty knots. Estimated intercept time next zero two three. Confirm.¡± ¡°Rodger, control tower.¡± ¡°Copy, control tower. Elliot adjusted the pedals with his feet as the jet slowly began to ease forward with the soft, foreboding rumble of the engines. He turned right and fell in line next to his wingman. They gave each other a thumbs-up before returning their eyes to the runway. A stretch of black contrasted with the purple sky, in front of them an abrupt drop. In but a few moments, the crew beneath their aircraft had run circles around them like bees, fully preparing them for their launch. Several thumbs up later, the control tower chimed in with their report of the skies. ¡°Warper you are cleared for take-off.¡± Elliot felt his seat begin to rumble as they controlled their engines. The Aether flowed all around them, becoming pure propellant along the back edge of the wings. With the wave of the catapult operator¡¯s hand, Elliot felt his entire body melt into his seat as he was thrown forward. Less than a second, and the several-ton machines were travelling at breakneck speeds. ¡°Warper, be advised, Francis 1 and 2 are heading bearing one four seven at two fifty knots, altitude six hundred metres. Intercept at next one three, over.¡± ¡°Copy, over and out,¡± Elliot said. ¡°What do you think it is?¡± his wingman asked. ¡°Can¡¯t be much of a mystery if Deity division is tracking it. Probably just another faulty radio.¡± ¡°If Francis team is thirteen minutes out, two fifty, from Excala air base¡­that¡¯s the coast is it not?¡± ¡°You think it¡¯s a seaplane?¡± ¡°At that approach speed and altitude, I¡¯d bet they¡¯re not chasing anything military.¡± ¡°Hm¡­clear comms.¡± ¡°Rodger.¡± Francis. If a call sign was a human name, the pilots were Spirits. Long gone were the days in which humans and Spirits piloted the same aircraft simultaneously. Then again, fewer lives risked meant more lives saved. Minutes felt like moments in the air, and soon enough, ten minutes had passed on Elliot¡¯s watch. ¡°Warper 1 and 2, descend to three hundred metres and one four five knots, maintain current heading. Switch to Excala air base radio frequency channel one zero six point four two, over.¡± ¡°Copy, over and out.¡± Elliot pressed his yoke downwards as he eased on the throttle, slowing himself down to the target¡¯s speed. Below him, he saw grass fields turn urban as he raced over the outskirts of Excala city. ¡°This is Warper 1 attempting radio contact with Excala air base channel one zero six point four two, please respond.¡± If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation. Not a moment later, Elliot received a reply. ¡°This is Excala air base control tower, confirming radio contact. The new time of intercept next zero two. Francis has already made contact and is attempting to reach the vehicle on civilian channel one four nine point three three, over.¡± Elliot tuned his second radio as the seaboard came into view. Already, the two aircraft codenamed Francis were trying to gain contact. ¡°Unknown aircraft, please respond to our radio signal. If you do not respond before entering harbour airspace, you will be shot down. I repeat, unknown aircraft....¡± As Elliot listened to Francis one¡¯s declarations, he and his wingman approached the scene proper. ¡°Warper 2 to command, closing in on bogie aircraft.¡± ¡°Rodger Warper 2, proceed with caution.¡± ¡°Warper 2 to Francis team, currently approaching your location from bearing one six nine descending, please confirm.¡± ¡°Francis 2 to Warper team, we see you.¡± Elliot pressured the yoke down until he fell behind the massive wings of the aircraft. A seaplane that, if armed, could be classified as Higher Order Armour. A wingspan eclipsing that of all four present fighters combined allowed the titanic curved hull the lift it needed to span oceans. Six turbines, each blade bigger than Elliot himself created ungodly sounds that penetrated his canopy. Much like other machines of its calibre, the welded and riveted sheet metal, the brutish design of function over form and the sheer size were simply overwhelming, even if it reached not even a fraction of the Steel Whale or Citadel. ¡°Warper team moving up to the cockpit,¡± Elliot announced as he and his wingman left the two fighters behind to continue attempting radio communications. He eased on the throttle as his aircraft steadily moved past the hulking aeroplane. The hull was completely sealed, so no doubt this was a mail plane. In Elliot¡¯s understanding, aircraft like this delivered loads north across the continent, saving ships from circumnavigating the entire landmass as well as skipping a perilous pass through the mountains. Then why was it here? From Sidos to Geverde, the coast was the domain of a freighter. As Elliot approached the cockpit, he squinted through the glass windows, tiny compared to the rest of the aircraft. He could make out pilots. Their silhouettes were clearly at the helm. ¡°Warper 1, can confirm pilots are still conscious, over.¡± ¡°Copy.¡± Flying this close to such a large aircraft for too long was dangerous, it was understandable why most were minding their spacing, yet Elliot decided he was bored waiting. Inch by inch, he closed the distance between himself and the bogie, the metal tips of his wings too close for comfort by most sane measurements. Even if such a massive plane couldn¡¯t notice fly-like fighters before, one so close had no chance of going unnoticed. Closer and closer he got until he could make out the faces of the pilots themselves. ¡°Warper one, you¡¯re too close to the aircraft,¡± Francis one complained. ¡°Copy Francis one,¡± he said as he continued to disregard Francis. Staying like this for long enough would all but confirm that the pilots were feigning ignorance. The distance between them and harbour airspace was rapidly closing. Any moment and they would cross the threshold of one of the most heavily trafficked airspaces in the world. Soon enough, the wings of the behemoth slowly tipped left, right, then back left, rocking back and forth, acknowledging the interception. ¡°Sidos Postal flight four three seven, we acknowledge the interception, over.¡± ¡°State your reasoning for not answering radio communications upon entering Geverdian Airspace,¡± Francis one asked. ¡°Our radio was malfunctioning, and we had to perform makeshift repairs to get it up and running again. Until we fixed it, we were running on autopilot and weren¡¯t present in the cockpit, hence we could not return your gestures, over.¡± The other three fighters, including command, seemed to buy it, yet Elliot couldn¡¯t. He had seen pilots in the cockpit and even reported it. Yet it was a discrepancy that would likely be swept under the rug for convenience. ¡°Your heading is the port of Excala, please confirm.¡± ¡°Yes sir.¡± Francis one and two gained the speed to catch up with and surpass Elliot as he shifted his position further back, falling in line with Warper two. The four fighters escorted the airship to its destination without any foreseeable complications, yet Elliot was still uneasy. Something didn¡¯t quite add up. ¡°Sidos Postal Service flight four three seven this is Warper one, over.¡± ¡°Flight four three seven, loud and clear, over.¡± Elliot hesitated for a moment, shifting in his seat before deciding that he wouldn¡¯t get another chance to ask if he let up then and there. ¡°Wouldn¡¯t coastal routes usually be serviced by ship? What¡¯s a plane doing out here?¡± Radio silence for moments. More than a few moments. Elliot waited patiently for an answer. Even if he got one or not, at this point it was more than suspicious. ¡°There¡¯s been an influx of cargo as of late and shipping lanes can¡¯t handle it without delaying delivery times. Simply put, inland postage resources have been shifted here temporarily.¡± The answer¡¯s justification was weak, but it only needed to be as strong as the justification for Elliot¡¯s unsanctioned question. Whoever was in that cockpit was either smart enough to discern that fact or had just simply gotten lucky. Yet it did not add up. His navigation lights were on by the time Elliot¡¯s landing gear hit the asphalt. He had gone over his shift time by at least an hour and a half and suspected he had exceeded Iris¡¯s patience by a lot more. ¡®The girl seemed tolerant¡¯ was what he wanted to believe, yet after brawling for several hours the other day, he had started to grow sceptical. When members of his old squadron had begun to have children, they had often talked of the growing pains that came with it. Learning that their child was suddenly partial to climbing bookcases and eating drywall, or being docile one day and rabid the next, the only difference between the two being a single day at school. Yet Elliot could not take that as a point of reference, Iris had already been alive for presumably a decade and had only been kept in check by Evalyn¡¯s presence. It was a primal exchange between Spirits as much as one between humans. In that way, Elliot had sincerely no clue if he could parent the way others did. He¡¯d have to accept whoever Iris was and live with it. And in a way he was right. Iris was not the least bit patient. Every single match of Snakes and Ladders she had lost against Elvera had resulted in a table-crashing fit of rage. Elvera would laugh her lungs out, and they would start again. Elliot sat next to them, still in military uniform, watching the strangest sight unfold before his eyes. ¡°Has her hair dissipated at any point?¡± ¡°What? No. She¡¯s just gotten a bit mad, that¡¯s all.¡± ¡°Hm¡­¡± Fight or flight, enlarged Amygdala. That¡¯s what the Aetherologist had proposed on the first examination of her. Yet since they had decided against testing her further, they had never gotten any proof. Nor did Elliot have any proof of his theory, but perhaps the erratic outbursts that she was prone to, were of some other nature entirely. ¡°Marie? How do you keep winning? There¡¯s no skill involved in snakes and ladders.¡± ¡°This one has trivia questions at certain squares, and you go back however many times if you don¡¯t answer them correctly.¡± ¡°Now that¡¯s just mean.¡± ¡°What? It¡¯s educational. This one¡¯s educational I promise. I¡¯ve been explaining the answers every time. This at least makes her want to learn.¡± ¡°At least feel sorry for her.¡± ¡°I¡¯m trying! Oh, I just got a phone call from Evalyn,¡± Elvera said, rolling her dice seemingly unfazed. ¡°Martial law is being put in place in Sidos at midnight tonight. There was a bombing earlier today that killed a few people.¡± ¡°Was she there?¡± ¡°She happened to be in the crowd when it happened. She¡¯s okay, but the bomb was magic. They¡¯re expecting protests.¡± Another abrupt outrage from Iris made her turn in Elliot¡¯s direction. The previously adorable face had soured, like an angered kitten. ¡°Play.¡± ¡°What?¡± ¡°Now.¡± Even in the middle of a conversation concerning the wellbeing of his wife, Elliot decided it was best not to argue. Elvera surrendered her seat in the arena and Elliot took her place. The intensity was too much for Iris to take sitting down, so she had kneeled on the chair to presumably get some sort of advantage. She watched him sit down and pull in his chair, as if every movement was being judged for weaknesses. She permitted Elliot to go first, and so he rolled the dice. A seven. Iris scowled as Elliot timidly moved his piece just past a question square, missing it narrowly. He gave the dice to her, and she shook them in her cupped hands as if praying to any and all gods for a number larger than seven. She paused, tongue poking out of her mouth. She released the dice and they tumbled into the board, fate spinning their axes until they came to an abrupt halt. Ten. Iris grinned widely, the tides were in her favour, even if it was only the second turn. She eagerly grabbed her piece and moved it square by square, making Elliot realise at some point she had learnt, or perhaps remembered how to count. Her triumphant face was washed away however when her piece reached a cursed square branded with the mark of the devil. The question mark. She sighed, pointing to the deck of cards next to the playing field. Elliot grabbed the top card and carefully read it out. ¡°What city lies at the headwater of the Alfante river, at the base of the Northern Chain ridge?¡± ¡°Aerilia!¡± Which was indeed correct. He turned to Elvera, who had a smug ¡®I told you so¡¯ look plastered across her face. ¡°That¡¯s right,¡± Elliot said, watching the little girl¡¯s face brighten like a candle. She impatiently pushed the dice back towards Elliot. He motioned to roll, but for a split second, thought it at least valuable to match her enthusiasm. He shook the dice between his hands, tossed them in the air and caught them, threw them at Elvera who threw them back and finally, elegantly, rolled them onto the table. Such a powerful role garnered him a three. Iris giggled at his meagre roll, yet he had no choice but to take it, meekly moving his piece onto a question square. Iris grabbed the top card and held it close to her face. ¡°What tr¡­tradition-al seven string ins¡­instr, this word?¡± ¡°Instrument,¡± Elvera said. ¡°Instrument is played across the musikian¡¯s¡­lap?¡± Elliot was stumped. He leaned into his chair, racking his brain for an answer. ¡°The uh¡­the¡­what¡¯s it called. The mikerel was it?¡± ¡°No! The Saram!¡± Elliot reluctantly moved his piece back by three places, putting him well behind Iris, to which she was delighted. She rolled the dice fiercely once again, yet it seemed like luck was constantly mocking her, as her roll landed her on a second question mark. Elliot took a card and read it out. ¡°What chain of mountains divides the old Spirit country from the middling nations?¡± Iris pondered as if she was scouring her mind for an answer that it likely did not possess. Elliot expected her to answer the Northern Chain Ridge, the only mountain chain he remembered her hearing about. ¡°The Karaxian mountains?¡± she suggested. ¡°Correct, well done,¡± Elliot said, putting the card down. He figured Elvera may have taught her already. ¡°Iris? How¡¯d you know that?¡± Elvera asked. Elliot looked at her, and she shrugged, shaking her head. ¡°I saw it. It¡¯s where I died.¡± Chapter 4 Part 6: Memories in Martial Law The pavement under Evalyn¡¯s boots rumbled as she walked. If it was tank tracks, low-flying jets or infantry to blame, she could not tell. As if it made much of a difference. The advent of the army¡¯s rule had arrived with the sound of sirens and announcements, announcements that were seared into Evalyn¡¯s mind through simple, excruciating repetition. ¡°Citizens of Sidos City, regarding the recent events that have unfolded over the past few weeks and the local police authority showing clear incompetence, the government has imposed martial law on the city. The following units will be stationed in and around city limits. The fifth, seventeenth, thirty-third and forty-second infantry brigade, the third artillery division, the sixth and seventeenth artillery regiment, fifth reconnaissance and thirty-second wings, the first higher armour battalion¡­¡± So on and so forth. The city was under its first hours of heavy lockdown after S.H.I.A. had shaken the hornet¡¯s nest¡ªviolently. Evalyn¡¯s commute had only been a ten-minute journey the day before, but now that felt like a distant memory. Ten minutes ago, felt like a distant memory when waiting at a checkpoint. A crowd of bodies stood in front of a barricade of barbed wire, no one daring to try their luck. A single gap in the fence was where the waiting line originated, and Evalyn found her place in it. For minutes she stood, occasionally shuffling forward as the constant threat of rain loomed over her. Each minute that ticked by her place in the world would shift slightly, and that pace made even the prospect of reaching the other side worthwhile. She desperately wanted to travel along the rooftops, yet if she was found, she¡¯d surely be shot at with no hesitation. Approaching the fence itself, she found the reason for the crowd¡¯s absolute compliance. She had let the announcements pass through one ear and out the other before, remembering it more as a string of sounds instead of meaning. Yet she could recall it being mentioned. The forty-second division. A pair of troops, encased in bulletproof plates from head to toe stood in front of the checkpoint. Every piece of their armour, even the gas mask reflected the same dull gleam as the rest of the city after rainfall, their beacon white eye pieces pierced holes into people just as well as their rifles probably could. Each troop was robbed of any humanity, only defined by the stories told by those who miraculously got away from them. Evalyn wasn¡¯t the fondest of them, at the very least. She approached the checkpoint and produced her papers and identification, fully aware that she was armed. The rifle had remained at her lodging for obvious reasons, yet her sidearm was on her person. She had permission for it, but seeing eye to eye with a foreign military was never her strong suit. Especially with those who refused to show theirs. The soldier took her ID with their gloved trigger hand, the other being gauntleted. The white eyes scanned over the information on her card until they came to her license. ¡°Show me it,¡± the soldier asked, their voice so heavily distorted by the mask that nothing identifiable could be heard from it. She obliged and unholstered the gun on her shoulder, presenting it to the guard. He took it, gave it a once over before checking the permit once more. ¡°Any others?¡± ¡°No sir,¡± she said. He stared at her. Gripping the handle of his gun, he ordered his partner to perform a frisk. Evalyn was used to it, the uncomfortable feeling of fingers uninvited across her body, yet the public most likely wasn¡¯t. Through several layers of clothes, it still felt incredibly invasive, instinct would cause someone to recoil, yet that same instinct was too terrified to move. However, it would be stupid to complain. The frisk test came back negative, and the two soldiers silently stepped aside, the thudding of their feet and the clanking of their armour replacing the greeting that might¡¯ve been said otherwise. Evalyn did not care. She had seldom seen them since the war and wasn¡¯t particularly keen on seeing them again. Yet her path was simply rife with them. It had only been a minute or two of walking before she reached her destination. The government building that she had been in just the night before was now a literal fortress. A line of soldiers, all from the forty-second stood like stone guard dogs along the perimeter to the front steps. No doubt there were more stationed elsewhere. Evalyn¡¯s eyes however did not see them first, far from that. For the last few minutes, her vision had been solely square on the two giants positioned at the perimeter¡¯s corners. Two machines of the first Higher Armour Battalion towered over everything, anything else even remotely anthropomorphic. Their birdlike legs and humanlike arms of pipes, pumps, steel and joins almost resembled the bones and muscles of a human, protected by a solid metal skin. An octagonal cabin rose from where the legs met, riveted shut save for a sliver of a window allowing for the pilot to see their heading, to target their enemy. A rifle twice the length of a car was propped against one shoulder and pointed at the ground, its bayonet almost scraping the pavement. No insignias, no flags or painted callsigns. These machines had been completed at their factory and were brought straight here. As warfare went, it was as new as humanity could get. And innovation was more dangerous than anything Evalyn could think of. She kept her course steady as she met with the growing crowd of onlookers. A small demonstration by a lone man had amassed a gathering, yet the sheer presence of the military had kept them from becoming too aggravated. ¡°Would someone explain to me the state of affairs?! The tragedy that has befallen this city once more!¡± A preacher had dared to climb a few steps further than anyone else. Perhaps a S.H.I.A. plant. Nonetheless, an order was needed to make an arrest. In cases like these, however, it was more trouble than it was worth. Martyrs. They were meddlesome to such a strong-arm government. ¡°You all say that this city has returned to war once again! No, war never left us, it has morphed. Unjust war! Against an invisible enemy that those on their thrones have created! Terrorist, they say. Terrorists wishing to bring war back to the country. War never ended, and our enemies never changed, yet we now turn on each other. Those bombs were Aether! Spirits! Reports will confirm so! We are a people who are strong but misguided. Like a cannon pointed in the wrong direction. Unfinished business lies beneath our feet, haunting us, hanging above our heads like the brooding clouds that block out the sun. And truth is that sun. That truth is in all of us¡ª¡± Evalyn pushed past the crowd shoulder first. Barely anyone took notice, they were too busy whispering, muttering to the person next to them. The sentiment was weak, but it was spreading. Discontent at the state of affairs was not something Evalyn could judge; she had received the honour of mouthing her own discontents to the Prime Minister herself. Her two cents had been given, there was no point giving the preacher the time of day. ¡°You there!¡± he said. His intensely outstretched finger singled out at Evalyn, who had begun climbing the steps to the building. ¡°You have business with those scoundrels?¡± ¡°Unfortunately.¡± ¡°You don¡¯t seem enthusiastic; may I ask why?¡± ¡°You¡¯ve heard of picking the lesser evil, haven¡¯t you?¡± She began to ascend the stairs, indicating she was done, yet the preacher persisted. ¡°You must be mistaken then! The greater evil is surely those that wish to defy the wishes of the public! The public is the nation itself, not its government!¡± Evalyn kept on walking, yet the preacher persisted. ¡°Pacifism is no different to allegiance. Do you really wish to show your true colours here? Ugly shades of evil green?¡± ¡°Perhaps it is allegiance. Yet I wouldn¡¯t side with people who¡¯d shoot at a child just to make a point.¡± The crowd was silent as Evalyn¡¯s voice echoed up the steps. ¡°Pah! Baseless claims. Even if they were true, what guarantees that those with the rifles, not a few metres away wouldn¡¯t do the same?¡± ¡°Me, frankly speaking.¡± ¡°What? What¡¯s your name, ma¡¯am?¡± ¡°Hardridge. The same.¡± She left the crowd, pissed. The inside of the building was frantic, a sombre contrast to the hushed anxiety outside. Evalyn cut through the chaos, escorted by one of the Prime Minister¡¯s personal guards. In every office she passed, every window she looked through, the flow and processing of information was constant, fast and everchanging. Keeping networks across the entire nation as the law began to solidify in the mind of the populous. Every village and town had a connection to the city, whether it was through children who had moved for work or supply chains that were vital for business. There was no chance that the situation would be contained to just the capital. S.H.I.A.¡¯s biggest strength came from outside the city limits after all. The escort lead Evalyn down a fire escape staircase to a lower level, skipping the hassle that was the office floors. She re-emerged into the claustrophobic mole holes that she had previously associated with the building. Turning left, right, left and left again as if it was a maze. They finally came to a stop and the escort opened the door for Evalyn, shutting it behind her. Another cramped room awaited her on the other side. Darkly lit with a large window to one side. The surveillance room of an interrogation area. A woman sat at a lone table set, placed crudely in the corner. ¡°Sleep well?¡± Minister Fault asked. ¡°Piss off. Why are you here?¡± You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author. ¡°I¡¯ve been overlooking the interrogations, what else?¡± ¡°Being a public figure? You¡¯ve got a pretty passionate preacher right outside that¡¯s giving you a run for your money.¡± ¡°I¡¯ve got a public announcement scheduled later today. Things are moving so fast; you forget it¡¯s only been a few hours. I think everyone else has as well.¡± She sat down in front of the one-way mirror, stretching her joints. ¡°It¡¯s tiring, being a dictator,¡± she said, prodding Evalyn. ¡°Even though I try my best to be benevolent.¡± ¡°Trying won¡¯t get you anywhere.¡± ¡°We¡¯re on the same side, aren¡¯t we?¡± ¡°¡­what have you gotten so far?¡± ¡°So far? No confessions. She sure learnt how to speak like a real politician. Everything we¡¯ve gotten neither confirms nor denies anything.¡± ¡°Huh, and what are you waiting on now?¡± ¡°You. We thought we could let you have a crack at her before we figure out where to keep her.¡± ¡°I¡¯ll pass. I¡¯m not an interrogator.¡± ¡°Maybe that¡¯s exactly what we need, seeing we haven¡¯t gotten anything valuable out of her.¡± Evalyn remained reluctant. ¡°This is your last chance to get something out of her. The search on the trucks is proceeding, but we haven¡¯t gotten any definitive results yet.¡± ¡°What results have you gotten?¡± ¡°The number of delivery trucks reported stolen on the day number in the tens. They¡¯re not all going to Salan court either, they were due all over Excala city before they were taken. For now, we¡¯re telling companies to phone their clients, give the IDs of the trucks and recommend increased security, but there''s just too many. Talking to her might be the only chance you get.¡± ¡°What happens with her if something does happen in Geverde?¡± ¡°Their spooks might want a shot at her. If anything, saving her from that fate is reason enough to get a confession.¡± ¡°Right¡­.¡± ¡°It¡¯s your last assignment from Sidos. Geverde has given you a job to station in the city. We¡¯ll have your payment ready for collection by the time you get back.¡± Evalyn, seeing this really was her last opportunity at any useful leads passed into the other room. The door creaked behind her, and the click as it closed brought with it a uniform silence, save for the buzzing light above her head. She hesitated for a moment as her gaze met the woman. She walked softly, her boots barely making a sound until she reached the table. ¡°May I?¡± Evalyn asked. ¡°Go ahead. I don¡¯t see why you¡¯re asking.¡± Evalyn took a seat across from the woman. She expected her to be fidgeting, picking at her nails, or showing a modicum of nervousness at the very least, but she was calm. Calm on the surface, as an ocean might be while currents raged on underneath. And if there were, it was something Evalyn could take advantage of. ¡°Evalyn, private investigator. Nice to meet you,¡± she said as she outstretched her hand, bridging the gap between them. ¡°Krimea Marlin, political activist,¡± the woman answered, taking Evalyn¡¯s hand politely. ¡°Is that what they call S.H.I.P. members?¡± ¡°Sidos Human Independence Party is officially unofficial,¡± she said with a disinterested tone, leaning into her chair with her arms folded. Evalyn had only read briefly about interrogation tactics, the ones that did not involve torture anyway. Such an attitude was an attempt at disengaging from the situation, suggesting guilt. That, or she genuinely was upset about her party¡¯s status. ¡°What would get it to be official? Some sort of recognition?¡± ¡°What are you trying to do here?¡± Marlin asked, leaning forward, seemingly agitated. Evalyn could still sense a disparity in the conversation¡¯s dynamic. Marlin still felt that she was driving the engagement. If Evalyn was to extract any information, they¡¯d at least have to be on equal footing. ¡°I¡¯m trying to build rapport. What does it look like?¡± ¡°A good cop routine.¡± ¡°Never been a fan of the alternative, what can I say? So?¡± The ¡®activist¡¯ sighed, giving in to Evalyn¡¯s sound tactic. It was unusual, yet consistent. ¡°Do you really think a rival party like us would even be allowed in Parliament without handcuffs on?¡± ¡°No, not at all. I¡¯ve seen how it works. Had some choice words with the Prime Minister herself.¡± ¡°Choice words?¡± ¡°I was tired and emotional.¡± ¡°Drunk?¡± ¡°No, take that wording literally.¡± ¡°Ah, I see. I guess only someone like you would be able to talk to her like that?¡± Evalyn¡¯s conversation suddenly cracked. A small wedge had fit itself in it and was slowly forcing the fission wider and wider. ¡°What do you mean by that?¡± ¡°Well, you¡¯re Hardridge¡¯s daughter, aren¡¯t you? I heard your first name had appeared at a cabinet meeting only yesterday.¡± A false alarm, perhaps. If that is what Marlin thought her secret identity was, then she had no reason to worry, yet¡­ ¡°Why do you think the leader of a progressive party would want to talk to Hardridge¡¯s daughter? He¡¯s more someone that your camp idolises, no?¡± Evalyn prodded. The woman played with her suit cuffs as she spoke, seemingly still in her place of authority. ¡°His name still carries weight. He did a lot for this country after all. Good and bad.¡± ¡°But mostly good?¡± ¡°Depends on who you ask.¡± ¡°I¡¯m asking you.¡± She put her arms down on the table, resting her cheek on one of her palms as if she was a schoolchild pondering a math question. ¡°He had the right idea. Yet if he had learnt his daughter would end up becoming a Spirit herself, he would¡¯ve gone about it differently, no?¡± The woman knew. The woman knew who she was. ¡°No¡­I guess I had a problem with his parenting more than his policies. When you keep someone down in a canary cage for so long, they tend to start making a ruckus. Wouldn¡¯t you say so?¡± ¡°Mmm¡­.¡± ¡°I think the worst part about it was when he¡¯d tell me, ¡®I¡¯m doing this for you¡¯. I think that¡¯s what got me in the end.¡± ¡°At least the cause was noble.¡± ¡°Was it? There¡¯s a difference between noble and misguided.¡± ¡°Is there?¡± Marlin asked. ¡°If you have confidence in your cause, the difference between noble and misguided depends on who¡¯s watching.¡± ¡°Good point. How much would you say your noble cause is worth to you?¡± ¡°A lot, why do you ask?¡± Evalyn sat forward in her chair, matching Marlin¡¯s position above the table. She did not dare break eye contact as her voice lowered. ¡°Well, I¡¯m guessing you know who I am?¡± ¡°Most certainly. A woman with orange hair, waist-high in this whole mess. Who could you be but the rumoured superhuman at Chestral Manor?¡± The rumours had stuck before the Federal Police had gotten to the operative. Evalyn bottled her frustration, making damn sure none of it bubbled into her expression. ¡°To think that the same woman would be Hardridge¡¯s daughter¡­I only worked it out when you mentioned your name.¡± Evalyn gave an internal sigh of relief; Marlin¡¯s revelation had stayed contained to the interrogation room. She was safe, and so she pressed the advantage. ¡°And being in the same room as that woman doesn¡¯t make you scared?¡± ¡°Not really,¡± she said. ¡°You don¡¯t intimidate me, so the danger barely feels real. Intangible fear, I suppose.¡± Evalyn, for someone relatively desensitised to fear, had learnt to value it. The very feeling of her heart sinking was rare and terrifying. This woman had not experienced it the same way she had. ¡°What was that moment of tangible fear then?¡± ¡°Is this a therapy session?¡± ¡°We can share if that makes you feel better about it.¡± ¡°Not necessarily.¡± ¡°Do you have anything better to do?¡± Marlin was silent. ¡°Alright then, I¡¯ll go first. Let¡¯s see¡­the earliest moment I can remember that still makes me shiver was when I was¡­let¡¯s say seven. It was one of the rare days I was allowed outside the manor grounds. I was on some sort of publicity trip with my father, I don¡¯t exactly remember the details. ¡°Anyway, our car had come to a stop at an intersection. I was looking out the window over some buildings and I saw a speck in the sky. I thought it was a plane at first until sirens started blaring. It was the first time a Spirit attack wasn¡¯t just a report on the radio to me. It came straight for the intersection and crashed into it. It had this long, winding body that was practically clear. It crushed a couple of cars before it began coming towards us. ¡°My father had already heroically jumped out of the car and had drawn his pistol. The first time I had heard a firearm so close. Four, five¡­no it was six times. He shot six times, dead-on into the temple of the Spirit. It had a rounded head with massive human teeth. Seeing it dead was the first time I had witnessed it, death that is.¡± Evalyn cleared her throat and Marlin took the opportunity to interrupt. ¡°Was that your tangible fear?¡± ¡°No, no it wasn¡¯t actually. My father pulled a knife from his boot after the poor thing had stopped moving. He began to stab it over and over and over again. Not angrily, just, like it was normal,¡± she said as she motioned the movement with her hands. ¡°The look he gave me when he turned around with flesh and liquid Aether across his face. ¡®I did this for you,¡¯ he said. Genuine fear.¡± ¡°Are we done?¡± Marlin at this point looked uncomfortable. Perhaps it was the useless talking or the story itself, but Evalyn felt as if she was getting somewhere. ¡°No, actually before you get your turn, I just remembered another one. Do you know the Spacehoppers that Geverde employs? Particularly the government, the government loves them. Those small dragon Spirits. There¡¯s one being paid to connect my country house to a city apartment block. Massive time saver. Well, those guys are also used in military simulations, the best ones in fact. If they¡¯re powerful enough, they can simulate environments, tricking your nerves into thinking you¡¯re there. ¡°Once I had an exercise like that. Before the war, just before it. In an act of tough love, my godmother made me decide if I really wanted to fight, if I knew what that meant. At that point, I only barely had an idea of what war was. I had killed someone for the first time and that had messed with me. She tried to stop me by cranking the simulation all the way to one hundred per cent. I met a simulated forty-second division that day, just before I would meet them in real life. They had rifles, all full metal jacket bullets thankfully. They tore right through me and poked holes in my flesh like cheese. But of course, it was a simulation. I couldn¡¯t die.¡± Evalyn paused her story, removing her jacket. She revealed a white collared shirt she began to unbutton. ¡°It was only localised, nor was it as serious as it could have been, but there¡¯s small spots across my body where my nerves are damaged.¡± She pointed out two points on her stomach through her undershirt, one on her chest and three across her shoulders. She lifted her undershirt, showing small round scars placed where she had pointed out before. Marlin stared at her, seemingly in disbelief. She glanced up at Evalyn, who shrugged. ¡°Tangible fear. That was the second time. I don¡¯t think I¡¯ve ever been more scared in my life. It turns out you can¡¯t feel it when a bullet hits you, especially if it¡¯s an FMJ. It¡¯s not even in your body by the time you feel it. But for an instant there¡¯s a split second where you feel a chill, then you feel your bones crunch against the open flesh, and then the pain hits you and you realise what¡¯s happened. I didn¡¯t have time to go into fight or flight. I was on the ground in an instant.¡± Evalyn started to refit her clothes back on her body as she continued to talk. ¡°And there is a chance that the spooks in Geverde will use something like a Spacehopper on you as a method of torture, but I don¡¯t think it¡¯ll be as simple as that.¡± ¡°What¡­do you mean?¡± ¡°Don¡¯t get me wrong, your organisation has threatened the safety of my family. I will do everything to burn your little social studies project to the ground, yet certain things I still do not wish on you.¡± Evalyn had no pride talking about how ruthless Geverde¡¯s tendencies were when it came to national security, which was why the way she saw it¡­. ¡°Answering my questions is the only way you¡¯re going to get out of this with minimal damage. Physically, but more importantly psychologically.¡± Marlin¡¯s body retreated into her chair, her gaze dead set on Evalyn and Evalyn alone, her ears purely squared on what she had to say. She could tell Evalyn was serious, and Evalyn made that as obvious as she possibly could. ¡°If there¡¯s anything they understand, it¡¯s how fear can most of the time feel intangible, more like a cautionary tale than actual danger. Physical harm is effective, but it¡¯s hard to deny responsibility if people come knocking with lawsuits. They will find out whatever moment it was in your life when you felt genuine, tangible fear, and they will play that over, and over, and over again,¡± she explained, gaining ground across the table. ¡°They¡¯ll have fun with it. Everyone in S.H.I.A. had someone in their life that died in a Spirit attack, who was it for you?¡± ¡°My¡­¡± ¡°Go on. Might as well.¡± ¡°My brother. Debris¡­in a Spirit attack.¡± ¡°They¡¯ll extract that memory with one Spirit and feed it to the Space Shifter. Now you watch as your brother¡¯s torn limb from limb by the Spirit who¡¯s eating him in front of you. You watch as his bones crunch like pork crackle and he screams for your name, asking to be saved. You can feel him, you can feel his bloodied hand, but you won¡¯t be able to save him,¡± she explained. Her delivery was frank, brutally honest as if she was speaking normally. Her words were laced with poison that emphasised her point, yet her tone suggested truth. Nothing but the truth. ¡°They¡¯ll play that a few times over before they get bored. Then they¡¯ll ask themselves, ¡®how else can we kill her brother, oh! I saw this one in a comic the other day.'' They¡¯ll do this over and over again as you watch it happen. Perhaps they¡¯ll change the scenario, the person, and even find another memory entirely. They¡¯ll do this until all you know is death. The deaths that never existed. Now doesn¡¯t that sound fun?¡± Interlude: Marital Contract Royal Issue Marital Contract Document no. 3055069234 This contract is hereby authorised for all domestic, public, judicial and royal affairs by Lord Flaunder II of the Royal Excalan council, 1854. It hereby allows both parties to enter an unbreakable bond in which the specified conditions must be met in order to fulfil the contract. If specified condition is not met by a party, once verified by Her Majesty Queen Amestris and a high court of the land, ownership of said party will transfer from themselves or legal guardians to the other party. Both legally, and by the Aetherial properties embedded in this document. *** Due to wartime measures, this document has been fully verified by only one of the two necessary authenticators: Her Majesty, Amestris, Queen of Excala If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it. This document and its Aetherial properties are hereby activated in full effect as of: May 16th 1928 A breach of contract condition: ¡®That we stay together, for the rest of our lives¡¯, Has transferred the ownership of signed participant: Ms. Evalyn Hardridge To signed participant: Mr. Elliot Maxwell *** By order of the ruling royal member King/Queen: Amestris, this contract''s Aetherial and legal binding properties have been nullified to that of a: Marriage certificate: Document no. 6984343687 as of: May 18th 1928 Please regard all previous entries, legal properties and bindings of ownership as archival. Chapter 5 Part 1: Home for a Moment Someone knocking at the door was a rarity. While any child her age might come running to investigate, waiting for their parents to open it and reveal whoever had visited, Iris knew knocking at the door was not supposed to happen. Something was wrong. Parcels and letters were left in the lobby¡¯s postal boxes, never delivered directly to the flats. So when sounds came from the country cottage¡¯s front door, it would make Iris¡¯s skin crawl. She stopped the Pattern Reader sitting on the loungeroom table that had been left on since Elliot had gone to bed. He had retired to his room hours ago and Iris was hesitant on waking him, yet she decided to try. But before she could, the door¡¯s lock began to come undone, one slow click after another. Iris approached the barrier, a few days¡¯ worth of training under her belt, significant enough to take on all manner of threats, or at least she hoped. The intruder, however, was too fast. The brass safety pins in the door handle click in place and the final barrier swung open. A blurry mass flew from the gap and in an instant, Iris was tackled to the floor. She struggled under the mass that had pinned her to the ground, panic growing exponentially. Their grip was tight and had immediately immobilised both her arms, leaving Iris only her legs that had been pinned to the ground by the person¡¯s body. Then the intruder giggled. Iris paused and stopped resisting. The stranger¡¯s hair was orange, and her body was clad in a thick trench coat that had seen better days. ¡°Evalyn?¡± Evalyn did not answer. Iris watched as the grown woman held onto Iris¡¯s torso like it was happiness itself. Iris slid through her arms and sat up, freeing her own, but Evalyn¡¯s grasp on her barely budged. Her body was heavy, and her skin was cold against Iris¡¯s. She felt the woman slowly sink as her muscles began to lax. Iris desperately wanted to at least close the door, but Evalyn wouldn¡¯t let her. ¡°The door¡­¡± ¡°Hm? Oh.¡± A golden hand protruded from Evalyn¡¯s boot and fished around in the air for the door. Finding the edges, it slammed it shut without much ceremony. The noise was the loudest Iris had heard in hours, and she was still conscious of Elliot sleeping next door. The man no longer scared her, but his sleeping habits did, along with his intense passion to protect them. ¡°Iris? Stop slamming doors I thought I told¡­since when we¡¯re you back?¡± ¡°Come here.¡± ¡°You should¡¯ve called me or-¡± ¡°Shut up come here.¡± His eyes still bleary, Elliot stumbled towards the heap and found a spot, not so much sitting down as collapsing next to them. ¡°Welcome back,¡± he said gently as his hand caressed his wife¡¯s head. ¡°Thank you,¡± she whispered. ¡°¡­.¡± ¡°Oh, no. You¡¯re not sleeping on the floor again.¡± After the sloppiest princess carry of their lives, Elliot watched as Evalyn sank into the mattress imprint she had moulded over the years. She looked truly at home as she drifted off to sleep. The look on her face after such weeks was always what reminded him of his purpose, why he kept on watching her back from the sky. No matter how long they had spent together, that feeling at the end of every week never got old. ¡°Was she good?¡± Evalyn asked. ¡°She ate well, slept on time, and didn¡¯t bother Elvera too much unless they were playing board games.¡± ¡°Board games?¡± ¡°She gets competitive, it turns out.¡± Evalyn chuckled under the weight of her own fatigue as she shuffled in her bed, struggling to take her trench coat off. ¡°Were you alright without me?¡± she asked. ¡°Just another week, was it not?¡± ¡°No, it wasn¡¯t, not for me at least. Stuff like this only happens maybe once every six months,¡± she said as she finally shed her outer layer, tossing it onto the floor haphazardly. ¡°Things couldn¡¯t have been completely calm on your end.¡± Elliot shuffled himself into a comfortable position before answering, pulling the covers up to his chin. ¡°We had one scramble order yesterday. That was it.¡± ¡°What was that about?¡± ¡°Officially it turned out to be nothing, but I doubt it. Well, whatever.¡± Evalyn¡¯s brow furrowed as she prodded him further. ¡°You can¡¯t say whatever to something like that. Tell me more.¡± ¡°It was a cargo plane. The gargantuan ones that you see sometimes on your way to Aerilia. For whatever reason, it was taking a coastal route because of an influx of mail.¡± ¡°What¡¯s so suspicious about that?¡± ¡°What¡¯s so suspicious? I don¡¯t know. It doesn¡¯t make sense why planes would be needed on that route. I mean, even if there¡¯s an influx, a plane can only take so much, especially when compared to a ship. There¡¯s no need for a cargo plane unless the package is big enough to warrant it.¡± ¡°Like a H.O.A¡­.¡± ¡°You think?!¡± Elliot noticed her lack of initiative, only her expression soured. She stuck her face deeper into the cushion, refusing to get out of bed even if the conversation sorely warranted an urgent phone call to Elvera. ¡°How could they sneak that off of the plane?¡± ¡°It¡¯s in pieces probably. Offloaded onto different trucks stolen from Sidos for delivery to¡­somewhere in the city. They assemble it closer to the day and no one is none-the-wiser.¡± ¡°Well, we should probably tell someone.¡± Evalyn sighed and groaned as she rolled over, begging the universe to let her have five minutes to herself. She paused. ¡°I interrogated someone yesterday.¡± Elliot paused and started to get up, aroused by the uneasy inflexion in her voice. It was a familiar tone that he¡¯d hear every once in a while, a tone that she would use when she was reminded just how human she was. When her infallible drive and will to do anything would catch up with her psyche. ¡°Interrogated? How interrogated?¡± ¡°How?¡± ¡°Yeah, like¡­you know¡­,¡± he said, trailing off as to not step on anything sensitive. ¡°No, I wouldn¡¯t agree to torture in the first place. I just let her know how good the intelligence service here is at that sort of stuff, and she seemed pretty convinced.¡± ¡°Did you show her your scars?¡± ¡°Yeah, I did,¡± she said, chuckling softly to herself. ¡°I didn¡¯t get to the part where you came to save me.¡± ¡°It wasn¡¯t just me, was it?¡± He could hear Evalyn smile from the other side of the bed. It wasn¡¯t uncommon for her to start such a conversation. Admitting an act that anywhere else would have people calling the police. Most often, Elliot would sit there and listen as she got it off her own chest. All he ever had to do was make her smile after the fact. ¡°Yeah, it wasn¡¯t just you,¡± she whispered as she began to curl into herself. ¡°I¡¯m glad there are three people in one house again.¡± ¡°Three¡¯s a pretty good number¡­What did you find out from whoever you were interrogating?¡± ¡°I found out that S.H.I.A.¡¯s been taking on outside help. I don¡¯t know if it¡¯s another nation or whatever, but whoever they are, they have the ability to pull a lot of strings. The plane was probably their doing.¡± This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there. ¡°The hostages?¡± ¡°An arms deal between S.H.I.A. and another freedom fighter group across the Chain Ridge. The military says it¡¯s outside my hands now, but I guess I can¡¯t say I¡¯m surprised. There are plenty of people who want their hands on H.O.A. units.¡± Elliot felt her return back into work mode as she slowly began to explain her situation to herself, reiterating what she already knew into redundancy. He put a hand on her shoulder and guided her to lie flat on the bed. She looked at him, a mix of relief and exhaustion mixing in her pupils, heavy bags under her eyes like anvils hanging off of her sanity, threatening to rip it out through her eye sockets. He put his hand on her head and caressed it back and forth for a few moments too long like he always did, and she smiled like she always did. ¡°You need to go to sleep.¡± ¡°Okay¡­I love you.¡± ¡°I trust you.¡± Iris watched as Elliot rounded the corner and into the hallway, catching her snooping red-handed. He smiled, each joint moving as though they had a thousand years of rust between them ¡°Go see to your mum, I¡¯ve got a phone call.¡± Iris nodded and walked forward, reaching the doorway, and finding Evalyn snug on her side of the bed. Evalyn smiled. ¡°Come closer Iris,¡± she said as if she was a bedridden mother, beckoning her daughter into her frail arms¡¯ reach. Iris tip-toed closer to the side of the bed as Evalyn¡¯s markings began to glow gently. Shapeless tendrils shifted vaguely towards her, their movements blurring the line between graceful and tired. They coiled around her arms and legs, gently lifting her onto the bed. Evalyn grabbed her small body and wrapped both arms around her, not caring for her position, much like a teddy bear. Iris was left to shuffle herself, and move into a more or less tolerable position. Iris quickly accepted her fate and gave in to her. Once again, her caretaker had shown a such bizarre contrast in behaviour that Iris was finding it hard to categorise her. The arms that had protected her many times were arguably still doing so, just in a more direct, yet gentler way. That thought made her feel special. With the exception of Elliot, there were probably few people that received the same treatment, and that made her feel wanted. The indistinguishable, blurry years spent living haphazardly on the streets had begun to put themselves into perspective. Iris knew what there was in the world now, or at least part of it. Shops were not just random monuments nor were people just beings who would transit from one place to another. She was not just something that consumed food and lived only to find it. She could feel things so warm and experience things that she never knew existed. Thoughts passed through her head that she had no hope of answering. What have I been doing? What have I missed out on? Do I like this? Who am I? A familiar wash of anxiety flowed into a chasm in her stomach as her eyes began to feel heavy. She breathed deeply, a desperate last-ditch effort at ridding herself of whatever she was feeling. Exhaling, she found the courage to enjoy the moment as it was, taking in every subtle scent, every small rustle, every point of contact. She relaxed her body and began to find herself drifting. ¡°Iris?¡± ¡°Hmm?¡± ¡°Thank you. This might be the last time I get to relax until this blows over, so wait for me until then.¡± ¡°Wait for what?¡± Evalyn giggled, squeezing tighter. ¡°For me to find my footing with this whole parenting thing.¡± On Iris¡¯s request, the two had skipped breakfast the next day in favour of a bout in the fields. Iris felt a strange enthusiasm once she had been given an achievable goal, one she felt she could work towards. And so, she had dragged both Evalyn and Elliot out of bed to fulfil her daily quota. ¡°Elliot told me about why you¡¯ve started to become scared of your magic, is that true?¡± Evalyn asked. In response, she gave a meek nod. ¡°It¡¯s alright, I¡¯m not mad at you. In fact, fearing something means you¡¯re beginning to understand it. Do you trust yourself?¡± ¡°No¡­.¡± ¡°What about me? Do you trust me?¡± ¡°¡­Yes.¡± ¡°Good! That¡¯s good enough for now.¡± Evalyn stepped further back until there were several metres of green grass between the two. On the final step, Evalyn raised her voice. ¡°Reach me! Use your magic to reach me! Preferably don''t damage the house while you do it.¡± Iris shook her head violently. ¡°Come on! Weak, strong I don¡¯t care! Just trust me!¡± Iris continued to refuse, yet Evalyn kept up the encouragement. No matter what Iris would try, nothing short of conceding and retreating to the house would stop Evalyn. Iris wanted to train, so then that was what she was receiving. ¡°Come on do it!¡± Elliot jeered. ¡°You can¡¯t overdo it! I could hit her over the head with that pan I wished for and she¡¯d call it a massage!¡± After a full minute of bargaining through shouting and gestures, Iris finally conceded to the two. She lifted an arm as if she was about to slap someone across the face as her hair glowed purple, disassembling into a long, thimble-like tendril. Shapeless, much like Evalyn¡¯s all-purpose magical limbs. Gathering what little self-confidence she held in her magic, she prepared for her strike. Firmly closing her eyes, she swung her arm in Evalyn¡¯s general direction, watching Evalyn move to defend only moments before impact¡­. ¡°You missed her,¡± Elliot said, a concerning amount of disappointment in his voice. A small divot in the topsoil had indeed been etched next to where Evalyn stood as if she had attempted to sow the ground with a pencil. ¡°Would you like to try again?¡± ¡°¡­.¡± ¡°I¡¯m going to make you try again.¡± Iris only continued to stay stubborn. Evalyn didn¡¯t know of the hallway, the doors, but more importantly, the bloodstained version of her only Iris could see. She wasn¡¯t willing to take the chance of bringing about that reality herself. Evalyn sighed and took back the steps she had taken before until she was face to face with Iris. ¡°I know you don¡¯t want to hurt me, and I love that,¡± Evalyn said as she patted Iris¡¯s head. ¡°But the truth is if you let yourself be without ever finding out your limits and how to control them, you¡¯re more of a danger to me or Elliot or anyone else you¡¯ll ever meet. Okay?¡± ¡°¡­okay.¡± Evalyn smiled at her before taking a couple of steps back, closer than she was before. ¡°So, I want you to trust me while you can¡¯t trust yourself. Can you do that?¡± she said. ¡°Even if you can''t control it, you can hit me here, and I promise I won¡¯t feel a thing. ¡®Kay?¡± ¡°It¡¯s physically impossible. Trust me we¡¯ve tried.¡± Ignoring Elliot, Iris gave in and prepared herself for another strike. She felt the magic tingle on the nape of her neck as she tried to calm her breathing, close her eyes, and picture the scene in front of her. Nothing less, and certainly nothing more. Controlling her perception through her mind¡¯s eye, not letting any variable be corrupted by the hallway or the anxiety that it brought. She lifted her hand, a meek but well-intentioned second take at her first step forward. A low rumble disrupted her mental image and she quickly aborted, opening her eyes in panic. Evalyn¡¯s attention was no longer on her and instead focused off into the distance. Iris followed her line of sight, it pointed directly at the city off in the distance. ¡°What was that?¡± Evalyn muttered. A single step turned into a stride, and soon she was sprinting back inside, making a beeline for the front door. Iris and Elliot followed as fast as she could manage, only to be greeted with the distant sound of sirens. Some sort of emergency had awoken the tranquil early morning. The persistent ringing of the living room telephone finally reached their ears, and Evalyn moved to answer, leaving Iris only to listen to the fragmented conversation as Elliot ran back into his room. ¡°Yes, I¡¯m back. No, we just heard sirens when we opened the¡­what the hell¡­yeah¡­yes alright I¡¯ll be there soon.¡± Elliot ran back into the lounge with the radio he regularly stole from the Steel Whale. Turning it on, he was immediately greeted with the sound of emergency alerts and frantic communications. ¡°That was Elvera. S.H.I.A.¡¯s made their move,¡± Evalyn began, ¡°trucks loaded with bombs are going off like fucking popcorn in both cities and there¡¯s been confirmed sightings of the H.O.A. unit near Salan Court a few blocks from here.¡± ¡°I¡¯ll hold the fort. If I¡¯m needed, I¡¯ll head for the Steel Whale.¡± ¡°I¡¯ll hold you to that.¡± ¡°You¡¯d better. I¡¯m not sleeping until you¡¯re home, I swear to god.¡± Elliot jogged to the centre table in the lounge and moved it out of the way, lifting one side at a time until it was up against the wall. Finding the cracks between the floorboards with his fingernails, he dislodged it and threw it aside. ¡°I really hope the dust hasn¡¯t gotten to these,¡± he mumbled as he pulled out several pieces of small arms. Two submachine guns and several magazines were what he ultimately chose. ¡°Do you need any?¡± ¡°No, I¡¯ll bring what I always bring,¡± Evalyn said as she slung her bolt action across her shoulder. In all of this, Iris stood silent. Motionless. It was as if her two guardians had turned into more literal meanings of the title. Both had lost all semblance of themselves in a matter of moments. They had entered a mindset unrecognisable to her and she hated it. She saw Evalyn motion to leave and grabbed onto her sleeve as if it was instinct. ¡°Don¡¯t.¡± If she stayed, she wouldn¡¯t die. If she stayed, they could keep on training, living as they did while the explosions were only a soft rumble from some far-off place. Iris could see the guns around her and could only expect more. She knew what guns did now. She couldn¡¯t let Evalyn face that. Iris held on as tight as she could, clutching Evalyn¡¯s sleeve because Evalyn¡¯s life depended on it. ¡°Iris. I¡¯m sorry, but I have to go,¡± she said as she tried to wriggle her arm free from Iris, eventually having to pry off Iris¡¯s fingers one-by-one. ¡°I¡¯ll come back, I promise,¡± she reassured her as she left for the door. Iris ran after her, but in only a few moments she had already made it far down the apartment block¡¯s hallway, only a few steps from the exit. Iris didn¡¯t know what Evalyn had meant when she ordered Iris to reach her. Seeing how Evalyn would use her powers, she had immediately assumed combat. Yet all the cryptic messages the adults had given her regarding Evalyn¡¯s power, all pointed at one thing, and one thing in particular. Whatever it was she could wield, whatever it is that she could control or not control, if Iris¡¯s powers were an extension of her body, they were an extension of her resolve, her wish. All that Iris wanted to do at that very moment was protect her. Her hair escaped her, dissipating without her willing it so, as easily as breathing. She had no picture of what she wanted to manifest, only the action she wanted to do. They formed hands, perfectly shaped manifestations of what Iris knew it meant to grab and hold onto something for dear life. Before Evalyn even had the mental comprehension to fight back against it, she was already in the little girl¡¯s arms. Iris squinted clinging onto her waistband showing no signs of letting even a breath of air get between them. She knew the movement had not been conscious, it was months, maybe years of training ahead of her abilities. Iris could feel Evalyn¡¯s wide eyes staring at her scalp, but she held steadfast. ¡°She isn¡¯t going to die that easily. I¡¯ve seen her go up against things like this for ten years and she¡¯s always come back if only a little bruised and singed around the edges.¡± Iris felt Elliot¡¯s hand on her shoulder, but she shook her head daring to look up. Evalyn smiled at her as if she couldn¡¯t help but smile. She pushed Iris away as she knelt down, face level with hers. ¡°You don¡¯t have to worry about me, okay? Once you learn how to control what you just did, then I¡¯ll consider you as able to protect me. So I¡¯ll be waiting.¡± She turned to Elliot. ¡°Take care of her.¡± ¡°You don¡¯t have to tell me twice,¡± he said, grinning. ¡°Take care of yourself,¡± she added, to which he only nodded. She hugged them both, her arms reaching as far as they could, as far as they had ever needed to in a long, long time. ¡°See you soon.¡± Chapter 5 Part 2: The Siege of Salan Court ¡°G packages three, five seven have detonated, S packages four and two as well. Things are on schedule, sir.¡± Jamie strode through Salan Court¡¯s stone arcade, the most recent addition to his territory. The area and everyone inside it were now in his custody, forced at gunpoint into the hotel foyer and guarded by exactly ten rifles, no more than necessary to monitor every movement. ¡°We¡¯ve got four squad cars, west face of the building, over,¡± a spotter called out over the radio. The west side faced the largest road of the four. It was likely barricaded, creating ground for the police¡¯s front-line base. Jamie grabbed his cumbersome radio and pressed on the receiver with an obnoxious click. ¡°Hold fire unless fired upon. We¡¯ve got the advantage if we lure them in. Muzzle flashes are only going to draw attention to your position.¡± ¡°Yes, sir.¡± An ideal attack would have come at night, however, Salan court only accepted delivery trucks early morning. Every truck had been laundered of their incriminated ID, and only one needed to get past the front gates successfully. The other six came once there was no security left to refuse them. Then the bombs. In both cities, the same obnoxious click of Jamie¡¯s radio had made the earth shake. He veered off into the courtyard, the centre of the operation. Six trucks were lined up as workers unloaded the contents as quickly as humanly possible. The Higher Order Armour alone occupied three of the six trucks. Saying the assembly needed a coordinated effort was an understatement. ¡°Progress report,¡± Jamie demanded from the head mechanic. Face, physique, none of it mattered right now. ¡°Sir! All parts are accounted for, building can start in five minutes.¡± ¡°How long will assembly take?¡± ¡°Half the day sir, with all hands-on deck.¡± ¡°See to it that it gets done.¡± He kept on walking until he crossed the centre courtyard to the southern wing of the establishment where the hostages were being held. The foyer was only separated by a single doorway. Looking through the cracks, he confirmed that all the blinds were closed. That way no shot from beyond the building¡¯s glass panes was guaranteed to hit its intended target. Everything was where it was supposed to be when it was supposed to be. That¡¯s how Jamie preferred things. Next on the checklist was enemy response. Elvera arrived at the court in an armoured vehicle shielded by layers of steel and stress-tolerant magic. Ordered to stay in her car until a proper base of operations was established in the adjacent building. Eventually, a suited man swiftly approached the driver¡¯s side window and knocked it. ¡°They¡¯re ready for you inside Lieutenant-General,¡± he said as he moved to open the back door. Elvera got out and followed the man inside. Past the door, the apartment had become a battle station. Supplies, ammunition, and weapons were still being loaded in from the back entrance of the building, another room had been turned into a makeshift hospital for the police that had already been caught in crossfires. The building truly felt as though a piece of the battlefield had crawled its bloody self into the city once more. It made her skin crawl. She climbed the central staircase until the suited man lead her into the front-line control room. Upon entering, she exchanged salutes with police figures she recognised. A mix of humans and Beaks, several superintendents, and the commissioner himself were present beside the swarm of high-ranking military personnel. Plans were being drawn up, yet Elvera already noticed a thick, background power struggle between the Army and the Police, fighting over which method was swifter and less costly. She represented a much smaller faction of the response team¡¯s forces which lessened the sway of her words, but they¡¯d count when they needed to. Until then, she¡¯d wait. Before she entered the conversation, she looked through the small rift between the curtain fabric and began to gather the foundations of the situation. Salan Court was indeed an intelligent choice of venue. A grid-like pattern of windows across three floors forced attackers to approach firefights like whack-a-mole, while the defenders could reposition at their leisure. In the event of an assault, entering the central courtyard itself was a definite death sentence from all sides. Knowing S.H.I.A.¡¯s manpower, every corner was likely to be covered. Sweeping rooms would need a small army. She swept her eyes over the schematics on the table. The three large sheets of paper for each floor confirmed what anyone could gather looking at the windows of the building. Small hotel rooms at regular intervals on the second and third floors, larger ones only ever being exactly double or triple the length of one unit. She approached a superintendent unengaged in the conversation, his shadowy, raven body almost disappearing into the background. ¡°What¡¯s Deity division got to say about this?¡± ¡°They¡¯ve got two on the case. Hostages in the foyer, roughly sixty bodies. The enemy count is ranging similarly. At least two in any given room. Not to mention the armour.¡± Deity division was never wrong, and two was considered overkill. ¡°The main priority is extracting hostages. I don¡¯t see how there¡¯s any other way around that,¡± the commissioner said, the mechanical voice coming through his mask was as emotive as the voice box could muster. ¡°The progress they¡¯re making in reconstructing the H.O.A. is too fast. Even if we did manage a hostage rescue, the forces it would take us to cover the exodus would be sitting ducks in the face of that thing.¡± Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site. Like being stuck between a rock and a hard place. Sidos¡¯s military was the only one with an active Higher Order Armour division. Transporting two to Geverde along with their pilots would take a day or two regardless of if they marched or were disassembled. Tanks were too wide for the surrounding streets and aerial bombardment, or artillery was completely out of the question when hostages were concerned. ¡°Sir!¡± a police officer shouted as he rushed into the doorframe, panting. ¡°Communication has been established. Someone by the name of Jamie Welrod on the other end of the line.¡± As the commissioner scuttled off to receive the telephone, Elvera sifted her mind through all the available commissioned Spirit units she could think of. Similar to carbon-based life forms, most Spirits could be classified on the same level as animals. Only a few were ever trained for the military and only in specialized units. Spirits above those such as Beaks were commissioned, same as humans. Spirits of a Higher Order¡­well that took a lot of convincing to get them on one''s side. ¡°Lieutenant-Colonel Broyidal, are your Airborne Spirit units still active?¡± ¡°We¡¯ve thought about that, ma¡¯am. We just can¡¯t see that working without them being shot out of the sky. Argh¡­it would be best to wait until nightfall.¡± ¡°Nightfall may be too late. They¡¯ve got so many hostages, they wouldn¡¯t mind killing one every hour for a day or two if they had to,¡± a superintended muttered. The commissioner stormed back into the room with a notepad. ¡°Their demands are here,¡± he said as he placed the paper on the table. ¡°Sidos must dissolve their alliance with Geverde, the Sidosian government must release all political prisoners to which afterwards, the current government must be dissolved to make way for an unbiased state election, overseen by a third party. Someone pass this along to the ambassador!¡± A lofty set of demands, to which the commissioner added one more thing. ¡°A hostage every hour until their demands are met beginning at 0543. Retaliation will not result in dead hostages, only dead soldiers. If all hostages are killed, the city will burn instead.¡± A H.O.A. unit and an untold number of truck bombs. At best, three hostages were to die before an effective counterforce could be organised. ¡°Who officially has jurisdiction over the operation?¡± Elvera demanded. ¡°Hostage rescue is ordinarily police, but H.O.A. come under Military matters, ma¡¯am,¡± The Lieutenant-Colonel answered, ¡°Top authority goes to the Chief of Army.¡± ¡°He needs my co-operation. Someone get me a line to Lieutenant-General Fredrick!¡± Jamie placed the phone handle back down on the receiver as his eyes swept over the mass of hostages. He handed back the phone to a young man, perhaps barely twenty years of age, with a rifle too big for him on his shoulder. He walked forward into the foyer proper. It was as bright as the interior lighting would allow. Every movement was visible, meaning no one dared to make one. A mix of Beaks and humans in the crowd. After mulling it over, he decided to kill a human after the first hour. Everyone expected S.H.I.A. to be totally anti-spirit. Sure, many in the organisation thought so, but their message would be more effectively delivered on a grey platter, instead of a black-and-white one. Hostages were hostages, and any opportunity the public took to label the operation a hate crime would devalue the message entirely. No. Even killing of humans and Spirits, alternating every hour. Human first. He turned his attention away, intent on perusing the open-use facilities in the building, all situated on the bottom floor. If the southern wing was the foyer, the eastern was the dining hall and kitchen, split eighty-twenty respectively, the northern the lounge and the western the bathing and spa hall. The rooms were roughly uniform upstairs, small and easy to defend. Yet if there were going to be any proper firefights, they would be in those four sections. He strode into the dining hall. Twenty or so men were situated here, working out of the kitchen as their base of operations. Ammunition, food, and enough supplies to last them however many hostages they had to go through. Behind him, in the kitchen itself was a doorway leading out to the only vehicle entrance in the facility. Easily defensible as a checkpoint. ¡°Boys! Start flipping over tables! Give yourself some cover in case you need it.¡± The men did as they were told. A regular rifle round would tear through the tables with ease, yet even just visual concealment was valuable when your opponent was likely not to spray and pray, whether that was out of fear of collateral damage or conserving ammo. He took a right into the large ballroom, where the majority of his forces were set up. If somewhere was as indefensible as a large, echoing open chamber, he would fill it as much as he could to make up for it. The bulk of their supplies, weapons and communication were all here. Wireless telegram workers had already set up their stations and were beginning to communicate their successes. The final wing was arguably the most useless. Not hard to defend, yet the only reason one would want to defend the bathing hall was for the sake of not letting their enemy gain a foothold. For Jamie that was reason enough, and the area had gotten twelve troops of its own. There was no reason to check on each floor¡¯s rooms individually. He had junior officers doing that already. Instead, he went up both levels to the top floor where the lookouts were situated. West face was what he was most interested in. Upon entering, the two men stood up and saluted him. A sniper and his spotter. ¡°Sir!¡± the spotter exclaimed, straightening his back. A soldier on the younger side had just been put in the position if Jamie remembered at all. ¡°Sir,¡± the sniper chimed. A veteran of the Aether and Diesel war, leagues different from his partner. Jamie returned their salutes. He walked over to the window they were situated at and crouched. A physical barricade had now been set up between them and the other side of the street, solidifying the divide. ¡°All scout teams on the top floor, this is Jamie. Confirm if the barrier continues all around the building,¡± he said, holding the button down on his radio. The three other teams confirmed. ¡°Talk to me,¡± Jamie muttered to the spotter. ¡°The building two blocks down to our left, across the street. We believe that¡¯s where they¡¯ve set up shop. They finished setting barricades only moments ago and there¡¯s a sniper at bearing two seven six, two five four and two seven¡­eight three.¡± ¡°Don¡¯t fire any shots yet. If you need more precision or suppressive power, just ask. If they begin an assault, you¡¯ll be the first targets, so don¡¯t peek unless you¡¯re absolutely sure.¡± This was common knowledge at this point. They had been briefed over and over, yet for new recruits like him, repetition was reassurance. ¡°Yes sir,¡± the spotter said, rife with nervous determination. ¡°Keep repositioning.¡± As Jamie uttered his last words of wisdom, another sound entered his ears. The clutter downstairs barely reached him behind the closed doors of the third-storey room, and it became obvious how the city around him had frozen in time. Nothing but faint sirens. Yet the sound of several cars. A convoy. ¡°Here comes the fighting force.¡± A row of army green transport vehicles rolled up to the buffer zone. An intense profession. As they all took their places, streams of soldiers exited. Three cars and thirty soldiers, and that was just the west face. ¡°All units, hold fire. They¡¯re not here to attack just yet,¡± Jamie confirmed. By estimates, they were outnumbered perhaps two to one, not even counting whatever Spirits the military had in their capacity to deploy. If this was a fairy tale of heroes and Higher Order Spirits, odds like that would barely rouse an audience, but this was the real world; an ironically human battle. Numbers, positioning, and the smallest of advantages all constituted absolute life and death. ¡°To all units stationed in hotel rooms, one person comes down to the front foyer to collect two hostages and bring them back to your rooms,¡± Slower and slower they would make the assault. Spirit magic was powerful, yet rarely as precise as a bullet, and even those often missed their targets. The Deity¡¯s eyes most likely circling their heads right now would do Jamie the favour of letting the think tank across the street know about the latest wrench in their plans. Chapter 5 Part 3: Conviction and Combustion Elvera peered through the curtains as the fighting force began to unfold like an unravelling letter, one that only delivered bad news. A total of eighty troops, half dedicated to securing the perimeter and the other would assault it if¡­when necessary. Outfitted for close quarters, the only remnants of the antiquated bolt actions were the wood-furnished hand guards and grips. Mass-produced stamped steel were their weapon of choice, matching their equally as efficient and effective tactics. Or so was the narrative until this morning. Nothing in the playbook had anticipated fifty-millimetre non-explosive bullets being fired at three hundred rounds per minute. Action had to be taken while there was still time, while the armour was still not operational. The congregation of old men had finally hashed out a rough idea of how to approach the situation. Rappelling up the walls or being dropped onto the roof was not going to work, hence working from the bottom up was the only solution. Each room would have to be cleared of hostiles and hostages before any safe attempt at damaging the armour could commence. Depending on either side¡¯s performance, the process could take hours. Time only continued to elapse, each second ticking by much too slowly. By the time her name was called by an officer holding a telephone receiver, the time had already reached 0638. She snatched the phone off the messenger and wasted no time in employing her acidic tone of voice. ¡°Since I, for one, am not feeling complacent this fine morning, I won¡¯t waste your time in getting to the point. Give me authorisation.¡± Fredrick groaned over the phone. Apparently, it was too early for such a conversation. ¡°Lieutenant-Colonel I appreciate your offer of assistance, but I want to keep this situation from getting out of hand.¡± ¡°I think we¡¯re well past that point.¡± ¡°The last thing we need on top of this fiasco is having to cover up a Witch! It¡¯s the middle of Excala city, broad daylight! If you think the military is going to somehow pull off a cover-up of that scale again, you¡¯re sorely mistaken.¡± Elvera returned his groan. The conversation wasn¡¯t exactly a first, after all. Even if she was not intending to request the use of a Witch or a Wizard, she would nonetheless be accused of exactly that. However, in this case, that was exactly why she was calling. ¡°This is exactly the reason we have had Hardridge on standby in the first place. To get to this point and not ask for her help?¡± ¡°Despite what people may say, Hardridge is not god, nor is she our military¡¯s trump card. You must be fully aware what will happen to our image if we¡¯re found to be working with her.¡± ¡°Our first priority is the public¡¯s safety.¡± ¡°And do you think that is achievable without the public¡¯s trust?¡± Elvera could see no way forward, and so she slammed the phone back together, leaving it with the messenger to return to wherever he had gotten it from. The assault was to go ahead as planned. As if timing was her middle name, a long rifle barrel quickly followed by a head of orange hair rushed up the stairwell towards Elvera. ¡°It¡¯s a warzone out there,¡± Evalyn said as she unslung her bolt action from her shoulder, using it like a cane. ¡°Care for a sitrep?¡± she asked. ¡°They¡¯re formulating a plan, but they¡¯re too late. A hostage is scheduled to be killed in three minutes or so.¡± ¡°That¡¯s still enough time,¡± Evalyn stated, and rightly so. ¡°They¡¯re keeping you as a last resort.¡± ¡°What? Why?!¡± ¡°It¡¯s too risky. I don¡¯t agree with it, but there¡¯s a second perimeter around us made up of purely the press. If any catch wind of your official involvement, that could be an outcome as bad for the army as letting several hostages die.¡± ¡°Yeah right it is!¡± ¡°I think so too, but you grew up Sidosian. It¡¯s like the monarchy, it¡¯s not a concept you can understand the weight of.¡± Evalyn seethed in silence, unable to make a counter argument. ¡°Do they at least have bracelets?¡± Evalyn asked. ¡°Every one of them has three, that¡¯s thirty uses. It¡¯s more than enough.¡± ¡°Good. God knows Spirit magic is just about the only advantage they have right now. I¡¯m going to check the front line,¡± she said, picking up her rifle once more. A head of orange hair fluttered up and down the barricaded street. A familiar figure that had stuck herself to the back of Jamie¡¯s head. The ¡®private investigator¡¯. Her title suggested nothing more than a stalker turned professional, but she alone had jailed a sympathiser and severely hospitalised a comrade. Her walking past so candidly made him wonder if that comrade had really killed her child. What she had said over the phone had piqued his interest like nothing else ever had. ¡®¡­I have burnt down cities before and I will do it again¡­¡± Whoever she was, whatever she could do, he had to know. Such a threatening adversary was something he had never come across, and he could not afford to let such a roadblock get in his way. He relinquished his post at the scout¡¯s roost and made his way downstairs towards the foyer. He reached over the reception desk and chose one of the three cream-coloured phones at random, dialling the number he had already memorised, his movements never suggesting he was in any sort of rush. On the other side of the connection, the tepid voice of a young communications worker answered. He yawned as he heard them stumble with the receiver. ¡°Yes?¡± ¡°The orange haired woman with the tattoos outside, get her on the line.¡± What sounded as if someone had blended the phrase, ¡®yes sir, right away sir,¡¯ was vaguely audible over the speaker before he heard the worker drop the phone entirely. Thirty seconds lapsed before she answered. A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation. ¡°Who¡¯s this?¡± ¡°Jamie Welrod. I believe we¡¯ve had a conversation already.¡± ¡°You¡­.¡± Jamie saw three figures enter the foyer behind him. Two of his senior men and one hostage. A girl, perhaps in her twenty somethings. Hair tangled, clad in light pyjamas. He figured the gunshots had been her alarm clock that morning. Jamie had suggested picking a hostage at random, yet he figured some sadistic junior officer had interpreted that instruction differently. The woman was made to kneel as one of his men lifted a sidearm to the back of her head, as if to line up an unmissable shot. The woman had been crying for an hour most likely. Her eyes were bloodshot red, her arms and legs quaking with adrenaline and her chest would not stop rising and falling. ¡°I noticed you in the crowd and I wanted to ask you something,¡± he said over the soft whimpers of the woman beside him. ¡°Who are you?¡± ¡°Who am I? Is that really what you¡¯re asking right now?¡± ¡°Yeah,¡± ¡°¡­Hardridge. Private Detective.¡± ¡°So, the detective part wasn¡¯t a lie¡­what about the city burning part?¡± ¡°¡­I¡¯ll let you guess.¡± ¡°I see¡­¡± Jamie said, chuckling. His grip loosened on the phone as he looked out at the now empty foyer. Completely empty, save for the men who had been guarding the hostages until recently. He could make out the blurry silhouettes of the army just beyond the windows. ¡°Let me ask you the same question, Jamie Welrod.¡± Jamie sighed, trying to think of an answer to a question he had never bothered considering. ¡°I¡¯m¡­a captain of the Sidosian Human Independence Army. There isn¡¯t much to it, really.¡± ¡°What did you lose to Spirits?¡± the woman asked, as if he had lost a poker match to one. ¡°Is that the burning question you ask every S.H.I.A. member?¡± ¡°Yes, it is. Who was it?¡± ¡°¡­it might have been my father, I haven¡¯t seen him in a while¡­my sister maybe? Does it really matter?¡± ¡°Whoever it was, I¡¯m sorry. On behalf of my father.¡± He sighed, a small smile across his face. ¡°I don¡¯t think this is the time for reconciliation. There¡¯s a woman here about to be shot, that¡¯s significantly more important than either of our pasts.¡± He listened as the man racked his sidearm, chambering a bullet as if it was simply business. ¡°But what¡¯s more important than both of us at this very moment is whatever it is we¡¯re fighting. Now I don¡¯t have a clue what your motive is, or even if you¡¯re just another soldier, but that doesn¡¯t change the fact you have everything to lose, and I have everything to prove. Isn¡¯t that right?¡± ¡°Seems like it.¡± He turned to his men, motioning to them to cancel the execution. ¡°I¡¯ll give both of us time. We still haven¡¯t gotten this armour off of the ground and it seems like your side still hasn¡¯t gotten itself together.¡± ¡°Why?¡± ¡°If our best can beat your best, then we¡¯ll have won everything then and there. Whatever you and Geverde are is what Sidos is becoming, that¡¯s what we exist to destroy.¡± He put the phone down. The woman he had spoken to knew better than many the implications that being part of S.H.I.A. held. Whether they hated or idolised her father, the one consistent truth was that everyone who swore to its flag had lost everything, and the will for revenge burned hotter than the tacky shoeshine polish of loyalty. His superiors hoped they could at best have their prisoners released while escalating the already drawn-out battle to the next level. Yet Jamie intended to end it, then and there. S.H.I.A. was better than the alliance, Sidos¡¯s people would come to see that. So, he radioed in another order, to hammer the final nail in the coffin just that much further. Eight members of the forty-second division were stationed in Geverde city. They stood in the borders of the Sidosian Embassy on 62 Jarep street, central Excala. To many people who passed through the area, they were a frightening sight to behold. Armoured juggernauts that some residents even remembered from ten years prior, yet to the locals they had become nothing but statues. Not reacting an inch, even to those who had the guts to poke them. Those gargoyles had come to life that morning, rifles loaded and ready, their gleaming white eyepieces scanned what was but a lonesome city street only a few hours prior. The embassy had four corners and each corner had two soldiers. A single foot soldier at the base of the building carrying a heavy automatic rifle designed for accurate yet sustained fire, and a scout stationed on the roof, armed with the same rifle modified purely for long distance precision. Members of the embassy had all been called to its premises as soon as the slightest sign of danger had reared its head. As far as Sidos officials were concerned, the embassy itself was the safest place in the city. After all, four members of the forty second stationed in the same place was already considered overkill, let alone eight. The curfew had silenced the city street. Even if one hadn¡¯t been ordered, the truck bomb only a block away would have convinced everyone in the vicinity to cover their heads and hide in their homes. The only sounds the wind carried were the sounds of itself whispering through invisible nooks and crannies. ¡°First floor Northwest contact, be advised, there¡¯s human activity to your right, over.¡± ¡°Copy, over and out.¡± Northwest contact raised their rifle, the chain of bullets hanging from the mag-well rattling as it hung loose between the gun and their forearm plate. They kept their armoured finger on the trigger guard, cautious not to accidentally fire. An old woman trotted into their iron sights. ¡°Ma¡¯am! You need to get out of the street now! It¡¯s a curfew.¡± A local cautiously peered out of their door, beckoning the woman inside, all while a gun was trained firmly in their direction. The woman receded, slightly confused, and Northwest contact lowered their guard. The sound of wind returned to the city street, yet unlike before, it carried a sound nestled amongst the whispers. A consistent drone barely audible through the audio dampening helmets. ¡°Northwest contact to North West scout, possible audio cue of a vehicle, please confirm, over.¡± ¡°Positive, Northwest contact. Subject is moving away from the building, over.¡± ¡°Rodger, over and out.¡± As the transmission cut, Northwest contact caught a glimpse of something. A figure atop a building, towering over the edge. The distance was too great to tell, yet whoever it was, their attention was square on the building. A grey coat. Coat tails swaying gently in the wind that betrayed no sound. Northwest contact moved to report the man, yet a transmission beat him to it. ¡°Southwest scout to Northwest contact, southwest contact, multiple fighting aged males spotted on the fourth floor of building 61, directly across from you.¡± Northwest contact painted the entire building with his eyesight, zeroing in on one window in particular. Glimpses of movement were visible, yet they were still only glimpses. Speculation at best. They turned back to where the grey figure stood only moments ago. Whoever it was, they were gone. Their finger danced around the trigger guard as anticipation readied their body for what could come. They turned their attention back. A fight would not come from a single window, and instead either multiple windows or by exiting the building entirely. Without concealment through smoke by or other means however, the aggressors be cut down with ease. Where was is going to come from? ¡°Southwest scout to all teams, small arms sighted. I repeat, small arms sighted in adjacent building.¡± The silence before the storm. With one final check over their rifle, Northwest contact raised it towards the building¡¯s bottom floor. Waiting as the seconds passed. They stood perfectly still in their armour, not a single joint so much as creaking. Only the slow, laboured breathing through the bulletproof gas mask. ¡°Northwest! Northeast! Vehicle to your left! High speed!¡± Northwest whipped their rifle left. The vehicle rounded the corner completely unmanned, heading straight for the middle of the street. Northwest and South West began mercilessly squeezing the trigger in an attempt of setting off an early explosion, but it was useless. The car flew towards them before tearing itself apart, each shred of scrap metal divorced from another. A thunderous explosion. A shockwave. A fireball. Northwest felt the repeated beatings in quick succession. The pounding shockwave succeeded by the rain of shrapnel. Yet that did not phase them. They were too heavy to be lifted by the shockwave, too dense for the metal to penetrate. Their gleaming eyes scanned through the smoke as it rolled off of their dented armour, clinging onto the metal as if it was a final, futile attack. Gunfire. Sixteen men at first glance turned to twenty and only kept increasing. A torrent of bullets pinged off of Northwest¡¯s armour, desperately trying to find a pinpoint through brutish trial and error. They returned the favour, the precise churning dropping three instantly as more kept on coming. Grenades, armour cracking bullets, makeshift explosives. A second stand-off had begun. Chapter 5 Part 4: The Court of the Beast A plan had been formulated by eight that morning. All hostages had been identified, and an assault was ready to proceed whenever the go-to was given. The absence of hostage deaths had given the impression that negotiations were working, but based on what Elvera had heard from Evalyn, she wasn¡¯t completely convinced. Demands had been relayed to Sidos, and in a rare turn of events, they had agreed to release some prisoners. Half as soon as possible, and another half when all hostages had been let go. Perhaps it was an attempt at keeping the alliance healthy on the part of the Sidosian government, or they had for whatever reason changed their rhetoric. If things panned out that way, Elvera could wish for nothing more. Hope for the best, prepare for the worst. Roughly an hour and a half ago, reports of an attack at the Sidosian embassy had reached the operation¡¯s headquarters. One guard had been wounded before reinforcements arrived, yet the area was still hostile. Elvera had dispatched a Platoon from the Royal Urban Task Division in addition to the Military¡¯s reinforcements, yet she couldn''t shake the feeling that one of her arms was tied behind her back. They weren¡¯t going to let her play her full hand unless they absolutely needed to. She had been given a desk only a few minutes ago. A fiercely annotated map of the local area, a personal radio and a telephone sat in front of her. If she was given the go to, she was determined not to waste any time in executing her plan. ¡°I need the rest of R.U.T.D. D company at the Embassy. Give them something armoured in case they need the cover. Yes, get A and B companies to set up at Tregar street, Hallwark avenue and Briget street. No, there¡¯s no direct line of sight to Salan court that way, that¡¯s my intention.¡± An attendant cut through the chaos of the makeshift office and made a beeline towards her, slamming a stack of paper onto her desk, before disappearing once again. Operation Alcove Persons of Interest, the title read. Elvera began to flick through the pages, looking for one name in particular. Jamie Welrod. According to the findings, he was a known S.H.I.A. operative since 1928. Before then, his name was present in military registries, namely as a member of the 42nd division. To Elvera, that in particular made a lot of sense. 42nd division was present at the Battle for Excala during the war ten years prior, Evalyn had said so, fought them too. One could only speculate, but the dates of his career change matched up with the war all too well. Perhaps his resolve had been broken by the armistice, maybe he was disillusioned by the new state and its views. Changing tides always drowned those left behind, and all they could ever do is kick and scream until their lungs gave out. ¡°Prisoner release in three minutes!¡± a beak shouted from the doorway before quickly scurrying to the next room. She heard him repeat himself like a public service announcement until he had exhausted the entire floor. Evalyn was already standing in front of the building where the barrier had been partitioned as if she were a sea-splitting prophet of sorts. Elvera decided to join her, if only to confirm the transaction would go smoothly. Upon exiting the building, she was escorted along a heavily defended pathway, weaving between oncoming foot traffic; everything from small supplies to soldiers and officers. Even though each window was still, her instinct told her to watch the building for any signs of movement. The difference in light rendered the inside of the buildings almost pitch black. The one day the Queen¡¯s planned weather patterns had backfired. She rounded the corner and found herself approaching the partition in the barrier. Soldiers were lined up against it, crouched with their rifles trained on every visible window. Evalyn stood in solitude, staring down the middle of the pathway. A scoured expression ruined her face, and her arms were folded over her chest. ¡°See anything?¡± Elvera said, walking up to Evalyn¡¯s side. ¡°No. Heard nothing neither, ever since that call.¡± ¡°You sure that¡¯s all he said to you?¡± Elvera asked as she tried to peer past the blinds for even a shadow of movement in the lobby, or maybe even a hint of a hostage, yet once again the sun betrayed her vision. ¡°Yeah. He¡¯s got something to prove, so his thinking is that we both need to be at our best. Do you think he¡¯s taking the piss?¡± ¡°No, that can¡¯t be it,¡± Elvera said, ¡°his methods everywhere else have always been too serious. Not straight-laced, but still to the point. He¡¯s not one to play with his food. Or at least we think.¡± The information was anything but conclusive. The only registries that included his name were a birth certificate and the aforementioned ex-military registry. The first confirmed his existence and the second felt tacked on, just to make it believable. Nothing else could be found on him but rumours. ¡°He asked me who I was,¡± Evalyn said, almost unsure of what she was saying. ¡°In a philosophical sense?¡± ¡°No, just a straight question. I told him the truth.¡± ¡°Did he return the favour?¡± ¡°No, but yes. He hid it, obviously, but parts of his answer felt genuine, especially when he talked about why he¡¯s doing all of this. Made it feel real, you know? Almost makes me wonder if my father really did have a point.¡± Elvera looked at Evalyn, expecting some change in expression, yet she found none. ¡°It¡¯s just another one of those situations, isn¡¯t it? The devil that takes everything from one person is the angel that gives everything to another,¡± Evalyn said, absolutely neutral, as far as Elvera could tell. ¡°I guess we all fall victim to that, don¡¯t we?¡± Elvera said, being the only person there able to share the feeling. She grabbed Evalyn¡¯s other shoulder, subtly pulling her closer. She figured the gesture of comfort was received with good intentions, yet seeing Evalyn so mature made her feel her age all the more. ¡°Here they come,¡± Evalyn said as radio chatter in their surroundings lit up with reports of the prisoners being released into S.H.I.A.¡¯s custody. The noise lasted for the better part of a minute before the centre blinds of the building began to lift. A pool of hostages was all but pressed up against the window, desperate for a way out. A mixture of Beaks and humans clamouring against the glass, their base instincts being their only motivation forward. Two men in grey coats pushed through the crowd, unlocking the doors, and releasing the torrent. They ran towards Elvera and Evalyn, making a beeline for the gap in the barrier behind them. They stood in the centre of the flow, carefully watching every hostage. She saw Evalyn unshouldered her rifle, racking the bolt and sending a round into the chamber, all the while not taking her eye off the crowd. Like a hawk, her gaze was focused, darting from one target to the next. She passed her handgun to Elvera, who took it and did the same, racking the slide back and pulling down on the hammer. Together they watched the crowd, all but expecting something suspicious. One fleeing hostage after another only shrouded the entire operation¡¯s perception. All eyes were on them, and everyone was utterly tunnel visioned. ¡°Do you see that guy? He¡¯s not running,¡± Evalyn said. Elvera looked towards the doorway and caught sight of the man refusing to follow the stream of people towards the beckoning soldiers. No grey coat on him, yet his expression didn¡¯t suggest he was a planted terrorist. He looked utterly terrified, not a shred of relief like every other hostage. He began to run. If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation. ¡°Where is he going?¡± Elvera whispered. The man veered off course, heading west towards the centre of operations. It all happened in a split second. ¡°Grenade!¡± Elvera shouted, raising Evalyn¡¯s pistol to her eye line. She squeezed the trigger, timing the shots in between running hostages. She hit her target twice in the back, an explosion of blood following each wound. He fell to the ground as a small, black ball bounced out of it. Elvera grabbed Evalyn by the shoulders and forced her down, ducking just in time. The explosion cracked the air itself, splitting sound apart in a single, all too familiar bang as shrapnel whizzed overhead, striking hostages and soldiers at random. Elvera breathed heavily, replaying the scene over and over in her head at what felt like a thousand times a second. The only coherent thought she could muster was gratitude. Gratitude it had been her that had done it and not Evalyn. She felt herself shaking as Evalyn picked her back up by the shoulders. ¡°Are you okay?!¡± ¡°Yeah¡­uh¡­¡± was all she could muster. A grotesque and mangled corpse had been thrown down like a gauntlet at their feet, beckoning her to accept the challenge. The operation would commence in ten minutes and every card, including Elvera¡¯s, was to be thrown down on the table. ¡°Check in,¡± was the last order Growler 3 heard before it all began. His breathing heavy, his heartbeat ringing in both his ears. His gun, the magazine, the charging handle, the hammer. All were in the right place. He though¡­no, he was sure. He was sure. He had to be. He blinked twice as the concealment fell. Plumes of smoke and ash manipulated by magic ran up the walls like rabid animals and clung on, as if they were really alive. He strapped on his gas mask hastily before the devilish mass reached his eyes. The wave of grey hit him like an ocean wave as he grabbed onto the shoulder of the man in front of him. As a train of soldiers, six or so strong, they began to move through the cloud, only being able to hope they still retained the element of surprise. A wall. Salan Court¡¯s western wing. He watched as his team lead found a window, the bottom of its frame knee height, just as promised. Team lead swiftly produced a small brown package from his metal plate carrier and stuck it to the window, using his knuckles to knead the clay-like substance onto the glass. ¡°West side team three, breaching in three, two, one, execute!¡± He didn¡¯t know who was talking, yet he heard several similar broadcasts. The package glowed blue as the clay expanded across the window-frame. With a sonic crack, the breach sucked in on itself, leaving nothing but the window frame in its wake as the brown package fell to the ground. The rabid smoke wasted no time in entering through the windows, as did his teammates. They vaulted the small ledge, just like they had trained, and began to spread out. Left, right, left, right and left again. He went right. The bathing area was their designation, a fact he remembered as his body sunk waist deep into pleasantly warm water. Fearing for the viability of his remaining rounds, he pressed on forward, with several soldiers on each side. Through the smoke, he found muzzle flashes beyond his visible range. Random shots with no aim, a foolish attempt at hitting something. He snapped to it, and so did many others. Six shots rang out, and he heard a body drop to the floor. Similar sounds began to echo across the entire complex as fighting broke out. Another muzzle flash, a body splashed into the water, perhaps one of his own, he couldn¡¯t be sure. Another, and another. He felt himself step out of the water when a long rifle entered his field of vision. The barrel visible, but not yet the wielder. He lunged forward, breaking formation to grab the gun. He pushed it upwards as it began to fire wildly into the air. Growler 3 fired into the general area in front of him, wary of the potential of a friendly fire incident. The body fell forward onto him, slumping dead like a felled log. The kid looked no older than twenty. Not much younger than him. ¡°Fuck,¡± Growler 3 muttered as pushed the body off of him, letting it fall into the bath. They pressed on until the smoke began to clear. He recalled there being eighty troops originally, with more from Special Operations arriving later. The west face had twenty soldiers, twenty of which were still standing. The smoke receded on the troops, but also on remaining hostiles. One up to his chest in water began to fire indiscriminately. He caught one man in the shoulder and another several times in the chest before he was put down. No lives were lost, but a capable twenty had rapidly turned into eighteen. And that was only the first phase. The remaining teams formed up and began to move in their lines once again. Sticking close to the walls, they reached their first staircase. A small doorway leading out into an enclave in the courtyard¡¯s arcade housed their staircase. Two formations, each of nine, stacked up on the left and right side of the doorway. The left point man watched the courtyard with his rifle, while the right undid the pin on a small canister. Growler 3 stayed in the middle of the line as he watched the smoke plume on the other side of the doorway. A Sidosian model smoke bomb that didn¡¯t plume nearly as much as theirs. Better for confined spaces. The two lines began to move, the first two of each line revealing small bracelets they had around their trigger hands. The gunners fell into position in front of the staircase to create cover as Aether interacted between their bracelets and their guns. Blue shields formed around their barrels, swirling into one another as the others took the opportunity to advance. A flurry of weapons swiftly made their way up the stairs, their boots creating a cacophony. Upon reaching the first level balcony himself, Growler 3 watched as the frontman swiftly executed a hostile that had run out of a room. Walking over the body, him and two others entered the first room, all tapping their bracelets twice before entering. Whatever happened to them didn¡¯t concern Growler 3, he walked straight past them and rounded the corner into the second, the person behind him pressed against his six. Tapping his bracelet against his waist, he whipped his submachine gun into the right corner as the next in line whipped it into the left. The bed in the room had no one beneath it, at least as far as he could see. Yet the corner did. Grey coat, straight ahead, small calibre submachine gun pointed directly at him. He squeezed the trigger just as his right shoulder was thrown backwards. A bullet hit his chest plate with the force of a freight train throwing a right hook, yet his bullets hit harder. His gun glowing blue, the average service submachine gun could shoot twice as fast, if only for a few seconds. He placed ten bullets in the man¡¯s chest in just under a second. Confirming his kill with two bullets to the temple, he swept the rest of the room rapidly. Two hostages, just as promised. Even if Deity division couldn¡¯t direct each team individually and all at once, their intel was good. He and the other two soldiers in the room moved to secure the two civilians, forcing them to the ground and tying their hands behind their backs with rope. The way it coiled itself around its target saved them the time and trouble of tying it themselves. They were immobilised in a hostile area, but extraction teams would follow as closely behind them as they could. He took point as the other two stacked up behind him. Not a second passed before he saw the team from the first room exit. ¡°On you,¡± he called out before reaching forward and linking up with the other squad. In the brief moment of respite, only now, did he notice what was in the centre courtyard. He had never seen one, not this small, not this close. The ones he was used to were unfathomably huge. This one was the size of the Spirits that had the ability and lack of intelligence to claw you to pieces on sight. The largest of the wild ones. Even missing its legs, the sight of it being propped up against a truck was almost immobilising. If humans had predators, the Higher Order Armour was the perfect representation. They passed five rooms before reaching number six through to ten. Number seven came all too soon. He stopped on the right side of the doorway, the hinges an inch away from his nose, while the other two members of his team stacked up near the door hinge. With a nod, the soldier across from him reached for the handle, turning it. Tapping his bracelet, he entered yet again. There was an immediate reaction. The hailstorm of rounds made mulch of the sturdy wood as the two by the door shielded their faces from the debris. His teammate abandoned formalities and kicked open what was left of the door. Growler 3 entered swiftly, panning his weapon metres in a single moment, visually scanning every nook and cranny, his eyes shifting rapidly, barely sustained purely by adrenaline. He heard shots right behind him, submachine gun calibre. His teammate¡¯s shots right on his six, most likely shots that had saved his life. The bed, movement. Always under the bed. He squeezed the trigger as fast as he could muster, the mechanical cycling action of his gun high on Aether hosed round after round into the mattress. He stopped for a fraction of a second, perhaps even that was too long. A bullet tore through the muscle above his ankle, the subsequent ones missing him as he fell to his knees. At this point, the fire was indiscriminate. He unloaded his magazine into the bed frame as he clenched his teeth, what felt like a years-worth of grinding in a few seconds. He couldn¡¯t even be bothered to confirm his kill as he ran out of ammunition. Clicking the now dormant trigger, he struggled to keep his eyes focused and his breathing level as he felt the wound through his gloves. Bits of flesh hanging, muscle tissue was exposed, but no bone. The bullet had gone straight through. He felt someone move his hand out of the way, tying pressure wrapping around the wound. A bandage. He winced as it was tightened, choking the wound of any blood circulation. ¡°You golden?¡± the voice said from behind. ¡°Yeah,¡± he said as he got up, the pain washing over him, turning into a burning white noise all over his body. Ever-present, but somewhat in control. The firing under the bed had stopped, but he checked just in case. Whoever was there, only a bloody mess of flesh and cloth remained. He turned and saw the hostages being placed under arrest and was all but thankful they were still on schedule. Leaving behind pieces of himself in the room, he reloaded and once again stacked up with the rest of his team. But a barrel stared back at his him. A person¡¯s head was in front of him, but even beyond that, a cavernous cylinder stared back. The size of an artillery cannon, yet no high-ordinance of the sort existed anywhere near here. He saw a fire light itself from deep inside the darkness. The sound didn¡¯t even reach his ears. Chapter 5 Part 5: What Could Have Been Elvera watched in disbelief as the West face of Salan court was decimated by sixteen bursts of seismic force. Her brain froze, and her body couldn¡¯t move from her desk. She tried to contextualise what she had just witnessed through the window of the makeshift office. Tanks? No, the streets weren¡¯t wide enough. S.H.I.A. had no artillery to speak of, and hell would have frozen over before the military were allowed to station an ordinance unit anywhere near the city. The truth clawed away at the back of her brain, she knew what that had been, but did not want to believe it. They had said that without legs, the machine wouldn¡¯t be able to fire. The recoil of the first shot would¡¯ve sent it tumbling to the ground. That was sixteen times just then. She got a hold of herself and stood up, joining the crowd that had already scrambled to the windows like a gaggle of school children. She stuck her head out, her mind unable to even remember the possibly of snipers. The bullets had punctured Salan Court¡¯s walls and demolished the buildings across the road. Debris was still falling from what couldn¡¯t even be described as ruins. Even calling it a pile of rubble would not do it justice. The door to the office slammed open, yet Elvera only realised once the person in question was standing right by her. ¡°You said that thing couldn¡¯t fire!¡± Evalyn shouted. ¡°That¡¯s what I was told!¡± Elvera shouted back, the sudden jolt bringing her back into the present. ¡°Who the hell told you that!¡± Evalyn roared; this time addressed to the entire room. ¡°We¡¯ve got nothing on that thing! We only assumed it couldn¡¯t fire because the legs weren¡¯t attached yet! That¡¯s what the design documents said!¡± an officer shouted back from amongst the crowd. Elvera scoured her short-term memory, replaying every single report from Deity division she had gotten up until that point. ¡°There had been a pilot in there for a while, ever since they propped the machine against the trucks¡­wait¡­they knew they couldn¡¯t fire it without the legs, so they propped it up against the trucks to mitigate the recoil. We assumed it was just an assembly procedure.¡± Evalyn gritted her teeth. ¡°What the hell is Deity division saying now!¡± she shouted towards the communication officers, the only ones still planted in their seats, headphones over their ears. ¡°The machine¡¯s crushed both the trucks it was supported on, and it¡¯s back down flat on the ground. Everyone, police, hostage, and terrorist who didn¡¯t evacuate in time are incapacitated¡­at least.¡± Evalyn turned and began to walk away. Elvera could barely react in time. ¡°Where are you going?!¡± ¡°Where do you think I¡¯m going?¡± ¡°You know what will happen to you if you go out there!¡± Their argument to everyone else present sounded as though Elvera was desperately trying to keep a leash on a zealous soldier with a death wish. Yet what would happen to Evalyn if she chose to mobilise herself was a far cry from that. Composed, Evalyn fired back, yet the tension peaked at seemingly almost every syllable. ¡°Then I don¡¯t care what in the damn world you do, who the hell you talk to, I don¡¯t give a rat¡¯s ass if you have to get the Queen to sign the paper herself. Get me out there and let me finish this!¡± Sick of it, Elvera grabbed her goddaughter by the collar, pulling her close and muttering into her ears, their eye lines threaded like chains. ¡°You¡¯re fighting the wrong person here. You know that¡¯s not your call to make, nor is it mine. If you aren¡¯t going to protect yourself when you have so much to lose, then I¡¯m going to have to do instead, even if it means beating the sense into you. Do I make myself clear?¡± Evalyn¡¯s eyes would not waver, yet her aggression waned, the heat of the moment subsiding in both of them. ¡°I¡¯ll make that call now; they won¡¯t resist this time.¡± Jamie¡¯s breathing calmed, and his grip on the controls waned as the bright sun shone through the peek hole, almost blinding him. The surrounding air was warm and stilted, and he could feel the sweat drenching his clothes. The heat of the engine right below him permeated through his seat as he looked around. Levers, pedals, the controls were laid out like that of a regular tank, yet the complexity was incomparable. A cockpit made for a single human, the layers upon layers of steel existing only to emulate their movements as precisely as possible. The pushing of a pedal, the pulling of a lever all ran motors that would shift the anthropomorphic structure at his whim, and he had used that to decimate buildings. The city would be easy. The cartilage of his joints was doing its best to keep his quaking bones in check. He was a difficult man to faze, let alone shake. The absolute power of the machine shook something primal from inside him, simply by virtue of being fathomable. The war had brought gods to bare, but the scramble for power and continental dominance had brought with it predators. Overbearing, massive fangs, things that Jamie had evolved to fear. This narrative has been purloined without the author''s approval. Report any appearances on Amazon. He felt the entire cabin shift upright as the crew began propping it up onto another truck. They¡¯d be working under gunfire, but the barrage had left them at a numbers advantage, he was sure of it. He grabbed the small handle at the base of the hatch. Pushing it then twisting, he opened the steel door, and a gust of fresh air hit him. Fresh as an urban war zone could get, at least. He was careful not to expose himself too much, he had little idea what sight lines he had opened with the damage to the wall, or the aerial precision capabilities of the attackers. He slipped out, his knees almost buckling under the drop, yet he feigned immunity to the shock. He reached for the pistol holstered in his coat, finding a matching magazine in the adjacent pocket. He pulled the slide back, checking if there was a round already chambered. Confirming it was empty, he slid the magazine up the mag-well until he heard the clink of the magazine release. Finally, he pulled on the slide, listening for the sound of the first bullet entering the chamber. The familiar routine was a stark contrast to what he had just accomplished, and it eased his nerves, yet his thumb still fiddled with the hammer. The fighting continued, but it was dying down. No matter the advantage that Aether gave to the enemy, numbers and defensive positioning were ultimately more important once the element of surprise and initial momentum depleted. Gunfire grew sparse as the first attack was repelled successfully. Their preparation had been thorough, yet it was still true they had lost a fair few men, enough that they likely could not spread themselves throughout the complex as effectively. ¡°Jamie to anyone remaining, once you¡¯ve cleaned up, find every hostage that isn¡¯t severely injured in your vicinity and re-secure them. We¡¯ll regroup in the ballroom and reassign positions throughout the complex with whomever we have.¡± Two hostages every hour sounded about right, considering the head count. The legs would not take long to attach, perhaps the hostages weren¡¯t even needed any longer. His higher-ups would most likely have his head, but by then there wouldn¡¯t even be a war to fight. He exhaled deeply, watching the sun¡¯s rays dance across the dust-filled air. He wondered if Hardridge was planning on entering the fray, or if she was already dead. Three hours later, Elvera watched Evalyn remove her trench coat, her figure becoming much more delicate than she could remember in recent memory. She hated the idea of treating her like a child, yet she sometimes could not help herself. Scars littered her arms, but all were several years old, none younger than her armour. After she had forged it, scars were but marks of a bygone age. On her other arm were the infamous markings, drifting from her shoulder to her wrist, depicting artistically an autumn breeze and the orange leaves they carried. She had told Elvera, once, that those maple leaves carried many meanings. Love, abundance, decline, death. Whichever one that the Wishing Whale had intended, even the woman in question didn¡¯t know exactly. ¡°Are you sure you want to do this?¡± Elvera asked from the doorway, knowing full well how hypocritical her question was. ¡°You always ask that when it¡¯s already too late,¡± Evalyn chuckled, folding the coat neatly, and placing it on the table next to her weaponry. A freshly serviced rifle, clips of rounded ammunition from an era before magazines were invented. ¡°I know, but¡­¡± Elvera started, she couldn¡¯t finish her sentence with any logical capacity, it was made up of her emotions, and only her emotions. ¡°You know that it¡¯s my choice,¡± she said, smiling. She turned to face Elvera, only chuckling when she saw her expression. ¡°Do you want me to tell you something embarrassing?¡± ¡°What¡¯s that?¡± Evalyn picked up her rifle by the hand guard, aiming it at the wall behind her, checking if the weathered iron sights were still level. ¡°This must¡¯ve been almost five years ago, after you and Elly had gotten close. He told me that no matter how he looked at you, you always looked more like a mother than a General to him.¡± That¡¯s because I¡¯m always around you when I see him, was what she wanted to say, yet the thought of admitting that formed a lump in her throat. ¡°So that must be why he thinks he can act so friendly when we¡¯re on duty. Remind me to show him why I¡¯m in charge next time I see him,¡± Evalyn laughed, taking a clip from the table beside her, and checking each bullet before loading it. ¡°Even so, when he told me, my first thought was that I couldn¡¯t agree more. I love who you are, and I know it¡¯s rude, but I catch myself thinking about what it would¡¯ve been like for you to have children. Or, maybe, what it would have been like for you to have raised me instead.¡± The last sentence, neither could look at the other in the eyes. Elvera could only bite her tongue; the love, and regret she felt towards her almost spilling in a way she couldn¡¯t allow. ¡°If I had known, I would¡¯ve done everything I could until I knew you were safe,¡± she said, knowing full well that the past was the past. ¡°I wouldn¡¯t have let Florence¡¯s last gift to the world suffer.¡± ¡°You loved Mum a lot, huh,¡± Evalyn said, fitting the clip to the internal magazine and sliding the rounds down the metal spine, into the gun. With a faint smile, she sent the spine flying with the flick of her thumb. ¡°She was the best friend I could¡¯ve ever asked for. So was your dad.¡± Evalyn smiled. She did so whenever she heard of her father before she was born. To both, it made his memory feel redeemable. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, I¡¯m talking nonsense,¡± Evalyn said, ¡°I don¡¯t mean to blame you or anything. Thinking about Iris made me think about how I¡¯m going to go about this.¡± ¡°You¡¯ve been thinking about her?¡± ¡°Can¡¯t stop as of late. Still thinking about how I¡¯m going to do this.¡± ¡°Parenting?¡± ¡°¡­yeah¡­.¡± ¡°No one knows. You just do the best you can,¡± Elvera said, casually. ¡°That¡¯s right, I guess. But right now, I need a General, not a mother.¡± Elvera sensed the tone change; the window of preparation was over. Elvera ventured closer as Evalyn stuffed the remaining clips into the various pockets of her pants. Elvera¡¯s body stiffened, and so did Evalyn¡¯s. They looked more like soldiers now, more than ever. ¡°Evalyn Hardridge, do you accept the terms of this business contract, issued by decree of the crown?¡± ¡°Yes ma¡¯am.¡± ¡°Under no circumstance shall you disclose the contents or parties involved in this transaction. You shall be given full support by Deity, and the handling of all mission objectives will now be at your discretion. Your mission is to neutralise all hostiles, arrest any surrendering combatants and retrieve as many remaining hostages as possible. Under no circumstance will you reveal yourself to anyone not currently standing in this room. Your base pay for this mission is five hundred thousand Ixa and another ten thousand for each successfully rescued hostage. Do you accept your mission?¡± ¡°Yes ma¡¯am.¡± They saluted each other, no more words were required. Evalyn walked past Elvera, brushing shoulders as she walked, the clack of her boots the only sound in the brief silence. ¡°Thanks again, Marie. I¡¯ll see you soon.¡± A warm, regal glow engulfed the room, and all Elvera saw upon turning around was a warrior of gold, clad head to toe in the most beautiful armour she had ever seen. No matter how many times she saw it, she would never grow tired of it. ¡°Come back in one piece.¡± Chapter 6: The Laws of the Woman Named Evalyn Hardridge Lieutenant-General Fredrick, I sincerely need you to understand what the situation is. We¡¯ve had an entire city street torn to shreds because the information you¡¯ve provided us was faulty, and the forces you¡¯ve sent weren¡¯t sufficient. I¡¯m hard-pressed to say that mine would be any better, yet you and I both know that what we need is something greater. A shuddering crashing alerted Jamie to the existence of the intruder instantaneously. This was no attempt at stealth, their presence was announced the moment they broke into the ballroom, yet so too was their attack. Before anyone with guns could react, three of them were dead. Every man with a weapon began to fire in the direction of the dust plume, yet nothing conclusive could be discerned. It wasn¡¯t the sound of bullets grinding flesh, nor was it the sound of them pinging off of steel armour. The dust settled as they stopped firing. Jamie watched as what he could only describe as an angel revealed itself to them. A knight, clad in golden armour from head to toe. Jagged, pointed plates scaled their entire body, the chest plate the only smooth surface, gently curving from the figure¡¯s chest to its waist. A grand whale etched into the unknown, invincible material. Presence overwhelming, beauty-defying nature, it was as if existing in the same room as them was the same as being handed down a death sentence, albeit with a warm smile and kind regards. The helmet looked as though it had removed the impurities of the human face. Elegant designs ran along the cheeks, and the eyes were but beacons of gold. The only human thing about the knight was the rifle it held in its hands, aimed directly at Jamie. No, there was one more thing. The knight¡¯s plume, long locks of bright orange hair. It was her, it had to be. I know your biases against these people are justified. If word got out about how we tolerate the men and women who use the Spirits¡¯ sacred power for themselves, we¡¯d be throwing off the delicate balance that our very society is founded on. They¡¯d accuse us of favouring humans, disrespecting the laws of nature, playing god, and we¡¯d see more than just our heads rolling. ¡°There are several hostages in the room with you, the rest are still in separate rooms. Twenty-three terrorists left, twenty-two, twenty-one.¡± Evalyn did not let up once, repeating the rhythm of firing, racking the bolt, and firing over and over. When she ran out, she loaded another clip in the blink of an eye while round after round bounced off her armour, falling harmlessly to the floor. She could see Jamie fleeing, but the hostages came first. A feverish man came running at her with a combat knife when he realised bullets weren¡¯t going to work, yet she couldn¡¯t be bothered freeing either of her hands. A limb protruded from her shoulder, grabbing the man, and wrapping itself around him. Without even flinching, she sent him crashing through the window, considering his last-ditch efforts to be a surrender. In another six seconds, eight people lay dead on the ballroom floor, and Evalyn reloaded her rifle. She walked out of the room, appearing to be in no hurry. At the door, she turned, a fist aimed towards the wall behind the hostages. A mass of gold decimated the wall behind them, exposing the entire room to the open air. The captured took the cue and ran as fast as they could manage. But I am telling you, Fredrick, in this messed up world we live in, god may as well be dead, so I¡¯m just turning to the next best thing. Jamie¡¯s only thought was to get to the machine. In his mind, no, he knew for a fact that was the only chance they had. Yet he was ready. He felt himself being pushed to the brink, being dared to offer everything he had in the name of what he knew was right. The sound of automatic gunfire was repeatedly snuffed out by single, well-placed shots. He could hear his plans crumbling around him, yet he did not despair. The beast had legs, and it was now fully capable of demolishing the entire city, just like she claimed she could. He would rival her; he was sure of it. She would follow behind him as he ran through the first floor. The corridors would give him cover unlike the courtyard. He ran, shooting vaguely behind him as his men rushed out to respond to the commotion. Most were executed before they even caught a glimpse of her. He watched as the shapes she formed divided and conquered entire groups of men. Using walls to block their bullets before finishing them off one by one with her rifle. Grabbing their ankles and dragging flailing bodies towards her. Anyone who got inside melee range was grabbed and thrown aside, their knives stripped from them and thrown towards anyone still shooting. Everything she did killed someone or rendered them powerless. He pushed the panicking engineers out of the way as he scrambled to open the hatch, entering the moment the gap was wide enough for him to fit. He seated himself and cranked the ignition, pulling as hard as he could. The engine spluttered and whined for what felt like a small, teeth-grinding eternity before roaring to life, the rumble shaking his core. We strip them of their humanity, monitor their every move, force them to become mercenaries, bar them from having children for fear of what they might birth, keep their identities secret for the sake of our reputations, and hope they keep their godlike power in check, else we have to take their loved ones as hostages and label them international criminals. This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere. Evalyn¡¯s crusade down the corridor of the first floor was devastating. As soon as she reached the second floor¡¯s first room, a barrage of bullets came from both her left and her centre. Blocking the bullets to her left with a golden wall, she focused her attention directly in front of her, placing shots centre mass. Heart, lungs, anything that would kill on impact or within a second or two. She used her other hand to push the wall away into the hostiles behind it. It morphed into cuffs, pinning their legs to the floor and their arms chained to the roof. Easy targets. She let them drop to the floor as she kicked the first room¡¯s door down. ¡°One in the closet, the other is right next to you, behind the door.¡± She sent a round flying into the closet, then another for good measure. The gargled screams from inside signalling her to start her next move, while another hail of bullets greeted her from the other side of the wood. She formed her right gauntlet into a blade and struck it through the flimsy cover, blood coating it by the time she reverted it to its original shape. The hostages, rife with fear sat paralysed in the centre of the room, helplessly staring at what they had to assume was their saviour. She stepped outside and headed towards the second door. The armour in the courtyard began to shift as the sound of its roaring engines reverberated around the court. Something from deep within told her to deal with the ringleader last. Yet, those with the power chose to stick by us. If we¡¯re going to take everything away from them, yet deny them the one purpose we¡¯ve given them when the people they¡¯re tasked to protect are suffering in front of their eyes¡­well isn¡¯t that just ignoring common courtesy? He centred the knight in his sights, aiming the oversized rifle directly at her head. He squeezed the trigger as the machine compensated for the recoil, just as promised. The gunshots were deafening, the entire complex shook as if the city itself was being bombed. The shells created craters where they fell. A cacophony of death, written by the ceaseless march of warfare. Yet, when the gun smoke cleared, a hand to match the size of the machine¡¯s mechanical ones stood in his way. A golden, divine hand. The bullets it had blocked fell to the ground, crushed and folded under their own force. The hand dissipated into a flurry of golden dust, and standing in the midst of that was the knight. Her heavenly visage soaked in the blood of what almost seemed like offerings. Aether and Diesel. He had seen this battle once before. He would not let it end the same way. Yet, when bullets ran out, he resorted to mechanical fists. When she did not even pay them any heed, he threatened the lives of the hostages around him. Even then, she would not let his touch reach them as they ran for their lives. Draining, just like Jamie¡¯s hope. It was not fair; it was not the work of Humans or Spirits. No Human this smart could not be this powerful, nor could any Spirit this powerful be so conscious. A force of nature, given sentience. It wasn¡¯t fair. It simply broke every assumption he could have or ever would have about the world he lived in. He of all people was outclassed. He couldn¡¯t even count it as a battle; it was a cleanup routine. This was routine for people like her, people who would step on ants like him without a second thought. What was he doing? Flailing around in a cold, lifeless replication of himself. An illusion of power, the one chance the regular world had at catching up to people like her. He stood no chance. He stood no chance. He stood no chance. He stood no chance. He stood no- General, if I wanted you to change the rules then I wouldn¡¯t be asking you like this, and if I wanted pity, you¡¯re the last person I¡¯d come to. I¡¯m asking you to make the right choice. The last room had been cleared, and Evalyn finally turned her attention to the beast in the centre of the courtyard. It was flailing, like an animal with nowhere left to run. She watched as it did, the shell casings and folded bullets littered the floor like the remnants of a child¡¯s tantrum. She knew by experience what the pilot was feeling. The realisation that the world was nowhere near as convenient as one thought. The pain that she had felt when she realised her father was irredeemable, the despair she had watched Elliot face when he realised that despite his overwhelming talent, he was powerless in the grand scheme of things. She began to release arms from her armour, wrapping them around each limb, each joint, each screw. Lightly, she applied force, slowly pulling apart the object as it tried its best to resist. Disconnecting limb from body, joint from limb, screw from joint in an organic array of life, of magic. She propped her rifle against the second-floor balcony¡¯s railing and lifted herself off the floor with the very tendrils she used to disassemble her enemy bit by bit. She unsealed the hatch, cracking it open as if it were a mere walnut. The meat inside consisted of just a single man; a helpless, disillusioned man. He stared at her as if he was staring at god. He stood, and they came face to face. Everything but the cabin fell to the floor, as the two finally met. ¡°Who are you¡­¡± ¡°I¡¯m the most powerful human to ever walk the earth.¡± ¡°I see¡­what does that god-like being fight for?¡± ¡°To live. I love to live. I will protect everyone and everything that makes me love living, and I will destroy anything that threatens that.¡± ¡°Hah¡­that¡¯s¡­pretty selfish.¡± ¡°Yes. Yes, it is.¡± Evalyn, in one final show of mercy, offered a hand, as if to say stop this, let¡¯s take you back. Yet Jamie refused to take it. They both knew he had nowhere to go back to. Who that had been, where that had gone, or how, it all remained a mystery. There were those who suffered in the world Evalyn loved, yet that was a given of life. To have what you want meant depriving someone else of their wishes. That was the base truth of the world. Until the imaginary, far-off dream of utopia became a reality, people would step on each other for all eternity. In the short life Evalyn lived, the short life Elliot had been given, the life that Iris had yet to experience, the life that Elvera still had left, she would be the protector of it all. She would shoulder it all. Even the unfortunate tales of those left behind. Yet Jamie couldn¡¯t take it, so he pressed the gun to his temple and pulled on the hammer. She knew it had happened the moment the bang signalled the end of the day¡¯s fighting, like the bugle on some far-off battlefield. Yet the hand remained outstretched. The offer of peace still stood, like the foolish notions of heaven and hell the living would force on the dead. Which had he gone to? I¡¯m asking you General, as your peer, as a citizen, as her shield against the very forces that suppress her. Mobilise Evalyn Hardridge. She is our hope. Interlude: Twenty Bullets Grain. Pebble. Stone. Cobble. The rock-hewn from great cliffsides was now laid along a road cutting through the town. With it came an ensemble of footsteps, all marching in unison. Faceless soldiers of a grey make. Brooding trench coats, rifles of wood and stamped steel, boots stained with dirt and grime. Their masks kept their face from the cold. Their pupils were forever wide, beaming like headlights. Droplet. Dribble. Downpour. The rain that flowed between the cobble brought with it a traveller. She weaved through the procession elusively, just like the rainwater through the sullen stone. I watched from my bedroom window as she approached. She did not break a single soldier¡¯s stride, not once, only stopping to check the sign above our door. She looked at me. Stared in my direction. Two glowing marbles, dyed with everything that one could imagine when the word autumn was whispered into their ear, oh so delicately. I panicked and tore myself from the glass, ran past the guest rooms, and fiercely descended the stairs. I stopped halfway, crouching enough to watch my mother in the lobby, greeting the lady. Trench coat, dirty boots, wood carved rifle. But she was different. She was beautifully distinct, despite her deadly appearance. Touchable. Fathomable. Down to earth. Gleaming, drenched orange hair and a marking on her cheek. A tattoo. ¡°That¡¯s Fourteen pieces for the night. Would you like breakfast as well?" my mother asked. ¡°No, thank you. I keep breakfast light.¡± My mother took the woman¡¯s coin and handed back a key. Her hands. The grime under her nails and between the small folds in her fingers. She did not wear gloves like the others. Skin. Human flesh. She began to approach, and for some reason, I ran up the stairs again. I ran to my room and waited, but I never heard her walk past. As quietly as I could, I knocked on her door. Three-o-seven. The rain had subsided to a drizzle but was still clinging to the window, begging to be let in. The grey had made way for moonless dark, and the soldiers had long since passed, perhaps achieving glory on a far-flung battlefield, or maybe the one I could faintly hear when I bought bread in the mornings. ¡°Come in,¡± the woman said. I pushed open the familiar doorway and entered the familiar room I had cleaned just that morning. ¡°Supper. On the house,¡± I said. ¡°That¡¯s awfully kind of you,¡± she said, not sounding appreciative. In fact, her words carried little emotion. She kept on wiping the internal magazine of her gun with a white cloth, carving the silver gleam back into the steel. She had taken off her trench coat, leaving only a wool singlet to cover herself. Her left arm was also marked. Maple leaves from her shoulder to her wrist. The tattoo under her eye was clearer now. A whale, diving. I placed the tray down on the desk next to her, feeling my way around wherever was too close to her, and too close to the edge. A mug of watered-down tea, a stale biscuit, and a note expressing my mother¡¯s well intentions. But I did not want to leave. She took notice after three seconds exactly. ¡°If you¡¯d like to make yourself comfortable,¡± she offered. ¡°No, no. Sorry for the intrusion.¡± ¡°By all means, it¡¯s your own home after all. I¡¯m simply a passer-by," the woman offered. ¡°You paid for your room and-¡± ¡°And you seem unwilling to leave. Am I wrong?¡± I could not argue with her. I felt as though if I did, she would give in and make me the fool. I moved over to the bed and sat down, careful not to crinkle the sheets I had ironed the night before. The oil lamp by her right arm kept the room in a state of suspension between the visible and the emptiness outside, and painted the wooden pillars and rafters hues of orange, just like her. It was as though the colour followed her wherever she went. ¡°I¡­¡± I started, unable to completely my sentence. The words getting stuck in my throat. ¡°Speak now or forever hold your peace. It isn''t every day you get to talk to someone with a gun who isn¡¯t trying to shoot you.¡± She spoke casually, not even bothering to look at me while she spoke. ¡°I just wanted to know if you¡¯re a soldier¡­since I want to be one when I grow up," I managed to say. Unauthorized use of content: if you find this story on Amazon, report the violation. She stopped her polishing for a moment and put the cloth down. ¡°How old are you?¡± she asked. ¡°Twelve.¡± ¡°I see. You¡¯ve got a good seven years to make that decision, use them wisely.¡± It wasn¡¯t the answer I wanted. Where was the motivation? The call to action? I wanted to hear it from someone who was right there, instead of from a monotonous, flat poster. I tried again. ¡°Why did you decide to become a soldier?¡± ¡°I¡¯m not one.¡± ¡°What?¡± She picked up her rifle, putting one hand around the trigger guard, and the other along the handguard. She pressed the buttstock into her shoulder, and her cheek right behind the iron sights. Expertly did she perform this, not a single wasted movement. ¡°I¡¯m not one, plain and simple," she repeated. ¡°Then what are you?¡± ¡°I¡¯m a mercenary. I¡¯m someone who refuses to swear allegiance to any nation, state, kingdom, empire, or theocracy, yet I still get paid for participating in conflicts.¡± A job description. It was certainly helpful, yet it irked me. ¡°How does that make sense? Aren¡¯t soldiers meant to fight for their country?¡± I asked. ¡°Like I said, I¡¯m not one,¡± ¡°I know that! But doesn¡¯t that go for anyone in conflict?¡± She barely reacted, simply stowing her rifle, and placing it down once again. She reached for a pouch on the other side of the table, next to the stale biscuit. Delicately, she removed its contents, worth the mass of two balled fists. Bullets, all of a uniform size. I could not recognise them. They weren¡¯t bullets my country''s soldiers used. They were foreign. Undoubtedly so. ¡°You¡¯re not from here. Why are you fighting in our war?¡± ¡°There¡¯s money to be made. Plain and simple.¡± I inhaled through my teeth, fully aware of the sleeping guests around me. ¡°How could you fight with convictions like that? They¡¯re not right!¡± ¡°Who says yours are?¡± ¡°What?!¡± I watched the woman produce several steel clips from her limp coats'' pocket. With her worked fingers, she slid bullets onto each clip. Bullet, words, bullet, words. ¡°I saw a poster on my way here. ¡®For your country! The birthplace of real patriots is in the army!¡¯ written across the top. Is that your conviction?¡± ¡°Yes, it is.¡± ¡°Why?¡± ¡°Because I¡¯m a citizen of my country.¡± ¡°Why does that mean you should fight?¡± ¡°Because it¡¯s who I am?¡± ¡°Who says so?¡± ¡°Everyone!¡± ¡°Why is that who you are?¡± ¡°Blood!" I blurted, "Blood connects me to my people, and my family connects me to the soil. That is why I want to fight for it." She finished loading her second clip and lined it up neatly with the first, dangerously close to the magazine well. It was as if she wished to make her intentions clearer than they already were. ¡°Blood connects me to my father, but it does not mean I want to lay down my life for him. My soil two hundred years ago belonged to a different people, of different blood and soil.¡± ¡°Why does that matter?" I said, "It exists now, and I need to keep it that way. I need to be a good citizen to keep things as good as they are now! That¡¯s what everyone says.¡± ¡°As good as they are now, huh,¡± she said, flashing a side eye at the cooling tea and ageing biscuit. She loaded her third clip, placing it next to the others. ¡°This country must mean a lot to you.¡± ¡°It does.¡± ¡°¡­have you ever been to another country?¡± she asked. I watched her as she reached for another clip. ¡°No, I haven¡¯t,¡± I said, shifting on my spot, wincing as I felt the sheets crinkle. ¡°One day, hopefully, you¡¯ll leave this town. You¡¯ll see other countries, other cultures, other people, and you¡¯ll realise they¡¯re all the same. They all cry, laugh, steal, hurt and fight. They just do it in different languages. The only difference is how they interpret their own humanity. Because that¡¯s what we are.¡± She finished her fourth clip, leaving the remaining bullets on the table. She picked her rifle up again and took a clip. ¡°We¡¯re all human, and we all have disgusting desires. Desires that trample on top of each other, crushing other desires under our feet.¡± She loaded the clip into the rifle and, with her thumb, slid the nuggets of death into the cannon with a guiltily satisfying click. ¡°So we create societies, organise ourselves so as to not tear each other apart. Then we do just that, on a bigger scale. The only constants in the world are change and conflict. Those who follow the wind, and those who are left behind.¡± She forced the bolt closed, sending a round into the chamber. The gun was loaded, ready to breathe death upon its enemy. I watched as her finger hovered around the trigger guard. The autumn orange had turned from the colour of an ageing leaf to the aura of fire. Fire that brought death. Would it bring my death, too? ¡°Twenty bullets. Twenty bullets I¡¯ve committed to my rifle. That is twenty people who will fall to my gun, my desire. I have one life, so that potentially makes twenty-one. Do you have that kind of dedication? Do you have that kind of fucking dedication to take twenty lives and risk your own?¡± I coiled backwards; my body subconsciously reached for the door. ¡°Why?¡± was the only sound I could muster from my mouth, my attention intertwined with the gun¡¯s invisible firing line. ¡°Why? That¡¯s because my desire is more important to me than anything, even the lives of twenty men. Twenty men like you. Just like you.¡± I felt her drilling through my flesh, burning bullet holes into me with those now recontextualised eyes. They were dyed with autumn, and that autumn had been dyed by the bloodstains of how many? Surely too many to count. ¡°Tell me, is your blood and soil worth that much?¡± ¡°Then¡­.then what do you fight for?¡± I asked. ¡°I fight for something only I could wish for. I will gnash my teeth, tear my skin from my muscle, and rip my eyes from their sockets if it means keeping that desire alive. And I think that is perfectly fine.¡± ¡°You would die for your desire but not your country?¡± She placed her rifle on the desk and checked the oil lamp¡¯s reserves. Taking the biscuit, she swivelled in her wooden chair to look out of the window, at the water clinging to the glass. Chasing her. Punishing her for what she had done. ¡°I¡¯d like to see a world where humans have no desire, where they get whatever they want without trampling over others to get it. I always wonder if it would really be better than the world we live in," she said. ¡°Aren¡¯t there those who fight for a greater purpose?¡± She stood up and drew closer. I looked for the vulnerability in her face, her wrinkles, but there was none. ¡°Those who do must be fighting for someone else¡¯s, and that someone else must be adept at leashing the fool.¡± I stood up, unable to take her proximity any longer. The warmth continued to exist. The fact that she was still human drew me in, drew me closer to her. But I could not face her. ¡°Die for what you believe in. Thanks for the biscuit. I¡¯ll see you again one day.¡± And so she did. Across the wasteland, she was the water that made mud of my beloved soil, and made a mockery of my blood and the blood of a promised nineteen others. I fell face first, not to the enemy, but to her. Her beauty. Her beautiful ideals. Her, and only her. She at least granted me that mercy. Interlude: Next Journey Jamie. Jamie, Jamie, Jamie. Dead in a pile of rubble, surrounded by a cemetery of his hopes and comrades. It was tragic, truly, almost to the point where he, as Jamie¡¯s sponsor, wanted to write his obituary. No. Hearing the ones others would write was just too entertaining. In truth, he had never anticipated Jamie to make enemies with the Wishbearer herself. An all-powerful being seemingly descending from the heavens to take care of one small domestic struggle, all because he had prodded the wrong beast by accident. It was truly unfortunate, and as the reports came in hour by hour, the details only made it even more of a tragedy. He, as Jamie¡¯s former sponsor, dutifully listened. He had been courageous to the bitter end, his Jamie, fighting tooth and nail for the greater good, the life he and his many allies thought was just. Who could not see him as an everyman¡¯s hero? A freedom fighter instead of a terrorist? Oh. He was straying into obituary territory there. But Jamie had not died in vain, nor would his cause fizzle out entirely. Ideas never died, and that was a fact that could be counted on. They were infinite sources of energy so long as there were people to carry the torch, but he was done sponsoring that cause for now. Greener pastures awaited, and new avenues of attack existed. Especially now that he had a face and name to put to the title. Evalyn Hardridge, the Wishbearer. Undoubtedly affiliated with Geverde in one way or another, it would not be long before he could finally meet her. His hero, his idol, his final hope. He knew they would see eye to eye, that they¡¯d find common ground and share a fundamental commonality, a single idea. She would see that the world was hollow, that the world just was and nothing more. She would see the need for reason, the need for morals, the need for right and wrong. She would help him, help him and his allies until utopia began. She would follow the hostages then; it was practically guaranteed. She would follow the trail from suspect to suspect and finally land on him. How he could not wait. The chaos in the city had subsided hours ago, and the sun was now on the other side of the sky. Even Elliot, who had stubbornly clung to his sub-machine gun the entire morning had traded it for cooking utensils once he had heard the reports on the radio. "The siege which briefly took hold of Salan Court this morning has left it, and the neighbouring buildings, in shambles. Along with explosions across several districts and an attack on the Sidosian embassy, this has been the largest attack on the city of Excala in the last decade. The siege allegedly ended when a second wave of Geverdian military personnel stormed the building, finishing off a weakened terrorist force and their main battlement." The reports had continued in a similar fashion all day, as fake nuggets of information was fed to the press, while the forbidden pieces were bought back. Or, at least Elliot could assume as much. No hostages openly mentioned any golden figures, nor any god-like warrior saving them. Sadly, this meant no praise for the woman of the day, yet Elliot knew the limelight was not exactly what she was after. The little girl sat next to the uprooted floorboard, curiosity keeping her glued to its vicinity, while fear kept her from touching anything inside. None of the guns were loaded, yet Elliot doubted she could understand that. She had been listening to the radio, patiently waiting for any mention of the woman she had tried so hard to protect, and Elliot didn''t exactly have the heart to tell her that she wasn''t going to find out anything that way. "Did she do it?" Iris asked. "What do you mean?" "The thing she wanted to do, out there. She said she''d be back after she was done, so did she do it?" Elliot pouted, wondering if paperwork, approving contracts and accepting payment counted. It was an easy answer though, Iris wanted to know about the more heroic aspect of the job. "Yeah, I think she has. She made a lot of people happy today." The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation. "But she made some people sad." "...yeah. I guess so. Did she make you happy?" "No." "Ouch. Don''t tell her that." "I feel weird. Like until she comes back home, I don''t want to do anything else. I''m afraid something will happen if I do something else." "That''s just worry, you''ll get over it soon." "When she comes back?" "Yes. When she comes back. Hey, tell you what. When she comes back, I know a way you can get back at her." "What does that mean?" "When you feel mad at someone for doing something mean, you can do something mean back at them. Wanna try?" Elliot, for a brief moment, thought of the morality that came with teaching an innocent girl the concept of revenge. For a brief moment. He at least held in his snickering while he explained her plan. Minutes later, the door handle turned and the house''s third occupant returned. Unharmed, yet drained. The weight of the past week had latched itself to both her tear-ducts, threatening to open the dams of exhaustion at the slightest bump in the road. Then she saw her ward. "Hi Mum!" The unintelligible mess of tears, slurred words and clingy actions rendered the grown woman paralyzed in the most embarrassing way possible. Elliot held in his laughter as his wife reverted to fulfilling her base psychological needs for the day. She noticed him approaching and caught on to what had made him laugh, yet she didn''t care. By both their memories, they''d remember the kiss as messy, and not in the passionate way. Yet it had been the first one in a while, so they took a brief moment to savour it. A brief moment. Iris watched from the doorway as Evalyn sat on the edge of her bed, polishing her rifle with a white cloth. She ran it across every surface inside and out, wiping the gleaming metal clean of black gunpowder. It had been fired, many times at that. Evalyn¡¯s hands paused and she looked up, finally noticing the small silhouette peeking out from behind the crack in the door. ¡°What are you doing?¡± she asked. ¡°You can come in if you¡¯d like.¡± Iris obliged and slowly opened the door. The overhead lights were dark but the bedside lamp was shining proudly, illuminating all it could while casting long shadows across the room. Iris tiptoed across the floor, her eyes trained on the gun as she sat down beside Evalyn. ¡°Did you kill?¡± she asked, unaware of how blunt her phrasing was. Evalyn flinched at the question, but otherwise took no offence. ¡°I guess so. But I came back, though. Isn¡¯t that what¡¯s most important?¡± Iris nodded, pressing up against Evalyn to feel her warmth as best as she could. They were silent for a moment, until Iris felt her headrest start to shake, ever so slightly. She looked up, and saw her guardian pursing her lips, her eyes shiny in the small light of the bedside lamp. ¡°What¡¯s wrong?¡± Iris asked. ¡°Nothing,¡± Evalyn lied. She dropped the cloth on the ground and lay her rifle against the bedframe, using her free hands to wrap them around Iris. ¡°I just can¡¯t stand how much I like you,¡± she said. ¡°Why?¡± Iris asked. It sounded like a good thing to her. ¡°Because. There¡¯s things you¡¯ll have to do that¡¯ll change you,¡± Evalyn stuttered. ¡°There¡¯s things you¡¯ll have to bear that¡¯ll be so, so hard.¡± Evalyn¡¯s embrace only got tighter as her voice grew less and less stable. Iris wrapped her hands around Evalyn¡¯s arms in attempt to return the gesture. She realised how often her guardian cried, how strong she was yet how weak her eyes seemed to be when it came to holding back tears. Maybe that was another part about being strong. ¡°So,¡± Evalyn said. ¡°One day it¡¯ll be your turn to do incredibly important things, and I will train you for it. I¡¯ll teach you how to read, I¡¯ll teach you how to write, I¡¯ll teach you how to fight, to love, to talk, to lie, to laugh¡­to be someone. To be¡­someone, okay?¡± ¡°Okay,¡± Iris said, not understanding the sentiment but fully understanding the warmth of it. Some number of days. One of the more optimistic of them would''ve counted, yet Kuarel Farehn didn''t count himself in that number. He could only be thankful that his usefulness came from his brain, not from hard labour. He fidgeted with his voice box endlessly, reaching his vaguely formed fingers further and further into the tiniest gaps. At this rate, his fingers would likely remember the shape of them. Sand. The voice box was never meant for sand. Yet he worked on sand, slept on sand covered bunk beds, saw sand for fucking miles. The only thing he could be thankful for, was that he had no need to eat the food riddled with sand as well. Out here. Higher Order Armour. In the middle of the desert. This wasn''t just one, they had the space to build a small army, and a small army to build it. These people were on another level. S.H.I.A played whack-a-mole with their oppressors, yet these people...these people played games of strategy reserved only for entire nations. Anyone could guess that''s what would happen when your city ran on slaves. He wanted to go home. Home at this point was but an outline in the distance. At this point he didn''t care where he landed. Any of the green on the other side of the Northern Chain Ridge would have been more than enough. Yet the thoughts in his head were mere fragments of coherent speech, even when he was ''living'' in what could be considered an oasis. The sand between here and the flat rock, the flat rock between the sand and the mountains, the mountains between the flat rock and home...how would that break him? How long would that take? He wanted to go home, but the sirens sounding the beginning of the day would never let him leave anywhere besides his itchy bunk bed. He wondered if the mailbox at the front of the compound really did work, or did it only ever deliver dead letters... Interlude: That Voice Inside my Head Oh, hello! Nice to meet you. What''s your name? ... Great! What''s my name? Do you get lonely sometimes? I do too! When I''m left all alone, and no one wants to spend time with me, I get really sad. Do you get sad? ... That''s great! I learnt a new trick recently. Wanna know what it is? Keep it a secret. Find this and other great novels on the author''s preferred platform. Support original creators! I can talk to myself! I know! At first, I thought it was scary too, but after a while, I didn''t get scared anymore. I spend all day inside my own head, and I never get bored. There''s so many doors to open, it''s always so fun! Wanna know how? Great! Close your eyes and imagine yourself. Here''s the tricky part. Not yourself when you look in a mirror, but yourself when someone asks you ''what do you like about yourself''? or who do you want to be?'' Can you imagine yourself? ... No? Oh. That''s sad. It must be sad to be a stranger in your own skin. ... You want to be friends with me? No, silly! I don''t want to be friends with you. People who don''t know who they are are scary. They lie. They crave validation. They do whatever people tell them to. They don''t need to be anywhere near normal people. ... I hope you have a good day today! Have fun! Chapter 7 Part 1: Humour Iris had no sense of humour. The quest for one had passively begun a week ago when an off-handed comment had piqued her interest. Supposedly, it was something strange or out of the ordinary that made one laugh. Twist words or a situation in a way one might not expect, and there you had it. She had agonised over it, day in, day out. Sitting in her guardian¡¯s office, she spent hours plotting what her sense of humour should be. A fair few times, she had doubted if it was even something she should be thinking too hard about, yet she simply did not know any other way. She didn¡¯t know what she found ¡®funny¡¯ when it seemed that everyone else did. The comedy routines she would perform in front of Evalyn Hardridge were all just as successful as that of a first-time stand-up artist. They¡¯d either fall on deaf ears or earn a mild smirk, a smirk with the word ¡®pity¡¯ written on both lips. So then, she looked for inspiration. Strange, out of the ordinary, unexpected. Sure, she could find those three things easily, yet she had a hunch that the nightly visit to the hallway in her dreams wasn¡¯t exactly what most considered funny. Her thoughts grew fragmented as she switched her focus to her sight. She knew she shouldn¡¯t, but sometimes she¡¯d catch herself, and it¡¯d look so pretty. Walls. They were there¡­barely. Their off mix of beige and grey looked solid, complete with stains and scratches, emulating the abuse one might find along the walls of any other all too affordable rental. But it looked ¡®solid¡¯, in the sense that theatre sets only looked solid without the context of the entire stage. The bristly, wine-red carpet had eaten away at her clothes like a cat¡¯s tongue carving meat from bone. The sickly, white lights illuminated every ugly surface of the space like a hospital ward. It was all a farce. A¡­where did she learn that word from? Why get close when you can curl up in the corner? Because she was scared. Because she was scared of what? Herself? She couldn¡¯t be scared of something she didn¡¯t know. Her eyes were wide open, yet she still couldn¡¯t tell. She still couldn¡¯t see. She still couldn¡¯t look beyond the doors¡­¡­¡­¡­¡­¡­¡­¡­. That¡¯s right. A farce. Something fake. She had learnt that word from when Evalyn was on the phone with someone. What was she describing? That¡¯s right, the doors! The doors that ran down each side of the hallway. She had called them a farce. She had heard her say it. That Iris¡¯s mind was a farce. The doors were there to prove it. Why would she try and hide who she was if she already knew? Why was she there in the corner? Curled up in the shadow instead of getting close. Was that her guardian? Her beloved Evalyn Hardridge? Private Detective and the world¡¯s greatest warrior? She couldn¡¯t see that far, even if she squinted. It was the end of the hallway after all. No one saw that far into the dark, not anyone. She had asked around and her answers had been conclusive. One hundred per cent of the one person who voted said so. She did not want to get closer, the figure in the dark was scary. Especially when she got excited. She didn¡¯t mean to be scary, Iris was sure of that. No. She wouldn¡¯t get closer. The foetal position was fine with her, it made her feel like she was in her mother¡¯s beating womb. Wrapped in a thin veil of flesh and veins. Why would anyone ever want to leave? Warm. Can you feel a warmth that you can¡¯t remember? Remember one that you never experienced? That was a funny thought. The figure in the corner was laughing through the white sheet over its face. Its voice was croaking, screeching. That counted as laughing right? Maybe that¡¯s how Evalyn laughed when Iris wasn¡¯t looking. When Iris wasn¡¯t around to see. When she was really enjoying herself. Bones creaking. Doors widening. The cold from the door beside her chilled the skin under her nails, begging feverishly for another body. Another one to keep the other Iris company, body half buried in snow. Her eyes weren¡¯t as bright anymore. They were still beautiful, in their own way. She was having fun, wasn¡¯t she? Was this what she found fun? She didn¡¯t exactly know, but the racing of her heart and the twitching of her muscles counted as excitement. Evalyn mimicked her, jolting and spasming. The white sheet sewn to her face drew new blood the more she moved, the more the stitches tugged at her skin. Open a door, Iris. Open your favourite one. She refused to open a door, opting for both her eyelids instead. Elliot¡¯s and Evalyn¡¯s bedroom was dark, but not pitch black. The silver moonlight provided just enough ambient illumination for Iris to see the faint glow of the markings in front of her. Almost as if the whale on Evalyn¡¯s face greeted Iris before she did. ¡°Nightmares again?¡± Evalyn cooed, her voice low. Iris felt it through vibrations in the pillows first and heard it through the air second. ¡°Yeah,¡± Iris muttered. ¡°It¡¯s okay. I¡¯m getting used to them now. They¡¯re not as scary as when I panic.¡± Evalyn frowned at the girl who had crawled her way into their sheets. An attempt at subtlety had been made, but the force of habit had caused Evalyn to notice the shifting in an instant, and most likely did her husband, although he feigned ignorance. If Evalyn would insist on taking care of it, then he would take the opportunity to sleep. ¡®Resourcefulness¡¯ was what he called selfishness. ¡°Were they especially bad today?¡± ¡°Yeah,¡± Iris muttered as she sank deeper into the mattress. It was noticeably softer than the guest bed she had commandeered recently, and they hadn¡¯t gone out to buy a new one yet. Being busy wasn¡¯t exactly the problem, it was simply one of those things that would slip their minds until it was time to fall asleep. ¡°I wonder why that is,¡± Evalyn said. ¡°I don¡¯t know, but you cooked tonight, so that might have been it.¡± If you encounter this story on Amazon, note that it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it. They both heard a loud snort from the other side of the bed. Quest for humour, complete. The Caney Apartment Complex was home to two families on the first and second floor, held as an investment on the third floor, hosted a minuscule bar on the fourth, and office space on the fifth. For as long as Iris had been there, she had been given free rein up and down each floor. The bar¡¯s door was often left unlocked, save for the chain keeping it from swinging open fully. Iris had tried to squeeze through once before but had been warned by Evalyn that if anyone saw a child in a bar by their lonesome, she¡¯d be the one getting in trouble. One day, however, she¡¯d be able to see the kaleidoscope of stained glass bottles up close and listen to the jazzy music in person, instead of through the floorboards. The floor below was nothing of note. The door had been locked, and even trying through the peephole, the lights were always off, and the curtains closed. It felt wrong to keep such a nice space unoccupied, yet when Evalyn had tried to talk economics, Iris had quickly decided that the capital gains weren¡¯t nearly worth the time and effort invested in listening. Evalyn had told Iris to lay off peeping on the families for her own good, so she hadn¡¯t. She herself wasn¡¯t particularly keen on interacting with the feral game that passed as children. Iris wasn¡¯t exactly full of herself, far from it. She just had standards, standards based on the fact that she almost exclusively lived around adults. She had asked Evalyn if they could get a colourful sign similar to the ones both families kept hanging from the front door, almost as if they were competing. Evalyn had failed to understand what was wrong with her current one, so Iris had given up. Two weeks. Two weeks spend holed up in the apartment complex. If she wasn¡¯t exploring, she was reading. Anything in the office that covered broader topics, atlases, or encyclopedias, she would be made to read. If she was not reading, she was doing other work. Evalyn had explained that even she wasn¡¯t sure of Iris¡¯s exact age, and it would be problematic if she reached the age to start secondary school not knowing that an addition symbol was indeed not the crosshair on a sniper scope. And so, they had been following the curriculum together, cutting the fat and memorising what would be assumed prior knowledge. Yet Iris could not help but prefer the last activity she had been trying to keep consistent with. Between classes and her work, Evalyn had been teaching her to draw. With the sketches of Evalyn¡¯s armour as her muse, Iris had been trying her absolute best to string together abstract rectangles, triangles, and circles into something resembling a human. Apparently, as long as the sketches made sense to her, that was all that mattered, but cutting corners wasn¡¯t exactly going to do her any favours either. ¡°The one thing that bothers me, Iris,¡± Evalyn started after a prolonged silence. For ten minutes or so, the scratching of pencils and filing of cabinets had been the only sound coming from inside the small archive. ¡°Is the fact that your hair goes poof when you¡¯re about to attack.¡± ¡°Why¡¯s that a bad thing?¡± ¡°It¡¯s not a bad thing in itself, except imagine you were fighting me, and I saw your hair begin to disappear. I¡¯d immediately know something¡¯s about to happen.¡± ¡°It won¡¯t be so bad once I make my armour,¡± Iris said, focusing on her drawing. ¡°Yes, but we still need something in the meantime¡­what¡¯s the most amount of hair you¡¯ve ever used at once?¡± Iris grabbed a length from her side, measuring her way up the silver strands with two fingers, as if they were the blades of a pair of scissors. ¡°About ten centimetres?¡± she guessed. ¡°It¡¯s the amount I remember using for that one time you chased me through Sidos.¡± ¡°Memories¡­¡± ¡°I thought you were trying to kill me.¡± ¡­ ¡°I uh¡­was just wondering if you think you could use a significant portion of it all at once?¡± ¡°For what?¡± ¡°Just make the easiest shape you can think of with it. Maybe the size of your fist.¡± ¡°How much?¡± ¡°Let me show you,¡± Evalyn said as she put down the files she was sifting through haphazardly on the nearby shelf. She came up behind Iris¡¯s chair and gathered her hair in a ponytail, running her hands down the length of it until she came to her shoulders. ¡°About here, everything underneath here.¡± ¡°Okay, I¡¯ll try.¡± Iris closed her eyes and concentrated. Small shapes that only used an equally small amount of hair had started to become muscle memory after entertaining herself with it for hours on end. Anything larger required clear concentration on the object itself. Her growing comfortability had meant panicked visits to the hallway were less frequent, but by no means non-existent. She felt the ends go first, and slowly worked her way up towards the guideline Evalyn had put in place. The image in her mind was consistent, if not barely. Naturally, with more matter came more volume, but her instructions to keep the object small had been clear. Cramming that much in so little felt dangerous. One wrong move, and she¡¯d let the entire thing burst free, and with that much matter, she wasn¡¯t sure to what size it¡¯d grow. Closer and closer, she inched towards Evalyn¡¯s hands, the one consistent stimulation to her senses. With every passing moment, the image in her head fluctuated, turning into something of an imperfect oval, rather than anything perfectly spherical. ¡°Open your eyes,¡± Evalyn said. ¡°I can¡¯t. The image is going to crumble.¡± ¡°If you take a look at it, it won¡¯t just be an image anymore,¡± Evalyn suggested as Iris felt the office chair spin halfway. Iris did one last do-over of the shape in her mind, before greeting its real form. Imperfect, just like everything else she made. That wasn¡¯t exactly a surprise. But it hovered in front of her, roughly the size of her fist. ¡°If you keep a significant amount of matter in this state, you can form it into whatever shape you want, without giving the enemy a heads up every time you do it. It¡¯s still imperfect, sure, but it¡¯ll suffice once you¡¯re able to forge something more complex.¡± Iris kept her attention beamed on the object. The uncertainty that had come with its creation had not lessened a single bit. ¡°That thing is really dense. I don¡¯t know what¡¯ll happen if I drop it.¡± ¡°Fair point,¡± Evalyn said as markings along her arm gleamed underneath her thin sleeves, ¡°I¡¯m not exactly in the mood to explain all this to everyone who lives below us.¡± ¡°Not to mention Elvera.¡± Evalyn bobbed her head in nervous agreement, moulding with her hands a catch for the object. ¡°Drop it. I¡¯m fairly certain I can keep it up,¡± she said as she knelt, putting both hands underneath the platform. ¡°What if it doesn¡¯t hold it?¡± ¡°Then let¡¯s both hope you can will it out of existence before it reaches the floor. We¡¯ve got to find out how heavy it is.¡± Iris gave in, as she had gotten used to doing. The more and more they prodded, the less and less they went wrong, especially with Evalyn around to minimise any potential damage. ¡°Alright, three, two, one, now.¡± The object dropped in an instant, creating an ungodly sound as it slammed into the catch. Evalyn, almost caught off guard, summoned her strength and kept the meteor just centimetres from the flimsy wooden floorboards. They both stayed still for a moment as Evalyn regained her bearings and slowly rose. ¡°I can hold it up if I will it to, but by my own strength, I¡¯d probably have my arms torn off. Forget about using it as a source, just hit whoever you¡¯re fighting with that.¡± ¡°You always say to make sure people can have an open casket funeral when they die.¡± ¡°¡­fair point.¡± The catch and the object floated in between them, an ominous mix of different coloured shapes. Iris decided that she¡¯d have to drop it on solid ground and see how much damage it actually did before using it. Perhaps a different shape was more suited, one less condensed. ¡°Before, you get rid of that, let me go get a mirror.¡± Evalyn skipped out of the room, a strange movement for her, and after only a few moments, she returned with a small mirror one would only ever use for makeup. Something that Iris could not for the life of her picture Evalyn using. She held the mirror up to Iris¡¯s face, and Iris¡¯s reflection stared back at her. The length of her hair had shortened to her shoulders, altering her look significantly. She swished her hair around, the lessened weight making it much easier to move her head. Better for a fight. Evalyn¡¯s mind was far from the combat advantages of the look, however. ¡°You need to work on the cut, but short hair suits you as well. Makes me so jealous, though. The fact that you can choose whatever hairstyle you want that day makes you a thousand times cuter.¡± Iris blushed, her mind itching to find a catalogue of different styles that she could experiment with. Perhaps this was another way to figure out something else about herself. And that was exciting. Interlude: Senior Captain Elliot Maxwell Crop dusting. That¡¯s where I started. It¡¯s hard to track how one thing led to another over the years, but that¡¯s undeniably where it started. Watching my dad fly in his bright yellow biplane, wheels almost touching the ground my mother and I had worked just the morning prior. I could never get close, but I remember him looking back at me, thumbs up, as I grinned helplessly at the sight of him. Those same crops were on fire two weeks later. Spirit attacks had grown rampant in neighbouring villages, but we never thought they¡¯d reach as far as our village. ¡°Spirit! Spirit!¡± the old cobbler yelled from the village entrance. ¡°Is that big thing a spirit?¡± I asked my father as he ushered me forward, my mother in his arms. Unconscious, but safe. ¡°Yes¡­yes, it is¡­¡±. I know looking back, this sounds clich¨¦, but if a Spirit like that could even make expressions, I could¡¯ve sworn I saw one of agony. For a moment, almost as if it was being scorched by its own flames. No, that wasn¡¯t the case. Four days later, we came back to the village. The buildings had been blackened into a state of unrecognisable decay, and the Spirit lay where it had screamed. Bullet holes riddling its beautiful body. ¡°Mommy?¡± I remember asking. ¡°Can you tell me that story again?¡± ¡°I need to help your father replant the crops, so maybe another time.¡± ¡°Please?¡± I asked. I remember being a handful, but I don¡¯t remember my mother ever lashing out at me. If I was horrid, I¡¯d blame my narcissism on her, but she¡¯d usually let me have my way unless it was destructive. ¡°Oh, okay fine, but I¡¯ll keep it short,¡± she said sternly, keeping that gentle smile on her face. Slightly disgruntled, she sat down in her woven chair, and pondered on where to start reciting from. She always did this. She still does. The wrinkles on her face grow as she tries to remember details. But, without fail, she would always start her stories well. *** ¡°And because that Chieftain had the ability to control Spirits to his will, he became the most powerful hero amongst the humans. However, he believed that true peace wouldn¡¯t be gained just because he had such an overwhelming power.¡± ¡°So, what did he do?¡± ¡°You know that already.¡± ¡°Tell me again!¡± My mother giggled at my frustrated face. She teased me as smoothly as she stroked my head, lulling me into an early sleep. You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story. ¡°So, the beautiful Spirit Queen made a deal with the Chieftain, that she would stop attacking humans as long as he was never seen in the realm again.¡± The ending had never sat right with me. Why was the Spirit Queen so beautiful, virtuous, and godly, if she attacked people, and only stopped when one brave hero sacrificed himself for it? She got up from her chair and headed for the doorway, a brand-new door propped up against the wall next to it. The wall itself was only a week old. ¡°Hey Mommy?¡± ¡°Hmm?¡± ¡°Are Spirits bad?¡± ¡°¡­¡± She took a moment to respond, choosing her words and their meanings carefully. For her generation and for that country, it was a rare sight to behold. When it came to Spirits, few held their tongue. ¡°They¡¯re like a force of nature. That¡¯s for you to decide,¡± she said as she smiled at me one last time before heading outside. I remember the same boring classroom several years later. Somehow, after only a week since the last attack, the same damp musk had returned to the flimsy wooden walls, and the blackboard still had countless generations worth of chalk rubbed into it. The one thing that had been saved in the chaos. The lights above us threatened to spark out every minute or so. The place was a fire hazard, but class had to stay in session. I sat there, unresponsive, spinning my pencil with one hand while the other pretended to crush the teacher¡¯s head with just two fingers. The teacher might as well have been talking to statues. None of us were listening. ¡°Spirits gain life force from a substance called aether, it is unknown to us where it comes from, but their survival off this substance is what gives them unique anatomical properties, and what separates them from animals, and us humans.¡± I feigned interest. ¡°As you all know, the Spirits of the region of Sidos are extremely aggressive and are a threat to the human population. Over the next few days, we will be¡­.¡± That¡¯s roughly where I tuned out of the lesson. I don¡¯t remember much else. I had been one of the lucky few. With a small family and little to my name, it was easy to come out of an attack unscathed. Compared to those who had lost family, homes, livelihoods to Spirit attacks, I had zero investment. I just knew they were bad because someone had told me they were. Did I hate Spirits? No. But fighting them was a matter of business. It was justice. The right thing. That¡¯s what people like me were supposed to set out to do. The rumbling of the diesel machines I flew only a few years later would be the trumpets signalling me onto my virtuous crusade. Sometimes, I miss being young. The one thing I got right, was the fact that everyone needed a reason. Mine was to prevent disaster. Save lives. Be selfless. Yet how intangible is that? When do you get to feel success? When do you get that rush of validation that really lets you know what you¡¯re doing was worth it? Pilots are the closest you¡¯ll get to one-man heroes, and even they¡¯ll never get a standing ovation. No, the reason I fought was to prove myself. To show everyone that I was the best. That was good enough. More than good enough. First. That was something real. The rest would come after that. That was me, Major Elliot Maxwell of the Sidosian White Devils, Spirit Hunting Corps. Chapter 7 Part 2: Keep it a Secret The man had once been vomited on by a girl too young to be at the bar counter. It had ruined his third pin-stripe suit, her sparkling silver dress, and his appetite for visits to such loud establishments ever again. Less of a one-off event, and more of a last-straw situation. He had always preferred the preeminent¡­ambience that came with even a decent cigar lounge, even if he preferred to use the pipe stashed in his suit pocket instead. Yet his clients often preferred the former. His most vivid memories of those places would be that one bar encounter, yet they also hosted party lounges, dancers with legs half the length of their body, the loud kind of jazz with trumpets that would split your eardrums. It was rowdy, vibrant, and exciting. And when the main stage would shine at its brightest, when the trumpets would blare at their loudest, the backdoor dealings were struck in the shadows. And today was no different. The dress code had warranted the finest suit in his arsenal. Three-piece, made of breathable mohair, full canvas lining in a gleaming navy blue, topped off with white gloves and felt hat to match. He had even refitted it boxier to follow the recent trends. It was not in the hopes of impressing anyone, it was simply the level his next workplace operated at. Networking and cocktail parties. A resort only for those who even had their socks tailored. If money had a capital, it was here. The independent city-state of Fadaak rose far above the surrounding desert, with buildings they had coined Skyscrapers. He often found that these establishments would be a beacon of noise on a relatively peaceful night. Yet here, there was barely an audible difference between the club and the outside world. The city never slept as long as there was money to be made, so it was the right choice he had come here for that exact purpose. The joint, if he could use his own admittedly dull, colloquial term, was a grand tower of sorts. A circular design surrounded the dance floor, bringing those who wanted to show off to the centre with lights and music, and pushing away those with shadier intentions to the upper balconies. He could already see those with the actual money occasionally peering over the marble railings. The crowd he was amongst were the tourists, seeing as many were human. He skipped out on the fun for today and pressed on towards the spiral staircases. ¡°Reservation, sir?¡± the staff at the base of the stairs asked. ¡°I believe there is a table for two listed under the initials L.C? If I¡¯m not mistaken, third-floor table sixteen.¡± The staff member checked the listing on the glass lectern beside him. His features seemed relatively normal, perhaps slim compared to the average person. Well-fed in comparison to many others. The man expected no less from a staffer working the front. Impressions mattered in these businesses. ¡°Ah, yes, I see your reservation. Would you like someone to guide you perhaps?¡± The man could barely hear the staffer''s voice over the music, as it reached its ear-splitting climax. He simply declined, not wanting the hassle of whatever the staffer was offering. With a bow, he was allowed to pass. The stairs gifted him an intriguing, elevated perspective, perhaps another factor in the club¡¯s success. As he ascended, the dresses and suits became more exotic, the alcohol more fragrant, the lighting darker, and the sound more bearable. The commotion downstairs became more akin to the movements of an ant colony, as the stark day turned into sombre twilight. A thin veneer of cigar smoke wafted through the air as clinking glasses and humble conversation took over his ears, soothing them into a false sense of security. The subject matter was anything but humble. Talks of large sums of money and power changing hands from one elite to another. Yet the man was an elite in his own right. He did not feel much intimidation whatsoever. He breathed in deeply, feeling the smoke travel down his throat. The unmistakable smell had been part of his daily life, but he could still not see how breathing it in was at all healthy. Yet it did calm him. It cleared his mind. The crowd around him flashed glances. Most were not uncouth enough to stare, yet his presence sent visible ripples. Galaxy eyes on a head far too big for its body stared at him from two rows across. Behind him, he could have sworn a green glob in a glimmering dress was examining him with unanchored, pin-prick eyes. Some were as tall as two men, with the number of arms to match, while others were wide as if they had eaten six children daily through their chubby, fleshy mandibles. One who did stare did so with wide eyes and a stretched smile that wrinkled their face. Forget uncouth, their stare felt like divine judgement. Spirits. All of them. His vision glided across the floor until he found a table marked with an iridescent number sixteen. Perhaps the glow was functional in some way, or perhaps purely for show. Either way, it enticed the man''s attention as if it was a canine happy to see him. Sitting down, he noticed the relatively remote position of his seat. Stuck quite close to the back wall, the nearest table to him was a good few metres away. The sound was not abhorrently loud as it was downstairs, but over the chatter and tinkering, he could barely hear his own voice at a murmur. The table had been ordered under his name, but at the recommendation of his client. They were clearly familiar with the venue. Speaking of his client, he had yet to find anyone who stuck out as a candidate approach him. He was a tad early, granted, yet he had expected the other party to arrive well before him. Things were usually safer that way for the client. For all they knew, he could leave at any moment he pleased. Simply saerching garnered no results. When the entire room stood out in one way or another, no one did. If his client were human, he could discern them by perhaps a fast walking pace, searching eyes or by clothing that concealed their features. In fact, if they were human at all, that would be quite telling in this situation. Love what you''re reading? Discover and support the author on the platform they originally published on. These thoughts ran through his head quickly, meaning it did not take him very long to realise what he had been missing. ¡°It¡¯s bad manners to keep a date waiting,¡± the man said, casually turning his head from the staircase to the opposite chair. As he had expected, a figure stared back at him. Hollowed-out eyes and a long white nose. A Beak. He had not seen one in a while. ¡°I apologise for my late arrival, yet I needed to be sure it was the right person. I hope you understand.¡± Not many Beaks could still do that nowadays. Without a mask and clothing, Beaks of many years ago could blend into shadows, quite literally disappearing into ones that were not pitch black already, dying them several shades darker. Old Geverdians would say that a jet-black shadow in the morning would spell death that same night. ¡°No need to be so formal, I understand.¡± ¡°Please, drinks on me,¡± said his client, raising his hand as a milk-white suit began to wrap around his body, better contrasting himself with his surroundings. The waiter spotted their table and briskly walked over. A female staffer this time, again on the skinny side. The man guessed wrapping his index finger and thumb around her wrist would leave an uncomfortable gap. ¡°Vilqui with tonic water and a¡­¡± ¡°Whiskey. Rhodesian.¡± ¡°Rhodesian Whiskey.¡± ¡°Right away,¡± said the waitress as she left. The client turned around, his back comfortably resting on his chair. Relaxed, yet the man sensed the expression was fabricated. Nonetheless, he played along. ¡°I don¡¯t mean to start with business, but recently I¡¯ve been pulled along like a puppet in the hands of a child. Every direction all at once. Horrible really. Because of that, I even missed out on Genesis Day celebrations.¡± His client calmed as he injected some precious extra seconds into the interaction. The man was not all business either, and so he played along. If anyone had all day to run around in circles, it certainly was not his client. ¡°I¡¯ve attended celebrations a few times over the years. My local festivals were quite large, but I¡¯m sure they were nothing compared to old Spirit Countries.¡± ¡°Far East sure know how to pull off a festival. Every Spirit that can walk and talk has gone on a pilgrimage around that time of year. Brilliant. Would you ever consider trying?¡± ¡°No, their anti-human laws are quite strict.¡± ¡°Mighty shame, that is. Here¡¯s to seeing it at least once,¡± he said as the waitress returned with a silver platter. A bottle of tonic water paired with a tall glass filled with ice and Vilqui, and a stout glass of green Rhodesian whiskey on the rocks. They toasted, drank, and felt the drink run through their bodies. ¡°Vilqui¡¯s popular,¡± the man observed. ¡°One of the few bloody drinks that have any sort of effect on us. Tonic water is just so we can feel it go down. Alcohol was god¡¯s apology for not giving you lot magic.¡± The man chuckled dryly, unsure how to respond. They put their glasses down and smacked their lips. ¡°Now, I said I¡¯d get down to business, so I shall. I¡¯ve got a job for you. I want you to find someone.¡± ¡°Find someone? Missing person cases go to the police first if you haven¡¯t tried that already.¡± ¡°No, not missing. I have gotten an inkling that this person may be in the city sooner or later, and I want that person found.¡± ¡°And brought to you?¡± ¡°No, just found. We only need confirmation that they¡¯re in the city.¡± Not a missing person and not a headhunt. Although the level of caution his client was taking fit the bill, the man had doubts that a lowly stalker would choose such a club as his venue of choice. If they were of such a vile nature, they wouldn¡¯t think to ask for his services, let alone would he offer it to them in the first place. But what intrigued him more was the slip-up in wording. ¡®We¡¯. ¡°Is it information you¡¯re after? Or the person.¡± ¡°Both, really. I want to confirm that the person I¡¯m looking for has the traits we are looking for, then I¡¯d like to know if they are in the city.¡± ¡°Why then did you say both? That only sounds as though you¡¯re after information.¡± ¡°You needn¡¯t worry about that. I will contact them myself once your job is finished.¡± An unpaid loan to a shady bank, perhaps. It was no secret even the most upstanding banks in the city had no issues with rolling up their sleeves when it came to repaying loans. And god knew the demand for such loans was vast. ¡°How much can you tell me? For what reason am I looking for this person?¡± ¡°I cannot tell you that. It is outside your task. All I need is for you to find them, and report back to me. Simple. Do we have a deal?¡± The man picked up his glass, sloshing the green liquid gently around the block of ice. The green fluid filled the ice block''s magically engraved images. Depictions of the desert, oases, the city. The block clinked against the glass. His cue to finally say something. ¡°I¡¯ll give you a straight answer once you tell me who I¡¯m looking for,¡± the man said. ¡°I¡¯ve got a feeling I can¡¯t do much without at least that.¡± The Beak chuckled, lifting his mask to take a swig of the drink. The fizzing of the bubbles mixed with the whispers of something magically intoxicating. Intense, distilled liquid Aether. Enough overload a small creature¡¯s body in seconds. More a drug than alcohol. ¡°I don¡¯t know if you have heard of the concept, but Aether magic isn¡¯t all that exclusive anymore.¡± ¡°Go on.¡± ¡°And I don¡¯t know if that¡¯s strictly good or bad. I just know some folks want heads on pikes over it, and others only see the benefits.¡± The man pulled in closer as the Beak reciprocated, his mechanical voice growing quieter as he adjusted the knob inside his mask. Their suits grew tight around their shoulders as the world seemed to cave in until it was just their small, private realm of secret dealings. Of matters greater than man or Spirit. ¡°I want you to find Evalyn Hardridge. I want you to know if she will be in the city a week from now.¡± ¡°Didn¡¯t that lady you scared say they gave the hostages to the country across the mountains?¡± Iris asked, body lying the wrong way across her office chair. Even drawing had become tedious for the day. ¡°Scared? Oh, you mean interrogated.¡± ¡°Interro¡­Intreroga-¡± ¡°She did, but that doesn¡¯t exactly narrow it down,¡± Evalyn explained, pinning another note to the vast array already stuck to the corkboard, like an assortment of taxidermied butterflies. ¡°There are two countries on our northern border, and the countries don¡¯t exactly start proper once you get to the coastline. The Giant¡¯s Shadow takes up most of their land masses.¡± ¡°What¡¯s that?¡± ¡°The desert. The Northern Chain Ridge is so tall, any rain coming in from the south is blocked off, and rainwater comes towards us instead of flowing down the other side. So, Giant¡¯s Shadow.¡± ¡°Didn¡¯t they mention another organisation? Like S.H.I.A?¡± ¡°Yes, but every country has one of those now. Sometimes, I wish they would calm down; it just makes my job messier.¡± ¡°Why?¡± ¡°Foreign entanglement. You¡¯ll learn about it one day.¡± Evalyn turned towards the open windows. Her hands were stained with pen ink, but for the first time that day, they were empty. Iris watched as the sunlight fell on her face, golden hour making it all the way through to the cream-coloured walls. Contrasting shadows stretched themselves across the room in a binary dance of opaque black and vivid orange. The room had been painted with a new wallpaper that would shift ever so slightly. The kind of glow that would make you want to stay stuck in traffic just a few seconds longer if it meant being able to bask in it. ¡°Let¡¯s call it a day, shall we?¡± ¡°Yeah, let¡¯s.¡± Interlude: Hell and Back The following text is an excerpt from a document held in the Aerilian City Archive. Believed to be a religious work from roughly 600 years ago, this text details an ancient tradition involving ritual suicide, and unconfirmed return from the dead. Many local folk tales corroborate this text, yet all significantly predate it by at least one thousand years. It is unclear if this text is based off of these folk tales, yet many researchers find it likely. - Excala Mueseum: Aerilia exhibition, 1927 I will not speak, for he will judge not my voice. I will not move, for he will judge not my body. I will not think, for he will judge not my cunning. Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation. I will fall silent, stay still, remain absent-minded. Complete calm will befall my body, my mind, my soul. I will reveal to him my truest self, untainted by thought, words, actions. He will find me and judge me. In the burning pits, fuelled for all eternity, he will decide if I join the others, or if I should live. And I will live. He will grant me power, for I have seen death. For I am unfit to die just yet. And I will return stronger. With fire that burns on water. That torches our enemies until nothing is left of them. That shapes metal and melts stone. That burns glass and kills air. Smoke that chokes out the sun, that fills lungs and bursts them. I will walk through flames barefoot, dance with the embers until I can no more. I will fulfil my purpose that he set out for me, and then I will die. Chapter 7 Part 3: Bring Your Wife to Work Day ¡®Bring your wife to work day¡¯ was what some of his co-workers would call it. The inexplicable frequency at which Elliot¡¯s wife would show up to his workplace as if she belonged there baffled many of the unaware, which happened to be all of them. At first, they had all assumed it was a one-off event, yet after the tenth time that month, most had grown suspicious. After six months, they usually gave up trying to explain it. Even if most of the personnel on the Steel Whale got more frequent visits home due to its proximity to the city, many were jealous of how often Elliot and Evalyn would meet. He was just glad they weren¡¯t the type to salivate at the mere sight of a woman. They were not the Navy¡­ ¡°Now I¡¯d like to turn your attention to the difference in these two flight paths, which we¡¯re assuming are the same two fighters in different situations. Now, see what happens when our man over here is placed in the defensive role and breaks too late. The bandit follows, they spiral, and our man over here isn¡¯t very happy once the bandit is tailing him and hosing lead-¡± He spotted a student at the back of the metal classroom of twenty recruits. A kid by the name of Marshall, if he could remember correctly. Blond boy, neat cut, young but chiselled and well-defined. He was probably everything Elliot wasn¡¯t in high school. ¡°Oi, Marshall. I get this is basics, but your ass needed to learn how to talk to someone before you could flirt with them, so pay attention,¡± he scolded, sleep still in his voice, and not an ounce of disciplinary enthusiasm. ¡°Sir,¡± he said, still staring out the wall-spanning window, ¡°there¡¯s a civvy car on the main beltline.¡± Elliot looked out the window to the class¡¯s left. It opened towards the large cavern between the Steel Whale¡¯s two interior walls. A mess of pipes, beltlines and rooms that would shift from place to place. The main beltline usually carried supplies and aircraft to take off or maintenance. This time, there was, indeed, a non-military vehicle on one of the platforms. ¡°She¡¯s kinda hot.¡± ¡°She¡¯s my wife, and also a pain in the ass.¡± ¡°She¡¯s your wife?!¡± An uproar from the classroom broke the bored silence as the twenty recruits struggled to comprehend the fact that their bleary-eyed, unkempt flight instructor had indeed experienced a woman''s touch. He shushed the mob, and the noise disappeared. He could sense the anticipation for a possible insight into his private life, yet he held his ear up in anticipation of something else. Tense silence. ¡°Senior Captain Elliot Maxwell, please make your way to the bridge head office. I repeat, Senior Captain Elliot Maxwell-¡± ¡°Ah, for fuck¡¯s sake. Welp! Class dismissed everyone!¡± He dropped everything and left the room, pretending to be unaware of the jeering, disappointed gaggle stripped of their daily dose of gossip. Elliot relished the chance to make a trip to the bridge. He had taken the path to becoming a flight instructor, but many of his old squadron were his seniors and had risen the ranks quickly, all the way to the bridge. Anyone lieutenant colonel and higher lived up there, only thirty metres under the roof runways. Practically a penthouse. The steel walls and metal pipes had been hidden behind plaster facades, tasteful yet minimal decoration and mellow carpets of soothing colour. Even if the lack of natural lighting always irked him, it was a nice change of pace. He headed straight through the lobby, much to the displeasure of the receptionist. He had given up after about the tenth time, much like all the other residents. He never came to the bridge uncalled for, yet when he did, he would not pay anyone much heed. Much like a stray cat, they had all gotten used to seeing him every so often and treated his presence as a phenomenon of nature rather than one to greet and promptly kick back to the lobby. Two lefts and a right later, he came across the door he was looking for. He knocked, then knocked again. He tried once more just to be certain. ¡°Oh Brigadier General Sir Francis Molaine? There¡¯s a man here to see you,¡± he said. ¡°You know, when you talk like that, there is no point in bothering with the honorifics, you bastard.¡± Elliot took the muttering from the other side of the doorway as his welcome and stepped inside. In the heavily decorated office, a lump of a man sat amidst a sea of documents, their colour not too dissimilar to sea foam. Each stack of misaligned paper created prickly columns that plucked at the man¡¯s uniform like sea salt on an eyeball. Their contents, on the other hand, could not be described as colourfully. Schedules, permission slips, promotion applications, reports, a buffet of different flavoured paperwork, and he was utterly full. Every page of word soup had filled his head with white noise, yet it was not as pleasant as rolling waves and more like radio static. His office reeked of someone holding onto the past. Framed photographs of himself with his old squadrons dotted the room, to the point Elliot could find himself in at least six different places. Models of the aircraft he had flown over the years lined his desk, everything from the current Aether-condenser aircraft to old piston biplanes. Cut-outs of every insignia he had ever worn and newspaper clippings of every battle he had been a part of. To the uninitiated, it looked like an impressive display of personal achievement. Yet Elliot knew Francis was the last person to relish the past, he was simply holding onto it, rueing the day he took the promotion. ¡°Don¡¯t even ask,¡± he mumbled, defeated. ¡°How¡¯ve you been?¡± Elliot asked anyway, resting against the doorway. ¡°You know how I¡¯d joke about flying being our nine-to-five?¡± ¡°Sure.¡± ¡°I take that back. Those brave office workers on the front lines have it way worse than we ever did.¡± ¡°You¡¯d better get down on your hands and knees for that one. They¡¯re a vicious bunch.¡± ¡°Gladly. How¡¯re things?¡± ¡°Not too bad, you must¡¯ve heard already.¡± ¡°Taking care of a kid? Yeah, Elvera didn¡¯t shut up about it the first week. Every single time there was a gap in conversation, she¡¯d fill it with Iris this and Iris that.¡± ¡°And yet she refuses to be called grandma.¡± ¡°That sounds like her,¡± he chuckled, straightening himself up in his chair and unwrinkling his uniform. It shared more in common with Elvera¡¯s now than Elliot¡¯s. The only difference was that he rolled his sleeves halfway up, showing off the impressive amount of arm hair rivalled only by the manliest of lumber-jacks. ¡°I¡¯d like to meet her one day. She must be about the same age as Violet.¡± ¡°We think. Not sure of her actual age, yet.¡± ¡°Sounds like a legal quagmire. Kids at that age are strange. Vaundry had no clue what to do when Violet started to talk back at him,¡± he said, mentioning one of the pilots in the various photos. He was pictured next to Elliot in a nearby photo. Slim, yet rough around the edges, with round glasses. Had been a family man since day one. ¡°Knowing him, I bet he cried.¡± ¡°Don¡¯t let him hear you say that.¡± ¡°Why?¡± Enjoying the story? Show your support by reading it on the official site. ¡°Because it¡¯s true.¡± They both scoffed. The conversation made Elliot feel aged. Perhaps his fate lay in preparing lunches and gossiping with other househusbands. As far as he knew, Francis¡¯s interest in women wasn¡¯t all that strong, Elvera being the only one he talked to consistently. The skies had been his one true love, and now even that relationship had been strained. ¡°How¡¯re things apart from work? Do you get home often?¡± ¡°Not this week, I¡¯ve been too caught up in work.¡± ¡°How much paid leave do you have?!¡± The man thought for a moment. ¡°Has to be about a year¡¯s worth now.¡± Elliot sighed with his entire body. ¡°Get a girlfriend,¡± he said. ¡°I can¡¯t believe I beat you in that category.¡± The old man chuckled, the ash grey of his hair not taking kindly to years of fighting with his helmet for space on his scalp. It made Elliot feel weary, as most grey things did. He looked at a friend, of course, but the other half of his brain could not help but prod him with the notion that this was his future. He would no longer be the best one day, yet he did not want to see himself go out in a blaze of glory. He could not afford such childish notions of heroism. ¡°I¡¯m glad you did, Elliot. To be honest, I didn¡¯t take you as that type of man when I first met you.¡± ¡°What type of man?¡± ¡°Family man. Actually, I didn¡¯t take you for being very compassionate at all.¡± ¡°My wording back then was definitely...spicier.¡± ¡°Spicy? My boy, spitting razors didn¡¯t begin to cut it.¡± Elliot fumbled awkwardly, his gaze falling on the photograph of him and his squadron. The black and white did not even begin to unearth the layers of his character, and seeing it frozen in time was sobering, to say the least. What would it feel like to look at the Sidosian squadron he flew with all those years ago? ¡°What was it you said back then? Something about flying because you were the best, and someone, somewhere would always need that.¡± ¡°Still got those same rules, Sir,¡± Elliot replied. ¡°Ah, no. That¡¯s all well and good. It¡¯s why we keep you on our payroll.¡± Elliot felt his back instinctively straighten as Francis stepped closer in an awkward stroll, unsure of how to word things. The words weren¡¯t making it past his throat, let alone his moustache. Between the photographs and Francis¡¯s grey hair, Elliot felt the origin of his disdain for the colour grey on the tip of his tongue, as the guilt danced from tastebud to tastebud. He wanted to wash his mouth of the feeling, reset his mind-workings and forget he ever thought the thought. ¡°But I was relieved when you found somewhere to settle down so early. Even more so, now that you have Iris. When you¡¯re old and grey, and the delusions of fighting for your country wear off completely, it¡¯s those people that come to cradle you when you¡¯re feeling alone. Your military...hell your country isn¡¯t going to give you a hug. Just medals...and welfare if you¡¯re lucky.¡± Old and grey. Elliot did not disdain what was already old, he disdained watching things become old. The ceaseless flow of time roared with all the might of a trickle, the sound of a faucet left half running. Forgotten, unnoticed, yet ever-present. Unnoticed until the aircraft landing would hurt his back, unnoticed until a manoeuvre¡¯s pressure forced him to lessen his aggressive habits, unnoticed until one day, he¡¯d be sitting at his office desk, churning away at paperwork. His wife was super-human, and he often forgot that he wasn¡¯t. They had promised to protect each other, but what would happen when the old and grey ash cloud soured his lips and filled his joints with gunk? Careful. You might just lose yourself again. You don¡¯t want that happening, do you? He felt a calloused hand come down hard on his shoulder, jolting him out of it like a flash of divine lightning in a sea of grey clouds. Ash clouds. Grey clouds. ¡°You heard what I said, didn¡¯t you?¡± ¡°Yes sir, I did.¡± ¡°Make sure they never want to leave you. No matter what.¡± ¡°Yes sir. They can¡¯t survive a day without my cooking.¡± The hallways were sickly antithetical to those that burrowed through Iris¡¯s mind, making her wary of every step she took. Her feet weren¡¯t bare, yet the carpet still felt soft. The lighting was artificial, yet it didn¡¯t illuminate every ugly detail. There were doors, but they wouldn¡¯t send whispers into the gaps between her skin and muscle. It almost felt like a sick joke, aimed solely at her. Perhaps that was another sense of humour. The last time she had entered Elvera¡¯s office, it had been up and over, stopping by at the watch tower overlooking the air deck. She hoped future visits would take a similar route. Her office was one floor above and relished the sudden return to an industrial aesthetic. The walls were riveted, and pipes running from one end to another were humbling. The separation between the leader and her soldiers existed, yet in that separation existed solidarity. Evalyn grabbed the large knock-ring welded to the steel door, using minimal effort to create a sound reverberating throughout the space. ¡°Yep,¡± Elvera called from the other side. Evalyn pressed the door open, swinging it aside with an accidental excess of force. Iris walked through the gap and found herself in the familiar arrangement. An ¡®out of order work in progress¡¯ was what her office felt like. The room had decided to be furnished when the scaffolding had only just been completed. Yet the polished desks, tables and shelves all seemed to relish the out-of-the-box design principles. Or rather, thinking in a box with no walls. ¡°You¡¯re early, I¡¯ll ask for that announcement now,¡± she said, picking up a pond green phone on her desk and dialling three numbers. Iris looked at the object, and a blank space in her knowledge became prevalent. ¡°Is that phone using magic?¡± ¡°Uh...I think I remember hearing that the ones on the ship are. They wanted something more private than wireless radio signals, but if the ship gets damaged, regular phone lines might be cut, and there goes precious battle communication. So, these use Aether, the same as ours. We didn¡¯t want a phone line leading people directly to our home.¡± ¡°What about the ones in the city?¡± ¡°The city uses regular phone lines. They used to be on forms of Aether communication, but it wasn¡¯t widely available. Telepathic Spirits aren¡¯t exactly common, and by the time synthetically reproducing a Spirit¡¯s magic was available, they¡¯d already gotten schematics for phone lines from us. Sidos, I mean.¡± ¡°Synthetically?¡± Evalyn stretched her arms above her head and strolled to the closest chair, tucked under a round coffee table for two. ¡°Just means that Aetherologists could take the way a certain Spirit used Aether to create magic and replicate it. Then, all you needed was a patent to infuse that magic into things like Elliot¡¯s beloved stove or our FrostBox. Made things...industrial.¡± A drone sounded over the speakers, followed by an equally enthusiastic voice. ¡°Senior Captain Elliot Maxwell, please make your way to the bridge head office. I repeat, Senior Captain Elliot Maxwell-¡± Elvera put the phone back in its cradle and got up, her figure silhouetted against the backdrop of the blue sky behind her. If there was one thing Iris could appreciate, it was the wall-wide window behind her desk. Often, she would stand in front of it, staring out for miles. Everything from the ground beneath her to the clouds above was visible. ¡°Why are we calling for Elliot?¡± Evayln asked as the Lieutenant General waltzed over, sliding into the adjacent chair. ¡°I need to speak to all three of you about this. The case you¡¯ve been working on since a month ago.¡± ¡°The Farehn case?¡± ¡°Yes, that. This has got to do with the missing hostages in general.¡± ¡°You¡¯ve found them?!¡± Iris noted the break in composure. A rare sight from Evalyn when something regarded work. ¡°Not exactly found. S.H.I.A¡¯s political representative only knew so much about the dealings in that organisation, but we¡¯ve been able to narrow down their likely location to one area.¡± Elvera stood up once more and headed towards her bookcase. Her speech then became directed towards Iris, instead. ¡°The Giant¡¯s Shadow is split into two rough countries. Prestia to the east and Drakaq to the west. Their funny naming is because they¡¯re mainly Spirit-dominated, especially Drakaq. It¡¯s less of a country, more of a land denoted by its neighbours as...how do I say this...crazy barren Spirit land that will probably get you killed¡± ¡°Smooth,¡± Evalyn scoffed. Elvera came back with a map she carefully selected out of several, laying it flat across the coffee table and using Evalyn¡¯s elbows as paperweights. ¡°And we think that the hostages are in there, mainly because we can find one pro-human militia there that may be in the market for Higher Order Armour.¡± ¡°Are they trying to fight the Spirits in the desert?¡± Iris asked, feeling as though she was catching on. Elvera winced and tilted her head left and right in a gesture that denoted a strong sense of maybe. ¡°Most of their forces are escapees from Fadaak, the city-state at the edge of Drakaq. They¡¯re probably using the desert as their home away from home. Wherever that may be, is what we don¡¯t know.¡± Evalyn looked increasingly uncomfortable with the prospect, although Iris didn¡¯t know why. ¡°In return for allowing us to investigate their city for clues that would save us surveying the desert, they¡¯ve asked for military aid and training to combat the increasing effectiveness of said militia, which is where Elliot comes in. It¡¯s only a week before he gets rotated out, however.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t like this,¡± Evalyn finally spoke out. ¡°I know, me neither,¡± Elvera agreed, much to Iris¡¯s confusion. Up until this point, the plan had sounded entirely reasonable. However, their concerns didn¡¯t lay on the map, their adversaries or the desert. Their concerns and their focus lay squarely on her. ¡°What?¡± Iris asked. ¡°I don¡¯t want you going here, Iris,¡± Evalyn said, matter-of-factly. ¡°Sidos was bad enough and you¡¯re a citizen. ¡°Fadaak isn¡¯t exactly a kid-friendly destination, nor is the bloody desert.¡± Two of her guardians were unconvinced, and the third one wasn¡¯t present to counteract them. ¡°But I¡¯ve been training!¡± she said, knowing it would do little to sway their favour. Their unconvinced faces and awkward stares began to pour their disappointment into the cavity in Iris¡¯s chest. Staying here. No. That couldn¡¯t happen. They were both going. Evalyn would go there, and she¡¯d get in trouble again like she always did. It didn¡¯t matter if she called it work, she¡¯d...she¡¯d die! She¡¯d die! That¡¯s why Iris had to come. She can¡¯t take care of herself without Iris there to stop her from doing anything rash. What would Elliot be doing? He¡¯d be forced to work for people he didn¡¯t know while Evalyn was off by herself, how would that make him feel? Think, think, think! Somehow, someway to make sure she came back with no parts sewn back onto her breakable body. To find out the reason why the back of her mind would see her tearing apart while she wasn¡¯t looking. Wait? Why couldn¡¯t she just go with him, Elliot? Why couldn¡¯t she just... That didn¡¯t feel right. Why didn¡¯t that feel right? It didn¡¯t feel right... Guilt. A pang of guilt and the feeling latched on. The cat-tongue carpet. The white-washed walls. The small thing in the corner. Hair shorter, blacker, physique boxier, as far as the darkness would let on. ''Why would you reject me?'' said the thing, so ingrained in her mind the words couldn¡¯t even come across as speaking to her. Interlude: Business as Usual Introduction Hello, and thank you for choosing Workar Help and Labour services. This brochure comes with every order of our product, giving you a deeper perspective into what you can expect from our company and its practices. Here at Workar Help and Labour services, we take the production of our help seriously. While many admittedly more affordable options provide a similar service, there is a reason why they''re so affordable! Treated like simple machines, Help and Labour can often degrade, wear, stress and eventually become burdens overtime. We believe any waste of life is inexcusable, and so we ensure our Help and Labour lasts for as long as possible. Much like other live animal products, our Help and Labour are regularly fed well, relaxed, and given ample space and freedom to ensure a positive mindset towards life and their future work. Social interaction is also key, and while our specialised and humane breeding program ensure the best of the best arrive at your door, giving them the choice of whom to interact with is an important step towards keeping them happy and healthy. A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation. What can you do? Once the ownership is transferred to you, it is up to you to make sure your Help and Labour is kept in tip-top condition for your daily needs. However, if you''re a first time owner, don''t worry, we''re here to help! 1. Continue the practices that we have fostered. If there is too large of a shift in lifestyle, this may cause unnecessary stress. It is best to avoid this if you are looking for sophisticated help. 2. Time outside is important. If you do not give your Help and Labour breaks, consider giving them errand tasks that require them to take time off outside. Do not worry, our Lost and Found unit will recover any lost products in the case of an emergency. 3. Get several! We aren''t just saying this to sell more, we promise! Having co-workers can be a very big help in keeping your Help and Labour healthy and happy. Having friends is always fun, same goes for our product. If you have any questions regarding us, feel free to contact us at our Fadaak City office, 52 Fakohel street, Business District one. Remember, a happy Human is a hardworking Human. Buy from the best. It just makes sense! Chapter 7 Part 4: For the Crown A knock travelled from the entrance to the window wall, the sound travelling like a shockwave, knocking Iris back into herself. She turned, as Elvera gave permission to enter. The door opened, and a scruffy-looking man in military uniform entered. At the sight of him, Iris got out of her chair and ran in his direction. She ran to him without slowing, but the scratchy carpet taped to the inside of her skull caused her to hesitate to touch him. ¡°They¡¯re trying to stop me from going!¡± she said, pointing an accusatory finger at the two concerned overbearers. ¡°Tell them I can go!¡± She watched Elliot look at her, then back at the table, then back to her. ¡°Where are we all going?¡± he asked. ¡°The desert.¡± ¡°Well, that¡¯s a tough bargain, isn¡¯t it?¡± Elliot told Iris as she continued to run on the spot, jittery. He knelt to her level and put his hands on her shoulder, calming her as if his palms were sapping her energy. ¡°What¡¯s your sales pitch? Why do you think you should go?¡± he whispered. ¡°Because if I don¡¯t go, she might get hurt,¡± Iris reciprocated. ¡°But you know how strong your mother is, there isn¡¯t much you can do,¡± he said. A tinge of guilt flashed across his face as if to take back what he had just said. ¡°I guess we¡¯re both in the same boat...can you think of another reason you should go?¡± Iris thought, but her brain was frozen still, reeling from the flashing, intense sensation. The feeling, the anxious itch still present. Wait. ¡°My visions. I died in some mountains.¡± ¡°I thought you said they were the Karaxian mountains. They aren¡¯t anywhere near where you¡¯re going.¡± ¡°But they might not be! Elvera said there¡¯s a lot of old Spirits in the city as well, maybe they¡¯ll know who I am.¡± ¡°So, you need to go, to find out more about who you are?¡± ¡°Yes. Yes!¡± she said. Her share of the brain told a white lie, the rest told the truth. ¡°...alright. I¡¯ll be on your side. But you need to promise me one thing in return. Okay?¡± ¡°What?¡± she said, unconcerned. As long as she had hope. ¡°...One day, you become strong enough to protect yourself, as well as Evalyn. Okay?¡± Iris grew still, the newly painted grin vanishing. She was set on the idea already, yet hearing it come from someone else felt strange, as if the presence of the idea had gained a lot more weight. She could feel it on her shoulders now. A clear thing, hanging from a chain attached to her aorta. ¡°Okay,¡± she said, ¡°I promise.¡± Elliot stood up, turning Iris around and holding her shoulders. ¡°I don¡¯t see a problem with her going. She needs to find out if the mountains in her dreams were the Karaxian range, and Fadaak is a good place to learn about Spirits. Even when you can¡¯t protect her, her powers do. If it turns out to be too dangerous, I¡¯ll come and pick her up straight away.¡± The two still looked unconvinced. ¡°Do you really think they''ll take an explanation a second time? They¡¯ll accuse you of not training her properly.¡± Iris was confused as to what they were talking about, or who ¡®they¡¯ exactly were, but it seemed as though the words had a sort of effect on them. Evalyn¡¯s worried gaze turned back to Iris. It was still one of reluctance. She stood from her chair and walked over, dropping to her knees and taking Iris¡¯s hands. ¡°You know that you¡¯re not going to fool me,¡± Evalyn said, ¡°but Elly has a point...I need you to keep working for me,¡± she said, with a strained face which Iris could not grasp the meaning of. ¡°I need you to promise me that you¡¯ll stay right beside me, all the time. When we walk, when we sleep, when we run, when we rest, you¡¯re never to leave my arm¡¯s reach. You understand?¡± Iris nodded as Evalyn rose to her full height again. She turned to Elvera with an apologetic look. Elvera sighed and furled her map once again. ¡°Look, as long as you bring her study books,¡± she said. ¡°Elliot, I need to fill you in on what you¡¯re doing. Oh, I hope you guys have a day or so freed up.¡± ¡°...why?¡± Evalyn asked, cautiously. ¡°The Queen wants to see you.¡± ¡°Oh, for fuck¡¯s sake.¡± Not far from Elvera¡¯s office, the architecture opened into a cavernous space, and the make of the walls shifted once again. The pipes and valves existed, but they were brass, and accompanied by shifting gears and oversized levers. There were more primitive systems at work. ¡°I¡¯m giving you...fifteen minutes, meaning I¡¯ll see you in a day and a half,¡± ¡°What?¡± was all Iris could muster before Elvera cranked a lever. The brass in the pipes began to shake as the vibrations converged in front of them. Gears turned, and blue gas jetted from the grilles. Iris felt a subtle force tugging at her jacket and touching her hair. In front of her, a hard cut had been created in reality. No rift, no border of energy, just simply a cut. Like an eye-opening. It revealed an entirely different location. A forest of sorts. Iris held onto Evalyn¡¯s coat as securely as she could, but the woman hadn¡¯t a care in the world. ¡°I wonder if I left the stove on,¡± Elliot muttered. The whistling and whirring reached a climax, and Iris blinked at exactly the wrong time. In the next split second, she was off the map as far as she was concerned. This narrative has been purloined without the author''s approval. Report any appearances on Amazon. Trees. She had not seen many trees up close before. Some stood proudly in and amongst Excala, but a forest was nothing she had ever seen. Were trees always this big? She had always had the impression that they could stand at least a few storeys tall, but her head was barely clearing what would be the stump. If one could even fell such a tree. One could make their entire house out of it. In fact, many already had. Every tree, from its rough brown base to its green spire tops, were virtually small cities. Miniature doors the size of her head, windows the size of her fist, bridges from one tree to another and pulleys that worked with seemingly no input. ¡°Where is this?¡± Iris asked, without even meaning to. ¡°The Queen¡¯s forest. We¡¯re not sure exactly where it is, so we use her¡­what are they called?¡± Evalyn walked off without finishing her question, and Elliot followed. Iris moved to stick behind, but she noticed her movements were sluggish. She waved her hand. It travelled as though normal, but she felt like she was moving through water. ¡°Does it feel weird to move?¡± Elliot asked, noticing that Iris far behind him. She nodded, and he jogged over. ¡°Just keep your legs moving, and you¡¯ll get over it. We¡¯re moving through time a lot slower right now.¡± ¡°Why?¡± ¡°Dunno. We just are. The Queen¡¯s always been scared of what¡¯ll happen to the country when she dies. So, in this space, ten minutes is an entire day outside. About¡­a hundred and forty-four times slower?¡± I don¡¯t know the details. Let¡¯s go.¡± He led Iris down the trail past Evalyn, setting an example by kicking his knees upwards with every step. They set a rhythm together and briskly followed the path marked out by small lamp posts that reached Iris¡¯s waist. Throughout the forest, she sensed movement, small movements that would shift as quickly as they disappeared. Nothing risked being in sight of her and Elliot, and all that would be left were whirring pulleys, soft lights, and empty windows. The forest glistened into something that mirrored the image of Excala from afar. Twinkling lights and stars too close to the ground. Seemingly lifeless, yet lived in. The trees began to lessen as the small burrows gained support beams, structures that burst out of the wood that housed them, sometimes even taking on different materials. Stone, marble, and stained glass. All were in teaspoon quantities. Iris could see something directly ahead. It was still a dark void, but she could see the glints and accents of something enormous in size. The outlines were sharp and followed sleek contours as if the wind itself had shaped them. The pathway finally ended, and Iris found herself at the edge of that darkness. Only shapes preceded her standing, and she wondered when all would reveal itself. Elliot, standing slightly in front, gave a deep bow. For a moment, his demeanour changed. Iris had only seen it once before when he had saluted a superior. ¡°Your Majesty, we have heeded your request for a meeting. I pray we find you in good tidings.¡± As Evalyn finally caught up with them, the space began to twinkle. Lights, the same floating effervescent lanterns that lit up the city¡¯s skyline at night began to sparkle, staving off the blackness. The contours connected and began to shape something greater. Horns, no, antlers to be exact. The elegance of their curves and spirals suggested they were not suited for striking, but for something else. The skin was armour, thistles flowing in one direction from hoof to hoof, coming together as if its very purpose was to simply be beautiful. The seat of the crown was strong, as if moulded by the wind''s hand. Small, but piercing eyes gleamed through Iris¡¯s being as they came face to face. Queen Amestris had a form that Iris could barely fathom the beauty of, yet was mesmerised by. She looked at Iris, and Iris looked back. Two colours clashing intimately with just one look. ¡°You¡¯re different to the others,¡± she said. Her mouth remained shut, and her vocal cords, if there were any, did not move. Yet Iris heard her. ¡°I¡¯m different to Evalyn, yes.¡± The Queen leaned further, craning her great neck until they were truly centimetres apart. The Aether she exuded wrapped around Iris¡¯s skin like a duvet. Comfortable suffocation. ¡°You are old, yet I do not know how old. How goes your Wednesdays?¡± ¡°My Wednesdays?¡± The Queen stared at Iris as if she had gained all she needed to know. ¡°She is old, Darminjung, perhaps older than you,¡± she said, turning to Evalyn, or more accurately, what was inside Evalyn. ¡°Older than the Wish Giver?¡± Evalyn muttered. ¡°That¡¯s not terrifying.¡± ¡°Her Wednesdays are boring, and so are her Saturdays.¡± ¡°We try our best, ma¡¯am,¡± Elliot said with uncomfortable timing. The Queen looked at him like a hunter would look at game. ¡°I find that you lack any Tuesdays,¡± she said. ¡°What would that mean, if you would so humour my minuscule understanding.¡± ¡°You irritate me, ever since you stumbled into the House of the Council.¡± Iris watched the two. A strange relationship that did not boil over into anything dangerous. She did not want to fault Elliot, but if it ever did, she suspected he¡¯d have very little chance of surviving. ¡°How did she come to you two?¡± the Queen asked. ¡°I came across her, living on the streets in Sidos.¡± ¡°When was this?¡± ¡°A month ago, roughly.¡± ¡°What day?¡± ¡°A Thursday, your Majesty.¡± ¡°A Thursday¡­¡± The Queen thought about it, before addressing Iris directly. ¡°I apologise, child. I know as much of your origin as you do. My mind fails me, and I fear you were before my time, or simply of another land. Being tethered here has dealt me a great deal of isolation. However, I know for certain, that you are more primitive than many of us.¡± She reared backwards, her hooves pounding the ground at a rhythmic pace as she began to circle the clearing. As she did, the void cleared itself around her, and the tiny city came to life. ¡°All life holds meaning, and to a Spirit, that meaning is defined. A concept. An idea. A base principle. A loosely defined thing. Gravity. Safety. Sharpness. Love.¡± She turned her head around, addressing her next two words to Evalyn. ¡°Desire. Wishes. As one loses meaning, one loses self. What is Desire? How to define love? Vagueness steals definition, shape, self, and in return gives power.¡± Life returned to the cities. Blobs. Shapeless creatures with loosely defined bodies, heads, and tails emerged. Their borders rippled and changed, reacting to the subtle movement of air. They watched Iris with similar gazes of deep blue. ¡°Don¡¯t humans feel the same? A loss of self emboldens and promotes¡­erratic behaviour.¡± The entire theatre stared at Iris and only Iris as the Queen circled back around to her. Her presence at full height was terrifying. ¡°You have neither. Only power. What says I should not kill you where you stand.¡± Iris barely registered the words, and Evalyn and Elliot had no time to protect her. With the strike of a hoof, Iris¡¯s world blackened. Darkness. No. A flicker. Aether? No. Electrical flicker. Artificial. Ugly. Grass? No. Grass was green. It yielded to her touch. This fought back. It was red too. Familiar, sickly familiar. She was back. Her skull had been forced open, and the red carpet had spilled forward, infecting her senses. ¡°Monday.¡± A familiar voice. Familiar phrasing. Yet it did not belong. ¡°I feel Monday.¡± A woman. Long black hair. Curving antlers. Blue eyeliner. Flowing fabric of Yale, Powder, Cobalt. Elegance. Refinement. Lady-like. She walked forward, closer to that darkness at the end of the corridor. The jittering of the figure grew louder. It was scared. Iris was scared. ¡°Quiet, I¡¯m thinking.¡± Silence. Not a micron of movement. Her walk was a shuffle. Walking was brutish. She was not. Her delicate fingers travelled across every bump in the wall. Every visible bump. The carpet clawed at her dress, but it paid it no heed and glided over. ¡°These doors. They¡¯re peculiar.¡± A delicate hand wrapped around the knob. ¡°Don¡¯t!¡± Iris¡¯s body finally moved. The Queen¡¯s, however, did not. She could not be allowed to get closer. The door was in danger. ¡°What is there to be afraid of? Unless you are hiding something.¡± A lump in her throat. A Monday gluing her voice box shut. ¡°A peek through the keyhole, at least,¡± the Queen muttered, swishing her sleeves and kneeling, ever so softly, until her eye line matched the keyhole. ¡°..I see,¡± she said. She turned back, having quite literally stared at Iris''s soul. ¡°I know more about you than you do.¡± The Queen stood at her full height once more, and her antlers began to glow. The world, Iris¡¯s world, Iris¡¯s mind. She had control over it, albeit for now. ¡°You pose a threat, my dear. Yet I would be lying if I said you were of no use.¡± Iris¡¯s corridor began to crumble, overtaken by a shimmering blue, shining through the cracks in the walls, ceilings, and floors. ¡°I employ the dangerous, and seduce them with security in their unpredictable existences. Food, water, shelter, and backing. In return you shall allow yourself to be raised by Hardridge and that brat. You will serve me, and only me. That, or you become my enemy.¡± Her mind shattered. ¡°Do I make myself clear?¡± ¡°Yes¡­your Majesty.¡± ¡°Good. It will be a Sunday upon your return. I have arranged the weather to be clear, yet chilly. Moisturise well, yet do not forget sunscreen. Make good use of it.¡± Interlude: Rememberance That day, all four open air halls were in use at once. Two for combat personnel, and two for maintenance crews. Across the vastness of the room, there was a mix of pilots, internal artillery brigades and special forces all lined up, standing in uniform and at attention. The large stage that elevated those on it above the assembly was sparsely populated. A single lectern to one side, and a lineup of chairs on the other. The room''s centrepiece for that occasion, was the unmarked tomb of marble-white stone, to which each side of the assembly was stood on one side of. A decade had passed, and a respectful ceremony could finally begin comfortably. Special Operations would have the biggest by far. The crew on the Steel Whale, the pilots who launched from it, and the special forces that had trained on it had been the largest factor in ending the conflict over Excala, and had therefore suffered the largest losses. We were underdogs in Geverde''s armed forces, yet on this day, no one could deny us. ¡°Catafalque party, march slow!¡± A procession of armed men marched to the beat of a drum next to the stage. They followed the centre aisle towards the tomb, spreading out around it. ¡°Catafalque party, turn! Cease march!¡± The group of five, three Beak and two human, stood in a semicircle around the tomb, facing outwards, as if to protect it. ¡°Catafalque part, present arms!¡± The rifles that had been kept strapped to their shoulders came off. They stabbed the bayonets against the cold steel of the floor, barrels facing the ground, hands resting on the butt stock. I found Elliot amongst the crowd, tiredness had been thoroughly washed from his face. He stood in respectful silence. He himself had lost his co-pilot in the conflict. If I could remember correctly, a small blue spirit, back when fighters used to be piloted by both a human and a spirit. It was his death anniversary today, and it would weigh heavily on the minds of both him and Evalyn. Evalyn herself was not present. Ceremonies such as these made her sick. While Geverde largely had the luxury of remembering their fallen as heroes who died for their country, Sidos could not. Her own father had sent them to their death, for a selfish reason she could never agree with. It reminded her that when powerful people made their move, many were trampled underneath. In that regard, she was no different. Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings. She had accepted that, but ceremonies such as these still made her sick. The Master of Ceremony gave a brief address, before handing off the lectern. ¡°Lieutenant-General Marie Elvera, would you please give an address.¡± I stood up and walked across, the clanking of my boots reverberating across the cavernous space. It created an uncomfortable feedback and reminded me that all eyes were looking. It was unsettling, no matter how used to it I got. ¡°Thank you, Major. I''d preferably like to keep this short, as I know we all have routines to get back to, which is something I think about every day. No matter how many people never come back, or how many lives that burden your shoulders, it''s strange to think that our routines do not change, and time seems to continue even if it''s stopped for us. I think all of us share a commonality, in that we realise that no matter what happens out there, it seems for us that time continues, even if we do not want it to.¡± "I do not like thinking about the fact that many who heard the address I gave that day, when the city burned, and death was on the horizon, never made it. It reminds me that time indeed does stop, that you are indeed left behind sooner or later. I would like to say that they died for their country, face to the ground, fearless and brave, yet I do not want to. I do not want to disrespect them. I want to remember that they were fearful, remember that they felt pain, that they thought about their families when the end closed in on them. Because they were all human. They were all so very human.¡± ¡°And that extraordinary sacrifice they gave for their own something is what truly breaks my heart every time. That they left their families, they left all of you who remember behind. I wish to never forget what that sacrifice truly meant, and I hope that none of you will ever have to go through what they did again. Yet that is a fool''s errand. Only those who hear of tragedy through their radio sincerely believe this." "Yet, in this twisted world we live in, those who fight to keep the illusion of peace real deserve everything. Our jobs are needed, our fights are inevitable. Yet it is the peace that is found in spite of that, when our presence is unneeded, where we can truly make the most of ourselves, in place of those who couldn''t. Never forget this. Thank you." A minute of silence proceeded my speech. The entire assembly saluted as every gear and engine on the Steel Whale stopped. Nothing but the breeze from the rolling plains behind me were audible. The Catafalque party eventually moved off, leading the assembly behind it, as the men and women of the ship filed out to return to their duties. Evalyn could not stand these ceremonies, and sometimes I think that I can''t either. I was much the same. I made moves and that trampled those unfortunate enough to be underneath. Yet, ceremonies like this reminded me that I was still somewhat human, that I still had a place in the rest of the world the day I disrobe my uniform for the last time. That feeling was hard to attain sometimes. I would have to have Evalyn visit me later. Remind myself what smiles look and feel like. Chapter 7 Part 5: Floating Ballrooms, Dancing on Thin Lines Evalyn was rarely stubborn. Where most parents would roll their eyes at their child¡¯s requests and put the pricey biscuits back on the aisle shelf, Evalyn would happily oblige. Even Elliot had taken advantage of it hence the recent influx of household wares littering the place. If Iris wanted to eat something, Evalyn would buy it, or ask Elliot to make it the following week. If Iris asked to do something or go somewhere within reason, she would take a day off her, as of late, empty schedule to fulfil her request. She was flexible, but Elliot had called it ¡®spoiling¡¯, even though there was nothing rotten about it. Yet today, Evalyn had shown off another side of her that Iris mentally categorised as ¡®childish¡¯. Apparently, she hated flying. She married a pilot but hated flying. She travelled the world but hated flying. ¡°I still hate it, alright!¡± ¡°Yes, I get that sweetie, but I¡¯d rather not circumnavigate the continent or travel through a desert for three months.¡± ¡°I¡¯m going to die.¡± ¡°Even if the chance of death was one hundred per cent, you being on the bloody thing would make that zero.¡± ¡°I¡¯m not scared of crashing,¡± she said, regaining a modicum of her confidence. Elliot looked at her with five exhausting hours of irritation seared into his glare. ¡°Motion sickness doesn¡¯t kill you. End of conversation.¡± Grumbling. Grumbling was all she had done for the past few hours. The taxi to the city¡¯s port, the luggage drop off, the check-in, everything. Even the sea breeze she loved to immerse herself in did nothing to lighten her mood. It only made her saltier. They waited in the boarding queue. The line, although hundreds of passengers long, was dwarfed by the shadow of their transport. A seaplane that the airline had so affectionately named The Sparrow occupied a significant portion of the bay, rivalling cruise ships in terms of body size, and dwarfing them with its wings. A smaller Steel Whale, one that used pressurised Aether to propel itself off the sea and into the sky. Iris partly wished she could stay at the harbour if only to see it take off. From the moment they stepped from the boarding ramp onto the aircraft proper, the surrounding air changed. No distinct fumes of Aether, and the sea salt that had stung her nostrils had all but disappeared. She was immersed in a city, but not her city, let alone the grey that saturated Sidos. Real marble or not, the walls reflected the colours imparted onto them by the sconce lights fixed onto regal-looking pillars with a brilliantly waxed clarity. The contrast between light and shadow made the lobby feel larger than it was, creating the illusion that this was not an aeroplane, not a transport that simply took one from A to B, but something more accommodating. ¡°Do all aeroplanes waste this much?¡± Iris asked the resident expert as he dragged the suitcase over the guiding red carpet. ¡°No, just these ones,¡± Elliot answered. ¡°Luxury airlines kicked off with these guys, and they¡¯ve been shuttling only the fattest of cats ever since.¡± ¡°Is Evalyn a fat cat?¡± ¡°You have no idea.¡± ¡°Don¡¯t teach her weird stuff, for god¡¯s sake, bigger planes just barely make it bearable,¡± Evalyn said, clutching her carry-on with both hands like a stuffed toy. ¡°It¡¯s-¡± she started, before pausing. ¡°What?¡± Elliot teased. ¡°It¡¯s her first time flying, I wanted to make it memorable.¡± Elliot smirked, patting Iris on the head. ¡°You hear that? She¡¯s spoiling you again. You should say thank you when she isn¡¯t dipping in and out of consciousness.¡± They found themselves at the end of the lobby, where a small stewardess greeted them. They gave their boarding passes, and she pointed out their seats rather quickly, but Iris could not help but notice her figure. Especially her wrists. They were thin, bordering on uncomfortable. The steward a few steps away, greeting people with gloved hands and a punctual suit, still could not hide his pronounced cheekbones. It was uncanny, but nothing concerning enough to speak up about. Perhaps it was normal. Perhaps that was how things were done in Fadaak. Iris could not sleep. She had to force herself to blink and hold her own hands to stop them from jittering. She looked at the meal laid out in front of her. Chicken. Sauce. Rice. Vegetables. Chicken. Sauce. Rice. Vegetables. Chicken. Sauce. Rice. Vegetables. Focus. Focus. Focus. She needed to scream. She needed to jump out of her seat and move every muscle in her body all at once. ¡°Let¡¯s get up. I need to go for a walk,¡± Elliot said, his own hands that of a sleeping giant¡¯s in comparison to hers. She looked over at Evalyn, who had somehow knocked herself out. Whether she was busy digesting food or grappling with the alcohol, she was not sure. Apparently, either was better than flying. They unbuckled their seatbelts and stood in the aisle. A long line of repeating seats and continuous patterns both preceded and proceeded them, like a hall of mirrors reflecting into each other. ¡°Let¡¯s try this way,¡± Elliot said as he ushered Iris forward, following the direction of the seats. As she walked, her feverish energy began to be put towards something practical, thus easing her nerves. This book is hosted on another platform. Read the official version and support the author''s work. ¡°I think you might be going through Aether Influx. Most Spirits do when they¡¯re near powerful Aether engines.¡± ¡°Does that mean too much Aether? I can guess because the words put together suggest that.¡± ¡°Very good observation. Personnel on the Steel Whale are trained for it since the engines are so powerful and use so much Aether, but standing near such engines or drinking pure Aether can overload a Spirit.¡± Iris had forgotten she was a Spirit, or rather had pushed it out of her mind. When she felt her skin against the palm of her hands, she could convince herself she was human, and for now, that was good enough. Knowing that her own flesh betrayed that idea irked her. As much as she had relied on its power in the past, it had welcomed her newfound self-awareness with hostility and a campaign of torturous harassment. ¡°It¡¯s something that happens to every Spirit. Even Evalyn gets the shakes.¡± ¡°Evalyn does?¡± ¡°Yeah, she does. Perhaps not as bad as you do, since it¡¯s apparently preferable to motion sickness, but anything that uses powerful magic needs it. They pull in enough aether, and in doing so, get jittery. Almost like adrenaline. A fight or flight reaction¡­Let¡¯s see where this goes.¡± He picked up Iris by the field jacket still around her waist and swung her left, where a small break in the seating rows lead to a staircase, wide enough for a single person. Staff only, it read. They willed their footsteps soft as the marble staircase continued down in a spiral, mimicking the spires of old torchlit centuries, long insignificant. ¡°How do you know so much about Spirits?¡± ¡°I used to kill them.¡± Iris hesitated, and Elliot noticed the lack of small, whispering footsteps behind him. He turned and rolled up the white sleeves of his button-up. He extended a hand, offering consolation. ¡°Used to. Keywords.¡± She took his hand, and they continued for another circle. The treasure at the bottom of the spire came into view, as they looked over what had ought to be a ballroom. They were at one of many entrances to a seldom-used catwalk, running invisibly along the edges of the surreal space. ¡°Are we still flying?¡± Iris asked. ¡°Luxury is luxury. Wouldn¡¯t be worth much if not for a ballroom.¡± They sat down on the stairs, Elliot behind Iris as they looked downwards, observing colourful figures flutter like bees, birds and butterflies from one black or white dot to the other, all in a loose harmony that did away with any sort of tradition and opted for a purer approach to fun. ¡°I met your mother at an event like this.¡± ¡°What was she wearing?¡± ¡°Bright red dress. It went well with her hair.¡± ¡°I want to see her wear that. Does she still have it?¡± ¡°I don¡¯t know. Her body¡¯s changed a little since she was eighteen.¡± They simmered for a moment, letting the nearby silence pass. The view below them became a diorama, a distant depiction of life. A what if. She felt his presence behind her, but perhaps greater was what she wanted to ask him. ¡°First air force, 5th fighter wing, White Devils. When it came to putting Spirits down, we were the best they had. I finished training at what¡­sixteen? By the time I was twenty, I had already been assigned to a squadron and was well on my way. Then I met Evalyn.¡± ¡°What was she like?¡± ¡°She was small. A small girl with a desperate need to prove to herself that she didn¡¯t need her family anymore.¡± A weak Evalyn was something Iris struggled to grasp. Imagining her as anything asides from an all-encompassing dynamism was not easy, yet for him, it was as real as a vivid memory, wearing a sparkling red dress. ¡°What were you like? Elly?¡± ¡°Pfft. Someone who grew up too fast. In all eighteen years of Evalyn¡¯s life to that point, she had barely ever stepped outside the walls of her life. In just twenty of mine, I had traded in any semblance of a childhood.¡± ¡°Why?¡± ¡°Because I was better than everyone else. I thought that justified all of it.¡± Iris could see a longing in his eyes. A deep haze of insecure, brownish purple. The same colour as when she was put to the test, when she couldn¡¯t trust the hand that passed over her own skin anymore. If she could be wrong about herself, then by god she wished she could at least be confident in that mistake. Perhaps he was the same. ¡°Evalyn told me about her father that night. She told me about how the battle was not going to be won through extermination, that I was wasting the lives of many I could possibly save if I helped her. Helped her prevent war from being brought onto Geverde. And well¡­you know how that turned out.¡± ¡°You defected?¡± ¡°Yeah. Yeah, we did.¡± She turned back to the ballroom. A blissful ignorance shielded it from them. A barrier that Iris could begin to see forming all around them. Perhaps she had it the wrong way around. The music, the cocktails, the dance floor was the real world, and people like her guardians were working backstage to keep the party going, only to see the waiter drop a glass, or hear a musician blunder a note as soon as they failed to pull those strings correctly. She could almost see a scruffy man in a lazy black suit get pulled onto the sidelines by a young woman in a red dress. Come see what¡¯s out here. See what the world is really like. Then what of the plane engines? The mechanics working tirelessly to keep the bubble afloat, high in the sky. Was that the real world? How many layers deep were they? How many more until she could finally make up her mind on it? On how horrible or how wonderful it could be. The woman in red gave the man a kiss, sealing both their fates. They were never going back, never stepping foot on the dance floor again. What did that say about Iris? Had she ever even found herself near that polished wood surface? She felt a hand caress her cheek. A calloused hand playfully ordered it around like a child with cookie dough. ¡°Most people aren¡¯t meant to change the world, and others are. I used to think I was, but now I know that my role is smaller¡­¡± The sentence went unfinished. He was not upset with that revelation; Iris knew that much. He was not so vain to assume so highly of himself, but the true nature of that utterance escaped her, not even forming its own existence. ¡°Which one do you think I¡¯ll be?¡± Iris asked. ¡°You choose,¡± Elliot said. ¡°It¡¯s up to you¡­I promise. I promise, okay?¡± Right under them was the Northern Chain Ridge. Jutting, trampling over one another and reaching for the underbelly of their plane. The great formation protruded from the ground too abruptly, slicing the entire continent in half, reminding all of the absolute power nature held over absolutely everything. ¡°Do you remember a ride or a range in your dreams? The Karaxian mountains are a range of many mountains, the ridge is a long line of large ones.¡± She thought back to the memory, only daring to peek through the keyhole. Grey rock. Ice-cold white. Nary a speck of green for miles. The mountains were high, indomitable. And the sharp drop-off. That leap into green death. ¡°It was these mountains. I¡¯m sure of it.¡± ¡°You¡¯re sure?¡± ¡°I don¡¯t remember a range of mountains. It was more like a wall, with a steep drop off on one side.¡± ¡°What was on the other side?¡± The plane continued unrelenting, like the passage of time, and similarly brought with it new revelations. Sand. Waves of sand. A sea of green was made with blades of life, not grains of rock. She had hoped there would be what she was looking for, somewhere in between the mountains and the desert. But the same drop-off that had promised a comfortable resting place for those so unfortunate to tumble, instead greeted ill-fated climbers with desert. A hot grave for one to disintegrate into. Unbearably hot. Unbearably vast. Unbearably barren. Even if the hostages were being forced to, Iris could not imagine them living in a place like this, let alone being alive at all. ¡°It¡¯s wrong,¡± she finally said, ¡°the mountains are the same, but there was no desert. It was supposed to be fields¡­and a city.¡± ¡°A city?¡± ¡°I don¡¯t know if it was a city¡­¡± ¡°Memories can be faulty like that. Makes you wonder if there¡¯s much to yourself that science can determine, huh.¡± In a way, she was glad. If memories made someone who they were, then maybe she could feel comfortable in her skin. For just a bit longer. Chapter 8 Part 1: Dance Shoes off the Stage Your mileage may vary. Kuarel Farehn was not one to use that term. He despised it. The mark of an incompetent engineer was if they could not determine exactly their product''s usefulness. Room for error was always considered, yet slapping the phrase mileage may vary onto a bridge designed to carry hundreds of thousands of people a year would most likely get someone jailed. But it came as no surprise when anything he was tasked to build could be summed up with that particular phrase. The K82 automatic mobile small artillery cannons. Mileage may vary. The dual pull all terrain certified bipedal legs. Mileage may vary. Surround-view octagonal cabin with advanced bullet-proof armouring. Mileage may vary. Even if he could say, with confidence, that it had all been completed to the best of his ability, the simple fact that the operational site was in the middle of a desert did not bode well for the real-world prospects of said instruments. The heat interfered with the metalworking, the sand toyed with the gears and pulleys, and any sensitive instrument had to be handled with utmost delicacy, lest it went tumbling off the only solid outcrop for miles. Nestled atop a rocky island, Kurael Farehn had been put to work. The way the sands moved around him, and the outcrop¡¯s unremarkable shape itself made him doubtful that even radar systems could pick it up effectively. That was if anyone was looking for him in the first place. He was as good as dead. He himself thought so. At the very least, he died doing what he loved. That¡¯s what they told widows and orphans, right? Not that there¡¯d be any widows or orphans to tell such a lie. Just an old woman in an apartment, too large for her to live alone in. He could still see her sitting there, mask turned away, voice box in silent disapproval. Perhaps that image would stay like that forever. He stepped out of his quarters, leaving the communal shed for another full night of work. It was roughly six in the evening, and the floodlights around the base were taking over from the sun¡¯s brutal assault. He watched as the short-lived starlight was choked by electric. No place for such luxuries. Still exhausted, he dragged his feet to the central square, where half-finished Higher Order Armour stood dormant, like a cruel modern art exhibition. Workers filed in from every direction, all heading towards the mess hall for a chance at something more than a slice of bread. Watching them work off so little made Kurael truly thankful he was born a Spirit, something he thought he¡¯d never feel so intensely. Then again, if they chose to live in the desert and survive off rations, that was their decision to make. It was the kidnapped human engineers he truly felt sorry for. He found the particular H.O.A he had been working on. Although much of the beast was a mystery to him, he was intimately familiar with the workings of its forelimbs. Each bolt, gear and pulley used to operate it was practically etched into his mask. He knew it back to front, and that knowledge was keeping him alive. Loyalty? No. His life was more important than his country, or the lives of the Spirits the machine would kill. Allegiances like that did not exist in his conscience. He kept his sights on the unfinished armour¡¯s forearm systems while a worker came him. He was wary of the workers. They doubled as freedom fighters, with an agenda not exactly keen on Kurael¡¯s kind. The only protection he had against them was his knowledge, which is why he had been careful to avoid revealing too much of it. He had used his assigned men as tools, not apprentices. ¡°Evening boss,¡± said the man. The sun had thoroughly tanned his skin, wrinkling it beyond his years. He was the shortest out of the group, and the skinniest. Kurael only remembered him for his knack for getting into tight spaces. ¡°Good evening,¡± Kurael said, still uncomfortable with the greeting. He could not tell if it was a holdover the rebels kept from their time in the city or an attitude-filled nickname. Even so, he did not have the nerve to question it. ¡°What¡¯s on the agenda today?¡± ¡°By the looks of things, you all fixed the elbow bolts in nicely, so next we¡¯ll install the wrist joint and hand appendage. Tomorrow, we¡¯ll calibrate the steel tendons, rinse and repeat on the other side.¡± ¡°Yes boss, right away,¡± Kurael found a step ladder nearby. Climbing it, he found a better angle to view the arm from, if not to avoid having to talk to the worker. ¡°I bet you want to go home.¡± ¡°¡­sorry?¡± He glanced at his worker. His face was dead serious, erasing any notion of it being some, sick sarcastic jab. ¡°You want to go home, right?¡± ¡°¡­of course, I do. I don¡¯t like it here,¡± Kurael said, as cautiously as his exhausted thought patterns could muster. ¡°Do you care at all about what you¡¯re being made to do?¡± ¡°What do you mean?¡± ¡°I don¡¯t know, leaking state secrets, helping us kill your own kind.¡± Kurael watched him in disbelief, not exactly sure how to respond. ¡°It¡¯s not like I want to be here. I got forced into a truck.¡± Kurael felt insulted. More than that, even. He was at least comforted by the fact that his keepers were cruel and evil, people who anyone could look at and instantly pass judgement on. And here he was, being asked about his damn feelings. ¡°Look, I am sorry, but I could not give a flying fuck about what you have against those people, or what those people have against you! If I did¡­I don¡¯t even know because there¡¯s no way in hell I would!¡± His stomach churned once he finished, realising what he had just said and to whom he had said it. But the worker looked disappointed, yet at peace. ¡°Everyone does what they have to, I guess.¡± Kurael watched the man walk off to the manufacturing sector as he continued to stare. ¡°Don¡¯t remind me you¡¯re human, you prick.¡± Half an hour left on their flight. Evalyn had woken up, much to her dismay, and the two trespassers had just barely made it to their seats. Through a window at the end of their row, Iris could see the city as they banked for a final trajectory into the harbour. ¡°Good evening passengers, this is your captain speaking. I hope you¡¯ve had a pleasurable experience on board our flight today. On behalf of myself and the crew, I bid you a warm welcome to the city that never sleeps. Stepping outside, you¡¯ll feel a cool westerly breeze at about twenty-two degrees Celsius, and the time is six oh three, a half-hour ahead of Excala time. As we enter landing procedures, please stay in your assigned seats until the cabin crew notifies you otherwise. If you have brought any weapons on board, please visit the weapons carry on your way out to the lobby.¡± If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it. Elliot tapped on Iris¡¯s shoulder. ¡°If you keep chewing while we land, it keeps your ears from popping,¡± he said, taking his own advice. She followed his lead, looking over to Evalyn, her teeth chattering. Iris could admire the effort. The entire plane rocked as the bow hit the water, the inertia pulling them forward, and then rocking them back in their chairs. The gentle sloshing of waves replaced the low rumble of the engines, and Iris could feel the motions of the water beneath her. So could Evalyn. ¡°Alright, I¡¯m done,¡± she said, reaching for a paper bag. Iris sat on the pier, watching the passengers file down the staircase onto solid land. Tourists of varying ages and make descended the steps, and Iris could not help but recall the ballroom floor. How insincere it felt. Yet it had nothing on the city itself. The view of Fadaak from its harbour was the very epitome of self-indulgence. The cities she had seen existed simply because they had existed forever. As populations grew, the cities grew with them. Yet this city was shaped by something else entirely. The gleaming skyscrapers that so confidently took over from the stars in the night sky shone in unison, but not in harmony with their surroundings. Emanating colours created a dirty haze of light that overstepped the city''s borders, and the noise had no issue disturbing the hairs in her ears. Impressive, it certainly was. Each monument was a feat of engineering in itself, and Iris had taken an uncomfortable amount of time to fathom buildings so tall. Yet the same insincerity of the ballroom still teased her. The city looked as though it relished in the swingy music, flower people and polished oak dance floors that she had never even had the opportunity to step onto in the first place. She fell on a single sentence. It didn¡¯t feel real. At any moment, the skyscrapers could fall apart, revealing that they had always been made entirely of plywood, and that everyone inside was just acting. Like the hallway in her mind, she already had the context of the entire stage. Evalyn stepped down the staircase until her feet gently touched down on the pier, a rifle case slung across her shoulders. She flipped through their boarding tickets, confirming everything was in order. ¡°When do you need to be at the base?¡± ¡°Ten hundred hours tomorrow. Someone''s coming to pick me up at seven-thirty.¡± ¡°My contract starts at midnight tonight, so we¡¯ll get started when you leave. Got that Iris?¡± ¡°If it¡¯s not an early start,¡± Iris said, fatigue setting on fast. Iris wished the city would spare a few hours of sleep, if only for her. Where Excala¡¯s night felt like a gentle lullaby, lulling the exhausted to sleep and letting those still awake slow dance the night away, Fadaak kept the lights on at all times. The streets were still flowing with cars, albeit not enough for the roads to start clotting, and the streetlights made sure that no pedestrian could tell night from day. The towering skyline was now directly above her head, which only made her more aware of it. If not the visual marvel, the pain in her neck from craning her head upwards would remind her. But when she was keeping her eyes level, that was where she made the most curious observations. Every pedestrian was human. For a city dominated by Spirits, it lacked even the Spirit count of Excala. At this hour, if it was not a Beak, then one could see police roaming with city Warpers, or the Blue Stormer electricity farms would be packing it up for the day. Yet not a single Spirit bore their body to the pavement. All humans. Even stranger were the children. She saw several humans roughly her age, yet none walked with an adult as she did. Each one flowed with the traffic as she had but a month ago. Although nostalgic, she had never been used to seeing others exhibit the same habits, let alone so many. The car windows were all tinted a shadowy black. When coupled with the bright, harsh lighting, it was almost impossible to determine who was behind the veil. Yet if Iris squinted, she could make out the outline of those who were egregiously non-anthropromorhic. They were always Spirits. She felt a chill tease the hairs on her neck. Walking on the street was an implication of some kind. ¡°The manager is a Spirit I ran into about¡­six years ago? She had run into trouble with the mob I was contracted to clean up, and she thanked me for it by saying I¡¯d be welcome to stay whenever I wanted,¡± Evalyn explained, nursing the position of the case¡¯s strap on her shoulder. ¡°I don¡¯t remember you telling me that part. We could¡¯ve stayed in the city for free?¡± Elliot asked. ¡°Do you really want to holiday here?¡± Elliot winced. ¡°Fair point.¡± By the time they reached their destination, the height of the buildings had calmed, and the frequency of both people and cars had eased, leaving Iris to finally relax. It was a small hotel, only a few storeys tall. Yet that being said, the building¡¯s quality would rival that of the newest Excala had to offer on a rainy day. The fact that it was not raining kept Iris¡¯s last shred of pride for her home city intact. Sidos''s best buildings were out of the competition entirely. They entered through the revolving door, and Iris felt the atmosphere change along with the movement of the glass chamber as if it was a washing machine. Slow jazz filled the place, just audible enough that the piano tickled her ears, and the brass would lap against the entrance, each note dancing in a loose waltz. Warm lighting and red carpet brought with it a sense of ease. Iris hated that she was acting as though she could not survive without luxury, but she let it slide. She was only ten. Or nine. Or eleven. ¡°Does the whale woman bless my lobby once again?¡± a voice called from the front desk. Humanoid, but only loosely. Loose enough that the voice¡¯s owner could wear a hospitality uniform. A Spirit of white rubbery skin, with a softly shaped head. Their eyes were set deep, as if someone had moulded her skin like putty, and her mouth remained forever open. A simple horizontal oval, from which sounds would exit. Each hand resting in front of her black suit was more reminiscent of a bird¡¯s beak, and the crown of feathers adorning the top of her physique only added to her avian qualities, even if they stopped there. ¡°Yes, Madam. I gave you a call last night about my staying.¡± ¡°Did you really?¡± ¡°I did, yes.¡± ¡°Lovely. We¡¯ve arranged a room for you on the seventh floor. What was your name, might I ask?¡± ¡°Fonsley. Beatrice Fonsley. ¡°No, although I am flattered.¡± What. ¡°Will your two servants be staying in the same room?¡± ¡°No, the young girl is not my servant.¡± ¡°A shame. Two rooms then.¡± ¡°I¡¯ll keep it to one, thank you.¡± ¡°I must insist-¡± ¡°No, no.¡± ¡°As you wish.¡± ¡°Thank you.¡± ¡°Seventh floor, room number nine. You may collect your keys now. Mornings?¡± ¡°Light. Two servings.¡± ¡°I can not agree to that.¡± ¡°Yes, you can.¡± ¡°Certainly. Thank you for choosing Poquin Hotel five five four Teukic Street Central Bustling District City-State of Fadaak.¡± Iris had not uttered a single word, yet she felt as though she needed to take a breather as they walked towards the stairs. ¡°Servant?¡± Elliot hissed at Evalyn, ¡°If you keep making jokes like that, I¡¯ll let you starve.¡± ¡°Sorry, I just don¡¯t want her to think I¡¯m a human,¡± she whispered. ¡°She thinks you¡¯re a Spirit?¡± Iris hissed, ¡°does she know?¡± ¡°I¡¯m not sure if she caught me while I was pulling in Aether, but I let it slide since she doesn¡¯t seem smart enough to put two and two together. For a Higher Order Spirit, she isn¡¯t the brightest.¡± ¡°Higher order?¡± ¡°Yeah, she¡¯s one of many, but I think she¡¯s one of the Hospitality Spirits in the city. Clearly, if you¡¯re good at running a hotel, it doesn¡¯t guarantee you¡¯re smart enough to running a business.¡± The seventh floor cleared just enough of the surrounding cityscape for Iris to gaze at the light show uninterrupted. The pillars of concrete truly lived up to their namesake once clouds began to find the city. Iris sat by the windowsill and watched. The dark clouds descended, touching the tips of the towers. The city¡¯s ceiling truly was tall, so tall that it reached the skies. That it called down clouds. Spotlights from in and amongst the concrete jungle sparked on, piercing streams directly into the black abyss above, scanning it like a cat''s whiskers The clouds continued to descend. Sirens. ¡°All citizens be aware of an incoming sandstorm. Please return to your homes or take shelter in a nearby structure immediately.¡± Evalyn came in from the balcony and locked the door shut behind her. ¡°That isn¡¯t a sandstorm,¡± she said. By now, Elliot had lifted himself off the bed and was leaning over Iris, glaring out the window. ¡°It¡¯s black. The sand is black,¡± he muttered. ¡°That¡¯s not sand, it¡¯s smoke,¡± Evalyn replied. They looked at each other for much too long. Iris looked at Evalyn¡¯s stoic face, then at Elliot¡¯s tired one, then Evalyn¡¯s exasperated face, to Elliot¡¯s groaning one. ¡°It¡¯s him.¡± ¡°It¡¯s fucking him, isn¡¯t it?¡± ¡°Yep.¡± ¡°Right,¡± Elliot moaned as he flopped back onto the bed. ¡°He¡¯s doing a city-wide sweep, so he¡¯s looking for someone. But I don¡¯t remember him being assigned this case. He wasn¡¯t one of the listed investigators.¡± ¡°Who¡¯s he!¡± Iris interjected, frustrated by the sirens and the conversation a million years ahead of her. Evalyn ruffled her hair as her vision stayed on the descending smokestorm. Like an inverse wave, it engulfed the city from the top down, and soon enough, their window blacked out. The sirens were nothing but a small hum amidst the omnipotent gust. ¡°Liam Colte. He trained me.¡± ¡°¡­Someone trained you?!¡± Chapter 8 Part 2: The Ash Man The smoke storm raged only centimetres from Iris¡¯s face, just beyond the paper-thin window. It was not physically violent, yet Elliot was well aware of what would happen to her and the room if someone were to release that single barrier. They were in a pocket of normalcy, and outside was a slow, patient form of chaos. Evalyn sat across from her, a small table in between them that he had shifted towards the glass window. The stove still worked, so tea could still be brewed. Sleeping in such a climate was a tall task, so they had all chosen instead to read the patterns in the smoke, if there were any to find. He just did so from the edge of the bed. It shifted like a live thing against the glass. He had seen it at work before. The smoke and fire that lived and ate. ¡°Liam Colte has worked closely with Elvera for years now. He¡¯s from Aerilia, Excala¡¯s sister city up north. One of their warriors.¡± ¡°Warrior? They still call soldiers that?¡± Iris asked, exercising her limited knowledge of the two terms. ¡°A soldier is a bit different to a warrior. For one, it¡¯s a profession, for the other, it¡¯s the very purpose of their life,¡± she said with confidence, only to chuckle lightly. ¡°Well, money is still a big proponent for him.¡± ¡°He¡¯s like you then. Does he have a family to take care of too?¡± ¡°Family?¡± Evalyn repeated, lingering on the word for a moment. ¡°No, I don¡¯t think he does. I think that¡¯s where we differ.¡± ''Take care of'', a subtle, yet meaningful phrase. It fit his wife perfectly. ¡°Do you know him?¡± A small voice brought his attention from the grey to the purple. ¡°Hm? Yeah, of course. It¡¯s kind of hard to miss him.¡± ¡°I can see that,¡± Evalyn smiled, ¡°he makes an impact.¡± He chuckled watching Iris¡¯s confusion grow, but he could not promise her that her questions would be answered tonight. She would have to meet the man himself. ¡°Evalyn,¡± he called. ¡°Yeah?¡± ¡°Are you going to let him know you¡¯re here?¡± She thought on it for much too long. The crowd his wife worked around were a desensitised bunch, even for combat personnel. Nothing fazed the likes of Wizards and Witches, not even all-encompassing magical smoke storms. ¡°I was going to wait on it, but I think any other Wizard or Witch on the same assignment as us is letting him know, at least the ones that know him.¡± She said this, still sipping on her tea. He watched her, egging her to go on with her sentence. ¡°Do you want to see him?¡± she asked. ¡°It¡¯s only one night.¡± ¡°Are you sure?¡± ¡°If it¡¯s important. Plus, he might not even come here.¡± She looked at Elliot, as though the thought of him transforming into a snail would be more believable. ¡°Alright.¡± She finally hauled herself out of the seat, walking across the length of the room. ¡°The smoke is Aether infused, so the owner is probably getting a general buzz right now, scrambling her senses. Even if she feels a little more, I don¡¯t think she¡¯ll bat an eye,¡± she explained as the tattoos began to glow, the warmth running up the length of her arm until it reached her cheek. She held herself in an excruciatingly trained pose, as the golden light shaped itself from her hand. The arch gained shape, and as her tattoos grew even brighter, and a high hum began to electrify the air, the shape gained elasticity. It bent to the touch of her finger, and a tugging of the string. A recurve bow that could be as powerful as she wanted stretched from her right palm, and a rod of golden light in the left. ¡°Iris, when I tell you to open that window, open it for me and then shut it again immediately. Got that?¡± Iris nodded profusely. Whether it was the excitement or the Aether influx, Elliot wasn¡¯t quite sure. She held onto the windowsill as Evalyn breathed slowly, and meaningfully. ¡°Act II. Character.¡± With the whisper, barely audible to even Elliot, she raised the rod to the bow and tugged the string with her entire body. The material exhibited its elasticity, proving it was no longer simply a shape of Evalyn''s making. ¡°Act III. Subtext.¡± The golden arrow¡¯s aura began to shift, as the magic exuding into it changed with it. ¡°Now, Iris!¡± Iris yanked the door open, wide enough for smoke to start pouring in, yet in the next moment, it was forced back out to where it came from. The bullet pierced the outer boundary of the black thing and tore a perfect cylinder through it, extending for god knew how long. Iris hurriedly shut the window again in time for a low rumble to reach the window¡¯s glass. Through the disturbed blackness that the arrow had created, they could see shimmering light. First sparks, then those sparks grew grander until a golden thunderstorm pierced its light through the layers upon layers of oppressive smoke. It began to move, the light swimming through the smoke sea as if it were its home. Elliot thought of the few times he had booked an underwater room on a cruise ship, and would watch beyond the pothole of a window, swearing he had seen something move in the mass of blue. The city-size light slowly faded, like synapses in a dying brain, all controlled by the woman sipping tea in their small apartment. Iris¡¯s hero. His warrior. Their protector. The words were sourer than he cared to admit. Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there. As they returned to their temporary definition of normalcy, the city began to return to its version. The black veil that must have done the stars such a favour by blocking out the city¡¯s light, gave up its place. The city returned, and inch by inch were the skyscrapers handed back. The temporary hold was lifted, and the city¡¯s bustle returned to what it was all but half an hour ago. ¡°Why was that so well timed with your signal?¡± Iris asked, sipping on her sweet tea. Evalyn looked at Elliot, and Elliot sighed. ¡°Well, I asked for it, didn¡¯t I?¡± he said. He looked over at the balcony, and in the cool night air Evalyn had been standing in before the storm, was a man in a trench coat. From his neck down, his clothes were ash grey, and his woollen gloves suited a chimney sweeper more than it ever would his hands. The man did not bother to look over, the smoke wafting from his pipe passing by his slowly ageing face and thinning, grey hair. Even if it had always been grey, Colte was just another person Elliot had seen¡­change. What did people like Evalyn, and possibly even Iris mean for him? What was it like being someone who could never be as¡­worthy. Colte knocked on the glass door impatiently. Once, twice, three times, until it became downright incessant. His impatience eventually overcame either of their reluctance to let him in, so Elliot got up and took charge. ¡°What¡¯s Mr Urn doing here so late at night? I thought bedtime for you was eight thirty.¡± ¡°Not looking for your sorry ass. Where¡¯s Evalyn?¡± ¡°She¡¯s inside.¡± ¡°Jolly.¡± ¡°Why are you here?¡± Elliot did not break his stare, nor did Colte. Their eyes met, and the smell from Colte¡¯s clothes made Elliot¡¯s eyes water, as if he was staring directly into a fireplace. ¡°It¡¯s important. Someone might know who Evalyn is.¡± Elliot¡¯s body stiffened. ¡°You¡¯re serious?¡± he said, trying to ignore the latent smell of burnt wood and flesh. ¡°When am I not?¡± Elliot stepped aside, letting Colte through the doors. ¡°No smoking, and take your shoes off,¡± Elliot tatted. Colte looked to Evalyn for support but found none in her. He grumbled and complied, sliding out of his shoes, and thumbing his pipe until the smoke stopped. ¡°Evalyn,¡± Colte said, nodding at her. ¡°How¡¯s life, Liam?¡± The two stared at each other, Evalyn''s lips hiding a thin layer of malicious plaque, and Liam¡¯s stare growing uncomfortable. His eyes crept onto Iris. ¡°Who¡¯s she?¡± ¡°Iris. My name is Iris.¡± ¡°¡­what are you doing here?¡± ¡°I¡¯m on a mission. With Evalyn.¡± Liam¡¯s now cold stare turned back to Evalyn, a deathly chill that almost perfectly juxtaposed his motif. She stared back, unapologetic. ¡°I¡¯ll explain to you later. I promise. Why were you looking for me?¡± Colte slowly shook his head, and Elliot took a seat on the bed. All the seats were taken, as though the ash man was facing a trial. ¡°I got a request from someone. I didn¡¯t get their affiliation or even their name. They told me that you¡¯d be in the city a week from then, and that was a week ago.¡± This finally piqued Evalyn¡¯s concern, and she opted for a brief truce in hostilities. ¡°Me specifically?¡± ¡°Yes. Evalyn Hardridge. That was the contract.¡± ¡°¡­shit.¡± Evalyn stood and began to pace, back and forth. ¡°You think the client peeked Evalyn¡¯s identity himself?¡± Elliot asked. ¡°I don¡¯t know. He was a Beak, but I can¡¯t be certain he¡¯s been in Geverde recently.¡± ¡°How the fuck does he know I¡¯m here even before I do?¡± ¡°The man who shot me.¡± The three stopped, with varying reactions. ¡°Jamie¡­¡± Evalyn whispered. ¡°Iris, you still remember that?¡± Elliot asked. ¡°She got fucking what?!¡± Colte cried. The man snapped, and both Evalyn and Elliot scrambled to calm him down. ¡°She¡¯s a Witch, her powers saved her! She¡¯s fine!¡± Evalyn tried to say. ¡°You found a Witch child and let her keep her powers?! Let her roam free and get fucking shot?!¡± ¡°The fuck was I supposed to do?! Huh?¡± Evalyn spat. ¡°God knows what would¡¯ve happened if I had let her be! This is the only way!¡± ¡°The hell it is the only way! What the fuck are you doing bringing a child into our world?!¡± ¡°Hey, hey, hey. Look. I know we¡¯re all excited to see each other again, but let¡¯s cool off.¡± Elliot came in between the two, narrowly preventing a brawl that could¡¯ve taken him and Iris along with half the city with it. The two steadied themselves, and their boiling magic subsided. ¡°Elliot, I¡¯m going to need to talk to you,¡± Colte muttered, stepping away and conceding his position. Evalyn did the same, but not as quickly as Elliot would have liked. ¡°Iris, could you take Evalyn outside?¡± ¡°Sure,¡± the little girl said, cautiously getting off her chair, and grabbing her guardian by the sleeve. She dragged Evalyn out and closed the balcony door behind her. Elliot looked back at his senior. ¡°She was the one asking me if I wanted to see you.¡± ¡°Really now?¡± ¡°Yes.¡± The two looped around the elephant in the room, or perhaps the sitting on the other side of the balcony window. ¡°Do you want to start?¡± Elliot asked. ¡°Or should I?¡± ¡°Please, go ahead,¡± Colte said, easing himself into one of the chairs. ¡°Where do you want me to start?¡± ¡°Who she is.¡± Elliot scratched his neck and slid into the opposite seat. ¡°That¡¯s the issue.¡± Colte groaned and hung his head. ¡°You have nothing on her?¡± ¡°Not nothing. The only concrete evidence we have of who she was, is her biology.¡± ¡°What?¡± ¡°She¡¯s Spirit. Her body is well and truly made to take in Aether, but it replicates the human body so well that she practically is one. She feels hunger and thirst.¡± ¡°Where¡¯d you find her?¡± ¡°In Sidos. Evalyn came across her running around stealing from local stores. She couldn¡¯t speak until recently, and it¡¯s only been a month.¡± ¡°You think she lost her memory?¡± ¡°I don¡¯t know, really. It¡¯s too early to jump to conclusions.¡± ¡°What do you think, then?¡± ¡°What do I think?¡± Elliot¡¯s eyebrows furrowed, as he rested his weight on the table. He glanced outside his window, vision doubling on the sparkling skyline. ¡°I don¡¯t think it matters. Who she is, is up to her.¡± Colte did the same, glancing out of the window, unsure how to continue without lighting a fire under the issue. So he did. ¡°We both know that isn¡¯t true¡­¡± They sat in silence, as the words simmered between them. ¡°You¡¯re going to have to make sure she finds herself one way or another, Elliot.¡± ¡°I think it¡¯d be more persuasive coming from Evalyn-¡± ¡°It has to be you. Most kids her age at least know what they want to be when they grow up, let alone people who shoulder power like us. The fact that the Queen hasn¡¯t killed her is probably a matter of national interest, not compassion.¡± ¡°I know, but I can¡¯t help but think it can¡¯t be me. I¡¯m not that type of person, Evalyn is.¡± ¡°It¡¯s because you¡¯re that type of person, Elliot. Evalyn is too soft to be harsh when she needs to. She deserves a family, but she¡¯s too protective. You¡¯re kind, so use that kindness.¡± Their lips ceased to move, and they sat together for the first time in a while. "You still have faith in me, huh?" "I never lost it in either of you. I just couldn''t agree, that''s all." It was a similar line of conversation. Elliot had once mentioned it before. Someone was upset if Iris did not leave for a mission, and now this. She found it frustrating when people did not talk clearly, and instead tip-toed around things that they just ought to say outright. If it was about her, then she should know. It was the least they could do when so much was hidden away already. She had no room to shelve unfinished pieces of herself. She turned to Evalyn, sitting idly on the floor next to her. She had calmed down, but she still held back her voice. ¡°Do you want to talk about it?¡± She chuckled, ruffling Iris¡¯s hair. ¡°Don¡¯t you start sounding like a therapist,¡± she said, putting a heavy arm around Iris. She seemed to enjoy the small warmth in the cloudless, cool air. ¡°He was my mentor for the first few years after I became a Witch. Like you and me, I went with him all across the world, taking jobs.¡± ¡°Detective work?¡± ¡°¡­yeah. Detective work.¡± ¡°He¡¯s a detective too, then.¡± ¡°Something like that¡­¡± ¡°Why don¡¯t you talk anymore?¡± Evalyn shifted her legs closer to her body, curling up next to Iris. ¡°He has a different idea of what it means to be infused with Aether. I just couldn¡¯t live by that, and he insisted that I should. But in the end, I refused. It just wasn¡¯t me.¡± ¡°You could tell him that?¡± ¡°Tell him what?¡± ¡°Tell him who you are?¡± Evalyn watched her, and Iris felt her face being deeply interrogated, as though every pore was undergoing inspection. A hand reached out to her cheek and stroked it gently. ¡°Yeah. I guess I could.¡± The balcony door rolled open, and Elliot stepped out, jittering once his skin exited the warmth of the room. ¡°Sorry, I made you wait outside.¡± ¡°That¡¯s alright,¡± Evalyn said, ¡°how¡¯d it go?¡± ¡°He said that he¡¯ll tell his client that he wants to meet, and then that¡¯ll be the chance for you to get him.¡± ¡°That sounds solid,¡± Evalyn admitted. ¡°But he said he¡¯d only let you in exchange for something.¡± ¡°What¡¯s that?¡± ¡°One night of training with Iris. Mind Palace.¡± Interlude: Wonder Duo WARNING: The following material is information sensitive as of this time. Any viewing by an unauthorised person/s can be considered as a violation of the law and punishable by the Royal Geverdian Court of Justice. The following is the transcription of a report by Mr. Liam Colte and Mr. Scott Daugherty addressed to Lieutenant-General Marie Elvera on the 19th of November 1925. "Marie? You with us?" "Loud and clear, Liam." "Alright. Look. Stuff happened and now we''re in a bit of a pinch." "Spare me the dressing this time, Liam." "No, no. I can explain. The task is done, we just might need help on the evac-" "Pass the phone to Daugherty." "...Marie." "Scott. What''s going on?" You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story."The seedling has been planted in the target''s mind. Convinced him he should reconsider imposing sanctions." "And when he reconsiders it?" "He''ll decide not to. Business guarantee." "So what''s the issue?" "The issue is that as we were taking our leave, we were intercepted." "And?" "...the blaze will likely not stop until the entire building is ash." "...are you two at least out of there?" "Back at our hotel room now, just about to check out." "Make sure Liam can''t be traced back to us, and if he can-" "A sweeping conviction of all the relevant parties would cost extra, Lieutenant-General. They are very difficult to pull off." "If it''s necessary, then it''ll be done." "Yes, ma''am." "...you know Daugherty?" "Yes?" "I never know when you''re being genuine, or if you''re using your magic on me." "My magic does not work through phone lines." "And how am I supposed to believe that?" "...trust, ma''am. If you can believe it." END TRANSMISSION Interlude: Compression Engines The following is an excerpt from Aetherial Engineering: A Tutorial by Kerakis Folde for the Excalan Univserity curriculum regarding Aether Compression mechanics. The text and all relevant licenses can be purchased for 19000 Ixa from specialised bookstores. Aether as a flammable fuel source only exists, in part, thanks to the donated magical conversion genetics that Aetherial Engineers have infused into converter elements for such engines. Even then, for many previous iterations of the technology, a mix of liquid Aether and diesel would be used in such engines to increase its reliability and combustibility. The Aether, by diluting diesel, in turn would save on costs that are inherent with what are recently being dubbed ''fossil fuels''. However, as of the publishing of this book, roughly fifteen years ago, a major discovery was made in the field of Aetherial Engineering, that being the concept of decompressing a physical form of Aether. You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story. Although magic capable of converting pure Aether into physical forms such as solid, liquid and gas had existed, reversing that conversion was a purely natural one, understood to take the better part of a year to do so. However through artificial means, the ability to decompress Aether past an atomic state itself into its purest form has become capable, and Compression Engines make full use of this concept. By taking Aether of solid, liquid or gas form, and decompressing it into it''s original state, which is understood to be theoretically much more voluminous than any other known state of matter, the Compression Engines are able to funnel this outward force through a specific direction, creating physical thrust before the Aether dissipates completely, into what we can only assume is beyond the physical realm. By understanding this technology and developing it further, it has permeated various aspects of Geverdian life, from manufacturing to military. This next chapter will cover and focus on the greater aspects of Compression and Decompression technology, as well as how to apply them in real world settings and use cases. Chapter 8 Part 3: Mind Palace Iris sat with Elliot, the only neutral enough party in the room. Evalyn¡¯s face had knotted for much longer than Iris was used to, and she was beginning to worry if the lines across her face would be permanent. As the discourse simmered on low heat, she clutched the edge of Elliot¡¯s sleeve. As far as Iris could care to remember, he had always been somewhere. Nothing more, nothing less. Comforting neutrality when weight was shifting left or right. Perhaps his sloth-like tendencies prevented him from choosing one in time. ¡°Mind Palace work is dangerous, Liam.¡± ¡°You don''t need to tell me that. You know how bad mine can be.¡± ¡°What if hers is worse?¡± The back and forth between the two had been punctual, sentences flying like jabs in a sparring match. Iris had begun to pull the punches together, but the entire pattern was still incomplete. Without it, Iris could barely follow. "Worse? Evalyn you know how many Mind Palaces there are. What are the chances that hers is that dangerous?" ¡°I''d bet on it, Liam,¡± Evalyn said with absolute clarity. Liam''s shifting glare questioned her, but she did not budge. Her defensive frame was strong. ¡°I have dreams,¡± Iris said, breaking the tension. ¡°Dreams about this hallway, with doors going down either side and a person in the corner. I don¡¯t know if that person is dead or alive, but it moves.¡± ¡°What¡¯s behind the doors?¡± Liam asked, softly. ¡°I¡¯ve opened one. It opened to the top of the Northern Chain Ridge. I tried walking through it, but I died.¡± ¡°You¡­you what?¡± ¡°It was too cold, and I died. My body is still there.¡± Liam retreated into his own mind, brow furrowing as he pieced together the puzzle, but none of the pieces matched. ¡°How do you die in your own mind?¡± ¡°That¡¯s why I think there¡¯s something else to it. Iris is being shown something.¡± ¡°Then that¡¯s all the more reason to train her, is it not? If she has such a dangerous Mind Palace, leaving it to her subconscious is the worst thing we could do.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t want to pressure her,¡± Evalyn muttered. ¡°And you should not neglect her either,¡± Liam countered. Iris felt Elliot¡¯s hand wrap around hers, cradling it as he leaned over. ¡°What do you want to do, Iris?¡± he asked. ¡°There¡¯s danger involved, but there are also people here to help you if it gets too scary. You¡¯ll be able to find out more about yourself and how to accept it.¡± ¡°I¡¯ve tried controlling it myself, but I-¡± ¡°Not controlling, accepting. If you ride a bicycle and head over a bump, trying to force it steady will only worsen things. You have to let things play out for that split second and react accordingly. You don¡¯t stop a river from flooding a town, you redirect it away.¡± The words were gentler on Iris¡¯s ears than she was used to. The feeling of riding a bicycle escaped her, but the retention of movement in the river''s path did not. ¡°I want to try that,¡± Iris muttered. She glanced at Evalyn, who pursed her lips, then at Liam, who showed his approval. Elliot, however, patted her head, and said nothing more of the situation, as if he had no part in the decision of it. He had given the river two options of where to flow for a crucial split second and reacted accordingly. A night had been surrendered to sleep, and Elliot had left to fulfil his assignment in the morning, right as promised. Evalyn had watched him wave a hand to Liam, felt him hug her close, and heard him whisper to Iris some more words of strength. She clung onto his sleeve for an awkward extra second, but let go once his hand found her head for another time. Small, new interactions between the two were becoming more and more commonplace. As each passed, and she was but a passive observer, it became clear that she was missing something Elliot was seeing. ¡°Doing this anywhere in the city is going to ring alarm bells. Higher Order Spirits are Aether Sommeliers, they¡¯ll pick up on such a high concentration immediately,¡± Liam explained from the hotel room¡¯s balcony. ¡°How much does Mind Palace work use?¡± Iris asked Evalyn. ¡°Not exactly a healthy amount...¡± ¡°Like alcohol then.¡± ¡°Well...there isn¡¯t a healthy amount of alcohol to begin with.¡± ¡°Nonsense,¡± Liam interjected, ¡°speaking of alcohol, I¡¯m meeting with my client tonight. I¡¯ll try and see if I can pick up anything noteworthy.¡± ¡°And if not?¡± Evalyn asked. ¡°If not, then you do what you want. Tail him, beat the crap out of him. If you¡¯re bringing Iris along, you¡¯ll have to wait outside.¡± ¡°That sounds doable,¡± she concluded, looking at Iris to confirm their common understanding. ¡°Just make sure you tail him well. He¡¯s a pretty capable evader.¡± ¡°Shadow magic?¡± ¡°Seems like he can at least duck in and out of them. If this was truly at night, it wouldn¡¯t be an issue, but with the light of the city...¡± ¡°There are shadows casted everywhere. The only way to track him would be to follow his Aether.¡± ¡°Which would mean using a bit of your own...¡± An even riskier game than an ordinary cat and mouse. She¡¯d be trailing blood every time she hunted, and there were plenty of sharks in the water. A single report could stamp her death warrant then and there, and those weren''t exactly good publicity. She looked at Iris once more, reconsidering the validity of Liam¡¯s perspective. Their world was merciless. ¡°I can¡¯t let this slip by,¡± she concluded. ¡°Whoever knows my identity got it from S.H.I.A. Otherwise, they would have acted on it sooner. The timing is too coincidental. It¡¯s not unreasonable to make the connection from our mystery client to whoever set the deal up between the two rebel groups.¡± ¡°And therefore, those missing hostages,¡± Liam said. ¡°What if you¡¯re wrong?¡± ¡°There are other investigators in the city already, not even counting the hired Wizard and Witch help. No one¡¯s going to bat an eye if I divert my attention a little.¡± ¡°It¡¯s settled then,¡± Liam said, ¡°then let¡¯s begin.¡± ¡°Spirits, especially the powerful ones are prideful. It¡¯s like a trademark. When you reach a similar power, you pull into a small bubble where you can exercise that power. The one thing they won¡¯t let you do is use your full potential in the real world.¡± The pipe was again in Liam¡¯s mouth while he paced back and forth. So far, the seldom travelled dirt road on the city''s outskirts faithfully kept their identities a secret. Evalyn kept her body temperature as regulated as she could manage. Deserts weren¡¯t a first for her, but certainly not something she was used to. She kept her attention on Iris. Between the water, the recently purchased sun hat and the field jacket, she had little reason to worry about sunstroke, but overthinking things was less dangerous than under-preparing. ¡°Many Wizards and Witches had no idea their power could reach such heights until Evalyn came along.¡± Evalyn felt Iris¡¯s look, the one she always gave whenever there was a missing book inside her head''s library. ¡°I was the first Witch to open her Mind Palace. It was the first thing I did, and for a while, it was all I could do. That in itself was a horrible experience." ¡°And I think Iris might be the same,¡± Liam suggested, the smoke from his pipe pluming, more intensely now. ¡°If we can''t push ourselves further to improve, then we must see where we must pull back from.¡± In other words, Iris would understand what she could truly do, and learn to control it from there. It was a road Evalyn had walked once before, but accepting something was a lot harder than empowering it. And Evalyn was lucky, she could consider her power a friend. ¡°And to do that, we have to force it open,¡± Liam said. ¡°You know what that entails, Iris. We have to reach that state you described when your power saved you of its own volition.¡± Iris nodded. A steady but nervous conviction about her, one that Evalyn could barely stand to accept. ¡°Ready?¡± ¡°Yes.¡± The smoke from his pipe began to spark. At first, only a small melody to accompany the wind, but eventually, it decided that was not enough. It wished to overpower it. Overpower everything. The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement. Ring of fire. Circle of hell. He tore the pipe from his mouth and inhaled like a giant through his nostrils. His chest grew, bones creaked, and ribs strained as his lungs expanded. And he let it go. A gust of fire. A hail of destructive force. The alive things travelled in a winding circle around the three, as the smoke blocked their perception of the outside world. Smoke and fire. Eternal fire. Iris was in hell. And it was closing in on its target. Through the ash filling her synapses, Iris could only think of the words Evalyn had spoken before this, before the heat stung her eyes. He isn¡¯t a normal Wizard. He found his powers through ritual. A ritual of smoke and fire, she could see it now. She could see the inferno they would walk into, the blood that would spill from their wrists. They kill themselves in ritual and send themselves to hell. Walking through nothing were countless souls, and Iris felt her feet joining them. She had felt this feeling before. She had died once... No. She had died twice already. The warriors of Aerilia present themselves to their god and ask for eternal fire that burns on water. She felt herself slipping, her conscience fading as her body died. Nerves surrendered to the dull static that was the smoke. To the coals that burnt the soles of her feet. She felt trapped in her own body as its own synapses began to kill themselves, accepting their fate. They will walk through flames barefoot, and dance with the embers until they can no more. And if they are worthy of life, the Spirit of Hell does not take theirs just yet. She wanted to scream, but her lips would not move. She had no mouth, no eyes, no ears. Her hands and feet were charred, and her legs would not respond to her. They would simply keep moving, and moving, and moving, and moving, and moving, and moving- Would you like to be saved? Iris found the voice still alive in her few remaining cells. She cried out, with everything left in her being. Yes. Hell was overpowered. The world of death was overpowered. The reality of the end was overpowered by the farce that was Iris¡¯s mind. Four plywood stage dressings stood like quiet bastion walls. The crackling of fire was snuffed out in an instant as the space outside receded into pure and utter inexistence. They were in Iris¡¯s mind. In her Mind Palace. The bristling carpet and brassy lighting were disgusting, but almost comforting after what Evalyn imagined Iris must have gone through. Albeit in the way the hands of a thief would be comforting in the face of a murderer. The feelings of taking the same abuse herself flooded back into her nerves, as they remembered a pain they had wished to never experience again. ¡°Iris!¡± she cried, barely able to control herself. She ran up to the girl and grabbed her shoulders, swivelling her around. She scanned her face again. The purple eyes, silver hair and fragile cheekbones. They were all there under the wide-brim sun hat. ¡°I¡¯m okay now, but I¡¯d rather not do that again,¡± she admitted, blinking rapidly and doing a once-over of her own body. A remarkably mute reaction. ¡°Good,¡± Evalyn said, breathing out her worry in a single sigh. ¡°Good.¡± ¡°Where the fuck are we¡­¡± Liam uttered. He was still standing, the godforsaken pipe still sticking out of his mouth. ¡°My dreams. This is where they happen,¡± Iris said, as Liam took several cautious steps down the hallway, reaching the first door and pausing. ¡°Iris, this is your Mind Palace. It¡¯s a sensory manifestation of the height of your power, but everything is closed off.¡± Except one. One door that he pushed open with the tips of his soot-covered fingers, inviting an unruly chill that contrasted the heat of moments ago. Evalyn felt her fingers snapping like a glass mug. Even if she was not tortured directly, the flames had lapped at her skin nonetheless. ¡°Evalyn, I¡¯m not going to let you see this. Just saying,¡± he said. ¡°Why?¡± ¡°It¡¯s where I died,¡± Iris whispered. ¡°There¡¯s a body in there.¡± Evalyn felt the information more than she heard it. She had heard it, many times before. The cold that had taken Iris, or at least a projection of her. The sickly snow refused to bury her completely, lest the message slip by those who would be most affected by it. She wanted to go find her, jump into the snow and look for her ward, but she understood that her ward lived in between her fingers. She could be sure, or at least she had to be. Liam pressed the door open further. ¡°This is the Northern Chain Ridge. This is the peak of Mount Pretikhan, but beyond that¡­it¡¯s not desert.¡± ¡°What is it?¡± Evalyn asked cautiously. ¡°It¡¯s green. Fields of green. And a city¡­at least I think it¡¯s a city. If it is, it¡¯s not of human design.¡± ¡°Spirit architecture?¡± Evalyn asked. ¡°Has to be, and the fact that we don¡¯t know what it looks like means its old Spirit Country. If the Queen is willing, she may be able to tell you more.¡± By Iris''s accounts, Amestris had been able to tame Iris''s Mind Palace, but if she had absolute control would depend most likely on the day of the week, knowing her. ¡°Are these memories?¡± Evalyn asked Iris this time. ¡°No. I don¡¯t remember a city like that. If they are memories, then they aren¡¯t mine.¡± Something else¡¯s memories lived inside her Mind Palace. This was not exclusively Iris¡¯s space. Liam stepped across the hallway to the adjacent door, tugging on the dull brass knob. ¡°Stop!¡± Iris shrieked. Fear. Sincere fear. The most genuine fear that Evalyn had ever seen in her life. A look of fear that would give murderers nightmares. ¡°Please,¡± she begged of Liam. ¡°Don¡¯t.¡± Liam stopped dead in his tracks, hands still wrapped around the handle. ¡°Iris, if there are more clues behind these doors, they might be the only way to know about your power.¡± ¡°But-¡± ¡°I will not let you do anything unless you can control yourself. As long as you can¡¯t keep yourself on a leash, you are a danger to everyone you have met and will ever meet, including Evalyn.¡± ¡°Iris,¡± Evalyn began to say, trying to reassure her, but Liam would not let her. ¡°Evalyn. I understand, but not right now.¡± She withdrew, unable to speak up against her mentor, even if that relationship had ended years ago. She could only think of Iris, and the wash of realisation that was going over her head. The realisation that she was a danger. More dangerous than anything the world had ever seen. ¡°Okay¡­¡± she said. Her message was barely audible, but her lips forced them into existence, and that was good enough for Liam. ¡°Thank you, Iris,¡± he said. They watched as he moved to turn the doorknob, but the click was late. In fact, it never came. Liam realised such and tried again, but the knob would not budge. ¡°Iris, come here,¡± he said, relinquishing his position. Iris walked up to him and, hesitating, tried the door herself, yet it would not open. It denied her. Her own mind denied her. Open a door Iris, open your favourite one. Eyes wide open, but they still could not see. Two figures with white fabric stitched to their faces emerged from the corners even the light could not touch. Two haunting bodies. It would have been wrong to call them anything more. ¡°What the fuck¡­¡± Liam uttered, as his pipe began to flare up once again. The smoke was snuffed before it sparked, never feeling the warmth of birth. ¡°I can¡¯t do anything, Iris¡¯s Mind Palace is already stronger than mine,¡± Liam whispered. The two figures, they were familiar. The trench coat on the first. The button-up shirt on the second. Their hair, if not mangled, was familiar. It was her. Her and Elliot. A destroyed visage of herself and Elliot. ¡°Why are you moving?¡± Iris whispered. ¡°Why are you moving why are you moving why are you moving why are you moving why are you moving-¡± The figures floated closer as the doors of the hallways creaked open, mocking the sound of Liam¡¯s creaking ribcage. The ungodly doors mocked hell itself as uncomfortably human hands reached out from them. Missing nails. Blank fingerprints. Nothing but flesh and bone and blood. Iris was turning purple. Disappearing. Her hair was betraying her. Quicker. Quicker. Racing up her back, hunting for her scalp. Liam had been bested by something for the first time since Evalyn could remember. Bested was not a fair word. It did not capture the cruelty of how he was being hunted. Evalyn was witnessing an execution. Yet she would not have it. She would not let harm come to anyone. Even if Iris was the perpetrator. Especially if Iris was a victim. "Act V: Resolution." Whatever Iris felt when heard the words autumn, was not influenced by the season itself. She knew not of the temperature change, the woollen clothing brushing against one¡¯s skin or the colour of the trees. All she knew was her. Evalyn Hardridge. All she knew of autumn was her softly maple hair and her marble-like eyes dyed with the very essence of whatever the six-letter word meant. All she knew of was the playful chill that another¡¯s embrace could easily remedy, and the constant motion of leaves, each one finding its final place. Evalyn¡¯s Mind Palace encapsulated that perfectly. She stood, still shaking in her boots as the comforting air tried to ease her quaking knees. Her hands came down from her face, finding no need to protect it anymore, and she was greeted with a sea of calm. A single loose pathway stretched endlessly forward, and endlessly backward. On either side was a deep and eternal forest. Trees of all shapes and sizes adorned their beautifully aged leaves with pride, and willed Iris to comfort. A hand slid beside hers with the same intentions as the smiling trees. She looked up and saw Evalyn breathing in deeply. ¡°Maybe it''s just a difference in experience for now, but it still looks like I¡¯m ahead of you, Iris,¡± she smiled. ¡°Ah, crap¡­¡± Liam said, doubling over his knees and exhaling a tense breath. ¡°Thanks, Evalyn.¡± ¡°Anytime.¡± Iris could not stop herself from savouring every moment, and she breathed in deeply the atmosphere of the new environment, hoping to replace any smoke or stale air. Crisply neutral, as if it invited its own interpretation. ¡°I was the first Witch to hail from a nation with very little magic. I was not used to how it felt or behaved, while people like Liam were desensitised to it. Because of that, I could sense it acutely, yet not control it whatsoever. I think that has something to do with why I had to train like I did. Maybe you¡¯re the same.¡± Maybe Iris was, and she was happy with that. She was happy that she no longer felt alone. Evalyn turned around to a bench sitting beside the pathway. ¡°Hi old man,¡± she said, gently. Iris tilted her head and found an elderly gentleman sitting on the edge of the bench. ¡°I always like his suits,¡± Liam mused, taking off his own trench coat to reveal a navy suit of his own, although the styles differed greatly. Liam wore Iris¡¯s image of a suit, yet the old man¡¯s seemed more dated. The coat ended abruptly at the front yet continued like tails on his backside. The sleeves were tight, the collar was wide, and he was accompanied by a cane and a black top hat, resting on his lap. ¡°May I sit down?¡± Liam asked the old man, who inhaled deeply before finally opening his eyes. ¡°Sit downwind, you smell of smoke. All that Aerilian Fire mustn''t be doing your fabrics any favours,¡± he said in a raspy voice. With the wave of his top hat, the bench extended to his right, and Liam took a grateful seat down. "It is a gift from Hell. He would not be so happy if I refused to use it." ¡°You, ladies, may sit here,¡± the old man said, inviting Iris and Evalyn to sit on his left. Evalyn egged her on, and Iris sat down. As she did, he inhaled again. ¡°Forgive me for my discourtesy, young lady, but I don¡¯t sense the air of¡­youth around you.¡± Iris watched the aged man, and he watched back through the sagging of his eyelids. Rainbow-white eyes adorned his vision with brilliant wisdom. ¡°How old do I seem?¡± ¡°Frankly,¡± the old man said, smacking his lips, ¡°older than me¡­¡± ¡°Are you sure?¡± Evalyn whispered. ¡°Yes. I believe that would narrow down your search significantly.¡± If this was Evalyn¡¯s Mind Palace, then there was only a single thing that could reside here, other than Evalyn herself. ¡°You¡¯re the Wishing Whale?¡± Iris asked. ¡°I represent unattainable desire, yes,¡± he smiled. ¡°Darminjung, do you know anything about her?¡± Evalyn asked slowly, caring not to raise her voice too loud. The old Spirit thought on it but shook his head. ¡°I do not have a memory outside the wishes I grant. I do not have any form unless someone wishes it, after all. All I can say for certain is that young Iris here is older than the concept of human or Spirit desire.¡± Evalyn was at a loss for words, and Liam¡¯s expression looked as though the sand of the desert three layers outside was grinding his gears to a halt. Older than desire. What was older than that? ¡°Evalyn,¡± Liam started, ¡°I can¡¯t recommend Iris following you in your jobs if that¡¯s the state of her Mind Palace. There¡¯s clearly something else in there,¡± he said, and rightly so. Iris knew this more than anyone, but she could not bring herself to agree. Iris knew she could be a danger, but that hint of chance was enough for her to recognise the hand she had extended. They had tried to protect Evalyn and stop her from leaving. That was real, and that was redeemable. ¡°Leave her be, smokestack,¡± the Wishing Whale said, ¡°if we were basing things off danger, none of you would be so friendly with the state. I imagine that¡¯s why such a powerful Spirit of Protection decided not to kill her.¡± ¡°But-¡± ¡°If a Spirit as aggressive in her methods as her chose not to kill her, then I imagine there was some faith to be had. Perhaps she might cause great distress but will be needed nonetheless.¡± He turned his gaze upon Evalyn, and Evalyn specifically. ¡°So, raise her well. This family will not leave you quite so soon.¡± The hand holding Iris¡¯s tightened defiantly as if closing itself off to words it did not want to hear. ¡°It was lovely meeting you all. Best of luck.¡± Interlude: Bluey No, you have your pattern reader. It''ll teach you words a lot better than I could. No? Iris. Come on. You''re going to bed- hey! No! Okay! Fine! Just stop using your hair that tickles! So, what do you want? Talk? About what? If you say ''anything'', I won''t be able to think of something interesting. A story? A story... Did I ever tell you about my friend? No? Perfect. Well, once upon a time, before I met you, and right after I had met Elliot, we came across a small Spirit. How small? About the size of an apple. Looked a bit like a blue slug and could turn himself and whatever he pleased invisible. He would talk very meekly, and sit on Elliot''s shoulder. Why? Because he was his co-pilot. One of Amestris''s children. Y''know, the blue Spirit folk that lived in the Queen''s forest. They''re all her children, and they''re all in line for the throne. This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.Oh, I don''t remember, it must have been...around four thousand down the line. Anyway, when we first came to Geverde, he was assigned as Elliot''s co-pilot. Elliot would steer and shoot, and he would control the fuel and the speed. Back then, in those biplanes, it was a two-man job. Bluey would live with us, dine with us, work with us, fight with us, a bit like you. But there was one problem, he thought he was worthless. Was that too harsh? He thought...he didn''t have much value. When he was so far down the line for the throne, and he had such a good magic as going completely invisible, it isn''t hard to see why he never felt like he worked for his achievements, and that he would never fulfill his life purpose. But when we met him, we gave him a gift, well I did. I called him Bluey, and Elliot mocked me for it. And Bluey, Elliot and I went on to try and save the world. No, no. That''s enough. You''ve had your fill for tonight, so turn on your pattern reader or go to sleep. I''ll tell you the rest another day. I promise. Goodnight. Chapter 8 Part 4: Lost Things in the Desert For the son of a farmer, Elliot was remarkably indifferent to the land. He grew up in the old-growth forests of Sidos¡¯s east, which to him only meant something was always lurking a few feet past the treeline, and that his little clearing was less of a safe haven and more of a death trap. When his father presented him with the miracle of flight, he decided to forego any relationship with the land he walked on. While others were at peace with trekking through hostile brush and deep green, so random that the simplest breath could rearrange their entire path forward, Elliot was never satisfied, knowing there was a way to avoid all of that, to be superior to it. To mingle with the neutrality that was the sky, the space above the clouds where nothing worldly could ever hope to reach him. Approaching thirty, he had grown out of such fantasies as superiority and recognised that the skies were just as dangerous as the land he took off from. But by god, did it make things easier. Like brush strokes on an abstract painting, the desert was monotonous. Unlike the forest, which chose to hide its dangers until its prey was at its most unsuspecting, the desert had foregone the essential ingredient of life a millennia ago. The grain simply shifted forward, and always forward. If it were ever to swallow Elliot whole, he would die knowing it was never anything personal. He was fortunate enough to see the desert as if it really was an abstract painting, instead of having to feel it. The small fan hanging from the roof of the car kept his vitals in check, if not barely. ¡°Doing alright there?¡± his driver asked. Jerimiah. A remarkably human name for a Spirit. Clothed in grunt uniform, he looked to be five foot five inches sitting down but was, in actuality, six foot three when he stood. A furry ball of a head, where the skin hugged the contours of his skull a little too closely. He lacked a nose, or eyes for that matter, and sensed everything through the vibrations he felt entering the palms of his bony, furless hands and feet. He had three children and a wife, who had left him six years ago for some Spiritual guru named Urumahya. The only reason Elliot knew all this, was because Jerimiah was about as persistent of a talker as a cab driver on a Thursday afternoon, and Elliot hadn¡¯t the heart to tell him to keep his mouth shut. Between the driver to his right and the desert encompassing his pinprick of an existence, Elliot had difficulty deciding which form of consistent and monotonous torture was worse. But the comfort of his seat and the fan dangling precariously from the car''s ceiling persuaded him to hold out for just that little bit longer. He had readied himself for something more standard of a military. A powerful diesel engine, painted in a camouflaging dull beige, and an open-top roof with no means of cooling off, just to let its passengers know there was no room for wusses. But the transport he got was remarkably¡­refined. A sleek, white body that traded subtlety and camouflage for speed and albedo. The insides were cushioned and the dash panels were furnished with polished wood. Of course, the engine was as quiet as Aether was omnipresent. He tapped on the glass and received almost no report whatsoever. It was rock solid. Bulletproof, perhaps four times over. This was overkill by any military¡¯s metrics, yet in no other country was so much money funnelled into a fighting force so small. ¡°Hey, Jerry,¡± Elliot whispered, unsure why he felt the need to ask politely. ¡°Yes, sir?¡± Jerimiah responded with an unexpected punctuality. ¡°How long until we get there?¡± ¡°Not long now, actually, sir. That reminds me, can you get the flare out of the glove box? Sir.¡± ¡°Flare?¡± ¡°Yes. We use it as a signal, sir. To let the base know this car hasn¡¯t been jacked by the F.S.A., sir.¡± Elliot bent over and unbuckled the glove box, and just as Jerimiah had promised, a flare lay precariously atop several manuals and relentlessly worked comic books, their spines in shambles. ¡°Are the F.S.A really that competent, or are you lot just failing?¡± Elliot asked as he cranked the window down. ¡°No sir, we¡¯re plenty confident, sir. The F.S.A. gets a lot of outside help, sir. From human-dominated nations, sir.¡± ¡°Yeah, I know all about that,¡± Elliot muttered as he held the flare gun out the window and clamped down on the trigger. With a sound like a miniature mortar, the flare flew into the sky. He angled the side view mirror up, figuring there was no use for it in the open desert. He watched as the flare fizzled behind them as enthusiastically as himself trying to wake up every morning before dying out entirely, seemingly bringing nothing to the world but piss-poor performance. ¡°Got anything more powerful? They ain¡¯t seeing shit when it¡¯s this bright out,¡± he said, tossing the flare gun back into the glove box and closing it with his knee. ¡°It¡¯s an Aether flare, sir. Watchmen at the gate will sense it, sir.¡± ¡°What if they¡¯re human this time of day?¡± ¡°No humans are allowed on the base, sir. Except for yourself, sir. Humans stay in the city, sir.¡± ¡°Right¡­¡± The air base had built itself atop a concrete foundation, rising above and plunging below the metres or so of sand that lapped at the edges of it, silently threatening to swallow the proud monument to money and power in its entirety. A symbol that technology could triumph over the land, or inversely one that nature would eventually reclaim all things. Proud of that poetry, Elliot finally found himself standing on solid ground once again. Sand-ridden runways surrounded the central hangars in strips of black scars across the otherwise fluid landscape. Each hangar stood proudly, their silver sheen a bulwark for the pilots and their airborne stallions. And in the centre of it all stood a watch tower. ''Control tower'' was the correct term, but watch tower fit what Elliot saw more accurately. A lighthouse, a penthouse suite scrutinising the lonely panopticon. Each Spirit that walked by was so different from the one previous, that Elliot lost track fairly quickly. From fur to scales to barely any physical form whatsoever. The only commonality every single Spirit shared was their uniform. A blotched, beige camouflage. To save his limited memory, only those who he spoke to extensively would he consider of any importance. This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version. A Staff Sergeant Yalowique greeted him with familiar discipline and an unfamiliarly translucent body. Surprisingly, he had four limbs. ¡°Captain,¡± Yalowique saluted, tapping his boots together. Elliot returned the salute, albeit much more casually. ¡°Air Marshall will see you now,¡± he reported. ¡°Air¡­Air Marshall?¡± ¡°Is there a problem?¡± ¡°Why are they here?!¡± ¡°To oversee joint training. They want to meet with you personally.¡± ¡°Enter,¡± a soft voice permitted from the opposite side of the beautifully polished door. He had recieved permission just before his knuckles had the privilege to tap on the wood itself. Such an immaculate door warranted a worthy knock, yet Elliot was robbed of such luxuries on this occasion. He lightly turned the doorknob, suddenly feeling the need to be as delicate as possible as he entered. Inside, it was as if the cruelties of the outside world were kept at bay by some magical barrier. Knowing Fadaak, it was not exactly the wildest of guesses. ¡°Air conditioning. Marvellous, don¡¯t you think? Come, sit,¡± the Spirit offered from the far side of a large, indulgently decorated desk. Weird, thought Elliot as he took the Spirit up on its offer, being careful not to forget the appropriate salute. A long body coiled atop itself in a spiral, with its arrowed head craning down above him. Elliot often disliked comparing Spirits to animals, yet he could barely avoid it in this particular case. A snake made of bark, sporting two spindly arms protruding from his torso, almost like an afterthought, one bearing a long pipe. The only thing more decorated than their desk was their left chest, adorned with seven rows of multi-coloured bands. The overwhelming rank made Elliot strangely proud of the crown of antlers he adorned on his shoulder. With each small shift, he could hear the forests of his hometown, and the puffs of smoke gave Elliot anxiety as to when the Air Marshall would inevitably set fire to themself. The Spirit liked its trinkets, judging by the back wall of his office. Almost like a mirror hall did the glass cabinet of rocks, statues and talismans stretch from one end of the room to the other, boasting a collection Elliot could only assume the value of. ¡°We just got it installed a week ago. FrostBox magic. They¡¯re broadening their business horizons a little,¡± the Spirit said, its voice emulating a gust playfully rushing through a small grove. ¡°I thought you didn¡¯t allow humans on site, sir,¡± Elliot asked. ¡°If they have a valid reason to be here, we allow it. If they¡¯re outsiders, even more so.¡± ¡°But not from the city?¡± ¡°Never from the city, no. Cannot trust them as much as we would like to.¡± The Air Marshall took a drag on his pipe, the smoke seeping from the seams in their skin, while the cool air massaged Elliot¡¯s muscles and soothed his sweat back into his body. For a strange moment, he felt a breeze travel through the room with no open windows, as the Air Marshall keenly watched him relax. ¡°Karlan. Vehekres Karlan,¡± the Spirit said. ¡°Senior Captain-¡± ¡°No need for formalities,¡± Karlan stated, the persuasiveness of the statement unhindered by his lack of modality. ¡°Elliot Maxwell, sir.¡± Karlan smiled, in a way that stretched the word¡¯s definition. ¡°We thank you for your service, truly. Having one of Geverde¡¯s best train our pilots is an honour.¡± Elliot readjusted himself, feeling too comfortable in his chair. ¡°No, not at all. The Rapacians require quite a learning curve.¡± Using his offhand, Karlan played with the contours of their pipe. A delicate piece, adorned from the stem to the chamber with beautifully carved engravings. Unique in every way possible, yet one of many in their collection. ¡°I understand very well. I was one of the few who invested in compressor technology the better part of two decades ago.¡± ¡°You were?¡± Karlan placed their pipe on a small stand, resting it neatly on his desk beside an ink well. Even if only for a short moment, Karlan chose to place things down perfectly, as if it were all to be petrified at any moment. ¡°Yes. I have always had a great interest in anything human. It is a sentiment carried by many elites in the city.¡± They chose a particular cabinet, three from the left, creaking it open delicately with their twig limbs. ¡°Language creates myths, and myths create order. Order creates society, and society creates power. As if ignoring the natural principles Spirits hold so dearly, humanity gameified power, and monopolised their assets.¡± The Air Marshall produced, from the cabinet, a model Rapacian fighter of astonishing detail. Every screw, hatch, and handle even Elliot had trouble recalling was all there, in perfectly ratioed detail. ¡°Geverde has always been such a shining example of how anyone can play the game of power.¡± Elliot¡¯s gaze was still upon the model, a reminder of the strangely alien depiction of Geverde. The one Karlan idolized so fondly. ¡°I doubt anyone would blame us for trying our hand at the game, don¡¯t you think?¡± the Air Marshall smiled. ¡°I think some do,¡± Elliot muttered, adorning the model for just a second too long. ¡°You mean the humans in the city? That¡¯s certainly a case-by-case basis, I can assure you. When there are so many, you¡¯re bound to breed a few¡­bad apples.¡± Bad apples with hostages and Higher Order Armour. ¡°In any case,¡± Elliot started, ¡°we appreciate your generosity in allowing us to investigate your city. It means a lot to the families of the ones missing.¡± ¡°Oh, don¡¯t mind that,¡± the Spirit scoffed, adorning the model plane themself, tracing the contours with their hands, delicately caressing it like a hopeful child would nurse their dreams for the future. ¡°It seems everyone has been losing something in the desert recently.¡± The minty fresh air had taken on a sinister cold, yet a sudden subtle rumble saved Elliot from living in the uncomfortable moment any longer. The entire building swayed gently, from left to right and back left. The Air Marshall¡¯s pipe fell on its side, releasing the lazily smouldering material onto the table. ¡°What was that?¡± ¡°Grain Men,¡± explained Karlan, playing with the wasted contents of the pipe. ¡°Spirits of the desert. We do not encounter many this close to the coast, yet they¡¯re attracted to Aether, like most Spirits.¡± ¡°So, they¡¯d target the base?¡± ¡°No, we don¡¯t think so. The magic here is plentiful, but weak compared to what Grain Men bother themselves with. Guardians, as far as our understanding goes. Guarding god knows from anything too powerful.¡± Karlan found the will to brush the spilled ash into a neat pile, before crushing it soon after. Slowly, with a single finger. ¡°You needn¡¯t worry yourself, Senior Captain. Your domain is the skies, not the sand.¡± A low rumble drew Kurael¡¯s attention away from his work. The third time that morning. Each count had progressively worsened, albeit not by much. Kurael¡¯s only reassurance was the definite sense of distance between the base and the mysterious source of the sound. He returned to tightening the bolt, which had loosened a few rotations to the vibrations. Grumbling, he began to refit it. Six men were currently working on the forearms of their twenty-seventh unit. He had them sort pieces, measure metal plating, and cut parts down to size before passing the ingredients on, allowing him to tighten the screws himself. The assembly had remained a closely guarded secret, and it, in turn, guarded the value of his life. ¡°Hand me another armour plating,¡± Kurael called from his step ladder. ¡°Right away boss,¡± a miscellaneous voice reported from behind him. Out of spite, he had avoided remembering names, but he knew the voice''s owner to be the smallest and the skinniest of the group of six, the one that had a knack for asking useless questions. He felt the metal in his hand and returned to the rhythm of tightening. ¡°Say thank you.¡± His body tensed, and the hand clutching the spanner tightened instead. Kurael could barely work up the resolve to turn around, let alone answer. His voice box scratched between silence and sound, unsure which would save his life and which would have him lose it. ¡°Say thank you, boss,¡± another said. ¡°We ain¡¯t your slaves.¡± The particular line coerced Kurael into choosing his next words wisely. He turned, albeit not the full half circle, only enough to see their dead-serious faces. They expected a reply. The correct reply. ¡°T-thank you. Good work...I appreciate it.¡± ¡°Wasn¡¯t that easy?¡± one asked. A larger one, muscles bulging from his meek singlet. God. Why did he have to think about his mother now? Just as the adrenaline subsided, just as the six returned to their work, the image of her ran through his head. The gesture of disappointment was the only thing he could remember of her. The only thing. His betrayal of her. The one that corrupted every other memory of her, the fear that it could be the only memory he kept of her when he drew his last breath. But he was breathing. The best thing he could do for her, was to keep things the way they were for as long as possible. The F.S.A. Their logo coated with sand had warranted little attention upon his arrival, but it did not take long for him to discern what it stood for. Interlude: Bluey II Me? You have your pattern reader. Well, yes. Evalyn said the same thing because it''s true. Bluey? She told you about Bluey. You want to know the rest? What do you know so far? Ah. I see. Well for starters, he was four thousand six hundred and thirty-third in line for the throne, about yay big and...well yes, he was very self-conscious. Quite the opposite of me at the time. Looking back, I''m glad he was the one with the hand on the throttle and not me, else I would''ve been bingo fuel in about five minutes in one of those biplanes. Pilot terms. You don''t need to know. Yeah, we worked together before and during the war. He had this amazing magic that made him invisible. It was remarkable. Miss it? No. I was doing fine without going invisible, and I''ve been doing fine without it. It was having him on my shoulder all the time that I miss. Kind of like an old pirate with a parrot on his shoulder, except he wasn''t loud and obnoxious. That was Evalyn''s job. Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions. I remember this one time when Evalyn was about to undertake an espionage mission into her old Manor, snagging files and such. She said she wanted to fight, knew the layout since it was practically her prison for eighteen years, and had blown every physical and mental aptitude test out the water. But, naturally, we were still worried. So Bluey got something infused for her. You know how that works, right? We took my watch and infused his magic into it, letting her go invisible if she ever needed to. But the Queen disabled it. Well, in her mind, she lends the magic to her children, so it isn''t theirs to infuse without her permission. But he fought back, saying that he never asked for this magic the same way a child doesn''t ask to be born, so if he was going to have it, he would use it in whatever way he thought was necessary. And so he did. Why? I think it''s because he finally knew what he wanted for himself. No, I''ll tell you the rest another night. It''s late. Ah! No. You''re not getting me with that again. Chapter 8 Part 5: City Drifter ¡°They¡¯re all slaves, Iris. Workers who don¡¯t get paid. Every single human resident in the city.¡± The Free Slave Army. That¡¯s who had bought the hostages from S.H.I.A. The world around her took on new shades of paint and darker hues of evil. The monumental towers snarled into overbearing spires, watch towers scrutinising everything below them¡ªeveryone around her. The streets of golden ambience had created a sickly ironic stage for its actors to live on, to survive upon. Every human, man, woman and child had been painted, no, sullied with a bucket of liquid context, revealing their true existence to her. The farce that was the City-State of Fadaak fully unravelled itself after snickering at her ignorance. She gripped Evalyn¡¯s hand as the crowd began to feel more and more alien, more surreal. There was a weight to the situation, a gravity too heavy for her to bear, too heavy that her mind would not let her heart bear it. The implications that came with the word ¡®slave¡¯. There were too many. Not sympathy; sympathy was as genuine as how the billboard signs advertised hollow product after hollow product, and empathy was just about as helpful as the infinite crowds were in helping a stumbling woman. Iris watched as the woman, no older than Evalyn, tried to regain her footing. In front of her, a spread of groceries escaped from a paper bag. The crowd parted around her like the dogged advance of sand dunes. A relentless forward motion, as if the rule of nature was well and truly alive in the mirage of a city. ¡°Slaves built this city, and the slave trade is how the city makes its money. That¡¯s just how it is,¡± Evalyn sighed, leaving her spot on the bench. She walked up to the woman and knelt, offering a hand. The woman looked confused. Grateful, yet confused about how to express it. Evalyn helped her to her feet and began to wrangle the escaped items back into the bag as the woman watched in astonishment. Not long after, the woman returned to being one with the unending forward motion, and Evalyn returned to her seat next to Iris. ¡°That¡¯s just how it is,¡± she repeated as if it made perfect sense. It didn¡¯t to Iris. ¡°I wonder how Smokey¡¯s doing,¡± Evalyn said nonchalantly, playing with the position of her legs as she gazed at the opposite building. A circular tower rebelled against the very grid structure the city had risen from, finding its foundations on one of the most frequented streets, and ending in a domed roof, perfect for stargazing, if there were any to be seen. The city¡¯s attempts to overwhelm them with artificial light had been much too successful. Iris and Evalyn had been waiting across the street for the better part of half an hour, idly watching for any new developments, good or bad. ¡°Colte-¡± ¡°Mr. Colte,¡± ¡°¡­Mr. Colte doesn¡¯t seem like a bad guy,¡± Iris stated, correcting herself. ¡°No, he isn¡¯t a bad guy,¡± Evalyn agreed, ¡°we just don¡¯t agree on some things, y¡¯know?¡± ¡°No, I don¡¯t. That¡¯s why I¡¯m asking,¡± Iris said, fully aware she had never asked a question. Nuances, Evalyn had taught her. Stuff that made humans emotionally intelligent. ¡°Smart-ass. Elliot¡¯s not a good role model, so don¡¯t take after him,¡± Evalyn chuckled. ¡°It¡¯s all thanks to him that I¡¯m where I am now, so he must be doing something right.¡± ¡°You¡¯re saying that like I don¡¯t exist?¡± Evalyn scoffed at Iris¡¯s sudden onset of sass. ¡°What¡¯s he been teaching you?¡± ¡°Nothing!¡± ¡°Nothing?¡± ¡°¡­well, maybe some things.¡± ¡°Like what?¡± ¡°To call you ¡®mum¡¯ whenever I get you mad.¡± ¡°You¡¯re not getting off that easily.¡± ¡°Sorry, mum.¡± ¡°¡­¡± ¡°See? It does work!¡± Iris cried. A beet-red Evalyn caught Iris¡¯s flanks in her pincers and squeezed them until Iris begged her to stop. They both were left smiling, and Evalyn sighed, finally ready to speak. ¡°Colte has a specific way of looking at the whole¡­Witch and Wizard thing.¡± ¡°How so?¡± ¡°Well¡­it¡¯s complicated,¡± Evalyn said, dodging the subject clumsily. ¡°He just didn¡¯t agree with the way I did things. Keeping a family and all.¡± ¡°Did he think keeping a family was a bad idea?¡± Evalyn retracted her legs under the bench, looking down as if an answer would fall into her lap. ¡°No. I think he wanted one himself, but he understood what our line of work entails. How it can be¡­dangerous.¡± ¡°But you¡¯re stronger than everyone else. Why is that such a big worry?¡± ¡°¡­It wasn¡¯t the prospect of death. Having gone through that ritual, he knows what death means better than anyone else. It was the way of life. He and I are the same, but we choose to¡­we need to think about it differently. Else I don¡¯t think we could live with ourselves.¡± Suddenly, Evalyn perked up, like the ears on a cat, her vision trained across the street. Iris followed the line of sight and found Colte at the end of it, glancing left and right before crossing the road. ¡°Let¡¯s go,¡± Evalyn muttered as she stood up, beckoning Iris to follow. Together, they strode through the oncoming crowd, meeting Colte in the middle of the road. ¡°Client¡¯s spooked; didn¡¯t get much out of him,¡± he said as he passed. They kept walking, and barely a second elapsed before he was lost in the mass of moving people. Iris felt the presence beside her shift as Evalyn changed from purely human to just a little more Spirit, denoted by the dull glowing of her tattoo. ¡°He¡¯s this way,¡± she said, veering off diagonally, crossing into a side street in the shadow of the club¡¯s effulgence. They both began to scan the side street rapidly as their surroundings grew saturated with street vendors and food stalls. Those who crowded the market were human, but many vendors were Spirit, fully capable of sensing magic if used too indulgently. Iris could feel that danger, but she nonetheless sensed the dull presence beside her again. This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere. ¡°This way. He¡¯s hopping in and out of shadows, but I can find him.¡± Evalyn ploughed through the crowd of humans, dragging Iris on behind her. What Evalyn was too focused to see in the corner of her vision, Iris was noticing twofold. With each flash of magic, another street vendor stirred. With each flash, their gazes were growing closer and closer to congregating on Evalyn. She was leaving a trail of nectar faster than they could outpace it. A hand reached towards Evalyn from amongst the bodies. An unnatural, Spirit one that disappeared as quickly as it had existed. They were playing a precarious game of cat and mouse, but Evalyn bulldozed through with a one-track mind, and all Iris could do was hold on for dear life. ¡°Hey. Hey!¡± The voice faded into the background. ¡°The hell was that?¡± Another suspicion was lost to the wind. As they teetered on the border between hunter and hunted, Evalyn dragged Iris down an alleyway, branching at a right angle from the side street. They were sandwiched between the backsides of two multi-storey buildings, and even the overflowing population had yet to make it very far down these secretive passages. Behind every dumpster and round every corner, the two readied themselves for a sudden attack. Even when fully aware that the ground beneath them could be hosting the enemy, they could not afford to slow down. They were still moving, which meant the target was still aware of a potential pursuer. The maze-like structure of the unplanned, invisible parts of the city only worsened their problems. She could sense Evalyn wanted to go in a specific direction, but which set of pathways and corners would take her there, she did not know. Yet by now, they were the only ones around. If the target needed proof that they were being chased, that was it. The target¡¯s actions warranted high-speed pursuit, yet even Iris could understand that they¡¯d have lost him a long time ago without Evalyn''s magic. ¡°Fuck. Where is he,¡± Evalyn hissed as if on cue, her tattoo timidly growing more daring with its light and magic as her frustration grew. ¡°What¡¯ll happen if you don¡¯t find him,¡± Iris asked. ¡°I¡­someone is close to knowing who I am. That puts you and Elliot at risk. Especially when we¡¯ve gotten this far. Fuck!¡± Evalyn¡¯s grip tightened around Iris¡¯s hands, and her movements became more sporadic. The working Evalyn was slowly degrading, melting into a small trail of falsities. This was also an Evalyn Hardridge Iris knew, one that needed all the help she could get. And so, she asked for help. Nothing lifesaving, but a favour one could repay with an offer for lunch. She needed to find this person. Hunt this person. He was dangerous, and that was all Iris needed to know. And the voice in her head liked hunting. The barbed red carpet of the hallway began to unravel beneath her feet, revealing to her a stained pathway forward. It filled in the blank space between each wall, pipe, and grimy dumpster, adding colour but little vibrance. Yet it served its purpose. ¡°This way,¡± Iris said coldly, breaking into a run and tugging Evalyn along with her. Her vision tunnelled as her footsteps turned mechanical. Follow the red carpet, follow the path, the carpet, the path, the carpet, the blood, the path, the blood-soaked path. Corner. Alley. Junction. Left. Closer. Closer. Closer. She could taste it, and the voice in her head was giggling, squealing in anticipation as Iris felt her hair begin to disintegrate. She felt the weight of her waist-long tresses disappear, lifting the burden off her shoulders. She was free, and she knew the orb in her hand to be more capable than the largest of wrecking balls. She could feel it, feel its weight. She could control it with ease. She felt a putrid smile creep over her face as her predatory presence rapidly approached the far end of the pathway. Whoever he was, she did not care. He was there, and Iris had found him. With a wave of her hand, the orb smashed into the concrete of the building, sending tremors all throughout her body, the sheer force and magic of the impact forcing the target out of the shadows and into a physical form. A beak. The suit, voice box and all. ¡°Holy shit! What the fuck!¡± the target squealed as it shielded itself from the dust and debris. The Beak dared not peek at the crater left in the wake of Iris¡¯s assault, his attention was too focused on the second attack, yet it never came. Iris felt a hand across her face, and something tripped her feet. She was shoved onto the ground, the fall knocking the voices into silence completely. The red carpet was gone, and she picked herself off the dirty concrete, dazed and still dizzy. The target stood against the wall, hands raised above his head, and a gun pointed directly between his set of hollow eyes. Evalyn watched him with the barrel of her handgun and glanced at Iris with her eyes¡ªa mix of worry and relief. ¡°Don¡¯t move. You¡¯re coming with us.¡± ¡°¡®Opening your mind to new possibilities¡¯ is a sentence I don¡¯t exactly feel cool saying, but that is one of the few ways you can describe Rapacian fighters in a nutshell. While Sidosian fighters may carry present-day technologies to their logical conclusion, the Rapacian fighters work off entirely new systems,¡± Elliot explained, flipping through a notepad. On each page, a pilot and their statistics were listed. Name, age, rank, experience. Nothing more, nothing less, and precisely in that order. ¡°A fixed-wing configuration will allow the pilot to control the plane with no assistance whatsoever, much like what can be expected from a regular fighter. However, the free-wing configuration allows the magic to play a more active role. Much like a bird, you trade stability for agility, provided you can handle the G¡¯s.¡± In front of him were forty students in beige-grey uniforms, sitting frighteningly at attention behind their desks. Elliot was never used to such disciplined attention; it was often more of the listless kind. Often the muted one-way conversations with his classes would be filled with an ambient soundtrack of the Steel Whale, yet his teaching space was deathly quiet. Where the atmosphere of sweat, metal and work echoed throughout the steel whale, out in the desert, the wind swallowed any sound too soft. He worked his way to the end of the notepad, having recorded the information in his head as briefly as possible. In summary, most were amateurs who only knew how to fly their previously assigned aircraft in training, and many had only recently earned their wings. Only a choice few had seen any deployment, and even then, often for scramble alerts that went nowhere. A relatively new Air Force with no foreign interests to defend. They were neither expansionary nor did they have any enemies to their borders. Everything centred around money, and as far as Elliot knew, their Navy was what kept their trade routes secure. They kept the lifelines alive, leaving the Air Force to pluck any thorns that might get in the way. ¡°Over the course of the next two weeks and beyond, you¡¯ll be trained in several free-wing dogfighting manoeuvres only possible in the Rapacian fighters. More specifically, you will learn how to escort bombers, engage with bandits who target said bombers, and destroy anti-air instalments when it is deemed mission critical.¡± He stopped his pacing, returning the notepad to his breast pocket. ¡°And that¡¯s pretty much all it says. Any questions?¡± Silence. ¡°Good. I didn¡¯t think bombing terrorists would be that complicated to understand,¡± A hesitant chuckle awkwardly shifted through the cohort, catching Elliot off guard. ¡°What? Bad joke?¡± The students scratched their necks and looked away, some even turning towards each other and whispering. Finally, one brave, perhaps daft soul spoke out on behalf of the entire class. ¡°Forgive us, sir. Being taught by a human is a¡­new experience,¡± they said. A smaller runt, near the back of the classroom. ¡°We didn¡¯t think any human would call the F.S.A. terrorists, sir.¡± He took the answer and glanced around the classroom, gathering the sense of a unanimous agreement. He nodded, fingers curling around the chalk, whitening his hands. ¡°Well, humans call each other terrorists all the time. You end up getting used to it,¡± he said, realising just how badly his efforts at fitting in had backfired. ¡°No, sir. We¡¯d never group you with Help and Labour, sir.¡± Elliot felt his skin crawl as he processed those words, opting to return to preparing his blackboard. The sound of the wind blew against the hangar walls like a mocking chuckle as the words Help and Labour refused to leave the back of his mind, a gentle yet potent reminder of exactly why he hated visiting the city. Like the only sheep conscious of the slaughter, he could feel the churning gears of the slave trade as an unsettling truth bearing down upon him. He was not as ignorant as the average tourist, yet he knew he could do nothing about it, even if he wanted to. His thoughts drifted back to Iris, wondering how she would take the truth, and if she would try to be any bit heroic about it. How would she feel knowing he had a part in crushing the dreams of those who wanted to be free? ¡°Captain Maxwell,¡± a voice called from the classroom entrance, followed by a brisk salute. ¡°Phone call for you, sir. Line seven.¡± The messenger turned to leave, and Elliot followed, frantically ordering his class to sit still and refrain from doing anything outstandingly illegal. A phone was mounted to the wall only a few paces down the hallway. The messenger beckoned Elliot forward before saluting and taking his leave. Elliot picked up the receiver and dialled the correct line, playing with the cord as he did so. ¡°Hello?¡± ¡°Hello. Elliot Maxwell speaking.¡± ¡°Hi, this is Michelle,¡± Evalyn said from the other end of the line. ¡°Hi honey, I¡¯m at work; what¡¯s the problem?¡± ¡°I need to talk to you about something regarding the bookings, but I don¡¯t want to bother you if you¡¯re busy. Mind calling me back later?¡± ¡°Sure. I¡¯ll find a phone once I get off work.¡± ¡°See you then,¡± Evalyn said as she hung up. Elliot returned the phone, knowing he needed to find a private line as soon as he could manage. Interlude: Lt. Gen and the Beautiful Woman "Florence. Florence! Hey, easy!" Marie Elvera watched the slender woman awkwardly work around her expanded abdomen. Even standing up in her chair too quickly was dangerous, at least it was to her concerned best friend. Florence chuckled, unfazed by it. "You worry too much; I can get a spoon myself," she said, trotting back into the cafe in an unsteady, top-heavy jaunt. Marie watched the woman practically prance as if the seven-month-deep pregnancy was nothing but an uncomfortable breeze. They had found each other at a small cafe in a quiet part of the city, with vines crawling the orange-brick building, invading the small window sills in a slow, nonchalant way. With a canal right by them, little sound reached the small, walled-off garden unless a gondola drifted past. It was their hiding spot, their small meeting place every second month that, so far, very few knew of. Marie watched her friend thank the elderly lady behind the glass counter, lined with cakes and sandwiches. From here, she could see the words appear on the old lady''s bone-white mask as her shadowy limbs reached for a spoon. Bless you, and your baby, dearest. She''ll be just as beautiful as you are. Florence chucked, "that she will," before returning. It was a shame Beaks were incapable of talking, yet the gentle manner in which the words seemed to ink themselves onto their masks brought its own elegance. "See?" Florence teased, "I''m perfectly capable." She sat down slowly, her face already anticipating the pillowy apricot shortcake, overdue for a bite. Perhaps it was the cravings, or perhaps there was no difference at all, but Florence''s sweet tooth had grown nothing short of rabid in recent months. Marie marvelled every time she saw her best friend, belly grown significantly more compared to the last time they had met. Tight, belted summer dresses had grown into wider, more draping attires, yet she looked beautiful all the same. The wavy red hair and radiant smile had left many a man, woman and Spirit alike lost for words. She was just that type of woman, and both Marie, and Florence''s husband were at a loss for how they had managed to snag such a beauty for themselves. Florence wasted no time wolfing down her slice, managing to make the act of shovelling down food with a spoon look almost regal. Marie played with the pleasantly deep-orange tea in her cup, swirling the few leaves that had escaped the filter into a tinkling tempest, barely louder than the whistle of the wind. "Florence," she started. "Hm?" Florence replied, still chewing. "Do you think I could do it?" she asked. "Do what?" "The whole...." Marie tried to say, gesturing at the bump with her teaspoon. An uncouth habit she had picked up in the military. "Oh, this? I didn''t realise you wanted to," Florence said, cleaning the edges of her lips with her finger. Marie leaned back in her chair, still unsure as to what she was asking. She tapped her metal-tipped boots against each other, suddenly so aware of the manly attire she would usually show off with pride. No one had ever judged her for it; in fact, she was revered when she donned the uniform. But she felt the awful sense she was missing something, something Florence radiated rather brilliantly. "I don''t know if it''s a want, really. It just feels like I should be." "That''s fairly stupid," Florence dismissed, returning to her cake. "Just hear me out, please?" "It wouldn''t be good for your work," Florence said, in the matter-of-fact sense she said many things, sometimes even the hurtful things. "You''ve built yourself such an impressive standing amongst your contemporaries for years. Knowing you, a child would not be the end of your career, but it would certainly throw you off your balance." Sometimes, Marie would find herself feeling small in the face of such well-spoken sentences. "And if my memory still serves me, I can''t help but recall every time you''ve...well, how do I put it nicely," Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon. "Just say it." "Cocked up in front of the ones you''ve tried to sweet talk. Men are largely useless, but I''d say they''re fairly invaluable in this case," she said, a playful superiority about her. "Say I adopted one, then?" "The first issue still applies, Marie. I''m sure you''d have barely any grievances, but a child is a lot of work. Especially when you work far from home so often." It was an answer that Marie largely expected. Since Florence''s announcement of her pregnancy, it had been in the back of Marie''s mind, springing on her conscience when she tried to sleep. She was successful in every right and every metric that mattered, and hardly anyone dared question that except herself. "I know you said you felt you should be, but I doubt that''s the case," Florence said, spearing the last quarters of her cake with her spoon. "I doubt anyone in your position would feel obliged to have children, let alone marry. You''re doing your part for the world, and that''s more than enough." "You think so?" "Certainly!" she said, finishing the cake and beginning work on her tiny teacup, small specks of cream still spotting the edges of her mouth. "You want a child, that''s all. I can understand that, but I don''t think it''s how you planned your life out to be." Marie gently lifted the teacup to her lips, the liquid somehow still as warm as when she was served it. They both took a sip at the same time, and smacked their lips at the same time. "I guess I didn''t leave much room for one, did I?" "No, you didn''t. People like you, Marie, have their hands full protecting the world, so people like me can focus on the small life that matters to us." She said so with such delicacy, such admiration, that Marie almost forgot the violent eating habits and the leftovers littering her face. Florence Hardridge was a beautiful woman, far more worthy of giving life than Marie ever thought she herself could be. Being a mother took that kind of person, that kind of personality, and even then, it was an uphill battle with seemingly no end. She was not that kind of woman. The cruelty of the world and her place in it made so much more sense than blocking all that out and telling a small mind that knows no better that it''ll all be okay. It felt cruel, yet necessary. A beauty scampered together in much too little time, made of scrap metal limply welded together, yet somehow held against anything that so dared to penetrate it. "I guess you''re right," Marie said, leaning back in her chair and shielding her eyes from the sun. She felt the restless tapping of her boots cease, and her clothes returned to feeling one with her skin. "You''d make a good mother, though," Florence said quietly. Marie looked at her and found her friend sitting up straight as if the sentence had been a proclamation rather than a mere suggestion. "The love you have for the people you protect, giving that all to one child." She smiled, apparently thinking up a scene in her energetic head. "You''d be a hard mother, but a good one." "The opposite of you, then," Marie smiled. Florence flashed a brief smirk. Fleeting, as if it had departed with the wind. "We shall see what type of mother I grow into," she said, nary a glimpse of the cheerfulness that had constantly permeated her existence. "Marie, I want to ask of you something," she said. "What is it?" Marie asked, leaning forward. Florence placed her cup back onto the saucer and inhaled gently, her chest rising in a shiver. "I want you to keep an eye on Percy for me." "How so?" She spoke carefully, a rarity for her. "He''s changed a little since I fell pregnant. Subtly enough that even he has no idea of it, but I can see it. He''s growing more...feverish as of late." "He''s always been the cautious type, hasn''t he?" "No. This is different. I''m used to him being protective, to the point that I sometimes fear that he thinks I''m hopeless on my own. But this...is different. He''s frequented provoking Spirits, going so far as to kill them outright more often than necessary. I can''t prove anything, but it''s almost like he''s sworn to wipe them out." "That''s concerning. Neither nation can afford a breakdown in relations now. If he''s violating any treaties-" A cold stare broke Marie out of work mode. "Sorry. I understand, but it might not be his doing directly. General as he may be, he does not have full autonomy." "I know, and I want you to keep an eye on him since you''re more aware of that world than I am. I know my husband when he sleeps next to me in bed, but he''s a different person sometimes when he works." "I know, Florence. It''s something we all have in common." Florence pursed her lips and gripped the delicate porcelain handle. "I don''t want him to lose himself over us. Me and the baby. He''s a man who saves the world, after all. I''m scared trying to care for both won''t end well." Unable to take any more of her friend''s anguish, Marie extended a hand and grasped Florence''s. They watched each other, soft smiles reassuring one another. "I love you, Florence. I''ll do anything you want of me," Marie said with a profound sincerity she could not dare to attribute to anything else. "Don''t make me blush. Why can''t you be like that to anyone you fancy," Florence teased, pulling her hand away and instead grabbing Marie''s with all the youthful tenderness Marie expected from her. "Will you be her godmother?" Florence asked, bringing a red flush to Marie''s cheek that she had no idea she was capable of. "Of course, it would be an honour. Do you have a name yet?" "If it''s a boy, then Harry. If it''s a girl...Percy thought of the name Evalyn." "I like it." "Me too." Interlude: Iris Remembers II I don''t know how long the village had been on fire, but I remember standing there, like a daft idiot just watching, watching how the dance of fire was so much more violent, hateful, and beautiful than that of the grass. It kept my attention for much too long, making me forget I was running at all. I walked forward, only a couple steps before I could consider myself in the village proper. It was nothing big, only the faintest hint of a road and fittingly bare houses, or at least there were, perhaps a few hours prior. It was all up in smoke now, in quite the literal sense. People were running from house to house, throwing buckets of water desperately at the devil tongues, only for their efforts to be eaten all the same. It really was a horrible sight, now that I think on it more. Women screaming at their houses, or rather what was still inside them. Big, burly men with axes and buckets of water trying and failing to break through the heat. Over and over again, desperately they tried, but it never worked. Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator. All I could think of was just how similar they looked to me. Up until then, I had only been vaguely conscious of my appearance, through the occasional puddle and that. But even I could tell there were two hands and two feet of vaguely similar colour on every one of them. The biggest difference was the faces they were making. They were pulling the most horrifying of expressions. Rightly so. Yet I barely understood them, why they were making such faces. I tried to mimic it, but all I did was strain my muscles unnecessarily. It hurt, and it took up energy. I could not understand it. I just watched as they worked¡ªa single, lonely girl at the edge of their village, watching, like death himself. Then I heard it, or rather felt it. A gust of wind came from directly above, then a dark presence shielded vaguely by darkness. It flew overhead, circling the village, only ever letting the fires briefly reveal its underbelly. No, I don''t remember exactly. Spirits all look so confusing that it''s hard to describe. The only thing I do remember was that it could spit fire. And so went the grassy plains. Up in smoke like everything else. The lapping fire challenged the mountains for dominance as they fed upon what had been so lovely only a few minutes before. That was my introduction to Sidos¡ªthe Sidos amid Civil War. Chapter 8 Part 6: Wishful Thinking Iris had found herself feeling a guilty satisfaction in watching Colte successfully tie his client to the chair. She watched from the bed, staring silently at him, asking every question he most likely had no intention of answering, all without speaking a word. It was that kind of stare, and Iris had recently become aware of how effective it was in unnerving its victim. Although it was day, every light source they could find had been scavenged and lit ablaze. The overhead electrical light, torches stashed in case of blackout, bedside lamps, the television, and even several candles found in the bedside drawer. Anything that could emit a strong enough shine had created an impenetrable barrier around the client, of which it was impossible for him to touch any shadow except for his own. According to Colte, it was like the chicken and egg argument, a paradox in which either result did not matter. Escaping into his own shadow would do him no good, and even attempting to do so would likely see him shot by the ash man, idly sitting in a chair on the far side of the barrier. Evalyn¡¯s silencer was screwed to the end of his handgun, the safety was off, and Colte played with the trigger guard, brushing it with his index finger. ¡°Yeah, Colte baited him in, and we caught him. We¡¯re okay, but we¡¯ve found out some stuff that I need to talk to you and Elvera about,¡± Evalyn said, speaking into the telephone. Iris had been told not to move from the bed, lest her shadow break a pathway through the barrier, but she so desperately wanted to see the Beak up close¡ªpartly out of curiosity and partly to apologise. Evalyn had made it apparent on their way home that Iris may have very well killed him and that she was not to take any measures involving her magic without her express permission. No ifs. Not buts. No nothing. Those were the ground rules that ¡®should have been set a long time ago.¡¯ This time she had not praised Iris in a hurry, and Iris had noticed that all too much. ¡°He¡¯s told us a lot, saying he answers to the city¡¯s Security Council. Yeah, they¡¯ve got a direct line into the ear of the City Duke. Well, the Air Marshall¡¯s part of that council and¡­he¡¯s there? Shit¡­. No, no, it works out for us. Marie and I are running a plan right now, but if that¡¯s the case, then¡­Are you sure? Don¡¯t do anything rash, okay? Talk to Elvera first¡­okay, bye. I trust you.¡± With what Iris assumed to be an I love you from the other end of the line, Evalyn hung up the phone and returned to the scene. So much as a quiver from the client would earn him a death glare from Evalyn, and after the first few minutes, he hadn¡¯t dared say another word unless he was explicitly granted permission. One couldn¡¯t help it after being made to endure Colte¡¯s homemade brand of hell. Four minutes. Even with perhaps hours upon hours of counter-interrogation training, the client had lasted a mere four minutes. They were taught to endure pain and exhaustion, yet Colte¡¯s methods skipped the middleman. Steeled nerves were useless when hell toyed with the very existence of one¡¯s being, tearing it apart layer by layer. Four minutes. And even then, Colte had praised him on his remarkably high tolerance. ¡°Remind me again, who exactly the fuck you are?¡± Evalyn asked, crossing her arms as she stood behind Colte, his gun hand locked into position as the rest of his body slipped into melancholic boredom. ¡°Gukhel Ramalat, ma¡¯am,¡± he said, several screws undoubtedly escaping his mechanical voice box, leaving behind a scratchy scrawl that served to only degrade his honour further. ¡°And you work for the Security Council. Is that correct?¡± ¡°Yes! Fucking yes! I¡¯ve already told you!¡± ¡°Watch your tone; we can drive you back out there for another round if you don¡¯t feel like fixing it.¡± Gukhel forced himself silent, his machine voice refusing the will of his panicking body to stand up and scream. He was jittering with the urge to, yet the gun barrel kept his movements to nothing but nervous spasms. ¡°You work for the military. Not a mercenary force, not some double agent, not civilian intelligence, just the military. Is that correct?¡± ¡°Yes!¡± he shouted, exasperated by the repeated questioning. ¡°Yes, ma¡¯am.¡± The question that had prodded at all three investigators¡¯ minds had resurfaced. If it were the military who knew of Evalyn¡¯s identity, would they have really procured that information from S.H.I.A.? An unquestionably anti-spirit organisation. They could not have been the ones with connections with S.H.I.A., let alone who set up the deal between them and the F.S.A. Why would they give sworn enemies such valuable resources? ¡°Hey,¡± Colte started, beckoning her closer. ¡°I don¡¯t think these two leads are related. Go find the hostages, and I¡¯ll look into who¡¯s got a read on you, alright?¡± Evalyn remained unconvinced, judging by the unchangingly sour expression. She instead spat at Gukhel another line of questioning. ¡°Why do they want to know whether Evalyn Hardridge is in the city?¡± Gukhel stared at Evalyn, then at Colte, and then at Colte¡¯s gun before finally speaking, voice grinding like the unoiled gears of a thousand-year-old clock. ¡°I don¡¯t know¡­I¡¯m assuming they want to hire her¡­you¡­if she is you. The uhm¡­ F.S.A. are getting more organised. They want as much power as they can find.¡± ¡°Then why not hire me outright?¡± ¡°I don¡¯t know! How should I know?! Maybe some dipshit on your side¡¯s playing double agent! I¡¯m just an informant, so please just fucking let me go!¡± Verifying intelligence¡ªa plausible motive for the Security Council. Perhaps unknowingly, Gukhel spat wisdom through the otherwise almost unintelligible gargle that Evalyn assumed was a plea for help. None would come, however. He knew too much. ¡°We thank you for your cooperation. A dispatch of Geverdian agents is presently coming to collect you. Congratulations, you are an enemy of the City-state of Fadaak and a co-conspirator of the F.S.A.¡± ¡°What?!¡± ¡°They¡¯ll be here soon,¡± Evalyn continued. Your final correspondence with the Security Council will inform them of Evalyn Hardridge¡¯s absence from the city. You will be read your rights once the appropriate officers arrive, so please cooperate. Now if you¡¯ll excuse me.¡± She left Gukhel with no personal remark for him to rue over. The execution of his livelihood was nothing personal, and the realisation of such washed over him like dunes in a desert. It just had to happen. Evalyn stepped out of the space and into the kitchen to hang her head. She rested her body weight on the counter and sighed. The information formed links between each other before crumbling once again. All arbitrary, none of it real unless she chose to believe it so. There was barely any solid proof that a connection existed between the revelation of her identity and the missing hostages, yet the links made too much sense to her. They were too convenient; their ends slotted too perfectly with one another that she could not see any other possibility. A double agent. The existence of such a presence in the Geverdian hierarchy at any level was already a cause for concern, yet Fadaak had never been at odds with Geverde as far as she knew. Why would they be? Double agent or not, the possibility of something greater than any one faction still existed. The dim speck of darkness that all the worst of her imagination succumbed to. It toyed with her, whoever this mysterious all-knower was, and how much damage they could do to her. Connections to Fadaak¡¯s Security Council, the Geverdian leadership, the F.S.A. and S.H.I.A. The more she thought, the bigger the dark speck grew until a suffocating feeling of systematic conspiracy reared its familiar paws across her conscience. She knew this feeling, the feeling of something bigger than what she alone could tackle¡ªher pleas to change Sidos before the war had brought the same hopelessness. Enjoying the story? Show your support by reading it on the official site. Yet she was different now. This was not her wartime self, the girl with ambitions too big for her existence. She could do something about it, yet she did not know where to start. Fuck. She wished Elliot were with her right now. As if it were magic, the small wall-mounted telephone rang¡ªa muted chirp that jolted her heart in a small way. She walked over and answered it, careful of who was on the other side. ¡°Evalyn?¡± Elliot¡¯s voice called abruptly with not a clue of Evalyn¡¯s current state of mind. An abrasive return to normalcy, but it was just what she needed. ¡°It¡¯s her, yes.¡± ¡°I¡¯m calling from another payphone, but I just connected with Elvera. She says that if the Air Marshall is with me, we could wrangle information out of him and flatten out this whole mess,¡± he said, keeping the details vague, perhaps as not to worry her. ¡°The Air Marshall knows whoever knows me,¡± Evalyn explained, ¡°and I can¡¯t help but think this is all connected.¡± ¡°What if it isn¡¯t?¡± ¡°¡­I don¡¯t know. If we¡¯re lucky, we expose a rat in Geverde¡¯s ranks. If we aren¡¯t, it could be much worse than anyone imagined.¡± ¡°How so?¡± ¡°We could be talking about a network, Elly. If I¡¯m right, then this person has their fingerprints everywhere. Hell, how did they even know to hire Colte? He¡¯s the best Wizard they could have picked to find me!¡± she said, hissing quietly into the phone¡¯s receiver. ¡°Evalyn, let¡¯s bring it back,¡± Elliot said slowly. ¡°We deal with this one step at a time. Someone in S.H.I.A. managed to identify you, someone else in Geverde managed to find your mission¡¯s time frame, and someone else organised the hostage trade. This information has to terminate somewhere, and I¡¯ll take over for now. Got it?¡± Evalyn breathed, refocusing the pieces of the network in somewhat of an orderly fashion. Blurred streaks became pen-lines, and a map began to form in her head, albeit of only one possibility. Yet, she could say with confidence that it was a possibility worth investigating. ¡°You and Elvera keep working on that plan,¡± Evalyn said. ¡°I¡¯ll do what I can from here.¡± ¡°I intend to. Put Iris on the phone for me, would you?¡± Evalyn turned around, finding Iris still idle on the queen-sized bed. ¡°Iris,¡± she said, tilting her head, beckoning her towards the receiver. Iris shuffled off the frame, avoiding coming into contact with the illuminated ring. She reached Evalyn, who passed the phone to her. ¡°Hello?¡± ¡°Hi, Iris,¡± Elliot chirped. ¡°Hi.¡± ¡°How¡¯re things?¡± Iris thought momentarily, stuck on deciding whether either the truth or a fabricated yet gentle answer would better suit the situation. Yet she felt an innate insecurity in the latter, as if she would be sabotaging if she chose it. Elliot was the one who made her food, put her to sleep and held her hand. Denying such a person of anything did not sit right with her. ¡°I found out about the city,¡± she said. A long pause transmitted through the coiling wire, and Iris wondered if Elliot¡¯s words were perhaps still stuck climbing them. ¡°I see. How did that make you feel?¡± ¡°Scared.¡± ¡°Why?¡± ¡°That things like this can happen.¡± ¡°Bad things happen, Iris. Better things always follow.¡± ¡°Can I make those better things happen faster?¡± ¡°Iris,¡± Elliot said, voice growing stern. Any jovial tinge left had entirely disappeared by now. He sighed, acknowledging his sudden change in tone. ¡°Iris. I want you to remember something. Are you listening?¡± ¡°Yeah?¡± ¡°Iris. You will grow up to be an amazing person, perhaps even greater than your mother. You will grow up to do many great things, and perhaps some bad things, but that¡¯s okay. But promise me one thing, Iris.¡± ¡°What is it?¡± ¡°Whatever you do, you will do it because you want it to. Not because someone told you or because you feel it needs to be done. The power everyone holds, including yours, is best used when using it for yourself.¡± ¡°But this is important-¡± ¡°I know, Iris. I know. Perhaps, one day, you will be able to overthrow an entire country, and perhaps you never will. But Iris, you owe nothing to no one, not even Evalyn and I.¡± He said this with quiet desperation. Words that had his entire being nested in them, yet they still seemed as though it pained him to utter them. Perhaps he was leaving something unsaid; perhaps there was a reason. ¡°Whatever you do, Iris, is up to you. Good or bad.¡± ¡°What happens if I do something bad?¡± ¡°¡­Then there will always be someone there to stop you. You¡¯ll understand one day.¡± ¡°Okay,¡± Iris said, admittedly unable to fully understand the entire meaning of Elliot¡¯s words. ¡°I love you,¡± she said. Another pause¡ªthis one shorter than the last. One of surprise, not insecurity. ¡°I trust you,¡± he replied. Elliot placed the receiver back onto the payphone¡ªhis coins jingled in the belly of the machine as he left the small box. He was on a smaller side street in the city¡¯s commercial district. The buildings here were not nearly as tall as those in the business sector, yet still numbered several storeys high. ¡®To buy razor blades¡¯ had been his excuse, something no Spirit had a use for on the base. The bustle here was manageable considering the time and day, but he was sure that by the later hours, they would return to the endless stream of bodies he was used to. He crossed the street and found his way onto the main road, a wide affair for such a tightly-knit district. The neon signs were not yet illuminated, and the lack of contrast between black night and glowing buildings showed the town in a less impressive but gentler way. He reluctantly found his car, the same model he had ridden in upon his first arrival at the base. He had hoped the same model did not also mean the same driver, yet it seemed the gods were not in his favour on this particular matter. His reckless flying had used up all his luck. ¡°All done?¡± Jerimiah chimed from the driver¡¯s seat. ¡°Yeah,¡± Elliot said, presenting a box of razor blades before tossing them onto the dash. ¡°Then let¡¯s go,¡± Jerimiah said with an uncharacteristic brevity. The trip was too quiet. Jerimiah had only uttered a sentence or two concerning the state of a particularly ill-maintained road and had not said anything since their exit from the city. The abstract painting outside Elliot¡¯s window was not any more entertaining than his driver was, and Elliot cursed himself for sincerely debating if the droning Jerimiah was in any capacity better than the silent one. ¡°Hey,¡± Elliot said as Jerimiah shifted gears in response to a lonely and unnecessary speed sign. ¡°Yes, Sir?¡± Jerimiah said, barely taking his eyes off the road. He was such a smooth and responsible driver that it irked him. Perhaps the gods had indeed gifted him with a different driver after all. ¡°Last time you drove me, you said humans weren¡¯t allowed outside of the city.¡± ¡°Yes, Sir.¡± ¡°I get why they¡¯re restricted from military bases, but why are they not allowed at all?¡± Jerimiah took his time with his answer, tapping the steering wheel with his bony fingers. ¡°I¡¯ve never had anything to do with the business, but a fella once tried explaining it to me. Imagine you had a pet¡­I don¡¯t know what humans keep as pets.¡± ¡°A house cat.¡± ¡°Sure. Say you had a house cat that was born in your home, raised there, lived out its life so on and so forth. On its deathbed, how would that cat have ever known there was anything else besides that house?¡± ¡°They wouldn¡¯t, would they?¡± ¡°No. Most Help & Labour who leave the city never come back. The only reason they stay is because they think they¡¯d be a slave anywhere else. They¡¯re whisked away by a lovestruck tourist, or they join the F.S.A. Once they get a taste of freedom, who would want to come back? Even the folk from Workar never do.¡± ¡°Workar?¡± Elliot asked, reeling the name from distant memory. ¡°They¡¯re the company with the most skin in the game, Sir. Their Help & Labour is well looked after from birth till death. Usually servants and butlers and that sort of thing. Some are probably smarter than both of us combined.¡± ¡°But the fact that they¡¯re slaves never changes¡­¡± ¡°¡­no. I guess not.¡± Elliot grew silent as the conversation dug deeper and deeper. Places he did not feel confident going. ¡°I have a buddy in the city, works at a telecom centre downtown,¡± Jerimiah began. ¡°He¡¯s a refugee from a ways away. Travelled by boat to escape slavery in his own country. At first, he was cheering at the fact humans were getting the taste of their own medicine, but that didn¡¯t last long, though.¡± ¡°He couldn¡¯t escape it,¡± Elliot said. ¡°It¡¯s the same everywhere, Sir. It¡¯ll haunt him wherever he goes. Frankly, I know a lot of people with similar experiences. Just because you¡¯re being paid don¡¯t mean you ain¡¯t a slave. Didn¡¯t take long to realise them humans going through the same fucked up shit they went through.¡± Elliot watched Jerimiah¡¯s hands move. They were perfectly still as if they were numb to the vibrations he supposedly used to find his surroundings. When he spoke, it was deliberate. Not as a Spirit against humans, not even as a Spirit. Just as a single living being. ¡°Sir, can I ask you something?¡± ¡°Go ahead.¡± ¡°I saw you fly yesterday. Watched you control that fighter like you was simply walking. I heard from one of the rookies how much you done over the course of your career.¡± ¡°What about it?¡± Elliot asked. ¡°Have you ever really, and I mean really felt like you ever changed anything? Anything that mattered?¡± Elliot thought, rubbing his unshaven chin with his fingers as he watched the sand dunes. Impersonal, unrelenting, never-ending. That was the impression of the world adulthood had boiled it down to. He was only one pilot. A pilot needed a unit, a unit needed an army, an army needed a nation, and a nation needed allies. Even then, no state in history had ever succeeded in changing how things turned out in the end. Different names, different regimes, different ideologies. No matter what, the nature of the living triumphed over all, and everyone secretly wished for a world where they were at the top. Evalyn had told him once when she had asked the Wishing Whale if having such selfish ambitions were permissible, even moral, and he had given a simple answer. ¡°That is how the world will work, until the day utopia begins.¡± ¡°What¡¯s that, Sir?¡± Elliot returned his mind to the present. ¡°Nothing, I think. But¡­¡± ¡°But what, Sir?¡± Elliot leaned back, inhaling the cool air with gratitude. ¡°I think I have changed something in all these years. I met a girl, saved her life a couple times, found a house and took on a child.¡± Jerimiah laughed. ¡°What? What¡¯s so funny?¡± ¡°Nothing, Sir,¡± he said. ¡°I guess it wasn¡¯t what I was expecting.¡± ¡°Well, it¡¯s the best you can hope for.¡± ¡°I guess so¡­.¡± Jerimiah trailed off into silence. ¡°Things¡¯ll change here, Sir. It¡¯s just that no one thinks that they¡¯ll be the ones to start it. No one wants to start it.¡± ¡°Complacency?¡± ¡°No. Everyone thinks the same as you, Sir. Just them alone won¡¯t change a thing, Sir. Just liberating the city won¡¯t change a thing. The F.S.A. does what everyone else is too scared to do.¡± ¡°Then why do you fight them?¡± ¡°Because when they take over, it¡¯ll be us who¡¯re made to be slaves. This city is built on slaves, Sir. No matter which way you spin it.¡± Elliot sighed, feeling the bitter pill get caught in his throat. His mind flashed back to Iris, her childish face and jewel-like eyes. He had told her something that no child should have to come to terms with so young. Whatever you do, Iris, is up to you. Good or bad. What wishful thinking. Interlude: Words That Dont Make Sense "Hey Daugherty?" "What, Colte." "Did you find out who had subscribed you to that...what was it..." "The real estate firm? Yes, I did, actually. I had told my old landlord to send any important mail to my new address. For some reason, he thought I still needed advertisements from the firm I was consulting when I had just bought a new house." "How much mail had you gotten?" "By the time I got back from our last mission? Forty-two letters." "Jeez..." "It took a good three days of work to sort through everything. I had considered burning it all several times." Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more. "...hey Daugherty?" "What, Colte." "What does the word ''Jeez'' mean?" "...It''s short for Jesus. You say it all the time." "What''s that short for?" "...Jesus Christ?" "...doesn''t that sound like a name to you? Who the fuck is Jesus Christ?" "...now that you mention it..." "I mean, he must have been someone, right? Why do we say his name?" "It does roll off the tongue quite well." "...hey Daugherty?" "What?" "What language are we speaking right now?" "...english?" "Yeah. Why the fuck is it called English. There''s no country that has a name close to that." "A language doesn''t have to be named after the country it originates from." "Yeah, sure, why not. Why the fuck does everyone speak it?!" "It''s an international language? Some people have thick dialects that I can''t fully understand-" "We are LITERALLY separated into humans and Spirits, and both have like...a bazillion ethnic groups how do we ALL only speak English?!" "...maybe it was that Jesus Christ guy from earlier?" "I''m gonna go mad..." Chapter 9 Part 1: Desert Heat or Aerilian Fire After a full day in captivity, Iris watched the informant vanish beyond the doorway, subdued sufficiently by two covertly armed officers. As she watched him go, spirit broken and will to fight extinguished, Iris felt the twinge of guilt turn into a pang. The thought of him lingered in her mind longer than she felt necessary. She watched Colte as he put out each light one by one, flicking switches and choking candlelight with damp thumbs. ¡°Was it okay to do that?¡± ¡°Do what?¡± Colte said through a mouthful of thumb. ¡°To lie like that, get him arrested?¡± ¡°Would you have rather let him go and spill your identity?¡± No, was the simple answer, but the fact that her rampage was the reason he could no longer be set free was the truth. If she had just restrained herself, things could have been different. As if reading her mind, Colte watched her before taking his singed thumb out of his mouth. ¡°His fate was sealed the moment he scampered on me. It was thanks to you we found him at all.¡± Iris remained unconvinced as he began to place the room back into its natural order. She sat there, watching him, or rather the wall behind him. The final item, a desk lamp, he put atop the bedframe before finding her in his vision once again. He sighed, apparently at the sight of her. It was only then had Iris realised she had forgotten to blink. She felt her body sink as the heavier man sat next to her. ¡°What did Elliot tell you when you were on the phone?¡± ¡°I can¡¯t remember all of it,¡± she said. ¡°Just the important parts.¡± ¡°¡­ that whatever I do is up to me, good or bad.¡± Colte chuckled at the sentence, scratching his cheek as he did so. ¡°Good¡­yeah, that¡¯s good. Iris, can you let an old man tell you something?¡± ¡°You¡¯re not old.¡± ¡°What¡¯s your definition of old, then?¡± ¡°The Queen is super old, isn¡¯t she?¡± Colte sighed again, this time retaining a slight grin on his face. ¡°Different kind of old, Iris. Don¡¯t compare people to the Queen.¡± ¡°Why not?¡± ¡°¡­will you let me say something first? Then I¡¯ll explain to you.¡± ¡°Sure.¡± ¡°Well,¡± he said, making himself comfortable. The smell of smoke escaped his clothes whenever he shifted, but never enough to overpower her nostrils. ¡°What Elliot said is always important to remember, Iris. Whatever you want to do is up to you.¡± ¡°Good or bad?¡± ¡°Good or bad. But, there are a few things you have to remember.¡± ¡°What are those?¡± ¡°That you can¡¯t do everything.¡± ¡°But you said-¡± ¡°Anything and everything are two different things. This line of work needs motive. Strong conviction.¡± ¡°What¡¯s yours, then?¡± ¡°What¡¯s mine?¡± He rummaged in his jacket, pulling faces as he reached impossibly deep until he found himself his pipe, the one that if not found in his jacket, was almost permanently glued to his lips. ¡°You know how I got my magic, don¡¯t you?¡± he asked, talking out of one side of his mouth while the other held the pipe in place. ¡°I think so. Roughly, at least,¡± Iris answered. ¡°Then you¡¯d know that we earn our magic, and we do it so we can do what we were always meant to.¡± ¡°What was that?¡± He produced a small tin, no larger than two of his fingers, and opened the lid, gently tapping the contents into the open end of the pipe. ¡°To protect Aerilia. It¡¯s a city in Geverde; you must have flown over it on your way here. If you follow the canals in Excala away from the sea, you¡¯ll always reach it,¡± he said, demonstrating the flow with a wriggle of his palm. ¡°A great city built across the largest lake in the country. The downside to that, however, was that fire was the greatest asset to any ancient army. It was rendered impractical in Aerilia¡¯s defense.¡± His chest expanded. A visual harkening back to the moments before Iris¡¯s trip to hell. She expected something just as vile, but nothing of the sort came to be. The monstrous breath was released as nothing but a whisper, funnelling itself into the pipe and lighting the dry leaves inside. ¡°Aerilian fire. The flame that burns on water. Used always protect Aerilia, and now Geverde, from its enemies. That¡¯s what I dedicate myself to, and that¡¯s why that informant¡¯s condition is of no concern to me.¡± She watched a gentle smoke begin to pour from his pipe. A smoke that moved not only at the whim of the air, but to the amusement of Colte¡ªa hive sharing a singular will. ¡°And I¡¯ve decided to what lengths I would go to do that. At that moment, Iris, you had to choose between you and him. It¡¯s a choice you¡¯ll make over and over again.¡± A choice with a resounding undertone of cruelty. The decision, even being uttered as if it was absolute, made her gnaw at her lip. It was unfair, overwhelmingly so. ¡°I don¡¯t want to¡­,¡± she said finally. ¡°I don¡¯t want to make that choice.¡± Colte took a sombre drag of his pipe as his eyes caught the glint of the moonlight. His harsh features cast rigid shadows across his face, only furthering the sense that his face was cast of iron. Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation. ¡°Evalyn said the same thing once. It¡¯s not the right mindset for a mercenary.¡± ¡°But she¡¯s a P.I.,¡± Iris said. ¡°Sure she is,¡± he said. ¡°But she¡¯ll never be allowed not to be a mercenary.¡± ¡°Why?¡± ¡°¡­because sometimes what we do isn¡¯t up to us. Good or bad.¡± Another layer was added to Evalyn¡¯s doctrine, at least the incomplete Iris could piece together. For now, it still remained a mysterious set of unordered, unbound pages. A mystery she could only ever read the fringes of. But even there, scribbled and scrawled in the margins of every page was something Iris could decipher clearly. ¡°She wanted a family. She wanted a home. That¡¯s why she couldn¡¯t be a mercenary,¡± Iris said, the words controlling her lips instead of the other way around. Words that arose from an intimate appreciation of the woman at the centre of her life. ¡°Yes, Iris. She¡¯s found her conviction. I wonder if you can find yours.¡± Grain men. A passing remark from a worker had put him onto the term only recently. A name to put to the tectonic vibrations he would feel pass through him every few hours. Taking that inkling of knowledge, he had gone to a crew member¡ªagain, the slim fellow with a knack for squeezing in tight spaces¡ªand asked him exactly what a Grain Man was. No one had a clear idea, apparently. The heads of the base had advised them not to worry since Grain Men only ever concerned themselves with magical outbursts. A human population was of no concern to them. ¡°Guardians of the desert, apparently. It¡¯s why the base is on its turf; it protects us from any magical attacks,¡± the worker had said while hanging off a metal arm, screwing a bolt into place. ¡°The rumblin¡¯ is just it moving. Never seen it above ground, though.¡± As if on cue, the ground under his feet had shifted, filling the cracks in the concrete with sand. ¡°You get used to it,¡± he had said. Kurael hoped he would not be staying that long. ¡°It¡¯s ironic a Spirit protects the base¡­.¡± Kurael said, partly to himself and partly as a jab made in spite. ¡°Grain Men ain¡¯t the ones we¡¯re after, boss. We draw the line somewhere; else, we¡¯d be taking on half the world.¡± ¡°So you don¡¯t have a problem with me, then?¡± ¡°Course not. The same way you don¡¯t have a problem with all humans the way you do with us.¡± The man dropped from the arm and found his toolbox stashed in the silhouette of the H.O.A. ¡°Sometimes I think we¡¯re doing the same thing in practice, but for a different cause,¡± he said, swapping his spanner for a screwdriver and hammer. ¡°Everything¡¯s acceptable as long as you¡¯re the one doing it,¡± he said, his demeanour not growing desponded in the slightest even after such a self-deprecating statement. ¡°Don¡¯t lose your confidence now,¡± Kurael said, ¡°you¡¯re in too deep.¡± ¡°I¡¯d rather die,¡± he said, returning to his work. ¡°Won¡¯t rest until something changes.¡± ¡°You want the world to change?¡± ¡°Course I do. But wanting and making are two different things. Our goal will always be the city.¡± Kurael eyed the contraption up and down, scanning for anything amiss. He caught himself, wondering why he was quality-controlling terrorist armament. He tore his mask away in cowardly defiance. If he was truly brave, he would have unlocked a coupling or kept one or two integral screws loose. But he was not. This was not his fight. For all he cared, the city could burn in hell. By the sounds of things, it probably deserved it. Perhaps he had spent too much time with them. It had been over a month, but Kurael was not entirely certain. One of the more optimistic would have been counting the days, though he doubted anyone still was anymore. He had remembered the first week vividly. Many had already been forced at gunpoint for a month or two already, yet they were still allowed home, albeit under watchful eyes. A decent bed and filling meals, provided you kept an eye on every one of your movements. A single twitch, a misplaced word or a plea for help of any degree was not a risk Kurael was willing to make, to the point he had switched off his voice box if there was no use for it. The desert had been a shock to everyone. The Sidosians were accustomed to buckets of rain and cloudy skies, and the Geverdians were used to a climate micromanaged by Her Majesty on a day-by-day basis. No one was used to nothing. Kurael could have been convinced that no one at all was used to nothing, yet now, he sincerely believed that life found a way no matter where it was. The Grain Men perhaps survived instinctually, but humans needed food, water and shelter. They had built shelter. The hangers were closer relatives to garden sheds than their military counterparts. Crude in every way, bolted together in some places and welded in others. The concrete was uneven, only existing to fill the spaces left behind by the outcrop of rock, which was a miracle of geology in and of itself¡ªa speck of solid ground in an ocean of impermanence. Water was delivered on a three-day basis, and food on a weekly schedule. A convoy would arrive, scattered from dusk till dawn, each fulfilling more and more of the base¡¯s needs in a way that would not attract too much attention. Routes differed due to the simple fact that defined routes did not exist, and the drivers of said convoys would use instruments of navigation more reminiscent of a merchant ship of a bygone era. They would use the sun and the stars, obscure landmarks and tyre tracks if they were fortunate. Kurael rolled over, uncertain of the time. He could hear the sun¡¯s rays just beyond the walls of his tent and thought to shift his covers away from the edge in case they combusted in his sleep. It was still day, and Kurael had no business being awake during sleeping hours if he wanted any hope of lasting the work night from dusk till dawn. He rolled over, testing his eyesight, or rather visual senses, on his surroundings, attempting unsuccessfully to purge the bleariness from the picture. Sixteen bodies in a variety of shapes and sizes, yet all fitting in the rough parameters that one could consider that of an engineer. He had known several since arriving in Sidos, that now being a distant memory along with any semblance of hope left in their faces. They lay in their beds, trying their hardest to fight the heat for a wink of sleep. Problems of the mind start in the body. It was something even Kurael could sympathise with, but his bodily pain never originated from hunger and thirst. That was uniquely human. Control of the mind could ease the body¡ªanother uniquely human trait. Henry, a taller man with slender muscles and a tendency to lean on whatever was even slightly shorter, had almost lost his awkwardly charming demeanour Kurael had grown to appreciate. His voice would croak when speaking, and he had absorbed himself in his work, perfecting every minute task, likely fearing the reality of his situation would dawn on him if he so much as took his mind off it for a second. And it did not go without saying that the members of the F.S.A. kept sane through sheer willpower and faith alone. What could have created such a mental fortitude was beyond Kurael, or rather he did not want to know. The silence was complete. The air was empty, devoid of anything other than stale oxygen and the crunch of airborne sand. With such heat ordinarily came an oppressive humidity that hung in the air and weighed it down, much like a foul odour. Yet this air had nothing; the nothing tickled his skin, searching for a drop of sweat it could greedily snatch for itself. Sooner or later, the vapid air would find something of his to steal. He struggled to lift himself upright, his body fighting with the stiff canvas of the hammock. The ¡®bed¡¯ creaked loudly, but no one else seemed to notice or care. Whatever the noise was, it was not worth losing sleep over. There were no windows, and the entrance was folded over, yet the room was still ambiently bright. The tent¡¯s white fabric, although reflective, did not block light. The omnidirectional luminosity was not one he could simply turn away from. His best bet was to use their paper-thin covers as an eye mask. God knew the last thing anyone needed was a blanket. Only now was he able to separate the music from the ambient brushing of the wind. A slow piece, brought forth along with¡ªand marred by¡ªa faint scratching. A small record player of human design sat haphazardly on the uneven ground, playing despite its situation. It pained him to see such a proud device straining itself in such a humiliating position. Each swell of the music, each playful melody, had lost its infinite charm. He could imagine it resting proudly atop a mantlepiece or a coffee table in the home of a lonely bachelor as it soothed his aching soul in self-affirming sorrow. Perhaps that would never happen. Perhaps it could be something he could steal back with him¡ªif the chance ever arose to do so. He fell again into his hammock, his imagination running amok, stretching the small thread of hope like an unravelling sweater. Rescue. Would that not be nice? Perhaps a week two ago, he had made headlines. In a week or two from now, maybe a police record. The subtle rumble of the earth brought his mind back to reality before he even had a chance to dream about home. Perhaps it was doing him a favour. Perhaps he did not need to bear the image of his mother anymore. Perhaps he was not meant to. Crying. A uniquely human trait. One he found himself longing for, for the first time. Chapter 9 Part 2: Agent Maxwell In two days. O-six hundred hours. Along with the mail delivery. That had been the instructions. Once a week, a truck of mail would undertake the gruelling trek from oasis to outpost, delivering sack after sack of good wishes, harrowing heartbreaks, and penned tidings both good and bad. Another subsection of the truck carried cargo lesser in number, yet of greater volume. Goods, such as biscuits, sweaters, and photographs meant to ease the aching heart of a lonely service member. Elliot often got no such package. His time of the week for connection with the outside world came in a more literal way. While mail got passed around, reaching its final destination, he would be lounging in the comfort of his own home. Shamelessly. The fact that he had no use for such mail did not change, yet this week, he found himself in the lineup, like everybody else. ¡°Elliot Maxwell,¡± he said, reciting his name with the slightest glint of a smile. The expression looked more mischievous than whatever he had intended originally. The Officer on the far side of the counter eyed him up and down. His vaguely anthropomorphic face only suggested understanding once his vision fell on Elliot¡¯s shoulder crest. It was as if he was getting a joke far too late to be funny. ¡°That explains the package from Geverde,¡± he muttered, ¡°where did I put that thing? Tyrkel! I gave that one inbound package to you, right?¡± ¡°¡­they¡¯re all inbound, Sir,¡± Tyrkel said. He pulled another confused face that desperately sought a punchline. Elliot watched the two make one comical human expression after another. The anxiety yanking the corners of his mouth into a crooked smile began to feast on his patience. ¡°Yeah, the Geverde one. The more inbound one.¡± Finally getting it, Tyrkel got himself off his stool. He stepped over each hastily strewn package with two slender peg-like legs. He bent over and lifted a package much smaller than the others, a size that most immediately suggested a book of some sort. Private Tyrkel waded through the catastrophic mess once more, placing the package on the counter and noting the hollow sound. ¡°Didn¡¯t know you were a reader, Sir,¡± he said. ¡°I¡¯d be worried if you did know,¡± Elliot said. ¡°Goodbye!¡± Another horribly forced reaction. Perilous situations which lacked a yoke and throttle unnerved him to no end. He sincerely believed that he had spent all his luck flying. Every journey he took into hostile territories felt like driving a sports car with no insurance, to give an utterly unsatisfactory metaphor. He felt the knots of his stomach perform every flight maneuver he had ever recognized out of order and upside down as he traversed the hallways. His palm¡¯s sweat seeped into the brown wrapping of the package finding the contraband concealed inside. To pull such a stunt again, he¡¯d have to be drunk or obscenely high on adrenaline. Such was becoming old, he thought. Such was doing the job a spy ought to do. Upon reaching his quarters, he closed the woefully thin plywood door behind him. He checked more times than was ever necessary that he had locked the thing. He sat down on his bed, being mindful of the empty bunk above him. Once more, he traced his surroundings. The dehydrated timbre ceiling, thin plastered walls, creaking bed, hollow floor, and every dust-caked edge between. He unwrapped the package, feeling the need to retrace the sender¡¯s steps perfectly. After failing several times at preserving the paper, he removed the contents. Your Final Journey: A Book that Grapples with Death. He could imagine the Geverdian intelligence responsible getting an awful kick out of it. A handwritten note came along with it, obviously forged. To Elliot Maxwell, it read along with the address, the sender listed as a fictional Rachel Maxwell. He was sure the contents of such a letter were crafted to feign authenticity. A Rachel Maxwell did not exist, nor did the sweet intentions behind her words. They only existed to persuade a package inspector of its authenticity should the need ever arise. It made him a tinge lonely. Perhaps he would have to ask Evalyn or Iris for a letter one day. He saved the letter, as any loving husband would, and turned his attention to the package. The hardcover was thick, and a tight leather skin encased it, just as had been described to him. Uncaring for the preservation of such a distasteful joke, he bent the book to an obtuse degree, creasing the spine. The binding glue cracked and groaned. He kept going until the gap between the leather-skin spine and the page binding was prominent enough to force a finger through. Between that gap was a subtle bump. Barely visible upon first inspection, most would boil it down to a mishap in the manufacturing; a faulty copy. Most were instead likely to flip through the book in search of a secret compartment cut into the pages. Elliot got off his bed, careful to not trigger the intolerable groan of its springs, and found the razor he had purchased two days prior. Fumbling with one hand while the other held the book in place, he removed one from the box and began to cut into the paper tumour. He made a rough incision from left to right, still insufficient to see what exactly was inside. He overturned the box and shook it, forcing the hidden contents out. A small, flat rectangle of cheap metal, likely not too dissimilar to the material which made up his razor. Attached to it were several wires, each marked with stripes of differing colours. Next was an earpiece. A small hook of remarkably low profile. One could barely make out small grooves running down it from one end to the other. Everything was as described, and the beginning of his task was a mere hour and a half away. Elliot had stolen glances at the classroom clock all lesson, eyeing it before and after every topic and every question. He had watched the minute hand run almost full circle, and the hour was approaching its next stop. The seconds ticked by until there were only a handful left. A handful of time, what an intangible, yet palpable thing. It went by too quickly. Elliot had pranced back to his quarters with all the grace of a hunted fawn. He could do this, he was just nervous. As much as he could curse Special Operations for making a pilot do a spy¡¯s job, there was truly no feasible way to plant one on the premises of an isolated air force base. Out of everyone officially stationed, he was the most experienced and by far the one with the highest clearance. He found his quarters and slid in, locking the door shut behind him. Out of his pocket, he found the earpiece and slotted it into his ear. The hook was designed to be universal, but it still sat too precariously along the back of his ear for his liking. He tapped it twice before a soft buzz, not too dissimilar to radio static, began to tickle the hairs in his ear canal. Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website. The clock ticked away, and the final remnants of time slipped through his fingers; every hand had found its next stop. The next hour. The static buzz intensified unprompted before cutting, a clear stream of rushing air replacing it. A torrent of wind from some distant place, occasionally interrupted by the whistle of what sounded like wings through wind. ¡°Protag present. Requesting narrator,¡± Elliot whispered, fidgeting with the small, wired thing inside his pocket. ¡°Narrator to protagonist, confirm the inciting incident, begin rising conflict.¡± A strange voice speaking the language with a noticeable prim accent. The speech was soft but still found a place amongst the wind. Elliot imagined it. Right now, a Spirit the size of his room drifting hundreds of kilometres above his head, circling the skies. it would scrutinise every detail of his surroundings with perfect accuracy. Deity division was never wrong. ¡°Exit your current room and make a right turn,¡± the flying eye commanded. Elliot followed, the beginning of the mission finally dawning on him as his brain switched its thought patterns. Before leaving, he eyed a lump of resin on his desk, wrapped in paper. A gift from an Officer, supposedly a chewable that maintained a remarkable stickiness if spat out. He grabbed the malleable yellow lump and threw it in his mouth, the motion of his jaws soothing his senses. A now steady hand grabbed his door handle, and unflinching fingers undid the lock. He opened the door. ¡°Sir!¡± One of his students stood daftly on the other side of the thin doorway. His flipper-like hand was inches away from knocking on the door. ¡°L-Lawrek. Can I help you?¡± Elliot stumbled. The anxiety returned as he became painfully aware of the earpiece hidden underneath his hair. Visual concealment was one thing, but Special Operations could not procure any radio device small enough to go unnoticed. Only Aether models existed of such a size. Aether meant that it could be sensed. Lieutenant Lawrek saluted him, swinging his boots together as were customary. A fellow with interlocking patches of slimy skin running up and down his cylindrical body. Each patch was dyed a different shade of orange. His eyes were small and mouth large, but Elliot could feel the intense curiosity in his features. ¡°I have some questions about your last lecture, sir!¡± he said living up to Elliot¡¯s image of him much too well. Elliot grew used to answering questions posed by his students, let alone by Lawrek himself. In the mere four days since his arrival, Lawrek had asked every single rookie question as if he were following a bingo card. ¡°Sorry Lawrek, another time,¡± Elliot said, forcing a smile and pushing the door closed behind him. He pushed past the Lieutenant and made the right turn. ¡°Back on track,¡± Elliot whispered, the chewing of his resin mellowing out. ¡°Rodger. Left turn, two bogies coming towards you.¡± Elliot made the turn, dodging the two bickering crewmates as he walked past. Earpiece towards the wall. He gave it a second before letting himself feel relieved. ¡°Another left and you¡¯ll be going up the stairs. Someone¡¯s already there.¡± Elliot did as he was told, spotting a superior officer coming down the steps. He saluted him, and the officer gave him a nod before continuing. Elliot held the salute for a moment too long, his eyes glued to the officer¡¯s back. Safe. He began to descend the steps, taking them one at a time when he too often took two. The third floor was restricted to authorised access, yet it was not unusual for someone of his standing or situation to be called for a meeting. He hoped this assumption would work as often as he needed. But he knew he was not that lucky. ¡°Protagonist, we have a problem.¡± ¡°What?¡± Elliot hissed. ¡°Your little buddy¡¯s been following you. Making all the same moves you¡¯ve been making.¡± ¡°Shit¡­¡± Elliot breathed as he came to the top of the staircase, making a left and travelling down a long, yet deserted hallway. It was not long after. He could hear them. A set of footsteps following at a distance. They walked at almost an identical pace to his, not attempting to speed up and refusing to grow distant. The little bookworm had risked insubordination just to tail him. The voice in his ear had ceased communication, refusing to take any risks unless absolutely necessary. The squelching of the resin competed with the thumping of his heart for space in his free ear. He pulled his fingers out of his pocket for fear of crushing the device and descended the very next staircase. ¡°Help me out here,¡± Elliot said. ¡°First floor. Big crowd,¡± the voice said. His student was perhaps following him in the hopes of having his questions answered; but, the possibility that Lieutenant Lawrek had gotten a read on his earpiece was just as likely. Hiding anywhere isolated was even riskier. Elliot would have to take the risk. If worst came to worst, he would crush the earpiece under his boot the first chance he got. That was only if he truly believed the consequences of failing the mission were outweighed by the risk of never seeing his family again. Elliot rounded the stairwell and descended a second flight until he came to the first floor. A switch in classes was taking place as groups finished with practical lessons swapped for theory. A lot of twenty were filing through the hallway in a scattered set of two lines on their way to their next room. The quickening onset of clacking boots rapidly descending the stairwell was plenty to spur him into a head-on collision. He shouldered through, quickening his pace with an impatient shove as he laundered himself of the blood trail emanating from his ear. He caught a side glance or two from several of them, and he could only hope it was the scent of the gum. A glance here, a double take there, yet the cloud of natural magic was enough to overpower the earpiece, masking it. He burst out the other end like a second birth and kept on walking. He refused to break the rhythm of his stride once lest he was singled out. ¡°You lost him, good work,¡± the eye said, ¡°next is a left and you¡¯re going up to the third floor again.¡± Elliot found the staircase and ascended, never letting a feeling of security comfort him. He kept his peripherals wide and constantly moving. Third floor. Back to square two. ¡°Walk forward. Two bogies walking up behind you and another three to your left.¡± Elliot kept his stride powerful as he caught the glances of the officers to his left. Fleeting, but still existent. It tortured Elliot for all but a few seconds until the next threat would surely arrive. ¡°Almost there, the junction box is past the next left turn.¡± He rounded the corner and came face to face with the junction. A small metal box at knee height. Streams of Aether-based communication signals coagulated at it before beaming towards the city. Elliot stood in front of the junction which managed communications from the third floor. The Air Marshall¡¯s office was only a few steps down the hallway. If things went accordingly, in six hours, the Air Marshall would receive a message from the Security Council, informing him of Evalyn¡¯s absence from the city. The fruit that would come to bear from this was sure to be valuable. Elliot found the small device in his pocket once more, removing it discreetly. ¡°Walk me through,¡± he said. ¡°The wires are magnetic, stick them to the bottom of the box.¡± Elliot took the wires, lining the ends between his fingers. He took another glance left, then right, before crouching. Each wire clamped neatly to the metal, but the box itself still dangled. It was too obvious. ¡°You¡¯ve got the group from the stairs closing in fast. There¡¯s another bogie exiting a room down not too far from you.¡± Elliot felt the air around him close in. The device was still all too visible. The junction could open for it to be placed inside, but the hatch was locked shut. It would go unnoticed for half a day at best left haphazardly swinging. Elliot thought, but could not gather himself. ¡°Elliot! Get the fuck outta there!¡± Unsure of what else to do, Elliot wiped the box down with his sleeves, removing any traces of his fingerprints as the chewing only became more and more audible. The chewing. Elliot spat out the resin, now abused into a soft material that lazily stuck to his skin. He stuck it under the box and, using a sleeved wrist, stuck the device to it. ¡°Just activate the device!¡± the voice said, but Elliot could not chance it being spotted after only a few hours. He let go of the device but watched it slowly part from the junction, the resin unable to hold the weight. He tried again, this time fanning it with his free hand. The hollow footsteps invaded his other ear like a war drum, each one threatening the presence of its master. They played a dangerous game of pin-finger with the drumming of his heart. Each was out of sync with the other, doubling both sounds and exacerbating Elliot''s fright. ¡°Elliot!¡± the voice pleaded, but he needed this to work. He let go of the device and felt it stick. It did not budge. He tapped on the device twice, waiting for the signal to be received. ¡°Fuck sake!¡± Elliot hissed, his voice almost cracking into a shout. The beating hot silence was broken by a pair of droning sirens from outside. Scramble sirens. Elliot stayed paralysed, his boots glued to the floor as his eyeballs shook in their sockets, burning holes into the tip of a man¡¯s boot just peaking from the corner. The boot stopped, then turned around. The walking footsteps from before turning into a run. ¡°Signal received and is transmitting successfully, but by the sounds of things I¡¯ve been done,¡± the voice said. ¡°Will you be all right?¡± Elliot asked. ¡°I¡¯ll ditch my comms in the desert and pretend I¡¯m a wild Deity¡¯s eye. That is if they find me. Good job today, you did well for a pilot. Always thought they were too eccentric for subtleties. Welp, farewell, either way.¡± The brief and sparse relationship between the two cut out, and the sound of wind a world away was substituted with buzzing static. Elliot hid the earpiece, sneaking it back into his pocket. He breathed. He breathed properly. ¡°Never again,¡± he swore. Interlude: Meat Eaters The following is an excerpt from the world renown Studies into the Natural Applications of Aether: Third Edition by Natural Aetherologist Sir Douglas Requintous, specifically from Chapter Sixteen, page 243, titled Carnivorous Spirits: Evolution, Variety and their Modern Existence. This book along with the accompanying Pattern Reader insert can be found first hand at all major book stores for a retail price of 142000 Ixa. Carnivorous Spirits are a relative rarity amongst the Spirit Kingdom, being that they cannot pull Aether from their surroundings. Stemming from what is understood to be a significant evolutionary diversion, Aetherologists have theorised for decades on what exactly caused such a significant deficiency in some Spirits. Found in scattered pockets all across Aunari''s many nations, their variety is almost as distinct as their populations are separated. Not only does their physiology differ greatly from species to species, but so do their diets. Although being primary consumers, similar to their herbivore relatives (see page 435), Carnivorous Spirits are generally looked down upon by other¡ªparticularly Higher Order¡ªspecies. Many carnivorous species can be classified similar to carbon based organisms due to the number of divisions from the original spawning concept. However, their perceived lower status does not mean Higher Order carnivorous species do not exist. Some spawning concepts explored in this book include: Hunger, Cannibalism, Hunting and Predation. Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings. Little is known about many Carnivorous Spirits due to their inherent danger. Some have been successfully captured and subsequently studied, yet those of a Higher Order nature can only be examined and researched with the aid of superior, non-carnivorous, Spirit species (see author contributions). This chapter seeks to delve thoroughly into various classifications, species, research techniques and relevant findings surrounding such beasts in the hopes of better understanding these fascinating creatures. Chapter 9 Part 3: Until the Day Utopia Begins A peculiar cluster of Aether receptors, swaddled in the poorest branches of Fadaak, lit up like neurons in a waking brain. A low humming terminal of activity amongst a disorganised mishmash of misaligned buildings and mangled streets. Such a place was secluded yet hospitable, unlike the desert. Residents could raise suspicions, but in such a ghetto, few were willing to act on it. Three communication stations fought for space into the apartment. A space more reminiscent of a black-market animal enclosure than a rentable room. Yet, the fact it had four unbroken walls made it the best in the area. Each station processed oncoming signal after oncoming signal, sifting through channels for a recognisable voice or a specific string of words. Any indicator of whom they were listening to and what the message concerned. The keywords the three interpreters received were disjointed and nonsensical, yet they were used to this. Often, these keywords were indeed unrelated and random. Jargon, chosen by enemies to throw the interpreters off their tails. They were trained to identify even subtle words that could be woven into everyday conversation. This assignment, they were handed down three main key phrases. Witch, in the city, and Hardridge. All three interpreters had cocked their heads at the last term. Hardridge was an uncommon name, and the General who had tied it to his legacy was largely unknown outside of Sidos and Geverde. They paid it no heed, however, and got to work. For hours they toiled until moonlight betrayed the many cracks riddling the walls like bullet holes. Their scribbling had slowed under candlelight. Even a military would rest at such an ungodly hour of the morning. The last wafts of street food markets had dried up roughly an hour ago, leaving the three with only a sterile, cold dryness. A pristine stillness, only ever interrupted by the occasional pop of a distant gunshot and wailing of sirens. Aryka had wrapped herself in a thin blanket the moment the sun had fallen. She was weak to the cold, and her mind struggled to keep on task. Such an environment had no clouds, and any remnant heat would escape in an instant; much like a corpse. She had lifted her feet into the swaddle, tucking in everything apart from her arms and head. In the stinging chill and dull candlelight, an ¡®a¡¯ could look like an ¡®e¡¯, and phonetics could lose their distinctness. She pulled off the hair tie keeping her wavy brown hair in check. She leaned backwards, hoping that rubbing her temples would jumpstart her brain. Her two co-workers, one of whom she was vaguely familiar with, had continued unabated by the elements. How? She was not exactly sure, but she was slightly jealous of it. She felt the crystalline air sting her nostrils as she inhaled, the cold freezing her muscles from the inside out. White radio static massaged her ears into a deep, senseless lull as she felt herself surrender to the stillness. Just five minutes. The static churned like continuous white waves lapping at a shoreline. But enveloped in the sound was something else; something orderly, with a clear pitch and rhythm. She tore herself out of the cold¡¯s lulling grasp and lanced at the knobs across her receptor. She dialled the machine and its magic to harmonise with the inbound signals. The white noise began to warp and shift, revealing more and more of the sound¡¯s rhythm and pitch. The crumbs of noise began to form a trail, and the trail led to words. They became clear, and Aryka feverishly wrote them down. ¡°-had a hunch he was bullshitting. Well, it was worth a shot was it not? I mean, Hardridge? If we had won a witch like her over, she would''ve solved our problems with the F.S.A. that day. Of course we had to try.¡± The voice was gruff and tipsy. Too jovial for such a time of night. ¡°He was wrong in this case, but his network is still expansive, so try not to mouth off at the breakfast. If it weren¡¯t for his tipoffs, your baby boys in blue wouldn¡¯t bust a single F.S.A hideout all year.¡± The second voice was wispier and flowed from Aryka¡¯s headphones like nectar. ¡°Pah! He¡¯s nothing but a Help & Labour trader,¡± the gruff voice grunted. ¡°And he owns half the city,¡± the sweet voice replied. ¡°I¡¯ll see you tomorrow morning.¡± The line cut, and Aryka was left with white noise. Two out of three keywords were good enough for her. Evalyn watched the small hands awkwardly grasp the pen. It had only been a week or two since she had taught Iris how to hold one properly, so it was no wonder she was still not used to it. They had spent the last two days holed up in their hotel room, Evalyn overlooking her study just as she had promised to Elvera. Iris had studiously kept her head in the books, but even Evalyn¡¯s attention would wane from time to time. Her brain would yearn for something more stimulating. She had set aside Iris¡¯s handiwork until Iris finished studying. A small stack of paper, ten pages thick lay on the bed beside her study space¡ªthe room¡¯s coffee table. Each page had been a different attempt at visualising a suit of armour. The first two attempts had not evolved much past a simple cluster of oblong circles and guiding lines. However, the third attempt had broken down the entire structure into parts. Designs for gauntlets filled the top left corner, sketching different angles and positions, breaking the fingers down into their individual segments. She had tackled the leggings in a similar manner. The chest plate remained whole, the pencil lines carving out a rough, elegant shape. In its centre was a smooth orb, designed to store any excess material. The helmet, however, remained unadorned with detail. A vague cluster of shapes and lines formed the building blocks of a head, but not necessarily a helmet. Evalyn flipped through the pages, watching how each piece gained more lines and detail. But the helmet remained unchanged. She would have to ask her if she needed any help with it. Evalyn was in no rush, truly; but she could not wait forever either. Evalyn wished she could, but if she took too long in mastering herself, Iris¡¯s worth as a witch would continue to diminish. She would return to the fate of a rat in a laboratory, the fate that Evalyn had saved her from. As far as she was concerned, ¡®ward¡¯ could not begin to describe the connection she had to the little jacket thief. She was not going to lose her now. Night fell, and the cold set in. Evalyn had shut every window and closed every curtain, yet still, she felt her toes curling, yearning for any extra quarter degree of warmth. She pulled the covers up to her neck and instinctively dived underneath until she had tucked away her reddened nose. The sudden movement prompted a rustling by her side. Iris¡¯s small body pressed against hers, her face in Evalyn¡¯s chest, burrowing further as if there was anywhere to go. Evalyn could not help but grin maniacally as she watched her chi-¡­her ward sleep so soundly. Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site. Evalyn would give anything if it meant she could stay that way forever. ¡°If only Elly were here,¡± she said, giggling softly. The telephone rang. Evalyn watched the telephone and confirmed with her ears that she was not hearing things. It rang twice, three times before Iris began to stir. Her impossibly fragile brow furrowed with discomfort as the sound invaded her sleep. Evalyn sighed. The markings up her arm and cheek glowed softly, warming the covers. She extended her hand, and a spindle of gold reached for the phone, a loyal vine doing its master¡¯s bidding. ¡°Hello?¡± Evalyn whispered as the glow subsided. ¡°Evalyn, it¡¯s me,¡± Elvera said from across the line. ¡°Hi, Marie. Let me sleep.¡± ¡°I¡¯m afraid I can¡¯t do that, Elliot got us a lead.¡± Evalyn¡¯s interest was piqued. She rolled over and sat up straight. ¡°What did you find out?¡± ¡°The security council is in cahoots with a slave trader that owns half the city. That was where the tipoff came from. As far as we can tell, that leaves only one suspect.¡± ¡°Workar¡­¡± ¡°You know about them?¡± ¡°I¡¯ve been in the city enough times to have heard. They¡¯re the ones that own the massive tower, right?¡± ¡°Biggest in the city. The Security Council is meeting with him tomorrow, presumably to discuss you.¡± ¡°Is this line safe, Marie?¡± ¡°It¡¯s being rerouted through one of our comm stations Fadaak has let us set up. I¡¯m keeping all our official muscle on the leads they¡¯ve already gotten. But any Wizards or Witches eager enough to take another contract, I¡¯m pointing them towards the tower. Your being there is up to whether you sign the deal or not.¡± ¡°I¡¯ll be there,¡± Evalyn said, her words decisive. ¡°I thought you¡¯d say as much. Schedule¡¯s a bit tight, so let¡¯s just say I owe you one until I can pay you,¡± Elvera said, a hint of humour finally gracing her tone. Evalyn smiled. ¡°Thanks. For doing this, I mean.¡± ¡°Doing what?¡± Elvera asked. ¡°Believing in me. This all feels like a wild goose chase sometimes.¡± ¡°Don¡¯t get me wrong. Them having your name is one thing, but they knew the timing of your mission before you did. That¡¯s a matter of national security I¡¯m obliged to investigate.¡± ¡°Obliged? I didn¡¯t realise that was a Special Operations job.¡± ¡°Yep, assuming its ours. Busting moles better than pest control," she said. "There isn¡¯t much of a plan, but I¡¯d rather you not do anything rash, especially with Iris around. Just sit outside, wait for anything bad to happen and pray that nothing does.¡± ¡°Aye aye, captain.¡± Evalyn leaned backwards, her body yearning for something else to hold its weight. ¡°How¡¯s Iris?¡± Elvera asked. The voice through the phone was altered by static, yet Evalyn could clearly hear Elvera¡¯s smile. ¡°She¡¯s sleeping. Knocked herself out as soon as her head hit the pillow. It happens every time.¡± ¡°Kids.¡± ¡°Yeah¡­listen for a bit.¡± Evalyn passed the phone to the unconscious Iris. Evalyn waited, moment after moment as Iris breathed in and out, while Elvera listened. ¡°You¡¯re all giddy about it,¡± Elvera teased. ¡°Yes, I certainly am.¡± Evalyn could feel it. Nothing gut-wrenching, but a bad taste hung in the air like a miasma. A sour, off-putting feeling that things were not right. But perhaps that was the context given to the tower; the ugly shade and putrid smell it took on once one knew of its purpose. Considering the empire it ran, perhaps it was more suitable to call it a castle. Workar Tower stood in the heart of the city¡¯s business district. It was, by far, the most iconic landmark between the Northern Chain Ridge and the shoreline it loomed over. A multi-rectangular monument of glass and brick that stood head and shoulders above the skyline. Several segments rose like earthly rock formations, only to refine into a single spire at its pinnacle. Brash yet elegant. As far as architecture went, she could not fault it. Evalyn could approve of its design all she wanted; the feeling in her stomach was not going to change. Seven. That made seven people she could reasonably assume were Aether-infused. Based on looks alone, they were unremarkable. The brutish coats and emotionless scowls were only slightly different to the enslaved crowd they camouflaged against. But Evalyn could spot them. Not with infallible accuracy, however. She was certain there were more. Perhaps many were already in the building. She watched the revolving front door spin and spin, never ceasing its movement. People passed through with little effort, moving like ghosts. So far, nothing was amiss, yet she could not be completely sure. She had no contact with anyone else on the case. The Security Council were due to arrive in roughly five minutes. Assuming nothing went awry, the meeting would start in twenty. Evalyn sat in wait, and Iris sat doing nothing in particular. She had no idea of what was about to happen, largely because Evalyn had not had the time. A quick ''tell you when I get there'' was all she could afford before she watched Colte enter the building. By then, radio silence had become imperative. ¡°Do you mind, ma¡¯am?¡± A soft voice followed by a shoulder tap brought her attention upward. A slender man in a navy-blue business suit gestured towards the vacant space. ¡°Of course not,¡± Evalyn said, moving over. ¡°Thank you,¡± the man nodded, readjusting his sunglasses. He sat down with a grunt too pained for his age and combed through his hair with slender fingers. Evalyn returned to her surveillance for the Aether Infused, spotting another pedestrian that fit the bill. She watched them walk down the sidewalk and past the building¡¯s front door. They looked left, then right before hailing a cab. ¡°Guess we were wrong.¡± Evalyn hesitated, her brain struggling to register what the man had said. She kept her eyes on the woman entering the bright yellow taxi until it drove out of sight. ¡°She looked like a Witch to me. What do you think, Mrs Hardridge?¡± Evalyn reached for her gun. ¡°Ah! Now hold on.¡± The man did not look in her direction, and the sunglasses kept the movements of his eyes well hidden. Both his hands were in plain view. Evalyn gripped Iris and tugged her closer. Iris, only just registering the situation, shifted closer. ¡°I haven¡¯t done anything yet, officer. It¡¯s best if you don¡¯t start shooting strangers with no reason for doing so.¡± ¡°I have plenty of reason,¡± Evalyn muttered. ¡°I¡¯m sure you do, but if you could prove it, I wouldn¡¯t be here trying to explain myself to you, now would I?¡± Evalyn¡¯s hand did not part from her pistol, and the man barely stirred from his position. Supreme confidence. ¡°Now, the fact that I know who you are tells you a few things, no?¡± ¡°S.H.I.A.¡± ¡°Indeed. A little birdie named Jamie told everything he knew about you, which, fortunately enough, was not much. Geverde has done a decent job in hiding you away, haven¡¯t they?¡± He leaned forward, turning his head like a well-oiled machine. ¡°He also told me about a little girl you were travelling with. Isn¡¯t she adorable? Is she yours?¡± Evalyn stayed silent. ¡°I thought not. You both have outstandingly unique hair. Have you thought of dyeing it into something less conspicuous?¡± The man¡¯s shaded eyes did not move from Iris for much too long. He was drinking the image of her like a bricklayer gulping a cold beer on a summer day. A smile¡ªalmost of relief¡ªadorned his otherwise unremarkable expressions. ¡°In exchange for this information, I set him up with a deal.¡± ¡°You-¡± ¡°Yes. You should hold yourself and your intuition in higher regard. Although I was not investing all my resources into covering my tracks, I certainly did not make it easy.¡± ¡°You¡¯re a slave trader. Why would you help the F.S.A.?¡± ¡°The F.S.A. is not my enemy, nor are S.H.I.A. my allies,¡± the man chuckled. ¡°I do not care what Help & Labour does once they are taken off my hands, nor do I care what those organisations do with the money I lend them. That is up to them.¡± ¡°But why help any of them?¡± ¡°Because. The Help & Labour trade is a side project. Helps me grow my influence, so to speak.¡± Evalyn stared the man down, her gaze freezing over despite the heat. ¡°Fucking what? Side project?¡± The organised trafficking of people was nothing more than a side project? ¡°Yes. A means to an end. To own half a city while bringing about its downfall. I burn down cities too, Mrs Hardridge. Just in different ways and under different banners.¡± ¡°What banner would that be?¡± The man got up, uncaring for Evalyn¡¯s grip on her firearm. He turned towards them and reached into his suit jacket. Evalyn flinched and he hesitated. He smiled, reassuring her that he was not looking for a fight. Not yet. He removed a business card and handed it to Evalyn, but she did not take it. He instead turned towards Iris. She watched him with a glare that would scare off any rabid dog, the edges of her hair tingling with anticipation. His smile did not wane, and he instead placed the card beside her. ¡°I shall be off then. Guests to entertain.¡± He turned his back and walked to the edge of the street, looking left and right like any good civilian would. Nothing of the utter chaos or twisted motives showed itself. An unrivalled level of restraint, poise, and disgusting gentlemanliness. Either that or the world was looking fondly on him. For what, Evalyn could not even entertain the thought. ¡°By guests, I also am referring to your peers. I¡¯m a Wizard myself, so I know how to put up a fight.¡± He finally turned, removing his sunglasses. A sickly yellow sheen coated his eyes, staining his blank pupils a putrid off-white. They resembled rotting organs, innards that were never meant to see the light of day. ¡°Do not take me lightly, Wish Bearer. Your friend may be in danger, so I will see you at the top.¡± Evalyn glanced at the business card. It bore no Workar insignia, only the man¡¯s name and motto. Recres Wesper Until the Day Utopia Begins Interlude: The last of Percy Hardridge "Evalyn!" "What?! What is it?!" Elliot was not used to the harsh tone. They rarely argued, and never about anything so personal. "Can''t you just reconsider? Think on it a little more?" "I''ve thought on it enough already! I''m going to work!" Evalyn made for the doorway, the dark field jacket still half a size too big for her. Or at least, it seemed so to Elliot. Such a symbol of responsibility he could still not picture on her shoulders. "Then you haven''t thought enough! At least give it a day!" "Shut up shut up shut up!" She gripped the door handle tighter. "He was your father for fuck''s sake!" "He was not!" She silenced them both. Elliot had no coherent response to such a statement. It was not something he could so freely comment on. He had seen it happen. He knew how that had left her. "He wasn''t. He wasn''t my...." The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident. He could see those same shoulders shaking. He could feel the pain marring his wife''s face without even having to see it. She was holding it in brilliantly as she often had in the past. Old habits died hard. "He wasn''t. I get that Marie is more of a parent to you than he ever was." "Don''t do this, Elly." "But along with the man that died today, the man that married your mother and decided to have a child with her died as well." "Don''t do this, please." "The man who Marie called her closest friend, the man who had a chance to redeem himself if life had let him live a little longer." "Don''t do this!" She shouted. "I''m doing this because you matter to me!" He shouted back. "I know you don''t give a flying fuck about yourself sometimes, but that''s because it''s also my job. I don''t care if it sounds like I''m telling you to go to his funeral just so I can feel better in knowing that you did. I''m doing this because I want you to have some closure, so you feel like you can leave it in the past." "I left the past behind the day I chose to spend the rest of my life with you instead of him." "No you didn''t." "And why are you so sure?!" Even in response to her screams, the sternness in his voice caramelised into something gentle, but equally as caring. "Because you''re still a Hardridge, and not a Maxwell." There was no bitterness, only his acceptance of something she refused to admit. She did not look back, but her head softly thumped against the door, and her shoulders began to shake even more. He approached her, reaching towards her unsteady shoulders in an attempt to comfort, but she spoke before he could. "When I come back, help me visit his grave." He smiled, his palm finding her. "Just promise me you won''t try to desecrate it." She turned and kissed him. Softly, and not for very long. "I can''t bring myself to hate him that much. It''s been five years, and too much has happened since." She rested herself on his chest as she spoke, and he pulled her closer. "Colte''s waiting for me. I''ll talk to you soon." She left his embrace and made for the door, turning at the last moment to give a grateful smile. "I love you." The door closed, and Elliot''s response was wasted on an empty room. Interlude: Rebellions have Armies Geverdian Royal Intelligence Bureau: Foreign Intelligence File No. 55983204932089
Name/Rank Date Borrowed
Gerald Witikquer/Northern Seaboard Analysis 13/8/1934
Aliscia Harmann/Northern Seaboard Analysis 29/8/1934
Wirel Jakoby/Weapons and Arms Intelligence 9/9/1934
The following is an excerpt from the radio channel Fadaak Daily during and after a breaking news broadcast on the 10th of August, 1934 at 10:36am. The broadcast details the events of the 1934 bombing of Workar tower as said events unfolded. 1036 hours: LEAD: BREAKING NEWS. MEMBERS OF THE URBAN TERRORIST MILITIA, THE F.S.A., RECENTLY BEGUN A BOMBING CAMPAIGN IN THE CBD. POLICE AUTHORITIES HAVE ISSUED AN EVACUATION WARNING, AND FOR ALL THOSE NOT IN THE GENERAL VICINITY TO STAY INSIDE THEIR HOMES. AREAS AFFECTED BY THE EVACUATION ORDER ARE: HELSTER DISTRICT, RURIRI DISTRICT, YALI FRAIRER PRECINCT AND SUKREKER DISTRICT. IF YOU ARE IN THESE AREAS, PLEASE MOVE AWAY FROM WORKAR TOWER IN AN ORDERLY FASHION AND FOLLOW POLICE TO DESIGNATED SHELTERS. I REPEAT, AREAS AFFECTED BY THE EVACUATION ORDER ARE: HELSTER DISTRICT, RURIRI DISTRICT... 1120 hours: LEAD COMING BACK TO THE ONGOING SITUATION AT WORKAR TOWER, EVENTS HAVE ESCALATED INTO URBAN WARFARE BETWEEN THE FADAAK STATE MILITARY AND MEMBERS OF THE F.S.A. SEVERAL CASUALTIES HAVE BEEN INFLICTED ON EITHER SIDE, YET THE BOMBING CAMPAIGN IS YET TO CEASE. REPORTER TRAVITZ WEKLER IS ON THE SCENE. REPORTER: TRAVITZ WELKER THANK YOU TARARA. AS YOU CAN PROBABLY HEAR FROM BEHIND ME, SEVERAL ARMED CONVOYS DEPLOYED BY THE FADAAK STATE MILITARY HAVE ARRIVED ON THE SCENE. DISTRICT POLICE FORCES WERE OVERWHELMED NOT TOO LONG AGO AS THE F.S.A. MEMBERS TOOK POSITIONS. CIVILIAN CASUALTIES ARE LOW FOR THE MOMENT, BUT FEARS OF THE SAFETY OF THOSE IN THE BUILDING CONTINUE TO RISE. FIGHTING IS STILL ONGOING AS THE TOWER CONTINUES TO FACE BOMBARDMENT. HOWEVER, SO FAR, IT HAS SUSTAINED MINIMAL DAMAGE IN THE PROCESS. This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it LEAD: THANK YOU TRAVITZ. REPORTER: THANK YOU TARARA. LEAD: NOW TURNING THE ATTENTION TO... 1146 hours: LEAD: THIS JUST IN, A JOINT POLICE AND MILITARY TASK FORCE HAS MANAGED TO WEAKEN INSURGENT FORCES SIGNIFICANTLY AS FIGHTING CONTINUES AROUND WORKAR TOWER PLAZA. WE HAVE ON THE SHOW JAREN HALOQUI, A PROFESSIONAL INTER SPIRIT-HUMAN RELATIONS ANALYST. WELCOME JAREN, THANK YOU FOR COMING ON. GUEST: JAREN HALOQUI IT''S A PLEASURE. THANK YOU FOR HAVING ME. LEAD: WHY DO YOU THINK THAT THIS ATTACK HAS HAPPENED? GUEST: JAREN HALOQUI WELL, IT''S A SIMPLE QUESTION, REALLY. THE F.S.A. ARE A GROUP DEDICATED ON STEALING HELP & LABOUR PRODUCTS UNDER THE GUISE OF ''LIBERATION''. THEY BELIEVE THAT IT IS THEIR MISSION TO FREE WHAT THEY SEE AS SLAVES. AN ATTACK ON WORKAR TOWER IS THE NATURAL CULMINATION OF THESE SENTIMENTS IN THE FORM OF RETALIATION. HOWEVER WHAT I, AND MANY OTHERS DO NOT UNDERSTAND ABOUT THIS ATTACK IS THE VALIDITY OF ITS PURPOSE CONSIDERING THEIR GOALS. AN ATTACK ON THE MAIN BUILDING WOULD NOT FREE SLAVES OR CAUSE OPERATIONS TO CEASE. WORKAR IS A MULTI-NATIONAL ORGANISATION, AND RESPONSIBILITY CAN SIMPLY BE SHIFTED TO A DIFFERENT OFFICE. LEAD: DO THEY PERHAPS KNOW SOMETHING THAT WE DO NOT? GUEST: JAREN HALOQUI POSSIBLY, BUT I AND MY COLLEAGUES HIGHLY DOUBT IT. MISGUIDED EFFORTS LIKE THESE ARE MORE COMMON AMONGST SMALLER URBAN TERRORIST SECTS, HOWEVER IT IS RARE TO SEE AN ORGANISATION AS WIDESPREAD AS THE F.S.A. TRY SOMETHING OF THIS NATURE. LEAD: DESPERATION, PERHAPS? GUEST: JAREN HALOQUI IT IS HARD TO SAY AS OF NOW. THE SITUATION MUST UNFOLD FURTHER FOR ANY CONCRETE ANSWERS. LEAD: THANK YOU FOR YOUR TIME JAREN, WE WILL BE HEARING MORE FROM YOU LATER. GUEST: JAREN HALOQUI THANK YOU VERY MUCH. End excerpt. Although the situation would continue for another sixteen hours, the damages sustained by Workar Tower were minimal. Despite the use of heavy ordinance and shoulder-fired explosives, the tower suffered little to no significant damage, and all civilians inside were left unharmed. Recent events have alluded to the reasons why Workar Tower was attacked by the F.S.A., yet nothing conclusive can be determined. The attack ended as a significant defeat for F.S.A. forces. Chapter 9 Part 4: Welcome to Workar Tower Evalyn shoved herself through the revolving doors, exhibiting none of the grace afforded to the previous stream of ghosts. The door was no longer spinning. There was no one around to push it. There was no one around. Evalyn¡ªher hand clasped tight around Iris¡¯s wrist¡ªstumbled into the empty lobby. Polished marble walls reflected a golden hue, eerily reminiscent of The Sparrow''s interior. Indulgent. Opulent. Decadent. Evalyn started forward, looking for a way upward. An elevator, fire exit, or even an evil spiral staircase would do. ¡°Evalyn,¡± Iris muttered from behind her. Evalyn turned to see Iris¡¯s face only centimetres from a marble wall. A marble wall that did not exist moments prior. She turned back forward, and the lobby no longer existed. Like it never existed. A room. No. A plane of existence with marble floors and low, suffocating marble ceilings. Pillars lined themselves in a perfect repeating pattern that stretched for eternity. It was not even clear if the ceiling required their support at all. Evalyn¡¯s mind began to race as she swivelled from left to right, her eyes darting for something different. Something to focus on. There was nothing. She could feel it, sense it, but not the magic it should have created. ¡°It¡¯s a Mind Palace. That¡¯s the only way.¡± Evalyn¡¯s hand gripped tighter around Iris¡¯s as the marking on her cheek began to glow. It went from a sparkle to a shine to a blinding light, casting shadows behind pillars, and making marble shimmer. It did not work. She could not overpower it. She, of all people, could not. ¡®It will not work that easily, Mrs Hardridge. Come find me at the top.¡¯ ¡°Fine then, you bastard,¡± Evalyn sneered, her markings glowing once more. Intense heat. The sensation of opening an oven; that kind of heat radiated from her. Golden armour crawled down her skin; growing, weaving, interlocking as it went. Sharp gauntlets with fingers like a jagged crown of autumn thorns. Leggings that restricted no movement yet protected every vulnerability. A chest plate which elevated every meaning of the word elegance. A helmet that removed all imperfections of the human face. Adorned with mythical engravings and two vibrant eyes that seemed to pierce reality. An aura of hypersensitivity turned her surroundings into extensions of her body. Not only could she feel Iris¡¯s awe, but also the impending danger they faced if they did not move soon. There was something else. The uncanniness of the rooms was not the sole danger. From behind pillars moved sentient things. Their forms were unclear, only their nightmarish red colour. They made a mockery of the human body. Spirits that could apt be described as ''unhuman''. A morbid fit for a slave trader. ¡°The fucker is playing with us,¡± Evalyn whispered as she watched the beings approach. They grew in numbers and in proximity, helplessly drawn to the intense aura of magic. At first, they dragged their fleshy feet behind them. But soon that movement lost hesitation and broke into running; a squelching, painful running. Evalyn raised her free hand, balling a fist like she was grabbing the ground and hauling it upwards. A series of golden battering rams protruded from the floor and crashed into the low ceiling, reducing it to cobble. She reached upwards, forming spindling limbs to haul her through the fresh opening. But gravity flipped. She did not so much climb through the hole as she fell through it headfirst. The environment changed. It changed much too completely. Up and down did not exist, for either direction was a cavernous deep given form by monstrous walls. Four superclusters of rooms, pathways, cabins, and staircases pressed together infinitesimally close. It was as if all aspects of civilization had been woven into a fine fabric. Without careful assessment, each wall looked like one continuous, undefined colour. There was no sense of night or day, up or down. Such a Mind Palace could not exist. Evalyn, clutching Iris by her waistband, fired off a flurry of golden grappling hooks at a wall. She did not care for what it latched onto, as long as it was something solid. She felt her body whiplash as the lines caught, and she reeled herself in before she could fall any further. She landed on a staircase going from god knows where to who knows what, nestled between a room and a miniature garden. The charming flowers brought her no ease as she looked upwards and from side to side. For as hospitable as it seemed, it appeared deserted. Light escaped some rooms from open windows, streetlamps from other walls twinkled like silkworms. It all suggested life, but Evalyn could not see it. Even for a Mind Palace, the place was incomprehensible. ¡°Iris, are you alright?¡± ¡°Yeah, but I don¡¯t like this.¡± Evalyn did not either. Recres Wesper¡¯s pocket world was not hostile for now, but she could not say with certainty that it was harmless. He was playing with her. She was leagues stronger than him, and he knew he would only dominate in a world bent to his will. This was somewhere between a Mind Palace and reality, a fusion of the two. This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there. This, was Workar Tower. The door to the room beside her opened, and a stream of orange light projected across the concrete path. A man exited, bleary-eyed and stumbling. He was barefoot, wearing chequered monotone pyjamas from collar to hem. Unremarkable, save for the stitched patch on his left breast. A simple name and serial code. ¡®David: 552901¡¯. The man caught sight of Evalyn¡ªmore accurately, her armour¡ªand began to quiver. ¡°Who are you?¡± he muttered. ¡°A bad dream. You can go to sleep.¡± The man hesitated, his eyes still attempting to discern if Evalyn really was just a figment of his fleeting consciousness. The tower did have life, in the way an ant farm might. Evalyn did not need more than a second to put two and two together. This is where they were born. This is where they were bred. This is where they were trained. All to serve their life purpose before dying in the city all the same. A distant crumble. The low thunder of freshly pummelled walls and falling debris echoed across all four walls. Both Evalyn and the man searched for the sound. Perhaps someone else had broken in as they had. Perhaps it was another magic user. That answer revealed itself all too quickly when Evalyn¡¯s senses were overwhelmed with a rush of Aether. A powerful surge all pulling towards a single point in the distance. ¡°Iris! Get behind me!¡± she shouted, and the man hurried to slam the door shut. From a speck in blank space came a torrent of spiralling fire. Serpentine tongues of light, heat and destruction blossomed into a demonic inferno. The flames, rank with greed, devoured the air, creating an almost instantaneous gale to fuel it. The spirited mass grew to a size the space could barely contain. It rammed into the wall and began spreading outward. It flooded every gap and pathway in a hellish embrace, dwarfing anything and everything remotely mortal. Hell. A piece of hell. Evalyn steeled herself, feeling the wind behind her and the heat in front. She brought her arms above her head, forming a diagonal cross, each finger limp and mobile. A golden circle drew itself on the ground as the flames charged closer and closer. She twisted her arms, spiralling them clockwise, commanding the circle of light upwards. She brought her wrists together, sealing the barrier and creating an impenetrable dome. The weightless flames hit the barrier with the energy of a continuous battering ram. It clawed at any conceivable crack, searching for a way to turn the dome into a deathly kiln. But Evalyn was steadfast, watching over the little girl with eyes shut and ears covered. ¡°I need to teach you this technique next, don¡¯t I?¡± she whispered. The heat subsided as if a weight lifted off her shoulders, and Evalyn released the barrier. The flames had moved past them and were now veering upwards, joining other snaking firebolts. The serpents coalesced into the black speck, now falling helplessly. Evalyn tracked it as it fell, shooting another rope-like limb and lassoing it. She dragged it to the ground, letting it land safely beside her. ¡°Fuck me. Haven¡¯t done that in a while,¡± Colte said as he heaved for air. He looked around, looking satisfied that although he had left the surroundings singed, nothing was still burning. ¡°Be more careful next time,¡± Evalyn said, ¡°sometimes I wonder if you taught me that technique just so you didn¡¯t have to worry about cooking me alive.¡± ¡°No, that was definitely the intention,¡± he said, taking in his surroundings. ¡°I was being chased. Spirits, I think. The big fleshy carnivores, I forget their names. This place isn¡¯t barren, it¡¯s a fucking menagerie.¡± ¡°It¡¯s not just that. This space is where they make their humans.¡± ¡°¡­in his Mind Palace?¡± ¡°That way, nothing can destroy it unless he''s killed,¡± Evalyn surmised. ¡°But I can¡¯t overpower it.¡± ¡°Neither can I. I think it¡¯s tethered to the building. It¡¯s both real and not at the same time.¡± ¡®That would be spot on.¡¯ A voice thumped inside her ears, bouncing across every facet of the impossible geometry. ¡®Welcome to Workar. You three are the thirteenth, fourteenth, and fifteenth guests we¡¯ve had today.¡¯ As Recres¡¯s words invaded Evalyn¡¯s senses, lights flickered on, and doors began to open. The streets flooded once more, this time with chequered bodies and concerned faces. Evalyn held Iris closer as the narrow pathways drowned, suffocating in the crowd. All attention, every eye line congregated upon them. A thousand pinpricks from every wall combined into one single, omnipotent eye. ¡°Where are the others?¡± Colte spoke, aware that there was no need to raise his voice. The ears were just as all-knowing as the eyes. ¡®Of course, I was just uncertain if you were ready to join the party just yet.¡¯ The fabric of the four walls began to recede. The fabric retreated into darkness, taking its many residents with it, their eyes forever remained on the intruders. They were left in darkness. No floor, no ceiling, no walls. Null and void. Evalyn¡¯s senses grappled in the nothing for something to perceive, to discern an environment. But, if it were not for the shine of Evalyn¡¯s armour, there would have barely been a difference between eyes open and shut. She felt Iris next to her; that she could feel. She could smell the smoke from Colte¡¯s ashy clothes; that she could still smell. A sound. Clinking chains. Clinking chains travelled to their ears and echoed off nothing. In front of her, a lineup of twelve chains appeared as if a spotlight watched them. The chains moved upwards, each dragging something weighty behind them. Hands. Twelve pairs of hands tied together by chain. The metal tore against their wrists, rendering them raw. She followed the hands as the chains kept on rising, revealing arms. Some were still, others still spasmed; all were soaked in blood. The chains stopped with a low, mocking clunk. Twelve heads. Twelve lacerated faces, some more deformed than others. Missing eyes, disfigured mouths and blood-soaked skin. Evalyn forced Iris¡¯s face into her side, keeping her from the grotesque display of what the human body could be reduced to. Cracked skulls. Snapped necks. Open cheeks. Sliced Jugulars. ¡°They¡¯re all magic users,¡± Colte whispered in disbelief. ¡®I considered that the little one may have found the rest of their bodies too disturbing.¡¯ ¡°Why?¡± Evalyn asked. ¡®It is only natural I punish intruders.¡¯ ¡°Then why are we still alive?¡± Evalyn seethed, her eyes unrelenting from the macabre spotlight. ¡®You hold value, Hardridge. Why do you think I suggested that Fadaak send Colte after you?¡¯ The void extinguished the light, engulfing them once again in unknowing darkness. ¡®Even if it failed, I¡¯ve learnt some valuable things about you, your alliance with Colte being one of them. It truly was a miracle when Jamie¡¯s rumoured red-haired mercenary appeared outside my tower. Yet then again, I thought you might, one way or another.¡¯ She could not have guessed he was watching the moment she stepped into the tower''s vicinity. She had been playing on the enemy¡¯s home turf for too long, and now she was paying the price. ¡®I hear very little from my contacts in Geverde. But, from what I understand, you are a strong believer that the ends justify the means. I like to think myself similar, although my goodwill extends further than yours does.¡¯ ¡°Goodwill? What have you done for this world that counts as goodwill?¡± ¡®I would never dream of it. Bringing goodwill to such a farce existence would waste my time. This world is full of means, Evalyn. A means to an end.¡¯ ¡°And that end is¡­¡± ¡®Correct. It¡¯s right there on my business card.¡¯ The darkness opened up, revealing to them a room. Bright, natural light flooded Evalyn¡¯s senses and overwhelmed her eyes. A vision, perhaps more accurately a window into a boardroom opened. The edges blurred, fighting off the void. A misty sheen marred their view, like trying to peer into the bottom of a river. There were six Spirits of different make, five of which all wore heavily tailored military uniforms. The sixth wore a suit, suffocating its fleshy, overflowing body; the City Duke. Wesper led the meeting himself, sunglasses covering his fleshy eyes. Unlike the light, the sound transmitted with crystal clarity. ¡°Gentlemen, once again, let me reiterate my deepest apologies for the incorrect intelligence. However, I can make it up to you¡ªall of you¡ªwhen I present you with my latest findings.¡± The members of the congregation leaned in as if Wesper had trained them to lap up every word that came out of his mouth. ¡°My spies have finally gotten back to me. I can confirm we have the coordinates to the F.S.A. base, yet I would refrain from-¡± Wesper was cut off. An uproar of excitement from each member drowned out his voice. Spiteful hatred and selfish relief quickly turned into calls to action. ¡®They do not seem to care an awful lot about your hostages, Evalyn. Let us see how far your tolerance for this horrid world and its inhabitants goes.¡¯ Chapter 10 Part 1: Permission Granted Lieutenant-General Marie Elvera paced around her office. She had been doing so for the past five hours. Five hours. Much too long. Much too long for radio silence. She gave into her agitation and dialled the number ¡°Radio room. Anything?¡± ¡°Nothing, Ma¡¯am. Should we call for reinforcements?¡± Two thoughts warred inside her head, fighting to be the one to exit her lips. Her worry would see her command a small army to the building, but her logical brain would not allow that. Evalyn would not perish in such a boring way, nor would Colte, and neither would put Iris in harm¡¯s way. Or at least more harm than required. ¡°No. Hold out a little longer,¡± she said. ¡°We can¡¯t take risks like that yet.¡± ¡°Yes, ma¡¯am.¡± She cut the line herself and slumped back into her chair. It swivelled clockwise, pointing her towards another clear sky. Day after day, the scenery outside her window had been a perfect duality between green and blue. Cloudless, dry, and unbroken. The forecast talked of rain that afternoon, at exactly sixteen sixteen hours. The Queen had a way of changing the weather at exceedingly obscure times. The rest of the nation had to trust there was a method to the madness. A call. A ringtone that pierced through her daze like a bullet through cheap body armour. The speed at which Elvera reacted gave race car drivers a run for their money. ¡°Anything?¡± ¡°Marie! Fuck¡¯s sake. Thank god.¡± ¡°Evalyn? What¡¯s going on? Why hasn¡¯t anyone contacted me?¡± ¡°They¡¯re all dead. Colte, Iris and I are the only ones alive.¡± ¡°What happened?!¡± ¡°Listen! Just shut up for a second! Workar¡¯s owner! He¡¯s got his fucking fingers everywhere! In Geverde, Fadaak, S.H.I.A., the F.S.A., everywhere! He¡¯s everywhere!¡± ¡°How does that make sense-¡± ¡°Later! He¡¯s spilled the F.S.A. base¡¯s location! Fadaak¡¯s going to raid it the first chance they get, so we need to get our expats out now! Sixteen G FR 0712 44323.¡± Evalyn¡¯s voice disappeared, and the silence of Elvera¡¯s office returned. Her mind blanked, a billion thoughts running around like kindergarteners in a playground. ¡°Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck fuck-¡± Elvera dialled every comm station she could in an urgent frenzy, sparing no concern for authority or green lights. If she had ever cared, she would not be working under Special Operations. ¡°Send every fucking agent to the following coordinates! Tell them that¡¯s where the hostages are, and tell them to get there before Fadaak does!¡± Fadaak had the overwhelming advantage of airspeed. Any land-based transport would not get there in time. Elvera¡¯s only hope was the hostages themselves. The leaked intel and Higher Order Armour were no longer a threat; it was their only hope. ¡°Elliot,¡± Elvera whispered. The tension in the air base had ramped to hysteria in the matter of a single morning. Lessons had been cancelled, and the flow of personnel had gone from a steady stream to white water rapids. A knock on his door summoned Elliot just as he finished preparing for his now cleared day. When he answered the door, Staff Sergeant Yalowique¡ªhis de facto emissary to the Air Marshall¡ªgreeted him. ¡°Senior Captain. Follow me.¡± No beating around the bush. Utmost urgency. Elliot followed Yalowique¡¯s unfamiliar figure through the many halls of the air base, passing officer after officer. There were airmen of all ranks, either moving at a brisk pace or speaking in hushed excitement. Everyone had somewhere to be, a far cry from what Elliot had accustomed himself to. ¡°Fuck,¡± he muttered, making an educated guess he thoroughly disliked the thought of. They reached the Air Marshall¡¯s office, passing the same junction he had hijacked only a day prior. With every molecule of his being, he prayed that this was about anything other than the device. The small box stuck to the junction with a wad of gum. ¡°Enter,¡± the voice said. It passed through the door like a summer breeze. The Staff Sergeant opened the door, stepping through first as he released a wave of conditioned air. ¡°You requested Senior Captain Maxwell, Sir,¡± he said, saluting his superior officer. ¡°Thank you, Sergeant. You may go.¡± ¡°Sir,¡± said Yalowique, like clockwork. Elliot traded places with Yalowique, giving his own salute before closing the door. ¡°I¡¯m guessing you¡¯ve already figured it out,¡± the Air Marshall said. ¡°More or less, Sir,¡± Elliot replied, his body tense enough that even he knew it was noticeable. ¡°Combat personnel haven¡¯t officially been notified, but rumours spread fast,¡± the Air Marshall said. His pipe was still smoking on its rest, rocking gently. He eyed Elliot up and down before sighing. ¡°I hate to admit it, but none of our Majors think our pilots can fly a Rapacian. We¡¯re sending them out in our Kresper-119s, but we need a Rapacian in the sky as well.¡± ¡°No can do.¡± ¡°¡­excuse me?¡± Elliot¡¯s body was stiff, but he felt a sapling sprout between the cracks. One growing from liquid confidence. ¡°I cannot do that. Our deal was that I train your men so we can find our hostages.¡± ¡°Well, we¡¯ve found them-¡± ¡°Safe. I¡¯ll only deploy if you let us deliver our hostages safely.¡± The Spirit rose from its seat. Their winding body grew to fill the room as their head stayed locked on Elliot¡¯s face. ¡°I would not talk with that tone to a superior officer, Captain,¡± they spat. Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author. ¡°You won¡¯t get away with harming me, Air Marshall. Unless, of course, you¡¯d like a shot at Geverde and Sidos, as well as the F.S.A.¡± Elliot had the high ground, although it felt more like a crumbling cliff face than a solid standing. Elliot hoped he had done his part, and Spec Ops had whatever information they were after. Even if the base found the listening device, Geverde could deny it ever existed. Fadaak would have to keep its head down and suck it up. Fadaak was asking Geverde for military aid, not the other way around. The Air Marshall¡¯s sneer did not lessen, but the absence of action proved that Elliot had won. ¡°I cannot stop it. If we do not deploy, the army will,¡± the Air Marshall hissed as he retreated. ¡°God knows those grunts would sooner be blown to pieces by a H.O.A. than reconsider an order to deploy.¡± Elliot waited for the verdict, the silence only fueling his anxiety. The Air Marshall took up his pipe and huffed a lungful, the smoke again pouring from the cracks in his bark. ¡°I will allow you to lead the mission. Be as precise as you feel necessary. That is the only way I can guarantee the hostages'' safety. Deploy without you, and we would likely face defeat; deploy late, and the army would get there first.¡± ¡°Permission to speak freely, Sir,¡± Elliot said. ¡°You¡¯ve been speaking freely this entire meeting; what¡¯s stopping you now?¡± ¡°I just want to confirm why you aren¡¯t bombing them all to hell.¡± ¡°Because we want at least one H.O.A. intact for ourselves, why else?¡± Elliot grinned. ¡°Thought as much, Sir.¡± ¡°Two thousand rounds confirmed, fuel load of eight thousand litres confirmed, trim check, flaps check, wing mobility unhindered, dials green, canopy dropping. Grain man one standing by.¡± Elliot jiggled his yoke again as the radio traffic buzzed with similar reports. The canopy motors whined until the glass seal completely shut him off from the rest of the world. ¡°Grain men cleared for taxi.¡± ¡°Clear left and right,¡± Elliot said, immediately acting on air traffic control''s orders. He massaged the throttle forward and felt the engine¡¯s vibrations chatter his teeth. As he exited his slot, he used a separate lever to extend his folded wings outward. Yet he refrained from outright locking them. Reaching the runway, he saw several fighters behind him. Nostalgic propeller engines that buzzed in a way more violent than his own craft. Flying the Rapacians almost made him forget that propeller engines were the norm. Rapacians were still such a new technology despite being in their third iteration. He steered himself into place with his pedals and aimed his nose down the middle of the wide straightaway. ¡°Grain man one to ATC requesting clearance for take-off.¡± ¡°ATC to Grain man one, you are cleared for take-off.¡± With a salute directed towards the Air traffic control tower, Elliot cranked his throttle forward. He felt the vibrations jerk his bone marrow as the compressed Aether expanded, propelling him forward. The entire craft shook in an up-down motion. The motion grew more pronounced as the wings flapped faster and faster. His landing gear let go of the asphalt in time for the runway to end. He felt the motors whirring, retracting the wheels into the fuselage. For now, it was steady flying, simply following the bearings at the right speed. But he knew this simplicity would soon come to an abrupt end. There was no textbook on defeating Higher Order Armour in a fighter. He would have to write it as he went. Kurael was not sleeping. Forcing himself to be nocturnal was something he could only do out of overwhelming exhaustion. So if he woke midday, there was very little chance the brightness would let him fall back to sleep. The inescapable light, baking heat and sapping dryness; he had all but gotten used to it. He could now at least spend his misused sleeping hours on something other than suffering. Many had tried journaling. Jotting down thoughts on any spare paper they could scavenge with a pen meant for working. Some kept their notes inside their threadbare pillowcases or folded under their shoe soles. Others were less concerned with what happened to their writing. One went so far as to burn them every so often. Even though he had kept some paper for himself, Kurael had not much of a habit of journaling. It was logical, effective, and made him feel stupid by belittling his problems. He had not much of a habit of journaling, but he had promised his mother he would write to her. Naturally, he had not had the opportunity to follow through with that promise. He found the scrap of paper inside his pillow case and carefully dragged it out; a ripped piece from a larger spread used for calculations. It did not seem right to waste anything in the desert, so he had brought it back to his tent. He thought for a moment about what to write. He started in several ways, but eventually crossed them out all the same. He thought as he tapped his mask with the butt of his pen. He felt guilty when he realised he was having trouble thinking of what to write in such a letter. So, he decided not to think at all. Hi Mum, it¡¯s Kurael. By the time you get this message, hopefully, I¡¯ll still be alive. Hopefully, I delivered this message myself. But I¡¯m sorry, I can¡¯t guarantee that as I¡¯m writing. The desert isn¡¯t exactly what some tourists have chalked it up to be. They¡¯ve maybe looked at it from their hotel window or cruised along the edge of it, but they¡¯ve never lived in it. I wish I could say the same about myself. It¡¯s been a few weeks now since I last saw you. Four or five, roughly. I know you often like to say, ¡®I told you so,¡¯ and gloat about how you know what¡¯s best for me, but I guess you win this time. You¡¯ve earned it. I shouldn¡¯t have taken that job and moved to such a place. But I felt like proving myself. I wanted to show you that I knew what was best for me. I wanted you to know that I could keep going without you always making decisions for me. That¡¯s how adult children are born, and I don¡¯t want to be that. I¡¯ve survived this far, so perhaps I¡¯m doing something right. I miss you, Mum. I¡¯d do anything to be with you right now, to get back that unfulfilling life that sounds like heaven right about now. I don¡¯t want to be here, but I don¡¯t want to lose hope, either. There¡¯s some nice people. This will probably end up as a dead letter, but I hope you know I love you. Your Son, Kurael Farhen His hand dug the graphite into the paper as he finished writing his surname. He looked at his handwriting, examining it for any clear sign of degradation. There was none, barely any difference from five weeks ago. He had foregone himself to his situation, thrown his hands up in dismay and focused on preserving his life. But some habits did not die so easily. Some reminded him he had a life he had led for the past two decades, one that now felt so easily forgettable, so disgustingly insignificant. But yet so desirable. He had never realised how good he had it. He suspected no one had until their very existence came into jeopardy. The weight of it all was insurmountable and would make him question everything if he did not let his guard down. But his mother was the only clear thought he could keep in his head; the one thought that permeated everything else. He wanted to see her again, to talk to her again. That would keep him going for as long as he needed to. How long that was, was not his choice to make. The air raid sirens made it for him. Today was his last day, for better or for worse. Elliot market the final point on his map, slotting it next to his thigh with the rest of his belongings. ¡°Grain man one to all fighters, battle-ready in five seconds.¡± Elliot handled the lever once more, pulling it towards him. The wings on either side segmented as Aether flooded between the metal feathers. Each piece moved independently, compensating for and cancelling out one another¡¯s movements. Elliot flicked a switch underneath his radar, arming the dual cannons protruding from the nose. He veered left, trading altitude for speed as he went. A small cluster of shapes in the distance grew larger and larger as he approached. Grey boxes turned into hangars, and abstract orange grooves became rocky outcrops. The lines joined one another and the blurry cluster harmonised into something clearer. ¡°Grain man one to all units, target area confirmed, free to engage on my signal. Remember, you¡¯re a scalpel, not a damn shovel.¡± ¡®Only engage with hostiles.¡¯ That was what he had commanded of the pilots in their briefing that morning. Yet, he could not be so sure they would follow his orders to a T. The briefing lasted all of fifteen minutes, and Elliot¡¯s only objective had been to keep the hostages alive. He could not put his trust in the others. None of them inspired any confidence within him. For all he knew, they wished to tear open every hangar as soon as they got the chance. ¡°Grain man six to all units, multiple H.O.A. confirmed, request permission to open fire.¡± Elliot squinted his vision through the thick canopy glass. Six was right, yet wrong at the same time. ¡®Multiple H.O.A.,¡¯ did not aptly describe it. No matter how often they were downplayed by their adversaries, the F.S.A. was not an urban terrorist group. They were a rebellion, and rebellions had armies. Elliot squared his reticle over a particular unit, already bringing its shoulder to aim. ¡°Don¡¯t miss. You might just start a war. Permission granted.¡± Elliot took a deep breath as he watched the unit in his sights, bringing its rifle to aim. He squeezed the trigger, joining a cacophony of rattling metal and thundering bolts as a great shower of bullets cracked the air wide open. The H.O.A. on the other end of the exchange returned fire as Elliot veered himself up and out of the way. He adjusted his course with the swiftness of a sparrow, his canopy now facing towards the ground. Either side had sustained damage, but neither inflicted any casualties. A war of attrition. One Elliot did not want to fight. Chapter 10 Part 2: Kuraels Final Day Evalyn did another once-over of her weapons. Her bolt action, handgun, and a hundred-odd rounds of ammunition tucked in several satchels across her body. ¡°I don¡¯t know what you¡¯re expecting to fight, Evalyn. Those¡¯ll be useless,¡± Colte said, keeping one eye on the car in front. ¡°You just focus on finding our hostages,¡± Evalyn said, driving the bolt home and resting the rifle against her shoulder. ¡°It¡¯s a habit. Let me be.¡± ¡°All right¡­.¡± Evalyn, Colte and Iris had left the city together with a convoy of Wizards and Witches, five cars and fifteen able persons in total. Many Evalyn had no relation to, but Colte could vouch for their capability. However, Evalyn did not care too much for them. She would rest easier if they were all left to hostage rescue. There would be five teams of three, each designated an area to search. Each team would have at least two personnel who specialised in combat. Mainly to deter attacks from the F.S.A., but many had resolved to fight off Fadaak if there was no other option. Doing so would leave a political quagmire in its wake, but they were willing to take the fall. Evalyn included. Although this time, she had been much more reluctant to do so. The little life sitting in the back seat dictated she move with caution, and preserve herself unless it was absolutely necessary to act otherwise. She glanced backwards at Iris. The girl was fidgeting with her fingers, unsure what to say or do. Yet, the way she looked when their eyes met sent Evalyn a crystal-clear message. The same one as the last time Evalyn left her for the battlefield. She smiled at her before turning back. She could not decide on what to say, if anything at all. The distant roar of fighter engines. Evalyn, of all people, could not mistake that sound for anything else. ¡°Shit, they¡¯re already here¡­¡± A boxy backpack radio on the seat next to Iris crackled to life. The navigator of the car ahead radioed in, notifying the convoy. ¡°One minute out. We¡¯re going to stop behind a tall enough dune before we begin. Last chance to get ready.¡± Evalyn grabbed the handgun inside her jacket and turned to Iris, yet she hesitated. It felt wrong to give her such a thing, yet refusing her any protection was irresponsible. Would her power conveniently awaken at the right moment again? Evalyn did not feel comfortable betting. Iris watched her as she decided. Two large, jewel-like eyes that looked as though they could never decide on which shade of purple to be. ¡°Iris?¡± ¡°Yeah?¡± ¡°Do you remember how to use a gun?¡± ¡°The small one. I remember how to shoot that.¡± Evalyn offered the gun to Iris, grip first; a gesture of many meanings. Surrender, gratitude, trust. The fragile hands took the gun, making it look bigger than it actually was. ¡°Keep this inside your jacket. Don''t take it out unless you absolutely need to. If there is more than one enemy, if there is already a gun pointed at you, if there is any reason why you''d be shot first, do not use it.¡± Evalyn held on to the gun as she spoke. The gun she had kept on her person for years. She reached out another hand, bridging the gap between her hands and Iris¡¯s. ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± Evalyn whispered. The cars began to brake, and Colte steered his vehicle to park beside the first. Evalyn and Colte stepped out of the car, and the others followed. ¡°Colte,¡± Evalyn called. ¡°What?¡± ¡°You¡¯re right. I won¡¯t be needing this.¡± Evalyn tossed her rifle to him, and he caught it by the barrel. She began to undo several satchels across her body, tossing them into the car. ¡°If anyone needs spare rounds, I¡¯ve got a lot of .39, so take your fill.¡± Several hesitated, unsure if Evalyn had calculated her act of generosity, or if it was nothing more than a foolish step toward suicide. Yet it was not long before they passed around the extra stock. Evalyn peered over the dunes and, at last, caught sight of the outpost. The compound was already in the thick of battle. Higher Order Armour units battled diving fighter planes in a war of attrition. A Witch with binoculars scanned the compound. She sifted through the beastly machines and torrential gunfire for anything useful. ¡°There¡¯s a small cluster of tents behind one of the hangars. South-westward.¡± ¡°Team one can try there first,¡± Colte said, ¡°rest of you, pick your places.¡± The small party readied themselves to begin. Some exuded auras of potent, secretive magic, while others took on more physical transformations. Translucency. Elasticity. Claws. Yet everything was only indicative of a greater power still lurking. ¡°Let¡¯s get started, shall we?¡± Colte uttered, turning to Evalyn. She nodded and began the process. ¡°Act I: Setting.¡± Her body listened to her mind''s commands, and her magic soon followed. She felt the Aether flood her body like a broken dam while her Magic burnt the excess with an insatiable thirst for fuel. More power. The ability to set shapes with higher proficiency. Her armour sprang into being instead of the usual crawl as her mind quickened and vision slowed. Things were clearer, but blurrier at the same time. She brought her arms up once more, creating the same diagonal cross. The golden circle drew itself in the sand, only this time around the entire outpost itself. She twisted her hands around each other as if straining to open a valve, the motion bringing the golden circle upward. It climbed higher and higher, meeting at the pinnacle in a perfect dome. Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there. She had cut off the fighters for now. They¡ªalong with any other intruder¡ªwould not be bothering them for a while. Evalyn relaxed as the others made their way towards the dome. Colte turned to her, eyeing her armour up and down once more. ¡°Never gets old,¡± he said as his body began disintegrating into fine, powdery ash. ¡°Don¡¯t take too long.¡± Evalyn turned back towards Iris, a mix of fear and awe on her face. Their eyes met, and neither could say a word. A thumbs up. A thumbs up on an outstretched hand was the most Evalyn could manage. Iris looked for a deeper meaning, but Evalyn had none to give. All it was, was a reassurance that things would be okay. Evalyn raised her other hand and fired off a wiry appendage towards the dome. It caught, and she reeled herself in at a speed that lifted her feet off the ground. The wind whistled through her helmet as she soared overhead of the others, the golden barrier getting closer and closer. She willed an opening and flew straight through, her first sight being a H.O.A. unit directly beyond her feet. However, she did not stop. She sent another two wires towards the unit¡¯s shoulder joints, lancing them with barbed spearheads. It was not her momentum that carried her towards her target, it was her armour. She willed the suit to propel itself irrespective of its physical limitations, and so it did. She slammed her feet into the unit with greater speed and force than ever physically possible. She landed a hair underneath the upper cabin where she understood the cockpit itself to be. The bulletproof metal bent to her force like flimsy parchment, setting free an onslaught of mechanical intestines. Like a bullet to the head, she killed the metal thing in one blow. She rebounded off the unit, searching for the others as she did so. Her team had followed her lead, directing attention away from the hostage rescue by way of brute force. One was stripping apart units one piece at a time, controlling the salvaged metal like water. Their magic perhaps replicated magnetism. Another was shrugging off cannon rounds like he did not exist, likely something to do with his translucency. Some sort of ability that made them invulnerable. But if it were not for the fact he was armed to the teeth, he would have no method of attack. Evalyn felt a weight smash into her side, catching her off guard and sending her flying into the closest hangar wall. The corrugated metal ruptured under the impact, and she landed inside the shadowed building. She sprang to her feet, recuperating herself. Looking around, she found herself not inside a military facility but amongst a gruesome forest. Every body, dead or alive, was imprisoned in a set of gallows, hands and heads locked in wooden restraints while they kneeled helplessly. The better off were whimpering, while the worst were riddled with bullet holes. Wizard and Witch magic only seemed to become more unsettling as Evalyn grew older. ¡°We¡¯ve cleared out this hangar,¡± a snaking female voice reported. Evalyn turned and found a trench coat-clad woman wearing a jet-black bob cut, with a mean set of eyes to boot. Two other magic users exfiltrated behind her. ¡°Nothing?¡± Evalyn asked. ¡°Nothing. Watch out.¡± The wall behind her disintegrated like a grenade, golden light from Evalyn¡¯s dome beaming through the demolished wound. A H.O.A. unit tumbled backwards, pushed off balance amid the fray. Its terrible body threatened to topple anyone unfortunate enough to be in its path, let alone anyone who could not move out of its way. Evalyn stepped forward, lifting two fists in a guarding stance. The posture spawned an angled rampart that easily caught the unit and sent it stumbling back. Evalyn looked back, but the woman had already cleared out, probably moving to the next location. Evalyn looked around once more, seeing the gallows for what they were; an act of mercy. They were not bothered to kill needlessly. It was less blood attributed to their hands. She sped through the opening and back into the fray. ¡°Act II: Character.¡± Her magic circuited faster as her body began to suck her surroundings dry of Aether. Her brain pumped with fresh blood, and her senses heightened once more. More control. The ability to morph the characteristics of her shapes. Flammability. Elasticity. Temperature. The familiar recurve bow arch formed in her fist, and the strings she wove across its ends twanged with deadly enthusiasm. She did not need a bow to send sharp objects flying. Yet as a practitioner trained their body through a discipline, Evalyn had adopted a similar approach. The human imagination presented its own boundaries, and Evalyn had to adhere to hers. In an ideal world, she could crush the entire compound in one fell swoop. But for the same reasons Colte was not sending it all straight to hell, she had to act with precision. She aimed her bow at the nearest unit, nocking an arrow on the impossibly taut string and willing it backwards with the movement of her other hand. She let the string loose, and the arrow flew, emanating a thunderous crack as it pierced sound itself. The arrowhead burned through the unit, leaving nothing but a gaping nothing in its wake. Evalyn¡¯s presence was finally noticed, denoted by a hail of gunfire into her back at what seemed to be point-blank range. She stumbled to her knees, the unexpected impact catching her off guard. Yet each round bent around her armour as if the bullets were still fresh from the smelter. The dead bullets flew off her body as she threw a punch with her off-hand, directing a rocket of golden matter into the unit¡¯s centre mass, crippling it almost instantly. Evalyn continued her assault, supported by the two of her team. One¡ªnow a hulking mass of steel tendons and metal skin¡ªdelivered a cacophony of crunching strikes and devastating blows. The other took a more surgical method of decommissioning each unit with precise, well-placed attacks. Neither were as efficient as Evalyn, yet they made up for her lost capacity. The barrier she had erected was not free, and enemy bombardment would only hinder her body further. She had to stay alert, but most importantly, awake. The great soundscape of raging canon fire and bruising metal reverberated across the freshly painted abstract hellscape. A physical embodiment of the fog of war had sealed him off from the outside while a band of magical insurgents had begun to tear the outpost to pieces. He heard them ripping muscle from bone and gnawing on the leftover marrow. Kurael was not used to this. Just when he had successfully adapted too. The sirens had come so quickly that neither he nor his colleagues had any time to react. Their flimsy tent became a safe haven owing to its apparent lack of strategic import. It had first been fighter planes. Now, god knows what? An assault sent by a group of Fadaak specialists, perhaps. Yet the dome suggested a conflict of interest between the two assailants. Kurael could only keep thinking of such things in a bid to calm his nerves. Several of whom Kurael remembered as the quickest to surrender to orders were already cowering under their hammocks. Rocking back and forth. Praying for salvation. All were engineers, not soldiers. Being the manufacturers of war machines did not make them accustomed to their use cases. A disgustingly hypocritical privilege they were now paying the price for. The record player was no longer singing its sorrowful song, its flimsiness unable to keep up. Kurael tried to keep himself conscious, or rather, sane, as a longing for intense numbness washed over his body. An intense longing to prepare for the worst by killing oneself internally. His letter was only a half-truth. He no longer wanted to hold out. The intense, inky darkness in his mind deterred him from even considering a reality where he would survive. A reality so surely wrought with absolute, inescapable pain and mind-obliterating death that he thought his almost total existential surrender a blessing. He would die. He hoped to die sooner rather than later, for later was surely painful. He could only apologise to his mother as the ringing of gunfire and pulsating magic assured him that he would not see his letter delivered. A dead letter with dead sentiments. Hope. A universal attribute. Something he had finally rid himself of as the cold, skeletal embrace closed in on him. Footsteps. The rough crunch of grains under boots. So close that Kurael could pick them out even amid terrible symphonies. Friend or enemy? Captor or liberator? The lines had blurred too much for Kurael. He would bestow the title of saviour upon even that thin mechanic he had reserved for tight spaces without a second thought. ¡°Kerry¡­that was his name,¡± Kurael whispered, finally giving in to his memory. A nice name. The owners of the footsteps hastily entered, pushing aside the flaps as if appearing out of thin air. A middle-aged human, his outfit and smell more befitting of a chimney sweep. His appearance was strange, but Kurael¡¯s sudden onset of intimidation did not stem from that. He had an aura; a magical one. ¡°Fucking finally!¡± he exclaimed as his supposed colleagues caught up, all in similar trench coats and besmeared in foreign magic. ¡°We¡¯re here to rescue you,¡± the man said. ¡°Let¡¯s get out of here.¡± ¡°No¡­,¡± Kurael whispered. The man heard, despite the whisper only carried by a lonely breath. ¡°Why not?¡± ¡°You¡¯ve doomed us. You brought them here. You¡¯ve brought your magic here.¡± Kurael began to tremble at the thought of the unthinkable, the unfathomable. ¡°The Grain Men. You¡¯ve brought the Grain Men to us.¡± Chapter 10 Part 3: The Small God Iris had long since exited the car to try and better discern the muffled sounds of the battlefield. Their volume, despite Evalyn''s barrier, was alarming. Each gunshot was like the blast of aerial bombardment. The crunching of breaking metal persisted at jarring and random intervals. Even though Iris could see, hear, and feel very little from where she stood atop the dune, her senses had noticed the stream of Aether since the beginning of the assault. Like the wind, it rushed en masse to fill the void left by the intense display of logic-defying magic. She could feel it all pass through her on its way to its final destination. It beckoned her to follow it, make use of it. It beckoned her to join the fray and harness her power for what it was meant for. The hallway was answering that call, and she could barely resist following along. The dizziness, the numbness in the limbs. The need to let it out and let it out violently. Aether influx. That was what Elliot had called it. The thumping in her ears grew as she took a cautious step forward. But a rumble stole the balance from that cautious step, and she stumbled, knees first into the sand. The vibrations grew in magnitude, and the sand grains began to dance around her. The dune she stood on drifted around her small footsteps until it snuffed them out of history. The Aether shifted, its direction changing slightly. Only slightly, but she could tell. Her vision followed the flow as the Aether¡¯s second master brought its form to bear. Segmented, calloused, and ivory white. Six organically cylindrical bones emerged from the sand as if the seas were parting for it. The thing seemed to disintegrate and reform with each passing moment as if it was one with the sand. Of the same grain. The height of the apparatus dwarfed the golden dome, and the three-fingered hand descended on it like a gavel delivering a death sentence. Another limb followed, the digits digging into the dome and squeezing it like a child testing a balloon. Iris picked herself back up as she watched the hands continue to grip the shield. What was it? Why had she not known of them before? Why were they here? Why now? Evalyn¡¯s dome creaked under immense pressure, and its orange glow intensified to the point Iris could no longer look at it. And then it happened. Succumbing to the immeasurable pressure, the dome shattered, disintegrating into a brief golden whirlwind. And she watched as the hands came down upon the miniature buildings below. Evalyn. Evalyn was in danger. She answered the beckoning, yet this time it was not the hallway that invited her. Help me save her. I want to save her. The carpet prickled, and the lights were flat and dead, like the eyes of a dying fish. The unmistakable plaster walls and quietly monstrous doors boxed her in the narrow, suffocating space. She had returned of her own volition. The suffering, cloth-covered Evalyn was nowhere, and her pained whimpers were absent. She had returned to the space but had no more confidence left in her to take another step forward. Another step into submission would land her in god knows where, subservient to god knows what. She could not trust herself, for she would lose herself the moment she did. But her sense of self-preservation was warped, distorted by the very woman hell-bent on preserving her. Why should she sit still? Be the rescued one for the rest of her life? A life that would surely end pitifully if she continued in such a way. She had that power. Why not use it? Why not use it to protect what she loves? Why not use it to kill what she hates? Kill what she hates. Kill hatred. Kill something. Kill. Kill moved her forward. Kill pumped her legs with blood, with Aether. It did not matter which. Kill brought her to the next door, across the hall from the frozen death. Kill willed her arm forward. Kill wrapped her hand around the knob and turned it open. It swivelled as smoothly as if it had been oiled daily since the invention of oil. The door creaked open, and that was where Kill left her. It had served its purpose and done so flawlessly. Iris had crossed the threshold of no return and had not so much as looked back in the process. Before her was darkness. Pure darkness obscured direction, any sense of up, down, left or right. A flat canvas, devoid of dimension no matter how far Iris tried to venture into it. Albeit, that was not very far. A lone bureau stood, or rather, floated in the space. It looked regal and enjoyed a marbling wood finish and a simple yet elegantly carved design. Decorated with an ink well, skull, dimly burning candle, and a globe, the bureau as well hosted an occupant. A devilish, elongated face. Their chin reached down to their abdomen, and their nose curled like the blade of a sickle. One sunken eye hid behind a monocle, while the other was left uncovered. The humanoid entity looked up from underneath its top hat. Their movements were delicate, as if to not crease the thick, black cape draped across its androgynous body. They placed their quill down. ¡°I have not seen you in a long time, friend,¡± they whispered. A voice both male and female. Iris was frozen. There was no icy chill to paralyse her or an overloading sense of intimidation. Only neutrality. A coating numbness. She could feel nothing in this space, for nothing but herself and the bureau existed. She had felt this before. This was death. Oblivion. ¡°You look¡­different. Your lines, they¡¯re clearer now. I am glad.¡± Iris dared, with everything in her power, to risk a painfully slow glance backwards There was nothing, not even a door. Only she existed, and those words existed solely for her. ¡°Wh¡ª¡­who¡­.¡± The sunken eyes searched over Iris¡¯s body, eyeing something deeper than even the things she was yet to know about. Whoever, whatever they were, they knew who she was better than anyone else. ¡°I see. It seems that I was able to manage my end of the bargain.¡± Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website. ¡°What¡­you¡ª?¡± ¡°I am your old friend. Your greatest benefactor when you were at your zenith,¡± they said. A toothy smile spread from end to end, splitting their face in two. ¡°I am death, at least in Spirit.¡± The Spirit of Death watched her. Every shift of her feet, every twitch of her finger. They watched with the manner a person might observe a bug, or a god might observe his people. ¡°Who¡­am I?¡± ¡°I¡¯m afraid I cannot tell you that, else there¡¯d be no point to our agreement. You must find that out yourself, old friend. For now, you are one step closer.¡± Death¡¯s wraithlike cape responded to a non-existent wind, broadening itself in an indescribable defiance of physical matter. She could not comprehend it, and so the only option left for her was to fear it. Death reduced her to an animal, a startled beast, as all living things really were. A great equaliser. The only equaliser. And this great equaliser was a benefactor of Iris¡¯s past self. A self, an equaliser more powerful than the incarnation of death. Death came closer, silently commanding the distance between them to shrink into infinity. She traded places with them, their cloak passing through her for what seemed like an eternity. It drained her of her senses, her function to feel herself. She felt her soul rip from her body. Like hell, her mind was dying. Yet this was not a mind death so easily contextualised in smoke and fire. This was vaguer, darker. Void. Oblivion. The mind that died did not turn to ash, it simply did not exist anymore. The lines that contained her blurred and betrayed her, mingling with the suffocating darkness beyond the now unclear edges of her existence. She was disappearing, disappearing in a truer sense than anything. She needed help. She had not given in when she had asked for help. She had not conceded when she walked down that bristling carpet. She had yet to submit when she opened the door. The hallway was testing her once again. Not with pain, but with pure annihilation. This was where it wanted her. ¡°Save me¡­,¡± she muttered. The only two words that had yet to be taken from her. The borders of herself began to glow purple, and her mind felt as though it had caught fire once more. She blinked. She breathed. Her organs existed. She had willed them to exist once more. She had willed her malleable existence back into reality. Death watched her with the same toothy grin. A corpselike satisfaction of something that could see beyond the future¡ªbeyond death itself. ¡°You truly are the one to save us all.¡± The toothy grin was contagious, and Iris caught it as she returned to the desert. She immediately did away with her lengthy hair. The white locks disintegrated into purple matter as she willed it into the sky. She knew what she wanted. Like an artist, she saw the painting in her mind''s eye. She did away with subtlety. She painted with broad strokes, her purple shapes would be larger than comprehension. The matter expanded, but it was not enough. The hair was too light, too restricting. She needed more. A hand. No, an arm. Yes! An arm! An arm would suffice! The worthless imitation sprung itself from its humane bounds, returning to a beautiful hue of ever-changing purple. It hurt, the pain of a lopped-off arm, the nerves of the severed stump firing. Yet she knew no such pain, so she ignored it and instead relished in her newfound paint. Paint. Purple paint. She would paint great swords with them and a new arm with the leftovers. Three swords! And they would rain down like holy spires, driven by divine conviction to carry out her will. The will of god. No sooner did the swords form in her mind than they formed in the air. Colossal monuments that dwarfed even the malevolent towers of the city. Brilliantly, against the shine of the blue sky did the purple swords shimmer. Yes. Killing could be beautiful. She relished in such a thought. The small god tightened her fingers and clenched her teeth. Like a humble conductor, she brought the three swords down like she was conducting a crescendo to end the world. And the world shook. The swords plunged downwards, implanting their blades into the immense Spirit. She skewered either hand while the third found the rest of the body still hidden under the sand. Each impalement brought with it its own great boom, its own dust storm. Ah. To create and destroy. Yet she was not done. She had promised herself more to kill. Specks travelled across the sand towards her. A party of ants. Nothing of note. Yet yonder, there were great grey men. Metal men, she knew to be bad. She would kill those. Without a thought, she outstretched her better hand. The purple grew wire-thin, just like Evalyn¡¯s limbs. She was just like Evalyn. That thought made her ecstatic. By the time her eyes had opened once more, she was already in the fray. Bullets. A hailstorm of metal rounds sought her out, sniffing their air for her flesh. She could see them. She could see them move. Slides. The ones she had seen children play on. Yes! She would send those cannon rounds on slides, directed right back to their owners! And so she did, shaping them with a wave of her hand. She watched several metal men burst into brilliant colour as their own gunfire came back towards them. Such a painting she would never be able to see again. She relished the moment. Grey man after grey man fell to great purple cleavers, puncturing spears or even their own gunfire. One by one, they fell to her. One by one, she killed them all. One by one by one by one by one by one by one by¡ª ¡°Iris!¡± A voice. A voice she could recognise. A voice she liked. ¡°Evalyn!¡± she shouted gleefully. Her favourite person would watch her art. She would be proud. Two golden hands wrapped around her waist and forced her to the ground, a violent show of affection. ¡°Iris! Snap out of it!¡± Iris could not stop smiling. ¡°Are you proud of me?!¡± ¡°Iris! Listen to me!¡± The golden hue faded, leaving the soft hands of a human being. More to kill. She had to find more. She had to continue until she saw nothing but Evalyn. Until Evalyn was safe. That¡¯s what she had promised herself. Until the painting was finished. Elliot watched from the sky like a vulture. He had feigned ignorance regarding the dome, advising the flight not to shoot without any concrete information. However, what had transpired in just the past few minutes had left him dumbfounded. A great, terrible Spirit slaughtered as easily as livestock by a triad of purple swords. ¡°Iris,¡± he muttered as he searched for his ward amongst the unexplainable chaos and otherworldly destruction. The crumbs left behind by macabre devouring were not dissimilar to Evalyn¡¯s brand of destruction. Yet this was unbearably darker. Malice exuded from it. A hatred for the world. Elliot¡¯s eyes fell on two figures, still amongst the destruction. From this distance, he was unable to make out anything concrete, but he could do nothing but trust his intuition. ¡°Grain man one to all fighters, mission objective complete. Return to base while I do a final sweep.¡± Upon hearing the confirmations of his order, he veered his fighter away from the formation and down towards the base. His wings flapped gently as the scene grew in gruesome detail. The units had been contorted as easily as a body of bone and flesh, leaving its occupants trapped in tombs of their own making. The few still left standing were beyond saving. The only difference between them and their fallen brothers was their resilience in the face of death. But, they would not last long. Elliot found the two figures; a cackling girl with silver hair and a woman holding her back. Iris had gone berserk once again, but for what reason, he was not so sure. He could tell at a glance that Evalyn was struggling. A foreign strength drove Iris forward despite Evalyn¡¯s best efforts to push her back. Evalyn was pleading, begging to reach the little girl she hoped was still underneath the hideous cackle. He could not do anything. This was not something in his domain. He fought pilots, not superhumans. He killed; he did not plead. He had not a clue as to how to save such a girl, let alone raise her. As his gloves tightened around his yoke and the wings of his fighter carried him along the wind, he did not know what to do. He did not know how to use himself for her. He had never flown for anything other than himself. As a child, he had seen his dad glide like a bird. He was the village crop duster. He had watched that man fly slow in a bright yellow biplane. Looking back, his grip on the yoke had been unsteady, the plane had handled like a wild horse, and the winds had never been in his favour. He had long surpassed his dad as a pilot, yet the thumbs up he had given a young and bright-eyed Elliot had stuck with him. Even now, higher than his father had ever flown, he still looked up to that bright-yellow biplane silhouetted against the afternoon sun. He had never flown for anything besides himself. That could not have been true, no matter how hard he tried to deny it. Even if it was, it was no excuse to start trying. Make sure they never want to leave you. Francis¡¯s words had proved invaluable. If he could use his skills for something, anything, it ought to be that. Think. Think. Think. The ways in which Iris had snapped out of it before. Her trances. Trances! Like a slumber, if not for an inexplicable reason, it was always some violent movement. A fall, forceful shaking. A loud noise. That could work. He cranked the lever away, locking his wings and making a blade out of his aircraft. He traded altitude for speed. Lower. Lower. Even lower. Fifty. Thirty. Twenty. Ten. The blast from his engines kicked up a great trail behind him as he pushed his engines further. Loud. As loud as he could without outright deafening them. A shock to Iris¡¯s system was all he needed. The engines roared as he came closer and closer. He saw Evalyn duck as he finally blew past them, sending a storm of sound and sand in their direction. Elliot unlocked his wings once more and ascended, narrowly dodging a stray dune catching the nose of his aircraft. He found the serenity after the pass. The engines slowed, and the sound subsided. He looked down at the two. No more struggling. No more cackling. The swords had faded, and Iris¡¯s brilliant purple eyes had found him against the sky¡¯s clement blue. He gave her a thumbs up and watched as she returned it. Chapter 10 Part 4: The Currency of the World This time, needling fears and seeded guilt could not contain her legs from bounding at that jet-black mess of hair. She had not seen his face for too long. Those sharp eyes, that contradicted a jovial kindness, those intelligent, lazy movements. All of it. All of him had been just as present in her new life as Evalyn. She barged into his side like a freight train, squeezing his waist tighter than a belt around a fat king. ¡°Whoa, whoa, easy. I¡¯m not going nowhere. You caught me,¡± Elliot said, the nonchalant phrasing of he who would never say anything authentic with absolute sincerity. It was so him; a contrast to his strait-laced wife, a balance in Iris¡¯s life. She felt a hand rest on her shoulders, gently dissuading her from continuing her iron grasp. He knelt in front of her, and they watched each other. ¡°Welcome back,¡± Iris said. Even if they were not yet home, it felt right. ¡°Good to be back,¡± he said, giving her a skyward thumbs up. Perhaps it was a pilot thing. She could not be too sure. They had spent another few days in the city before Elliot¡¯s shift at the base was over. Deals between Geverde and Fadaak had been met, and, as Evalyn had put it, any loose ends had been neatly swept under the rug. Only a few days prior, Iris and Evalyn had watched from their hotel window as the Royal Intelligence Bureau packed their bags and left, leaving their¡ªnot so official¡ªpersonnel behind for a few more days. Geverde¡¯s business was done and dusted. But, Iris could not help but stare at the looming visage of Workar tower, forever mocking her as she sat on the edge of the city docks. Her and Elliot sat side by side, the cool breeze carried by the waves fiddling with their hair and clothes. Seagulls. They now seemed so ordinary. Their squawks were odd, but their feathers remained, for the most part, monotone. Strange. Strangely normal. Normal would never feel normal to her. She had seen everything as a gradient between true and false from the beginning. Such was being exposed to a world where everything was bigger than oneself. She was reminded of the dance floor, the stage of the world where the most that could go wrong was a spilled drink or broken heel. She had seen beyond that already, where a stray screw could cause a stage light to fall, and at worse kill some poor dancing couple. Perhaps, she had seen more. Seen all the way to the engine rooms, where the same screw could send everything crashing. Not only a few on the dance floor, still blissfully unaware of the forces that kept them alive. What did the seagull think of that? She was sure it did not care much for dance floors. ¡°What happened after I left?¡± Elliot asked, legs swinging. An odd display of wasting energy. ¡°After you left?¡± Iris repeated for no reason in particular. ¡°After you left, we went back to the cars. I couldn¡¯t walk, so Evalyn carried me. We met the uh¡­Rib?¡± ¡°R.I.B. Don¡¯t call them ribs, they might get butthurt.¡± Iris noticed he talked as though from personal experience. ¡°We met with the R.I.B. people halfway, and they took the hostages and brought us back.¡± ¡°Did you talk with any of them?¡± Iris could not recall much of the return journey. Her head had erupted like the belt of a car engine, and it had felt as though nothing above her brain stem still functioned. But she had a vague memory of Evalyn talking to a particular Beak amongst the hostages. ¡°I didn¡¯t. But Evalyn was talking to the person she was supposed to find. I don¡¯t remember what about, but he didn¡¯t react much.¡± ¡°Must have been a little shell-shocked,¡± Elliot assumed. ¡°No. He said something.¡± Something Iris could just grasp from the back seat. Even over the sound of car engines and deafening wind, the mechanical voice had said something in whispering solemnness. ¡°They were good people. That¡¯s what he said.¡± Elliot took his time in replying. His eyes ventured forward while his back turned to the city in subconscious rejection. Iris did not know where he was looking, for home was the other way. But he looked at peace. Not peaceful, at peace. At peace with something Iris could not grasp yet. ¡°I wonder who he was talking about¡­.¡± Not long after, Evalyn returned holding three paper tickets. She gripped them tightly as she waved towards Iris and Elliot. ¡°They only had economy class left!¡± she hollered into the wind. ¡°I hope that¡¯s alright!¡± ¡°Why is she asking us that?¡± Elliot muttered to Iris. ¡°She¡¯s the one who¡¯s going to be contemplating suicide the entire time. Sure sweetie! Thanks for waiting in line!¡± ¡°Watch your tone or you¡¯re going straight into that ocean,¡± she said, feigning a swift frontal kick into his back. She sat between the two, pocketing the tickets and turning her attention to the ocean. ¡°All the diplomatic business has been taken care of, and all the hired help have left for their next contracts.¡± ¡°Where¡¯d Colte go off to?¡± Elliot asked. ¡°Aerilia. He¡¯s going to be staying there a while. Has some funerals to get to as well.¡± The dead they had seen in Workar Tower, their bodies spat out like a snake hurling bones. ¡°Are you going, Evalyn?¡± Iris asked. Evalyn looked sour, her serene expression losing a bit of its radiance. ¡°No, I didn¡¯t know them all too well,¡± she admitted. ¡°But I guess I just don¡¯t like funerals either.¡± A quiet droning, clinging to the coattails of the wind reached their ears. It came from behind her, so Iris stood, turning toward the city. A plane with little wings and a fat belly flew high overhead, growing in size with each passing second. For now, at least, she could imagine herself crushing it between her fingers. She turned down to the city itself, the skyline jutting like an irregular heartbeat, glistening in undeserved sunlight. A disgusting place. A disgusting place where Spirits lived innocently and died innocently, relying, for their whole lives, on the oasis built atop nameless corpses. This narrative has been purloined without the author''s approval. Report any appearances on Amazon. Did those Spirits know of the price paid for such a miracle? Did they care? The fat little plane, now orders of magnitude larger than its namesake, roared overhead. Iris followed it as it crossed the bay, scaring seagulls out of their bickering and adults out of their daydreaming. Colossal monster of Aether and steel. A world in the sky full of dance floors and desire. Another shepherd of the city, shipping clueless tourists from one place to another. Until the Day Utopia Begins. Iris wondered how long that man had been waiting. Kurael Farehn watched the orange brick buildings leisurely pass the window of the Police cruiser, welcoming him home. Home. Yeah. He was home. Excala offered him the promised love and character of its streets. It shared with him the colour of people as they walked through the close knits boroughs. His home reminded him that walls could be so beautiful, that green could be so soothing, that canals could run with so much water. So much water. Desolation, which he had immersed himself in so fully, was nowhere. The old life he had taken for granted when filtered through newfound senses, almost felt like a dream. There was safety in its walls and plenty in its promises. Everything was lovingly personal, unlike the thoughtless desert. None of it felt real. Perhaps, he now knew it to all be a temporary state of being. He considered that the death of the desert was the truer, more final normalcy. The state of things where everything started and ended. He gripped the crumpled letter in his fists as the last grains of sand dislodged and fell out of his mask. The desert escaped him. It took the length of a continent to do so, but it admitted defeat. Kurael was now truly a survivor. The same name floated across the gears in his voice box whenever he thought upon it. He barely knew Kerry, but Kurael was sure he would have liked the city too. The cruiser parked adjacent to the sidewalk of a painfully narrow brick road. He thanked the officer on the other side of the grille and stepped out, checking his seat for anything left behind. Nothing but a brown coat and a leather briefcase remained in his possession. Considering his circumstances, the fact he had held onto so much at all bewildered him. The cruiser¡¯s engines hummed once more as it pulled into the road, beeping playfully as a farewell. Kurael waved with his free hand as the car disappeared over a small hill. He turned to the building he had marked as his home address. A tall, orange, intensely familiar midrise, sandwiched between two other identical complexes. Nothing special, at least from the street. He could not remember the door to the building ever being so tall. It loomed over him, scrutinising the now-changed man standing on its porch. Beyond the door was the mother he had never said goodbye to. The person he had given up so easily once his end came too close for comfort. Even if she forgave him, he would forever sit by her side, knowing that he had broken that bond once and survived. The letter in his hand¡ªwhich he had promised to deliver himself¡ªnow felt nothing more than a crude insult. An appeal for mercy from a coward at the end of his wits. He had run from home, fell into trouble immediately, worried the life out of his own mother and then had bid farewell to her memory. How could he have the gall to come back alive? The door watched him skeptically. He could not find the door handle, no matter how hard his undeserved hands tried, no matter how¡ª ¡°Kurael?¡± The old rattling voice box he had offered to repair at least once a month still had one or two screws loose. The way the voice spoke was alien to him. A weak timidness, as if the gears had not moved in weeks. The voice spoke with such caution its words could be erased from history with a simple whistle of the wind. Kurael sometimes envied the facial expressions of humans. Such intricacy and detail all illustrated succinctly yet eloquently. Too beautiful to be called a simple survival mechanism. But the way the voice¡¯s owner gripped the paper bag of mundane groceries, and the way the shoulders tensed when he turned told him everything he needed to know, and more. There was nothing in the world that he could take for granted, not even the ground under his feet let alone the life he led. But that made some things all the more worth it. ¡°I¡¯m home, Mum.¡± Iris had remained in her bed since she arrived back home. Barely able to walk, she had jellied herself to her room and collapsed onto unused sheets and a fresh mattress. Not even a concussion could have knocked her out so efficiently. But even then, she could not find herself completely losing consciousness. As chirping crickets traded places with birdsong, Iris lay in bed thinking¡ªor at least trying not to. She kept her ears open to every footstep from beyond her door, every scratch and snippet of conversation. Slight chuckles and frustratingly quiet whispers. The telephone rang, startling her oversensitive ears. Three rings later, it stopped, and a reposeful voice answered with a greeting of few words. The talk was hushed, interrupted by frequent silences and restive pauses. She heard the receiver clunk lightly back into place. Not long after, she heard a set of bare feet ventured down the hallway. A soft knock at her door. Another one soon passed, but she could not find the voice in her to speak. After a third knock, she managed to force a grunt through her dormant throat. Evalyn creaked the door open, poking her head through first. She had set her hair free, as was the custom in the house''s walls. Her pyjamas, although still boxy in cut, reminded Iris that Evalyn was not as broad as her trench coat made her out to be. It was instances such as these which still caught Iris off guard. ¡°How are you feeling?¡± she asked, a tired tenderness to her voice. ¡°Mmm.¡± Evalyn giggled, entering the room. She walked over, placing her feet as though she was treading on glass before she knelt beside her bed. ¡°I got a call from Elvera.¡± ¡°Another job?¡± Iris asked, serious. ¡°No, god no. She¡¯s not that cruel. She just called to tell me that everyone was accounted for. Kurael Farehn, the one we originally got commissioned to find, remember him?¡± ¡°The one you were talking to?¡± ¡°Yeah. The Police delivered him to his mother, so they¡¯ll be alright. They¡¯ll be alright now.¡± Evalyn stroked Iris¡¯s head, resting her own on the mattress next to her. ¡°You helped save them, Iris. You can be proud of that.¡± ¡­how had she saved them? What had she done that warranted praise? Colte and the others had found the hostages and brought them back to safety. Evalyn had fought off the hordes of Higher Order Armour while Iris¡ª Iris had retreated into her mind, met death, and succumbed to the power older than the end of life itself. She had¡ª They were good people. ¡°I killed them¡­.¡± ¡°What...No, Iris!¡± ¡°I killed them!¡± ¡°Iris, no. Stop.¡± ¡°They were just trying to save people¡ª¡± ¡°Iris! Calm down!¡± ¡°And I killed them! I¡ªI¡­.¡± ¡°Iris!¡± Evalyn grabbed her, stopping Iris from retreating, feet kicking the covers as she tried to escape the reality she had created. Evalyn grabbed the little girl¡¯s shoulders and forced her forward into her arms. Iris only continued to mutter as Evalyn held her tight. ¡°If I didn¡¯t kill them.¡± ¡°Then the Spirit would¡¯ve killed everyone before I could stop it. Even I couldn¡¯t split my attention thirty different ways, Iris. Maybe what you did wasn¡¯t all intentional, but you saved people that day.¡± ¡°But I killed¡ª¡± ¡°You can¡¯t save everyone, Iris. Please, learn that now,¡± Evalyn said, gripping the little girl tighter. Guilt. Shame. An act of pure sacrilege against everything the word Mother¡ªor even Guardian¡ªstood for. Evalyn knew this, but coming to terms with it was easier said than done. ¡°Colte said whatever I do is up to me. Good or bad,¡± the little girl muttered, voice hollow and teeth chattering. ¡°And Colte told me that anything isn¡¯t the same as everything,¡± Evalyn said as the Ash Man¡¯s first pupil. ¡°You have to fight for something. One thing.¡± ¡°But I don¡¯t want to¡ª¡± ¡°Everyone has to, Iris. Everyone, especially us. Especially us.¡± The weight of power, the control of almost godlike ability was a burden never meant for conscious beings. Iris had not learnt how to numb herself to such ideas yet, so Evalyn could only empathise. Killing is killing, but if one had a reason to fight, one should go to any lengths to achieve it. Like a rabid animal, a horse with no peripheral vision, or a starved dog in the desert. That was the only way someone forced to fight could ever hope to live with themselves; to not see their existence as a burden on the world. The wailing did not end that night, and even between the arms of the two she loved the most, the little seed of hatred lying haphazardly between the bristles of that hallway¡¯s red carpet, finally sprouted. Saving the ally was paramount, and killing was killing, terrorists or freedom fighters. That would be the currency of the world, the degenerate transaction of power between human and Spirit, human and human, Spirit and Spirit. Until the day utopia begins. How long would Iris be waiting? Chapter 11 Part 1: His Brass Knuckles The little girl¡¯s footsteps lost their sound to the echoes of narrow, winding corridors. The lively streets of Excala city had withered into a catacomb under the guise of a moonless night. Suffocating, yet it hid its true boundaries. Eyes lurked in this place, watching where no light existed to betray their whereabouts. Pursued and pursuer, criminal and innocent. This realm did not dictate character with such niceties afforded to the overworld. Iris did not know this place. She did not know what it wanted to do to her. She did not know what it could do to her. Muffled shouting shockwaved from every which direction. Echoes that enticed her one way and dissuaded her from another. The bricks of the vague building walls rattled faintly with each scream, each command, each cry. She was lost, confused as to if she was even running towards or away from something. She had lost track long ago, her legs only concerned with preserving her life. No. The boy. That¡¯s who she was trying to find. A chilling crunch, the brutal annihilation of skin and bone jumped her ears. Over and over, it repeated, like a hammer driving home a nail. It was him. No one else she had ever encountered fought with such brutality. She took off towards the hammering, which somehow grew more inhuman with every step she took. With every crunch, her surroundings faded. With every strike, the silence between them grew louder. She could hear only it, the rhythmic pounding, crushing, crumpling. She found a small light, big enough to mimic a firefly¡ªa pinprick in her blackened vision. She reached for it, running at it with renewed purpose as her vision tunnelled on the lone speck of light. Her shoes fell in crevices and slipped on damp brick, but she kept going. She could hear it now, every speck of bone, every splatter of blood. She could hear it all now. It all was so clear, so audible, so naked and visceral. It longed to demonstrate to her just what it looked like when the sound met the sight. The light enveloped her as she finally rounded the last corner. The sound stopped. A streetlamp, shining with a tinny orange from several metres above. The meek lighting illuminated the shutters of a corner store, an apartment staircase, and the sight of a massacre. Bloodied men, all fighting age, cut down like logs ready for a fire pit. Trench coats, black gloves. Well suited, almost like it was a uniform. Broken jaws, caved-in noses, dented skulls. No mercy had been shown in their pacification, only ferocious efficiency. The boy stood amidst the carnage, his poise as if he was standing atop a pile of deadened corpses. Bruised and cut as he was, his lungs heaved wheezing breath after wheezing breath, sustaining the adrenaline overload for a few seconds longer. Blood seeped into the pores of his hand, clotted under his nails, and stained his clothes. Every muscle still twitched with anticipation, with a deadly instinct to use itself to its full lethal capacity. His raven black hair was dyed with a hint of crimson. It was anyone¡¯s guess if he was bloodstained or born that way. However, the same could not be said about his eyes. Razor sharp, needle-thin, predatorial. A gift from whatever hell had birthed such a monster. The brass knuckles on either hand lustred in the streetlight, glinting as though they were lapping at the fresh blood. ¡°I can¡¯t say I¡¯m all altruistic myself,¡± the boy said. ¡°A person who changes things can¡¯t be all selfless.¡± He walked forward in a swaying limp, shoulders tense like a hunting mountain cat. Brass teeth bared and fresh from its most recent feast. His voice was soft, yet a certain creeping confidence animated its very tone into something threatening. ¡°Ah, but what a beautiful thought! For the world to die for the sake of one person. Yes, I would like to see what that looks like.¡± Sabaton, Greaves, Cuisse, Fauld, Plackart, Breastplate, Rerebrace, Vambrace, Gauntlet, Gorget, Helmet. A package of words that had refused to leave Iris¡¯s vocabulary for days, to the point she could almost recite. Studying images and pouring over descriptions had proved helpful, certainly. Accurate renderings of various ancient armours from different eras and different nations. The humble kind that did not stand several men tall and wield cannons like rifles. Differing designs from Sidos to Geverde and beyond were all compiled rather succinctly in Evalyn¡¯s, now unused, collection. Although it had piled dust in her personal archive, Iris had requested to bring it out of hibernation. From her toes to her chest to her fingers, Iris had considered each and every piece, fussing over how it all interconnected. Whether it be insect-like segments or elastic joints, Evalyn had warned her not to leave anywhere exposed. Even a single stray piece of grenade shrapnel could leave her immobilised. She had to sketch it all, from how the Vambrace may connect with her Rerebrace to how the spine followed her body. She had kept pieces of her armour materialised, sometimes for hours at a time. She repeated until shaping and wearing almost any piece felt as natural as wearing one¡¯s own skin. Piece by piece, she forged Breastplate, Gauntlet, Rerebrace, yet each attempt was ultimately useless. ¡°I can¡¯t focus on two things at once,¡± Iris complained. ¡°The Cuisse disappears as soon as I think of the Greaves.¡± ¡°Try again,¡± Evalyn said, kneeling in front of Iris to take a closer look. Iris focused on her right thigh, moulding the piece in her mind¡¯s eye like a blob of conceptual clay. She felt her scalp grow lighter as a thin line of hair atomised into pure colour. The cuisse formed down her thigh as a solid piece of purple matter. Largely featureless save for the heavy, shield-like plate that guarded from the front. Forward facing, as all good shields were. ¡°Good,¡± Evalyn complimented. She knocked on the reinforced armour, satisfied upon hearing a thumping, muted sound against her knuckles. ¡°Before you try the Greaves, let me do something first. Close your eyes.¡± Iris did, shutting out the strong afternoon glow streaming from the windows of the quaint fifth-floor office. She had frequented the office windows more often as of late, watching the green beacons of the city harmonise with their surroundings. Their leaves fell, stained with the same orange that outlined Evalyn¡¯s markings. The incremental change had not occurred to her on a daily basis. But, before she knew it, the entire city was awash with an enchanting orange-red hue. She had soon come to realise that every season treated the city kindly¡ª Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit. Iris squealed a sharp snap rattled her eardrums. A slap that sounded as though it could tear meat from the bone. She stayed frozen, peeling her eyes open. Evalyn was behind her desk, holding a smouldering, silenced pistol. ¡°Relax, it¡¯s a hunting round. Everyone¡¯s bulletproof to hunting rounds.¡± Iris searched across her body for any pain, any screaming nerves or broken flesh, but there was none. Evalyn smiled at her again. ¡°I shot your leg,¡± she said, following her first outrageous claim with another. Iris looked down at her thigh, still encased in a purple Aegis. ¡°You¡¯ve passed the smallest calibre you¡¯re likely going to face. But, judging by the lack of any scratches on it, I¡¯d say that plate could probably withstand rifle calibres. Well done,¡± she said, a genuine smile across her face. ¡°You shot my leg¡­.¡± ¡°Yeah? I knew you were going to¡ª¡± ¡°Let''s see how well you make armour while you''re in the bathroom,¡± Iris warned. Evalyn put the gun down on the table and stuck both hands in the air. ¡°Isn¡¯t that usually where someone would say while you sleep?¡± ¡°Maybe, but which is more humiliating?¡± ¡°Fair point. Your wish is my command,¡± Evalyn said, resuming her place in front of Iris. She held out her hands, grasping onto the girl¡¯s second skin and holding it tightly. ¡°It¡¯s cold,¡± Evalyn remarked. ¡°It really does feel like there¡¯s no energy in it, almost like it isn¡¯t magic at all.¡± ¡°What does that mean?¡± Iris asked. ¡°I don¡¯t know. Anyway, focus on the Greaves.¡± Iris did as she was told, surrendering another layer of hair to her power, yet the same hands in her mind were clumsier. As one hand held together the already-formed piece, the other toiled away at the new one. Its fingers tripped over each other, tying themselves into impossible knots that the other hand tried to undo. The mental management, juggling of two otherworldly tasks. They were in essence supposed to work in harmony, but they now fought over her attention and compromised one another. ¡°It¡¯s alright,¡± she heard Evalyn say. ¡°It¡¯s gone.¡± Iris opened her eyes, not realising she had closed them. Evalyn knelt, holding the space between her hands and Iris¡¯s thigh. Empty space. Failed, yet again. ¡°How do you do it?¡± Iris asked. ¡°Me? I don¡¯t know. My power was a lot gentler, more malleable, I guess. I worked from the top down, remember? Instead of building my armour piece by piece, I sort of forged it like cast iron. Stamped it like a tank.¡± Evalyn stood to her full height, still in thought. ¡°Perhaps Colte was wrong about the top-down approach applying to you. There¡¯s more factors to your power than personal skill.¡± She knelt, trying to look beyond Iris¡¯s pupils, searching for the bland hallway with its gallery of doors. ¡°Almost as though something is picking and choosing what it shares with you.¡± ¡°Is that possible?¡± Iris asked. ¡°It¡¯s not unthinkable,¡± Evalyn admitted, pacing around the room. ¡°It¡¯s just a nuisance for us.¡± ¡°What if,¡± Iris started, hesitating mid-sentence. She took another moment to formulate her thought. She was set on saying it, no matter how absurd it sounded. ¡°What if¡­whatever it is, knows what I can do? It doesn¡¯t want me to use my power because it thinks I''m dangerous.¡± She gripped the hem of her jacket, straining to force the incessant thoughts out of her mind. Over a month on, the imagery still haunted Iris, no matter which way she turned to avoid them. In one direction, the Death Spirit waited to greet her. If she turned another way, her hands would begin to flail godly swords as though they were nothing. If she looked down, she would begin to fall into the depths of Recres Wesper¡¯s Mind Palace. The millions of eyes staring, drilling holes into the one girl who denied them their freedom, equated their worth to that of a few tens of people. ¡°Even if that is the case,¡± Evalyn started, walking back to her desk, ¡°it¡¯s your responsibility to make sure that your power doesn¡¯t use you. Take a break for today.¡± She collapsed into her office chair, spinning it in a half circle before it lost its energy. ¡°We¡¯ll get him one day, Iris. I promise you we will.¡± Iris thought, but was wary to entertain the thought for too long. The nights she did not break into tears over them, she would instead get no sleep. ¡°How did you come up with your helmet, Evalyn?¡± ¡°My helmet?¡± ¡°Yeah. I¡¯ve looked at all the designs you¡¯ve collected, but none of them look like that.¡± ¡°It¡¯s pretty similar to some of them. The visored Barbutes from¡­say four hundred years ago?¡± ¡°Yeah, but. I don¡¯t know exactly how to describe it. It just doesn¡¯t feel human, really. It looks almost perfect.¡± ¡°Well, let¡¯s hope Ms Caney is sleeping.¡± Evalyn¡¯s markings glowed from underneath her thin buttoned shirt, running up her arm and culminating on her cheek. The infamous helmet began to form, beginning as outlines tracing her face, before the golden plating materialised, swallowing Evalyn¡¯s face whole. She walked over, her figure now awkwardly top-heavy, and took off her helmet. Iris had only ever seen it moments before Evalyn would charge into battle. To see it so intimately was thoroughly alien. Evalyn turned it over in her hands as if it were any other object, as she was not the sole reason it existed at all. ¡°It¡¯s beautiful,¡± Iris muttered, tracing every inch of the artwork¡¯s contours. The outlines which oversimplified the human face and stripped away any humanity. The piercing golden openings and engraved jaw pieces. Etchings of whales which seemed to shift ever so slightly. ¡°The whales never look that good,¡± Evalyn admitted. ¡°It¡¯s only because I¡¯m staring at them now. Two hours a day, for a whole year, I would stare at myself with my armour, turning over myself in the mirror until I knew it like the back of my hand. It was worth it, though.¡± ¡°Why?¡± Iris asked. ¡°I thought you didn¡¯t like pretty things.¡± ¡°¡­Iris, please learn what a filter is.¡± ¡°But you¡¯re always wearing the same thing.¡± Evalyn, lifted the helmet, spinning it on one finger as she pouted. ¡°Those are work clothes, it¡¯s different. I just don¡¯t go out often, since Elly and I are both homebodies. I like pretty things, I used to be the makeup and dresses type.¡± ¡°Oh, I see,¡± Iris said, conceding. ¡°I always thought it was because you were pretty enough already.¡± The helmet disappeared as Evalyn¡¯s body stiffened. Her jaw quivered a little as she pursed her lips, glancing around the room. ¡°Is-is that so? Thank you¡­Iris.¡± Iris grinned, blissfully unaware. Evalyn cleared her throat, and the helmet unceremoniously popped back into her hand. She tossed it to Iris, who fumbled with it until it was steady, the glowing eyes looking directly through her. ¡°I made it look like that once I realised it could be a battle advantage. Sure, just a second skin would do the same job, but it¡¯d still be missing out on the psychological warfare side of things.¡± ¡°How come?¡± ¡°Well, if you thought of it this way, which would scare you more? A vaguely human-ish blob with eye holes, or a divine knight that looks like it¡¯s the incarnation of everything good in the world? When something like that is your judge, jury, and possibly even executioner, it¡¯d make you reconsider.¡± ¡°Does it work?¡± Iris asked, still entranced by the helmet. ¡°Sometimes. Entire brigades have thrown up their hands in surrender. Others already saw themselves as judge, jury, and executioner. I can¡¯t blame them, though.¡± ¡°Why not?¡± ¡°Because I¡¯m doing the same thing. There¡¯s no difference.¡± Evalyn watched Iris as she marvelled, her eyes never leaving the helm for even a second. ¡°Try it on, why don¡¯t you?¡± Evalyn smiled. Iris looked up at her, questioning her offer yet not daring to put it in words, in case Evalyn changed her mind. Evalyn nodded in approval, egging her to try it on. Iris lifted the helmet above her head and lowered it, engulfing her vision in an orange glow. She felt the top of her scalp touch the inside of the helm, and it rested uneasily. She wiggled her head, and it jostled quite freely inside the helmet. ¡°Hold on, let me make it smaller.¡± Iris panicked as the helmet shrunk around her, the walls now pressing against her cheeks. It fit snugly, and she could see out of the openings all the same. It was warm, like a loving embrace that lasted a few seconds too long. ¡°Do you still have that mirror?¡± Iris asked. ¡°Yeah, hold on,¡± Evalyn said, jogging over to her desk and pulling a mirror out of the top drawer. She returned, the reflective side outstretched. Iris took a good look at herself. ¡°I look like a bobblehead.¡± ¡°Yeah, a little.¡± Chapter 11 Part 2: New Memories ¡°How many twos fit into fifteen?¡± ¡°Seven.¡± ¡°Alright, put a seven there. Seven times two?¡± ¡°Fourteen.¡± ¡°Good. So put a fourteen there. Fifteen minus fourteen?¡± ¡°One.¡± ¡°Nice. Now bring that zero down and do that over again.¡± ¡°This is taking up too much paper.¡± ¡°Yeah, I know. There¡¯s a shorter version, but it¡¯s harder to remember.¡± Elliot had, so far, spent a good hour or two directing pencil scratches across lined paper. This morning, those lines had happened to form numbers. Business hours only opened at ten o¡¯clock on weekends, but the same could not be said for Iris¡¯s home-schooling. ¡°Iris?¡± Elliot asked. ¡°Wait.¡± ¡°¡­¡± ¡°Okay, finished. What?¡± ¡°Do you like studying?¡± ¡°Do I like studying?¡± Iris asked genuinely, in place of the all-too-common guttural sigh. ¡°I mean, most people don¡¯t like studying. It¡¯s work you don¡¯t get paid for, and it¡¯s boring.¡± ¡°But it¡¯s something I have to do,¡± Iris said, returning to her workbook. Not wanting to put notions of rebellion in her head too early, Elliot decided to drop the topic. The curriculum was made available to the public for cases not dissimilar to Iris¡¯s, yet Evalyn had managed to distil it to its core fundamentals. By only studying topics considered prior knowledge in secondary school, Iris progressed to third grade almost immediately, showing little sign of slowing down. Elliot watched her diligently solve problems that would have little bearing on her life beyond the next thirty seconds. It was strange, uncanny almost, to see such a child do something so regular. Strange, yet something to be cherished. ¡°It¡¯s not that I like studying,¡± she began, ¡°it¡¯s just that training scares me.¡± ¡°More than before?¡± ¡°Mmm.¡± Elliot looked up at the clock hanging in the hallway. ¡°You¡¯ve got a session in twenty minutes,¡± he said. ¡°I know,¡± Iris muttered. Elliot pouted, unsure of what to say in ways of encouragement. He always advocated for a good day off. But in her more time-sensitive situation, each day off was another day wasted. ¡°I¡¯ll go talk to Evalyn, see if we can¡¯t do anything about it. Keep doing your problems.¡± ¡°I¡¯m almost done. Come back soon.¡± ¡°Just do the next page,¡± he instructed, hauling himself from his chair. He shuffled down the hallway, his socks gliding along the wood like an amateur ice skater. ¡°Evalyn,¡± he murmured, knocking on the door to their bedroom. ¡°I¡¯m changing,¡± she called from the other side. ¡°Yeah? When has that ever stopped me?¡± ¡°Before we got married, I hope.¡± Elliot opened the door, finding Evalyn fastening the last button on a white collared shirt. The usual work outfit, minus the trench coat, was altogether complete. ¡°Changing my ass,¡± he complained. ¡°What is it?¡± she said. ¡°How¡¯s math going?¡± ¡°Math¡¯s doing fine unless you ignore the fact that she¡¯s going to run out of material soon.¡± ¡°That¡¯s fine,¡± Evalyn said, doing a once-over of herself in the full-body mirror. She fluffed her hair before pulling it backward, ¡°I¡¯ll get her started on whatever¡¯s next.¡± ¡°You¡¯ll be teaching a thirteen-year-old calculus at this rate,¡± Elliot noted, sitting on the bed. ¡°It¡¯s not like I¡¯m forcing her. She¡¯s just a fast learner. She¡¯s picked up everything I¡¯ve given her pretty well.¡± She then thought for a moment. ¡°Except language. I don¡¯t know what happened there, but that wasn¡¯t me.¡± She walked over and sat beside him, her hair now pulled into a ponytail. Her favourite hairstyle, although Elliot preferred the looser nighttime look. Or rather, the relaxed state she''d be in when she wore it. ¡°So,¡± she said. ¡°If it¡¯s not that, then what is it?¡± ¡°It¡¯s the training,¡± Elliot sighed. Evalyn¡¯s face drooped in response, and she leaned backwards. ¡°I thought so,¡± she admitted. ¡°She¡¯s been doing better lately, but she doesn¡¯t seem to be enjoying it. ¡°I can¡¯t blame her,¡± Elliot said. ¡°No one likes what they can¡¯t control, especially if it¡¯s that.¡± ¡°Me neither. But I can¡¯t afford to let her give up on it, especially now.¡± She swung herself upright and began to pace up and down the length of the bed, her hands on her hips. ¡°The Queen¡¯s approval, a full demonstration of power, and a confirmation of a Mind Palace. Only reason she¡¯s still with us is because they could have never produced those results in a lab.¡± Her feet stopped, and she let out another tired sigh, although it did not seem to loosen her anxieties one bit. ¡°I hate to admit it, but the power she¡¯s so scared of is the only shot she has at a normal life.¡± ¡°And us, of course,¡± Elliot said, taking his wife¡¯s arm and pulling her closer. She smiled at him wistfully, sitting down again. ¡°Says the Army Pilot to the Witch,¡± she noted. Elliot chuckled but only squeezed her tighter. ¡°When do you start work today?¡± Elliot asked. ¡°Ten on the dot, same as always." ¡°Give her a day off, will you?¡± he pleaded, ¡°I¡¯ll take care of her if you want me to.¡± Evalyn thought. Guilt clouded her eyes as her characteristic empathy got in the way of her judgement. ¡°Today, then. I¡¯ll be back by six, then we can have dinner somewhere. How does that sound?¡± Support the creativity of authors by visiting the original site for this novel and more. ¡°First as a family?¡± Elliot asked, a knowing grin on his face. She returned it, nudging his shoulder with hers. ¡°I hope you¡¯re okay with those replacing our dates for a while,¡± she baited, hoping to get some witty response. ¡°It¡¯s you we¡¯re talking about. I can¡¯t complain when living with you is a dream come true,¡± he said, his voice levelled and face sincere. He had refrained from his habitual grin, and the effects of such showed on her face. ¡°I forgot you could flirt,¡± she said, sitting upright. ¡°No, it¡¯s nothing that fancy,¡± he said, meaning his words. He did not believe himself to be so good with words. ¡°It¡¯s just a reflection of you or, I guess, the effect you have on me. It¡¯s a good one, most of the time.¡± ¡°And yet you take those faults in hand,¡± she said, standing. ¡°I guess I love that side of you.¡± ¡°I¡¯m great, aren¡¯t I?¡± The telephone rang, its metallic bell needily chiming them out of their warm bubble. ¡°Elliot! Evalyn!¡± Iris called from the living room. ¡°Phone!¡± ¡°Yeah, yeah!¡± Evalyn called back, moving towards the door. She reached the door frame and turned. ¡°Yes, you have your good points too,¡± she admitted. Little remained of the smouldering scowl a younger Evalyn would fling reluctant compliments with. But a nostalgic bashfulness remained, one that never failed to make Elliot smile. Evalyn left the room, drifting to her home office. Elliot could barely hear Evalyn¡¯s words from behind two walls, but she sounded happy. The sound a proper, restrained adult would make when they were happy to see someone. ¡°Must be Marie,¡± Elliot noted, standing up and walking to his seat across from Iris. The girl had finished another ten or so problems in a short minute or two. ¡°What did Evalyn say?¡± ¡°Mum said you get the day off today, so after you¡¯re done your problems, you¡¯re free to do what you like.¡± ¡°What I like?¡± Iris asked. ¡°What¡¯s that?¡± ¡°¡­shit we forgot to give you hobbies. Uhm¡­.¡± Elliot thought while the pressure of the big purple eyes mounted on his shoulders with each passing second. ¡°Board games are kind of your thing, aren¡¯t they?¡± Iris¡¯s face lit up with a grin. ¡°That¡¯s fair enough. Let¡¯s play a different one this time, though. Something less¡­lopsided.¡± ¡°I could beat Elvera now,¡± Iris strutted. She returned to her problems as Evalyn stepped out of her office, swinging the door shut behind her. ¡°Speak of the devil, Elvera just called.¡± ¡°Another mission?¡± Iris groaned as Evalyn walked over, pulling a chair out beside her. ¡°No, not this time. Asked if she could stay with us for a few days. Gotten sick of being alone on her days off, it seems.¡± ¡°We just occupied the guest bedroom, though,¡± Elliot said. ¡°And I don¡¯t want to put her on the couch.¡± ¡°I said the same thing, but she said she didn¡¯t mind it. Better than falling asleep at her desk, apparently,¡± Evalyn said, leaning over to watch Iris write. ¡°Your handwriting¡¯s getting better. Have you been practicing?¡± ¡°Sometimes. You told me to keep a journal, so it¡¯s helping with my letters.¡± ¡°And you¡¯ve gotten pretty good at drawing,¡± Elliot mentioned. ¡°I take a look at your work sometimes. It¡¯s really good.¡± ¡°Maybe you¡¯re the artistic type,¡± Evalyn suggested, grinning. ¡°Is that good?¡± Iris asked. ¡°Sure it can be. Being artistically inclined just means you¡¯re more a thinker than a doer. It¡¯s good to know what you¡¯ve got going for you early, y¡¯know?¡± Evalyn said. ¡°Just don¡¯t think too hard, you¡¯ll end up a party pooper,¡± Elliot added, rather unnecessarily. He yawned as his wife rolled her eyes. ¡°Oh, I forgot,¡± she started, checking the time. ¡°I have to set up shop soon, but Elvera wants someone to pick her up at the station and let her in the house.¡± ¡°I volunteer Iris,¡± Elliot said, much too fast. ¡°Come on, Elly,¡± Evalyn pleaded weakly, but Elliot did not budge. ¡°It¡¯s a good opportunity. The city is safe, and the station is only a few blocks away. You remember the way, don¡¯t you?¡± Iris meekly nodded. ¡°Then that¡¯s that. I¡¯m going to sleep,¡± he said, concluding the argument before it had even begun. Evalyn stared at the now absent chair across from her, a mix of frustration and astonishment. She knew he was correct in his thinking. Letting Iris outside by herself was a good opportunity. Excala at mid-morning was as safe as could be, and the venture was not exactly an epic undertaking. Yet, her and Iris had been inseparable since their first meeting. Unless otherwise forced, the two had been practically attached by the hip. Safety, more often than not, demanded it. She was a fledgeling Witch, but still a girl nearing puberty. She could walk a few blocks by herself. And even still, the idea did not sit right with her. Evalyn had not had the same opportunities at Iris¡¯s age, but she knew her upbringing to be intensely flawed. ¡°Well, I should probably trust the guy with the normal parents,¡± she said, giving into herself. ¡°You alright with doing that, Iris?¡± she asked. ¡°Are you sure it¡¯s safe?¡± Iris muttered. ¡°I¡¯m sure it¡¯s safe. Does the station still scare you?¡± ¡°No. I think the thing in my head has gone away for a bit.¡± Iris had been saying the same thing for the past few weeks. The notion that whatever lay dormant in her head had teased her enough for now. It had won a battle of the war yet to be fought, and was now taking a step back, beckoning Iris to find it herself. ¡°That¡¯s good, then. The rush is over now, so you won¡¯t be caught in the bustle. I¡¯ll pack your bag, so get your shoes ready.¡± ¡°Okay,¡± the little girl muttered, closing her book and standing. ¡°Are you wearing your jacket?¡± Evalyn called as Iris went to her room, fully accustomed to the fact that her field jacket was no longer hers. ¡°Yeah,¡± Iris called. Evalyn walked over to the coat hanger by the doorway. A brass skeleton, its harsh bars bent into gentler shapes, flowering at the top and bottom. The field jacket hung by its collar on a lower branch, roughly matching Iris¡¯s height. Higher up were an assortment of garments and hats, both Evalyn¡¯s and Elliot¡¯s. They were so few in number that Evalyn could confidently recount the story behind each one. Elliot¡¯s white woven fedora he had bought on a trip to the coast, which they had both worn over the years. A sunhat Evalyn had purchased not long after their marriage, chosen for its bold red ribbon. The summer and spring assortment were always Evalyn¡¯s preferred aesthetic, but the comfort the thicker head wear reminded her of was undoubtedly where her favourite memories lay. ¡°Here¡¯s to new ones,¡± she whispered, raising the thick jacket to her face. ¡°You¡¯ve given yourself big shoes to fill.¡± Nestled in and amongst the selection were two pieces that stood out. Black in an assortment of colours, like rot on an apple. Even if describing them as such was never Evalyn¡¯s intention, they nonetheless fit the metaphor ominously well. Two black berets, adorned with the regal antlers of Her Majesty¡¯s Royal Special Operations. Awarded to both of them at the conclusion of the Aether-Diesel war, Evalyn had not worn hers since she had received it. It hung there like a freshly executed death row inmate. Some¡­ugly reminder that the civilian life she tried to lead would forever be undercut by the deeds required of her. A benevolent Queen, Amestris was, yet she was paranoid, and calculating. Evalyn and Iris lived under those antlers day in, day out. It was by her grace they did not live elsewhere, reside in worse conditions, get treated like mere weapons. Iris approached the front door and lifted both her arms, turning her back towards Evalyn. She slipped both sleeves onto the girl¡¯s arms before brushing the hair out of the collar. ¡°Ready?¡± Evalyn said, turning back to the hanger to grab her overcoat. ¡°I¡¯ll walk you to the end of the road.¡± ¡°Ready,¡± she said. ¡°Deep breath. One, two, three, and¡­go!¡± Iris strode to the station doors as fast as her growing legs could take her. After crossing the road three times, the gates of the station should have seemed like nothing. Through cars, past alleyways and between strangers she had travelled, yet those doors still scared her. She dared a tentative step forward, passing the gate¡¯s threshold. It welcomed her, but she did not feel any gratitude. Around her were cafes, souvenir stands, and corner stores, almost as if the streets of Excala continued into the enclosed space. She looked upwards, and the glass roof of the arcade shone back with a brilliantly clear blue, the fluffy clouds forming distinct lines and shapes. Ten thirty, they said. Elvera would be waiting for her. Everywhere she went, the people around her were taller. Although they were not as suffocating as she had imagined them to be, the crowds still moved at a disorienting pace. Rushing from one platform to the next. Iris started forward, eyes now fixated on the ground before her. ¡°International line is¡­is green,¡± she hastily recalled. A green line ran from the tips of her shoes onward, following a blue line until they split off, each going in their own direction. Iris began to speedwalk with a newfound sense of direction. She had gained back a modicum of control. The green line turned left, where more crowds, more stores and more lines greeted her. ¡°Platform three¡­platform three,¡± she muttered again. She searched through each line for any symbol¡ªany sign that might inform her of a third platform. Platform three, P3, she did not care. The lines were numerous, numbering from one through to six. She found three, yet it trailed off into a smaller, quiet area devoid of passengers or commerce. ¡°Was it platform three?¡± she said, panic and frustration infecting her voice box. ¡°What if she was wrong?¡± The crowds shifted around her, paying no heed to the troubled little girl in the centre of the walkway. She began to search around her for anything, any information or timetable. She could not read well yet, but it was better than nothing. ¡°Boo!¡± Iris jumped as a pair of hands coiled around her shoulders. She whipped around, her hair standing on its ends, already primed for battle. ¡°Wow wow!¡± Elvera said, ¡°It¡¯s me, calm down! Wait, no, hey, don¡¯t start crying!¡± Chapter 11 Part 3: Fleeing Suspect Blue scales. Dashing streaks of twinkling colour passed between the legs of the station-goers. Iris would see one every so often, yet she would never find herself up close with one. Forever seeing glimpses through pant legs and dresses. Warper was the colloquial name given to the Spirits. From her office window, Iris had seen their floating serpentine bodies accompanying police. They were almost always leashed by chain, and natural armour shielded their canine faces. A snap of their jaws was the trigger. In the wild, Warpers would disregard spacetime, teleporting their unfortunate prey to their pup-filled nests. The police department had trained them, designating their nests as the police station, and their prey as whoever needed arresting. Evalyn had told her that it feels as though one¡¯s stomach drops, then rises into their throat, then back down again, a thousand times a second. When Iris had asked her guardian why she had such experience, the defendant had refused to comment. ¡°This looks nice, don¡¯t you think?¡± Elvera said, holding a trinket up to her face. A decorative key chain meant for wallets. ¡°Infused with luck magic, it says. Sounds like a scam.¡± Iris took a closer look. It was a small woven toy depicting an exceptionally plump songbird with grain-sized beads for eyes. She focused closer, doing her best to shut out the noise around her. ¡°No, there¡¯s a bit of magic in it,¡± she concluded. ¡°Oh. Well, it was useful having you around,¡± Elvera said. Another glint of blue in the corner of Iris¡¯s eye spooked her, and she pressed herself into Elvera¡¯s side. ¡°Do the Warpers still scare you?¡± Iris nodded. ¡°I never know where they are.¡± ¡°Well, that¡¯s sort of the point. Police go through a lot of trouble to train them. But they¡¯re the good guys, no quarrels with you,¡± she said as she patted Iris on the head and began to walk toward the counter. ¡°How¡¯re you holding up? Been causing trouble?¡± ¡°No, studying.¡± ¡°That¡¯s very diligent of you. Certainly better than I ever did.¡± ¡°You didn¡¯t study?¡± ¡°Not what wasn¡¯t important, at least.¡± She greeted the cashier, handing over the key chain and several coins. ¡°Thank you,¡± Elvera said gently as she completed the transaction. She ended the exchange without much fanfare. All business, both figuratively and literally, in a way that only made sense to Iris, given her prior knowledge of her. Even in a brown knitted sweater and green one-piece, Elvera carried a sense of authority. More out of habit than out of internal notions of status or dignity. ¡°Evalyn said you¡¯ve been having some insecurities with work,¡± she said as they stepped out of the souvenir shop. ¡°Yeah,¡± Iris mumbled. ¡°We¡¯ve been trying to find ways to get past it.¡± ¡°What can you do right now?¡± ¡°Right now?¡± ¡°Right now,¡± Elvera clarified. ¡°Say, could you scale the walls of the station and break through the glass?¡± Iris examined the brick walls between each store. Plenty of ledges to hang onto. Even then, her purple limbs were almost strong enough to carry her and bypass the walls entirely. ¡°Maybe, but it would be difficult, especially breaking the glass. I might hurt myself.¡± ¡°Then how about protecting us by making some sort of barrier?¡± Evalyn had made her practice such a technique to death. Wrists crossed high, picture the semi-circle, then twist. ¡°Yes. Evalyn says it¡¯s the only way to protect myself when I can¡¯t make my armour.¡± ¡°I see,¡± she said, continuing along the station¡¯s main through road. Unlike Iris, she sliced through the crowd with a sort of graceful efficiency. Her steps remained consistent, rhythmic, and holding onto her dress felt like a buoy in rough waters. ¡°Could you kill someone?¡± she asked. The steps stayed rhythmic, and she did not sense that Elvera was leaving her to the rough waters around her. Iris sensed it was not a test, but a genuine question. She wanted an honest answer, not a satisfying one. ¡°No,¡± Iris answered. ¡°Good,¡± was the almost immediate reply. Where Iris had expected disappointment or concern, a Lieutenant-General, whose chief concern was the destruction of others, approved wholeheartedly. ¡°We don¡¯t need you having to make those sorts of decisions yet.¡± ¡°When do you make them?¡± ¡°When you know what it means to make them. Let¡¯s stop here.¡± Empty wooden tables and chairs of a quaint breakfast caf¨¦ spilled into the main path. Elvera took Iris by the wrist, and they found themselves a table. ¡°When do you know it¡¯s right to make a choice like that?¡± Iris asked, sitting down across from Elvera. ¡°You never do. If someone says they know when it''s right, then they¡¯re just playing god. If you do know when it¡¯s right¡­well then you¡¯d have to be god.¡± She plucked out the menu from between the cutlery and napkins, her eyes discreetly feasting on the illustrations as she spoke. ¡°You make the choice when you have no other option. When you¡¯re ready to accept the type of person it¡¯ll make you. When you can say that becoming that type of person is worth it.¡± She lazily raised her hand, not bothering to take her eye off the menu. ¡°What do you want? Something sweet or something savoury?¡± ¡°Savoury, please.¡± Elvera peered over the top of the menu with an impressed look. ¡°Very adult choice there, very dignified,¡± she mused as a waitress reached their table. ¡°May I take your order?¡± she said. Her voice box was pitched higher than Iris expected, and a lightly etched floral pattern along the rim of her mask gave her a youthful impression. Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings. ¡°Two breakfast sandwiches, a long black and¡­.¡± She looked at Iris. ¡°Do you drink juice?¡± ¡°Juice?¡± ¡°Apple juice for the young lady,¡± Elvera said, smiling. The waitress noted down the order before bowing and turning away. Iris watched her as she went. The apron-wearing girl skipped through the tables, enjoying the freedom of after-rush-hour tranquillity. ¡°It¡¯s not something you ever know how to make,¡± Elvera said, continuing the conversation from where it had left off. ¡°But the people that make them lose hope in the world not long after. Well, if they had any left to begin with.¡± ¡°Do you do it often?¡± Iris asked, kicking her legs. Curiosity was routine for her now, and the adults often answered her questions, if not cryptically. ¡°All the time. What makes it harder, is that the things I¡¯m put in charge of, the damage can never easily be quantified,¡± she said. She leaned closer and lowered her voice to a whisper. ¡°Special Operations deals with the balance of power directly, never in lands gained or soldiers lost.¡± ¡°You get to decide who¡¯s powerful or not?¡± ¡°If only it were that easy,¡± she chuckled, leaning back. ¡°But we have to make choices like that all the time. Who do we kill to protect who? Every time we ask Evalyn to complete a contract, she has to make that choice. To help us or not, to sacrifice one thing for another.¡± ¡°Are those the orders she was talking about?¡± Iris asked, recalling the conversation she had had with Evalyn one moonlit night. ¡®Hypocritical, isn¡¯t it?¡¯ Iris had remembered her saying. ¡°Yes¡­but the orders Evalyn receives, and the orders Elliot follows are different. If those sirens blare, Elliot has no choice but to go out and do his duty. It¡¯s his job, but his actions are not his responsibility, they¡¯re his orders.¡± ¡°Then how is that different?¡± ¡°The orders Evalyn gets are of her choosing to accept or not. She takes responsibility for the action she takes because we compensated her for them. She is the chain of command, the soldier and the weapon all rolled into one. That¡¯s what makes her so terrifying.¡± ¡°Then why does she take those orders? She sounded really sad when talked about it.¡± ¡°Because if she doesn¡¯t obey the Queen, she loses her protection. There are people who would very much like to take you and Elliot hostage and make her do whatever they want. The Queen wouldn¡¯t hesitate to send the entire world after her if she threatened to use her power against Geverde.¡± She glanced to the register, where lines of ready-made pastries sat on display in a glass cabinet. There were small sounds of chatter, short laughter, and cheerful quipping. The waitress flitted in and out of sight, writing notes on papers and going through the register. She smiled, chatting intermittently with the out-of-sight chef. A normal, healthy work environment. ¡°It''s the price she pays for the absolute power to protect. But no matter how much she fought, there was always another danger waiting for her. She realised that no one person can change the world.¡± ¡°Is that why she works as a P.I.?¡± ¡°More or less, yeah. That way, she¡¯d stay in Excala longer, and make those kinds of choices less. It was an act of mercy on the part of Her Majesty, but all the other Wizards and Witches understood.¡± She plucked a fork from the cutlery holder and made it spin between her fingers like an awkward dancer. ¡°An eighteen-year-old with no combat experience right after a war her father had waged. She felt guilty about avoiding responsibility, but everyone knew she needed time to grow up.¡± Soft humming alerted the two to the waitress¡¯s approach. Frolicking through the tables, the emotion she lacked in her mechanical voice radiated from her movements. With two ceramic plates in hand, she arrived at the table. ¡°Two breakfast sandwiches, as ordered. Winderfoller leg with Alfante Cheese, lettuce, and fresh tomato between tiger bread. I¡¯ll be right back with your drinks.¡± And the waitress was off once more, skipping through the tables and living out her seemingly exceptional day to the fullest. ¡°Must be nice being a high schooler on a weekend,¡± Elvera chuckled, picking up her sandwich. ¡°You¡¯re not far off from that too, you know?¡± ¡°I¡¯ve heard about school,¡± Iris said, eyeing up the meal to formulate a plan of attack. ¡°Your thoughts?¡± ¡°I don¡¯t know. It seems fun, but a lot of work.¡± ¡°Ah, you get used to it. Besides, you¡¯ve done more work so far than every kid your age. Hell, even every kid her age,¡± she said, nodding in the waitress¡¯s vague direction. ¡°Then I hope I can be normal,¡± Iris mumbled, not exactly sure how to articulate the sentiment. She picked the sandwich up and chanced a bite, hoping the contents would not spill out either end. ¡°Most kids these days want to be anything but normal. Find their own communities, stand out from the rest, you know? What would you like to be known as?¡± ¡°Introduced as?¡± Iris said, struggling through a mouthful. ¡°Yeah. On the first day of school, you have to introduce yourself to everyone, let them know who you are.¡± ¡°But I can¡¯t do that,¡± Iris noted, crumbs falling from her mouth. ¡°I know that,¡± Elvera admitted, ¡°but when you have to eventually, how do you want them to think of you?¡± ¡°I don¡¯t want to lie,¡± Iris said. ¡°It¡¯s unfair for them.¡± ¡°It¡¯s not unfair,¡± Elvera said, taking a bite of her sandwich, mimicking Iris¡¯s poor table manners. ¡°You aren¡¯t just Iris Hardridge-Maxwell, the youngest and possibly most powerful Witch to have ever lived," she said with added bravado. "You¡¯re also, y¡¯know, Iris Hardridge-Maxwell.¡± She had never heard her full name pronounced before. It had always been Iris this, Iris that. The name Iris¡ªderived from the shifting purple in her eyes¡ªhad been one of the biggest pens which drew her own definition. A simple, four-letter, two-syllable noun had given her such a definition. The smooth, invisible contours separated her skin from the air and the wider world. The colours which only she occupied in her current time and space. Hearing her full name only made that sense of self stronger. She was real, addressable. Yet at the same time, she was not. Those three words carried no meaning of their own. One was a noun, and the other two were borrowed from others. What did they mean when used to address the silver-haired, purple-eyed, juvenile girl she knew herself to be? What meaning did she have to live up to? ¡°I want to introduce myself with my name, and nothing else.¡± ¡°Why not anything else?¡± ¡°Because there is nothing else yet. I love Evalyn, I love Elliot, I like you, and I like board games. That¡¯s all.¡± Elvera smiled at the little girl as she tried her hardest to grapple with herself. Like two toddlers bickering over a toy, her inner turmoil struggled in a most amusing, heart-warming way. ¡°Isn¡¯t that a nice introduction already?¡± Elvera suggested, which left Iris¡¯s inner turmoil in only further confusion. ¡°So sorry for the delay! Here¡¯s your long black and orange juice¡ª¡± The waitress shrieked as a hurdling mass sped toward her, knocking her off balance and sending the drinks flying. ¡°The fuck was that?!¡± Elvera said, getting up to help the waitress onto her feet. Not hurt, but the intruder had knocked her mask off her face, rendering her mute. Iris, on the other hand, had perked up immediately, jumping up onto her chair to gain a better view. It had been a person, she knew that much. Someone had bounded across their table and back into the crowd. Glimpses. Small flashes of someone running. No, not someone. Many. Several figures shifted through the crowds at unnatural speeds. ¡°Elvera!¡± Iris shouted. ¡°They¡¯re being followed! If we want to find them, we have to move now!¡± Elvera, after sparing the waitress a final check and handing her over to the obliviously concerned chef, agreed with a silent nod. ¡°Do you know the way?¡± she said, grabbing her things. ¡°I think so. There¡¯s a lot of people after them.¡± Without another word, Iris got to work. She was familiar with the chase now. If it were not thieves or informants, it was runaway pets or Spirits. She leapt out of her seat, her single-minded focus blindsiding her, making her forget her fear of crowds. The fast-moving hunters had all headed toward the entrance, barging their wait through oncoming traffic. She followed their shapes, the afterimages they had left in her mind, the gaps they had left between the people. With Elvera close behind, she had no fear left in her. This was P.I. work. She was now on duty. The afterimage of someone running. Only a blur for now, and only seen between the hazy outlines of clustered commuters, but still, she could see them. There was no mistake, that was the pursued, not a pursuer. Iris picked up the pace, pushing past bodies herself. Her eyes had found the target, and although they strained, they managed to keep a lock on. Short black hair, male, a head taller than her. She had his scent, his look, his location. And then he disappeared. Iris did not lose track of him, no. He had been there in one moment and were no longer there the next. Iris stood still as Elvera caught up to her, halfway out of breath. ¡°Did you lose ¡®em?¡± ¡°No. I mean, yes. They disappeared, though. Into thin air.¡± ¡°In what way?¡± ¡°In a magic way.¡± ¡°¡­you don¡¯t think¡­¡± Iris focused her senses on the evader¡¯s last position as sensations that illuded the human body harassed her nerves. A faint glow fizzled out, just as she caught it. ¡°Disappearing like that...it looks like something a Warper would do....¡± Interlude: All Our Spies are Dead WARNING: THE FOLLOWING MESSAGE IS CONSIDERED CLASSIFIED INFORMATION BY SEVERAL AUTHORITATIVE BODIES. IF YOU DO NOT HAVE THE NECESSARY CLEARANCE LEVEL REQUIRED TO READ THIS MESSAGE, YOU WILL BE CHARGED WITH CORRESPONDING OFFENSES AND BE SUBJECT TO APPROPRIATE PUNISHMENT. BEGIN TRANSCRIPT (translated from telegraph code): To Fowley, I hope this transmission finds you well. I wish to inform you of our efforts regarding the commission into the Vesmos Empire''s full war capacity, and that the division put in charge here in Sidos is no longer capable of fulfilling the mission. All our spies are dead. On the eighteenth of March 1929, Agent Randolph, Taxi and Tinker assumed civilian identities as Blue tier citizens in the Vesmos Empire, one as a teacher, another as a worker in the Ministry of War, and another as a new recruit into the Imperial Army''s Officer Academy respectively. These agents had sufficient prior experience and had shown great distinction in the field, yet our reports from all three ceased sometime during July of 1934. Although their fates are still unclear, it is assumed they are dead. What we have learnt during those three years has been compiled into a report being sent through military couriers and will arrive shortly, however it is best to notify your superiors in the RIB now of the current situation we face. Some things we have learnt: This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings. - Vesmos''s capacity to wage war is vast. Their strength lies in their number due to a combination of large population size and widespread, yet short-lived conscription, however this time varies between citizen classes. - The selection of the Vesmos Army is of a high standard. Bar foot soldiers, and other low-ranking personnel often filled with Green and Grey tier citizens, officers and other Blue and Red tier citizens are educated thoroughly. Although military education is a centre-point, starting at the age of five, other subjects are also extensively covered. - Army personnel above the rank of Lance Corporal make extensive use of the Wand weapon system, a commonality found with all higher ranking personnel as well as officers and some police forces (particularly riot control). - Significant affordances are given to the Ministry of War, such as control over budgeting, rations, foreign policy as well as large sway in domestic policy and police conduct. Their intelligence agency attached to the MoW has recently revamped itself in response to the Geverde-Sidos military alliance, researching and taking on board new tactics and methods of operation. Some things we have not learnt: - Their large arms capacity is still unknown to us, as well as the extent of their Air Force. Due to the Wand system being so potent, there has been a noticeable lack of heavy weapons and machinery being integrated into the army, despite other facets of society heavily industrialising. - The full extent of their reserve population is still unknown, as census data was not able to be obtained and is not currently published. Through extrapolation, it has been estimated the number can be placed roughly between two and four million soldiers. - The extent as to which rebel groups and resistance alliances are affecting the country is still largely unknown. Due to secretive nature of the crackdowns and tight control over state media, it is unclear as to the full extent of these organisational activities, and the value in aiding them. Inform your superiors, and our report shall arrive in due time. From Bixy. Chapter 11 Part 4: I need a Drink Iris kept her legs moving, refusing to quench the flames that had only just started to fuel her body. She sprinted out of Excala station¡¯s front entrance, blowing past civilians with little regard for whatever was not directly in front of her. She reached where the small cloud of Aether had been. It was no longer fizzling with energy, yet the air was still warm in an Aetherial sense. Iris searched her surroundings, scrutinising the area for a pursuable trail. The station square was as uninteresting as she would have expected. Spanning such an area in such a short time was impossible¡ªby usual means, of course. Iris could only spot small children running about, no one the age she had guesstimated. Elvera caught up to her, but Iris was too preoccupied with the search. ¡°Those sketchy guys are all going that way, Iris,¡± she said. Elvera was right, the suspiciously hurried commuters were all running westward, out of the square and into the city. ¡°Let¡¯s follow them,¡± Iris said. The two rushed after the pursuers, taking care to keep a distance as they followed. They turned into a well-travelled alleyway, the hunters pushing past people as they kept a consistent heading. The predators were somehow tracking their prey. In comparison, Iris could no longer find the same magic she had sensed before. Even when the alleyway opened into more generous sight-lines, she was unable to get a read on anything noteworthy. Then she caught something. Past the decorative alley-spanning banners and flowery balconies above, she sensed the faint radiance of another Aether pull. It was on the move and fast. Iris could be sure now. She searched for a left turn, anywhere she could duck into for concealment. One soon came to her, and she pulled Elvera in, squatting behind a dumpster. ¡°They¡¯re on the roof. I¡¯m going to pull us up.¡± ¡°Can you do that?¡± Elvera asked. ¡°I think so. I know I can catch us if we fall.¡± Elvera looked sceptical, but it did not take long for Iris to gain her approval. ¡°Let¡¯s do it,¡± she said. Iris grabbed Elvera¡¯s waistband and pointed a palm to the rooftop of the next building. ¡°You¡¯re heavier than me, so hold on really, really well,¡± Iris said. She was accustomed to the manoeuvre by now but had only ever performed it solo, let alone while carrying someone heavier. She felt Elvera hang onto her tight, tighter than any hug Iris had ever felt. Whatever distance was still present between them, now was not the time. Iris, rather than concentrating herself, treated the dissipation of her hair and formation of the grapple as one fluid motion. The entire procedure would be done as though it were a habit. Overthinking added time and increased risk. She had to believe she would succeed in order to do so, and have faith that it would work as Elliot had instructed. She was not in complete control, but ever since Fadaak, she had been one step closer. The purple spindle shot out from her hand, remaining taut as it travelled into the air. It acted not like a rope subject to gravity but more like the limb of a spider. It was not quick or as mobile as the limbs she used to conjure out of instinct, but it was simpler and, most importantly, low profile. The grapple caught the roof''s edge and, upon confirming its security, Iris began to ascend without hesitation. Create momentum and lessen time, eliminate Elvera¡¯s weight as an issue whatsoever. They sped up the side of the building as brickwork rushed past their noses. Iris kept her legs poised to kick herself off the wall if necessary, yet they approached the top with no issue. Iris¡¯s arm whipped downwards as the ledge sped past them. She disassembled the purple rope and fell to the roof, the matter returning to the ends of her hair. They began to run again, searching the city''s canopy for signs of life. Iris found one with ease, sticking out like a sore thumb as it ran a few tens of metres ahead. The magical spark was gone, but the individual remained. She could make out no detail of his person besides his defining features, which she seared into her mind. ¡°Iris, stop,¡± Elvera ordered, extending a hand in front of her. Iris halted, skidding dangerously along the roof tiles. ¡°What?¡± she asked. ¡°They¡¯ve caught up to him.¡± The pursuers leapt onto the roofs, cutting the boy off from any and all escape routes. They were all suited, wearing trench coats and low-brim caps, yet nothing of a uniform colour. Iris squinted, trying to make out anything distinct about any of them. The men all simultaneously drew something from their coats. Iris¡¯s first thought was guns, but what they instead revealed only confused her more. ¡°Sticks?¡± she muttered. ¡°Sticks?¡± Elvera repeated. ¡°Iris, are there any Aether pulls around them?¡± Iris honed her senses again, searching across all six men, but more accurately the sticks they had drawn. They, along with the boy¡¯s hands all lit up in unison. ¡°It¡¯s faint, but it¡¯s there¡ª¡± Then everything descended into chaos. In one fell swoop, bolts of concentrated magic of all shapes and colours erupted from the six agents, flooding Iris¡¯s senses and forcing her out of her focused state. Shimmering crystals, swirling green fire, red corrupting roots, and a bolt of pure, potent energy. Four varieties of magic descended upon the boy, who in that instant, erected barriers of bolted steel from nothing. The initial explosion subsided, and the boy¡¯s deceptive frame began to show its full hand. He took cover in the upheaval of dust and debris, sprinting for the first man and opening with a double-leg take down. In one swift move, he mounted him and delivered a blow to the skull. He erected another wall on his flank before the magic from his fists flared up. This time was roots, red and thorny. The wooden tendrils coiled around the closest man, digging into his flesh and immobilising him like nature reclaiming an ancient ruin. The boy dodged a bolt of blue magic, narrowly side-stepping its path. The assaulting wizard tried again, this time synchronising his attack with his remaining comrades. The boy¡¯s fists flashed once more, and he hurled a punch at the blue bolt, neutralising it with a now crystalline forearm. A strand of the same crystals caught him in his back, but he still managed to roll out of the fire¡¯s path. He sprinted for the man with the blue bolts, dodging a limp punch before grabbing his arm and taking him down, delivering yet another knockout blow. ¡°He¡¯s using brass knuckles,¡± Elvera noted. ¡°There¡¯s no way one punch can knock out someone like that.¡± The knuckles flashed again, and this time Iris noticed subtle differences between the two. The boy, with one powerful push upward, erected a crystalline barrier in front of him while the other fist began to burn bright. He whipped it to his left clockwise and caught the two on the far side of the barrier with a snaking trail of flames. One man remained standing. The boy turned in his direction, but the hunter did not move an inch. Whatever training he had acquired had all but evaporated, and the limp stick in his hand wavered aimlessly. Iris sensed another pulse from the rod, and the man erected a bolted steel barrier. By the time the boy had gotten to the other side, the man had disappeared. Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author''s preferred platform and support their work! The prey stood for a moment. His shoulders relaxed, and his stance grew limp. He began to laugh. ¡°And then we lost him,¡± Elvera explained, massaging her feet as she leaned back in her chair. She dragged the restaurant¡¯s menu off the side of the glass table and lazily turned it over. ¡®Yeraki¡¯s Alfante River cuisine,¡¯ the logo read in ornamental print. Each letter¡¯s lines coiled around themselves unnecessarily, almost gaudily. Despite their poor choice in typography, Elliot had sworn by the food itself, and with everyone else clueless as to matters of cuisine, they had all obliged. ¡®The part-time househusband life chose me,¡¯ he would always say, half proud and half exhausted. Now, he sat, the only one deeply invested in the menu. ¡°How¡¯d you lose him?¡± Evalyn asked. Work mode had not left the tone in which she spoke just yet, despite her efforts to dress less serious. A white blouse tucked into a long, red pleated skirt, and despite the cold, she hung her denim jacket on her seat behind her. ¡°They were fast. I¡¯ve got an inkling as to how he scaled the building, but he somehow got down all by himself.¡± Elvera completed her story, leaving Evalyn to digest the information. Not the most gourmet of entrees, but Iris knew Elvera was just as hopeless at cooking as Evalyn. ¡°What are we having, Elliot?¡± Elvera asked from across the table. ¡°I thought I¡¯d get four dishes we can just share amongst ourselves. What was that one thing you really messed with last time we came here, Evalyn?¡± ¡°Messed with? I don¡¯t even think the chef would take that wording as a compliment.¡± ¡°Well, you were stuffing your face like I hadn''t fed you in six weeks.¡± ¡°Unnecessary!¡± she hissed, pinching him through his sleeve. He grinned at her from behind the menu, his eyes telling her to get on with it. ¡°The Aerilian lobster tail,¡± she finally admitted. ¡°It was¡­it was good.¡± ¡°It¡¯s pretty expensive,¡± Elliot noted, dinner coming out of his paycheck. Even to Iris, it was obvious Evalyn was following a path of conversation Elliot had long laid out for her. He prodded her with his smiling eyes, peeping over the menu. Evalyn squirmed for a second or two before she gave in to the pressure. ¡°P-please? It would mean a lot to me, Elly.¡± Elliot won, and he relished his prize in giddy silence. ¡°Anything for you,¡± he said. Iris felt a tap on her shoulder, and she turned to face Elvera, who stuck out a tongue. ¡°Bleugh,¡± she went, and Iris copied the gesture. They both felt a firm kick in the shin not long after. ¡°All right, I¡¯m ordering,¡± Elliot said, pushing his chair out and raising a hand. Iris watched as he hunted the restaurant for eye contact with any staff. Despite the tackiness of their menus, the restaurant was a large affair, taking up the entire ground floor of a riverside apartment block. Their table straddled the river¡¯s edge, and the familiar lapping of the gentle water mingled with clinking cutlery and carefree chattering. If it were not for the smell teasing her hunger, Iris would have easily fallen asleep to the tip-toeing soundscape and aureate lighting. After a few seconds, Elliot caught the attention of a waitress who sped over, pen and notebook at the ready. Elliot¡¯s order was extensive, not in volume but in meticulousness. Specifics that would make any chef feel their recipes were being violated, yet the waitress noted his orders down all the same. Either it was supreme confidence on Elliot¡¯s part, or the restaurant was simply used to his antics by now. ¡°You were sure they were wands?¡± Evalyn whispered, directing her question to Iris as well as Elvera. ¡°I don¡¯t know what other sticks are capable of magic,¡± Elvera said, lowering her voice in turn. Evalyn turned towards Iris, her eyebrows furrowed, searching for an answer. ¡°It was the sticks, not their bodies.¡± She was clueless on just about everything else, but she believed what she had sensed that morning. Evalyn nodded, trusting Iris¡¯s abilities as well as her own teaching. ¡°Then we¡¯re dealing with the Vesmos Empire, huh?¡± she sighed, slumping into her seat and rubbing her eyes. ¡°They¡¯re the last people I wanted on my mind right now.¡± She turned to Elliot, still talking to the waitress and tugged on his shirt. ¡°What¡¯s up?¡± ¡°Get me a Gin and Tonic, please. I need it.¡± ¡°I thought you didn¡¯t like drinking after work.¡± ¡°Vesmos.¡± Elliot gritted his teeth. ¡°Yikes. Gin and Tonic as well, please.¡± He looked over to Elvera, massaging her neck. ¡°Make that two.¡± The waitress scribbled the last order down before Elliot dismissed her with a brief smile. ¡°Thank you,¡± he chimed as he turned again, his demeanour stiffening. ¡°Get the work talk out the way before the drinks come.¡± He pointed fingers at Evalyn, then Elvera, then at Iris. ¡°Me? I don¡¯t know what¡¯s going on.¡± ¡°Yeah, which is why they have to explain it to you.¡± ¡°Have you seen a map of the continent recently, Iris?¡± Evalyn asked. ¡°I¡¯ve seen maps from your archive and Elvera¡¯s office, but they¡¯re only ever of countries or cities.¡± ¡°Well,¡± Evalyn said, plucking a napkin from the small metal dispenser. She laid it flat in the middle of the table before looking through her handbag, fishing for a pen. She found one and began to draw. ¡°We¡¯re all on this big land mass, right? One big dysfunctional family,¡± she said as she drew out a familiar shape. Although lacking all the contours and finer details, Iris could roughly pinpoint where Excala was all the same. ¡°To the east, we have the Karaxian mountains, running up and down. Starting there, and running all the way through the middle, we have the Northern Chain Ridge. East is Spirit land. That¡¯s where they come from. There¡¯s a lot of them, and they don¡¯t let humans in very much¡­at all. West is human land. Old as hell, and there happens to be even more of them there. Same story when it comes to their¡­strict immigration policy.¡± She drew circles around the easternmost and westernmost points of the continent. The Spirit nations lay behind the Karaxians, heralding the mountains as their impenetrable shield. A natural border covering their lands where the sea could not. Human lands were vast, and their countries many. Encompassing much of the western corner, they were more liberal with their colonisation of the land. ¡°In the middle, we have us, the Middling nations. Geverde, Sidos, Fadaak and Rodshiva among many others. Each flip-flops between who¡¯s in charge based on ancient wars and truces. Generally, the further east, the more likely you¡¯re Spirit dominant, the further west, the more human dominant. But, there¡¯s one outlier.¡± She circled an alarmingly large portion of the eastern regions. Spanning from the edge of the Karaxians to the northern deserts and southern seaboard. The only state Iris knew of that spanned the Northern Chain Ridge itself. ¡°Vesmos Empire,¡± Elvera started. ¡°Warmongers that somehow grabbed a foothold in the east. They spread from there, swallowing up every state they could conquer. Spirit, human, anything. They incorporated humans into their citizenry. Spirits weren¡¯t so lucky.¡± ¡°The wands were infused with Spirit magic, weren¡¯t they?¡± Iris interrupted. ¡°They invented it. Infusion, that is. It only came to Geverde a few hundred years later. Even then, they were only to be used in tools, weapons. Inanimate objects that created distance between the operator and the magic itself.¡± ¡°Wands are just as taboo as Witches and Wizards,¡± Evalyn added. ¡°Giving the masses the power of Aether is how you come close to god.¡± ¡°Or fly too close to the sun,¡± Elvera said. ¡°They¡¯re hard to deal with bureaucracy-wise. Most war-prone nations are. They don¡¯t take many liberties with us either, now that we¡¯re allied with Sidos.¡± ¡°Have you worked there before?¡± Iris asked Evalyn, who lazily bobbed her head in a nod-like movement. ¡°Keeping that many ethnic minorities in your citizenry leads to all kinds of rebellions. Foreign powers have weaselled their way in by sponsoring those groups, but they¡¯re almost always crushed in some way or another. Colte and I got commissioned by a rebel group once, nothing to do with Marie and Spec Ops.¡± The two career women slumped in their chairs, unable to handle life sober for much longer. ¡°The mole from the Fadaak adventure¡¯s still floating around somewhere and now this too?¡± Elvera sighed. ¡°Elly, I¡¯ll be the housewife for a month, so can you do my job for me?¡± Evalyn groaned. ¡°You¡¯re forgetting I¡¯m a pilot too,¡± he smiled, patting her back in an attempt to rouse her. ¡°Speaking of Aerilian lobster,¡± he said, several minutes after anyone last mentioned lobster, ¡°how is Colte doing? Is he still in Aerilia?¡± ¡°Yeah, he is. He¡¯s seen to all the funerals, so he¡¯s back in Aerilia for a while,¡± Elvera answered. ¡°He suggested I leave for Excala before I run out of leave, so I told him to show his face in the capital soon.¡± ¡°Is he doing all right?¡± Elliot asked, showing uncharacteristic sympathy for the man he had dreaded reuniting with only a month prior. There was a subdued disquiet across his face, one that he shared with Evalyn. ¡°I don¡¯t know. Going to a state funeral is enough to bum me out for the rest of the week, so I wouldn¡¯t be surprised if he wasn¡¯t doing so hot right now.¡± ¡°No, he felt off the whole time,¡± Evalyn said, her cheek squished against her folded arms as she slumped over the table. ¡°He¡¯s usually just as annoying as Elly, but his entire demeanour was off. Felt like he was living up to his nickname.¡± The Ash Man. For such a grizzled image, it was a strangely fairytale-esque name, yet nonetheless foreboding. It resembled the colloquial names soldiers would give their weapons. Boom-stick, fiddy cal, Ash Man. ¡°He hasn¡¯t been running with Daugherty recently. That could be why,¡± Evalyn pondered. The three adults drifted into each other¡¯s thoughts as they all took on the same expressions. A name, that was all that man was to Iris. ¡°Two Gin and Tonics, one Porter and a glass of lemon soda. Will that be all for drinks?¡± A waiter arrived at their table, holding a platter of sparkling glasses, filled to the brim with appetising hues of orange and brown, sprightly bubbles and ice that clinked like wind chimes. The entire set shimmered like stained glass in the afternoon sun. He placed down each drink with care, garnering a thank you from each recipient before he tucked the tray under his arm and gave a bow. ¡°All right, keep your promise. No more work talk, okay?¡± Elliot warned, pointing fingers at all three women. Once satisfied, he raised his pint, urging everyone else to follow. ¡°Cheers,¡± the adults all said in unison. ¡°C-cheers?¡± Iris stuttered, a tad late. Chapter 11 Part 5: Alis, the Live Grenade Aerilia was a hit-or-miss city, at least from some peoples¡¯ point of view. By being so unorthodox, many had found themselves in a love-hate, so-so, neither here-nor-there relationship with Geverde¡¯s second city. Being second had its merits. It was more accessible to the tourist type, but unlike its sister city, barely concerned itself with international matters. Even in its busiest areas, it did not lose touch with the small-town mentality. Strangers would greet each other, step out of one another¡¯s way, and help a passerby if they were to trip over. That was undoubtedly something anyone could appreciate. Yet it was the city itself, the physicality of it, that rubbed people the wrong way. The entire city, from shanty shack to office building, rested atop a system of titanic piers. Their mammoth supports would take on a variety of shapes. From arches to pyramids to carved totems, many were world-renown architectural landmarks themselves. Even though the locals would insist that the city''s robustness was not something that had ever faltered in their lifetime, a newcomer often found it hard to believe. If that were not bad enough, Lake Aerilia¡¯s lapping waters were notorious for inducing motion sickness in the particularly queasy. Even after several weeks on dry land, some still felt the sensation of subtle movement. But still, it was the scenery that had forever been the city¡¯s saving grace. To stray away from the business precinct was but a few minutes'' drive or a marginally longer walk. Along the more scenic routes, one could experience the charming wooden shanty towns and windmills that gave Aerilia its endearing fame. Quaint villages of fishers, millers, and kelp farmers framed against the backdrop of rolling mountains and deep forestry. Where Excala overwhelmed an observer with its patchwork carpet enveloping the land, Aerilia was humble. Its skyline was shorter, its buildings browner, but it never lost to number one when it came to its character. To Recres Wesper, the scenery was not so accessible, nor was the motion-sickness inducing waters. A disability that left him lacking in sight had made him exceptionally privy to the other forms of stimuli. That and whatever movement of Aether there happened to be. He was aware of the fishmongers, millers, and kelp farmers owing to the aggressive smell that came with their workdays. He was aware of the wooden shanty towns owing to the ambient harmony they produced with every gust of wind. He was aware of the tens of Beaks he passed on the daily, owing to their slow absorption and diffusion of Aether. He saw a black canvas and found it fairly entertaining to fill in the blanks where he could. When he owned the entire city of Fadaak, he could see all its crevices better than anyone with eyes ever could. Among the seeing, the no-eyed man was king. ¡°And he was felled in the line of duty, making the ultimate sacrifice to keep our city safe. He was an admirable man, an excellent police officer, a loving son, but most importantly, a hero. Thank you.¡± Wesper found a particular interest in eulogies, particularly those for people their character he was vaguely familiar with. Such a last-ditch attempt to save one''s face; to salvage the memory of someone already dead. It particularly humoured him when the subject of the speech had died with unresolved business. More often than not, it was financial issues, a lacking social life, perhaps even unresolved trauma. Their final say would never mention any of it, even when everyone in the crowd was more than aware. People talked, and they''d be snickering behind each other¡¯s backs the entire way through. However, this particular funeral was not of that nature. None of the five or so attendants knew of Arthur Prekeper Morgannan¡¯s true career, nor the true intent that drove him to death. He had been a Wizard, and the allure of an exceptionally rewarding contract had led him to Workar Tower. He had died chasing a paycheck. Anyone suggesting otherwise was doing nothing but embalming them with words. Wesper found this unendingly interesting. The grotesque symptoms of human nature, that which was intrinsic to the Spirit condition, was something to deny. Denied but never remedied. That was where Wesper set himself apart from the rest. He heard the small rowboat boat set sail, the body inside wreathed with flowers and grass burning in great columns of fire. The last of Arthur Prekeper Morgannan went up in smoke. ¡°May your soul find salvation on death¡¯s door,¡± Wesper whispered. ¡°Say you were the victim of an imperfect world, and those who guard the afterlife may let you rest in peace.¡± With the funeral over, Wesper began to walk away, parting with the lone pier and turning back toward the maze-like shanty towns. He had had an awfully entertaining experience navigating it through brief flashes of sound, smell, touch and Aether. He had become so adept at it that even in such a friendly city, no one bothered to check if he was lost. Wesper took this as a compliment, assuming that no one had even considered the possibility that he might be blind. A ringing sounded from his left. Telephone booths were not exactly a rare occurrence throughout the city. There seemed to be one every few hundred metres judging by the frequency of muffled one-sided conversations. Or, at least in the larger districts. But out here? The fact that someone was calling a phone booth was strange in and of itself. Wesper listened, but he heard no one else in the vicinity. No, this was a call for him. ¡°They could go about things less conspicuously,¡± he mumbled, heading for the sound. Opening the booth, he found the receiver and answered. ¡°Hello?¡± ¡°Wesper. Long time no see.¡± ¡°What a tasteless gag.¡± The voice on the other side of the phone chuckled. ¡°I apologise. One tends to forget. How have you been?¡± ¡°Attending funerals,¡± Wesper said, ¡°uninvited, of course.¡± ¡°Whatever suits your fancy,¡± the voice sighed. ¡°I have a request for you, friend.¡± ¡°Your requests are always bothersome, friend.¡± ¡°Are you headed to Excala soon?¡± Wesper considered for a moment his two options. Lie, and mention nothing of his latest personal inquests, or tell the truth and saddle himself with extra work. All in good cause, of course, yet work, nonetheless. However, seeing that his friend currently knew his location at all times, he decided it was best not to act overly stubborn. ¡°Yes. I became privy to the Wish Bearer¡¯s name and face as of late, thanks to a fellow in S.H.I.A., rest his soul.¡± ¡°Her?¡± the voice asked. ¡°What would you want with her, Wesper?¡± ¡°She could very well be useful, you know that.¡± ¡°Yes, but at what cost? It is not by coincidence she is called Geverde¡¯s lapdog. She¡¯d much sooner end you than listen to what you have to say.¡± ¡°Then, in that case, we¡¯ll be left with one less enemy.¡± ¡°Caution yourself, Wesper. At least do me a favour before you run headfirst into death.¡± ¡°What would that be?¡± ¡°Some friends of mine in the Vesmos Army chain-of-command have solicited my help finding one of their lost cadets.¡± ¡°Cadet? One cadet? I don''t care how strict your deserter tolerance is, that''s overkill.¡± ¡°I¡¯m aware. They refused to elaborate much further, so it¡¯s safe to say there¡¯s something deeper to all this. Finding them and handing them back would do well for our image, yet keeping them for ourselves would be equally as useful. I would like to leave it to your discretion.¡± This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it ¡°It sounds to me they solicited you,¡± Wesper complained. ¡°I¡¯ve been awfully busy recently, and if you¡¯ve got the time to go to a stranger¡¯s funeral, I¡¯d assume you¡¯ve got time to spare. Am I wrong?¡± ¡°...unfortunately, no. I will notify you when I¡¯m in the city, then.¡± ¡°Thank you, good friend. Consider this an I-owe-you. Until the day utopia begins.¡± ¡°Until then.¡± Wesper put the receiver down, hearing the hollow clunk and cheery chime bid him farewell. ¡°Bastard.¡± ¡°Can you clean the bathroom?¡± Evalyn called while she dusted the mounds of cardboard and paper in the archive room. She heard the faint sound of an ¡®okay¡¯, followed not long after by the muffled thudding running feet. ¡°Don¡¯t run!¡± Right on cue, she heard the thudding falter and stumble violently, doing its best to return to balance. ¡°¡­you all right?¡± ¡°Y-yeah!¡± Iris replied. Evalyn chuckled, returning to her task. Iris had gotten adjusted to the office routine, always delegating herself something when they weren¡¯t on the job. Cleaning was not exactly something she chose to do herself, yet she learnt to enjoy it as much as Evalyn did. Particularly the vacuum. What once terrified her whenever it began to roar now seemed to excite her to no end. Perhaps it was the subtle Aether pull, but she seemed to enter a mysterious high whenever it did. Although Evalyn wasn¡¯t complaining. Just not the archive room. She had learnt the hard way that a vacuum cleaner was one¡¯s enemy once entering a space littered with loose paper. That was precisely why Evalyn was dusting by hand. She had left the windows open to keep air circulating, but letting the autumn-night chill in had not done the room¡¯s temperature any favours. The awkward tip-toeing dance she warmed herself up with left her with a heightened level of awareness. In what was a quiet part of the city, roaring trains and busy intersections were nothing more than a distant serenade. Relaxing when filtered through several layers of city-block soundproofing. The soft wail of a police siren caught her attention, and she walked over to the window, taking a peek outside. Being on the apartment¡¯s top floor, her view of the city was nothing to scoff at¡ªespecially seeing that she was paying good money for it. Yet she still had to crane her neck out of the window to see anything interesting. Projections of blue and red ran along several building faces throughout a district to her North. A police chase, most likely. ¡°Thank you for your continued service,¡± she whispered, retracting her head back into the room. The crime dramas they played on the radio every weekend had been of particular interest as of late. Particularly the ones that depicted detectives morally ambiguous as their criminal counterparts. Even so, she had grown a small affinity for the Excala Metropolitan Police, even if it was just a phase. Police in real life were never that cool. She heard a knock on the front door. A brief three taps she did not recognise. Spritely, like whoever was on the other side was in a hurry. It was too energetic to be Ms Caney¡¯s knuckles, and it could not have been clientele. Evalyn never had visitors at such a late hour. No one was that desperate to report their missing cat. She entered hallway, silently moving up to the door on her toes, in case she still wanted to feign her absence. Duster still in hand, she peered through the peek hole. Dark-haired male, looking about thirteen or fourteen in a slightly torn brown lounge suit. He gave the impression of a low-ranking gangster, some thug still too poor to afford a proper outfit. He knocked on the door again, and only then did Evalyn notice his hands. The skin on his fingers, right below his knuckles, was utterly raw; a red line from his index to his pinkie. Evalyn felt a tug on her other hand. ¡°Who is it?¡± Iris whispered. Then it clicked. As quietly as she could manage, Evalyn picked Iris up by the waist and brought her eye to the peephole. She felt the little girl go still, then nod slowly. Evalyn placed her down and pointed her to the archive room. Another knock came from the other side as the boy with the brass knuckles grew impatient. ¡°What do you want?¡± Evalyn asked, pressing herself up against the doorway. ¡°Is this Excala International Private Investigations?¡± the boy asked. ¡°If you¡¯re here to solicit, I¡¯m afraid we¡¯re closed for the day.¡± ¡°And I¡¯m afraid I cannot wait until tomorrow. I¡¯m here on urgent business.¡± ¡°No exceptions, I¡¯m afraid. This¡¯ll have to wait.¡± ¡°The business is urgent enough that I¡¯m willing to break down the door if that¡¯s what it takes.¡± ¡°I would have to call the police in that case, Sir.¡± ¡°If I¡¯m to believe what I¡¯ve heard, then that would not be necessary, would it Ms Mardsdon?¡± Mardsdon. Mardsdon? A cover name. One she had used abroad, although she could barely recall where. The most logical place was Vesmos, considering those who were after him. Was he revolutionary? It was possible. They did not discriminate between old and young in those groups. ¡°What makes you say that?¡± ¡°A mysterious gun-for-hire that would only ever work alone. Leave with a single bolt action and come back successful without fail. No one ever checked how you would do it because everyone was too scared to.¡± ¡°You¡¯re a revolutionary, then?¡± ¡°No. Not yet, but they''ve sent me here. I¡¯ve got valuable information for the Kingdom of Geverde, and I¡¯m looking for political asylum.¡± Political asylum? Who did he think he was? Evalyn guessed he would not leave until he got his way. She wanted to go home, but she was not too keen on sneaking out the window only to come back to a demolished door either. ¡°I¡¯m opening,¡± Evalyn called, undoing the latch on the door and creaking it open. The boy was patient with her, standing stock-still until Evalyn stepped aside, inviting him in. ¡°End of the hall,¡± she said, and the boy obliged, sneaking a glance at Iris, still peeking from the archive room. Their eyes locked briefly in some ritual of wordless understanding Evalyn failed to grasp. She beckoned Iris to follow, and they ushered him into the office. ¡°Take a seat,¡± Evalyn said, pointing him to the chair across her desk. He did so without complaint, even when Evalyn herself chose to stay standing. ¡°What¡¯s your name?¡± ¡°Alistair Harbourman, although I¡¯ve been referred to as ¡®Alis¡¯ in the past.¡± ¡°All right, Alis,¡± Evalyn said, resting against her desk. ¡°Before you start, brass knuckles. Here,¡± she commanded, patting the desk. The boy kept himself poised, refusing to shift in his seat whatsoever. He hid his nerves well, assuming he had any. He resisted for a moment but eventually conceded. He reached into his jacket and fished around for a moment. The brass knuckles he produced were not of a variety Evalyn was used to. Fashioned from brass, sure, the golden-orange sheen of the metal was almost unmistakable. But the four clear gems embedded at each peak were of a variety Evalyn had never seen before. The same design was repeated twice, making for eight in total. She placed them on the desk next to her, pretending not to notice the subtle Aether pull they omitted. It was the weapons, not the boy himself. He was nothing but a regular human. ¡°Alright, begin.¡± The boy lifted his head and glanced toward Iris. ¡°She¡¯s with me,¡± Evalyn explained. ¡°Apprentice.¡± He looked back, his expression doubtful, yet he continued anyway. ¡°My name is Alistair Harbourman, and I¡¯m a recent escapee from Vesmos¡¯s Modern Warfare program. I will not divulge into detail until my appeal for asylum is granted." "What can you tell me, then?" "I can say that products of the program are highly educated and battle-proficient. We''re taught from a young age and given those," he said, nodding towards the brass knuckles. ¡°Flexible alternatives to the Wand system. Those crystals, or rather their cruder counterparts are used domestically as vessels for infusion. They''re what¡¯s housed in the wands themselves. Those are their refined variants.¡± ¡°And how much more effective does that make them?¡± ¡°I¡¯m not sure,¡± Alis admitted, ¡°but if my appeal is granted, I would not be averse to testing. Live combat records have proven to be conclusive, though.¡± ¡°I¡¯m sure,¡± Evalyn said, standing upright. She began to pace around him. ¡°You¡¯ve been spotted fighting against people who I assume are connected with the Vesmos Empire. What¡¯s that about?¡± ¡°Military Police agents, most likely. Although, they could just as well be the Empire¡¯s Intelligence Agency. Connections to Vesmos are absolute, I can assure you that. The information I withhold and those knuckles are what make me a valuable target.¡± ¡°So,¡± Evalyn said, placing both hands on the back of his seat, ¡°you¡¯re valuable to Geverde, and you¡¯re valuable to Vesmos. Who sent you here, then?¡± ¡°The United Liberation of the Eastern Front. After giving them the information I had, they sent me here.¡± ¡°And what was their plan?¡± ¡°To attain political asylum in Geverde before giving up the information.¡± ¡°And after that? You aren¡¯t going to go back and fight for them?¡± ¡°¡­no. I am to stay.¡± Evalyn noted the delayed response but decided to continue. Something, in particular, bothered her about the arrangement. ¡°And they didn¡¯t ask you for Geverde¡¯s help in exchange. No funding, no weapons?¡± ¡°No. Not that I¡¯m aware of. They only told me to come to you.¡± ¡°So,¡± Evalyn said, reluctantly piecing together the information in her head. ¡°You mean to tell me, that instead of entering talks with Geverde themselves and asking for help in exchange for information, they sent you.¡± ¡°Yes.¡± ¡°A highly sought-after target of the Vesmos Empire, of which has a great deal of bargaining power against us.¡± ¡°Yes. I don¡¯t see your point¡ª¡± ¡°My point is, if they wanted to ask for our help, they would have come to us themselves with that intel. Not to mention the fact that they''d put you down like an injured animal right after. You are the rabbit, and the Vesmos Empire is the wolf. They threw the live grenade toward us before it exploded, and now we¡¯re stuck with it right before it blows.¡± ¡°What are you trying to¡ª¡± ¡°What I¡¯m trying to say is that your liberation army sent you here to spark a war between Vesmos and Geverde, a war they could use to take power. All it takes is for Geverde to give political asylum to a deserter with some of the most valuable information on the continent.¡± ¡°That wouldn¡¯t start a war,¡± Alis tried to argue. ¡°Doesn¡¯t matter. It heightens tensions all the same. These things are dominos, Alis, and you¡¯re about to tip the first one.¡± ¡°Alis¡­Mr Harbourman.¡± They both turned towards Iris, standing by one of the windows. She was peering out from behind a corner, concealing most of herself behind the frame. ¡°Were you followed?¡± Chapter 12 Part 1: Unknown Variable Alis had no answer. ¡°No, I wasn¡¯t. No one''s tailed me all day.¡± Evalyn strode over to the other side of the windowsill and concealed herself behind the wall. ¡°Point them out.¡± ¡°There, down the street. Two grey cars just pulled up. I¡¯ve never seen them before.¡± Two grey cars of the same make arriving at the same place at the same time was nothing but suspicious. Through traffic was not unheard of on the street, but such a sight was nonetheless rare. Over the ten years Evalyn had rented the flat, she had taken note of every local car, even going so far as to memorise the number plates of identical models. These cars were foreign. An all-too-common civilian model, sure, but the circumstances were too ideal to forego caution. Six men in mismatched clothing exited the vehicles. Nary a uniform in sight, but Evalyn could sense faint points of Aether absorption on each of their bodies. It was always somewhere specific; around their hip or tucked in their coat. ¡°Iris? I need you to take Alis and run home, fast as you can.¡± ¡°Home? I can¡¯t take a stranger there!¡± ¡°Trust me. It¡¯ll be okay. I¡¯ll lead them away while you run. Got it?¡± Iris nodded, helpless to do anything but agree when Evalyn so confidently gave an order. A smile, small but reassuring, and eyes glowering with absolute sureness. ¡°I need to you, Iris. And Alis?" she said, turning to him. "No questions, and no fighting anyone either. Right now, that isn¡¯t your job.¡± ¡°I still ask for permission to take precautions,¡± he said, grabbing the knuckles from the desk and fitting them to his hands. The lights overhead gave the brass a muted sparkle, and the colourless crystals converted the lacking luminance into flickering rainbows. But the Aether they slowly tore from their surroundings interested Iris more. Beautiful in their patterns, detailed in their eight distinct focal points. Alluring. ¡°Alluring¡­Alis? Is there a chance they¡¯re tracking the brass knuckles?¡± ¡°A chance? I don¡¯t know, I¡¯ve never considered it. These have been mine for as long as I can remember.¡± ¡°And they¡¯re the property of Vesmos before they¡¯re yours. That¡¯s what the damn passive Aether pull was, fuck!¡± Vesmos was taking precautions, like serial numbers on firearms. It was a miracle that Alis had survived so long at all. ¡°Give one to me,¡± Evalyn said. ¡°They¡¯re likely tracking them as a pair, so splitting them will at least give you some cover. I''d like to take both, but we can''t leave you defenceless either." Evalyn held out a hand, and Alis reluctantly stripped his right hand of its weapon, passing it to her. ¡°We could fight them here.¡± ¡°No, of course not,¡± Evalyn said. ¡°The property value would go down, and I don¡¯t want to do that to my landlord.¡± Evalyn gripped the brass weapon in one hand and walked to the office door where her rifle lay propped up against the adjacent wall. ¡°They¡¯ve tracked you here, so they know there¡¯s a relation between us now. I can¡¯t have that.¡± She pulled the bolt backwards, revealing the empty magazine well¡ªabsent of dust but also bullets. ¡°It¡¯s unfortunate, but I can¡¯t have any witnesses tonight. Let¡¯s just hope they haven¡¯t contacted anyone yet.¡± She walked to her office desk, opened a drawer, and pulled out a stripper clip of five rounds. She fished around for anything else, finding a stray bullet hidden underneath a newspaper clipping. Six assailants, six bullets. Six lives that would not hesitate to end hers if given the chance. Especially if they knew who she was, or rather if their superiors did. Her handgun was already loaded on her shoulder, as she always kept it. ¡°Iris, you ready?¡± ¡°Yeah.¡± Evalyn ushered Iris nearer, meeting her halfway and kneeling to her level. ¡°If you need to, use your power, okay?¡± she whispered. ¡°It¡¯s scary, but getting hurt is scarier.¡± The little girl nodded, understanding the situation and her unfortunately instrumental role in it. Her first errand alone, and now this. Evalyn had hoped the world would give her more time, more options to prepare the fledgling Witch for life on her own two legs. But it was not her place to complain. She was partly responsible, after all. She caressed Iris¡¯s cheek and kissed her forehead. ¡°You¡¯ll be okay. Go.¡± Iris nodded. Evalyn and Alis locked gazes, meeting in a wordless, mutual understanding. They knew their tasks now, and business would continue later. A level of maturity Evalyn would never expect of someone his age. He was the real deal, what the world demanded of Iris. They sprinted for the door as Evalyn creaked the office window open. She watched for a moment as the party¡¯s attention strayed from its original heading. One looked up, directly toward Evalyn, and that¡¯s when she jumped. Flying through the autumnal chill with her silhouette to a shadowy sky, Evalyn sped towards the hapless figure of the first man, setting upon him before he could even make out what was coming. ¡°Act I: Setting,¡± she whispered, ordering her imagination to fashion her armour with renewed vigour, strength, and accuracy. The pouncing lioness, wreathed in golden aureole landed on the first man, eliciting a deafening crunch as the sole of her feet pressed flesh into concrete. She raised her rifle to an unhuman eye and shot him, racking a round right before a bolt of white light caught her arms. Ethereal cuffs wrapped themselves around her limbs like chains on a prisoner. She struggled to break free, let alone realign her rifle. With the wave of a different wand, a miniature shockwave caught Evalyn off balance, flinging her backwards. Before she completely lost control, she gripped the ground with her toes and sent golden spikes into the concrete from the soles of her Sabatons. She let go of her rifle, catching it with two abstract limbs protruding from her armour. Their form did not matter as much as their function. One held the rifle as the other pulled the trigger. The round found its target with ease, striking him in the chest and freeing Evalyn of her cuffs. Mobility restored, she began to flee, drawing their attention as far away as she could from Iris and Alis. She raised her hand and aimed towards the rooftops as another blast knocked her off balance. This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report. ¡°Dicks,¡± she muttered as she stumbled forward, doing her best to regain her footing. She released the grapple hook from her gauntlet, drawing the trajectory in her imagination until the real thing landed at the arc¡¯s terminus. She wasted no time double-checking the line and instead trusted its infallibility as she flew once more. The rooftops would be safer, and the added difficulty of the chase would buy her¡ªand Iris¡ªmuch-needed time. Iris kept her legs moving, preserving the consistency of her circulation through steady breathing. Two in two out, two in two out. Her eyes had quickly adjusted to the umbral backstreets, lit only by the occasional streetlamp. The Aether they pulled muddled with her senses, but she could tell the coast was clear. Alis ran by her side, running with a far more leisurely form. He must have been used to running by now, and only god knew how much training he had endured in his life. Iris¡¯s status as the navigator was the only thing that held him back. Iris kept watch over the surrounding buildings, noting their windows and rooftops as best she could. Her experiences against S.H.I.A. had given her an acute sense of where enemies could be, even if that was the most unpredictable aspect of combat. Uncurtained windows could act as burrows, darkened rooftops as nests. The only certainty was her way forward. Only five minutes now. Five minutes, and she would be home safe. Or so Evalyn had told her. ¡°Left or right?¡± Alis asked between laboured breaths. ¡°Right,¡± Iris said. Her job as guide had been made immeasurably harder by the darkness, yet she had travelled these same streets for months now. If only by muscle memory, she knew what she was doing. She reserved her brainpower for variables unaccounted for. Variable one. Headlights. Angular beams blazed the streets, eating up shadow and casting their silhouettes across the pavement like actors in spotlight. Iris dared a look back and instantly regretted it. The lanterns singed her retinas and sent impressions flying across her eyelids. No doubt now, it was a car speeding right for them. The bend was close, but the vehicle was moving too fast, and the street was too narrow to avoid it. Any attempt to dodge would be met with the same fate. ¡°Run, Iris!¡± Alis turned, beckoning the car towards him as he veered right. Like the eyes of a predator, the car¡¯s lights changed course toward the easier target. His confidence bewildered Iris, taking on the brunt of a vehicular assault himself. She had seen such stunts pulled before, but by people leagues stronger and more experienced. He would not leave unscathed. No. Iris was given a task, and she was not the one to be protected. Iris swivelled, planting her feet firm into the cobblestone. She painted over the reality she saw with her own. A wall from one end of the alley to the other, head height and no more. Yes, she could see it. It was there. All she had to do was pull it from the ground and erect it herself. She grabbed the air with two balled fists and shifted one foot forward, just as she had learnt. Her body would assist her mind, and her mind would build the bulwark. Shavings of her hair atomised and followed her instruction, completing her command in a heartbeat. She heard the car skid from the far side of the new wall and almost felt the crash''s impact as it happened. Metal crunched against the superior material and mangled the hunters caged inside. ¡°Now, go!¡± Iris shouted as she turned to run, only catching a glimpse of Alis¡¯s astonishment. The revealing of her identity made her endlessly nervous for her safety and his. But now was not the time. They picked up the pace once more, rounding the corner now with the knowledge that they were being tracked. Iris understood how unreliable her capabilities were, but cursed herself for being unable to compensate for both of Alis¡¯s weapons. Variable two. The brass knuckles on his left hand were their safety net, one that left a trail of blood in the water wherever they ran. Blood that once again caught up to them, much too soon. Her surveillance of the rooftops became no longer a matter of caution but one of life and death. Figures ran alongside them, the crash no doubt eliminating the uncertainty of their position. ¡°We¡¯ve got no chance here,¡± Alis said, ¡°we need to get up to the rooftops.¡± Iris nodded, preparing her hair to dematerialise once more. ¡°Hold on to me.¡± ¡°That won¡¯t be necessary.¡± Alis brought his left fist to his face, the gems reflecting a light that did not exist. Rainbows shining, Aether pulling. Something was starting. The process shrouded in mystery was starting. ¡°Replicate.¡± Variable three. The four jewels flashed purple, Iris purple¡ªthe kind of purple that shifted with the angle it was viewed from. Her purple. Iris¡¯s power. As he ran, his head began to twitch, and the veins in his arm began to pop. He let out grunts of pain as his fingers jittered, suffocated by the force escaping the gems'' containment. His teeth ground against each other as his voice stifled a scream. Still tense, he inhaled through his nose. The ends of his hair began to vaporise into thin mist, forming around his arm and spindling outwards¡ªa process Iris was all too familiar with. She focused herself, copying his movements all the same. Both released their new realities upon the dark alleyway, Alis releasing a grappling rope and Iris supplementing her four flesh limbs with four more. They scaled the buildings in their own ways and leapt onto the rooftop with unrivalled ease. Iris was with someone like her. It made her confident in a way she could not explain. Aware of the enemy across the alleyway from her, she covered their flank with another wall, dividing the playing field to their advantage. From the corner of her eye, Iris caught the flash of an Aether pull and raised another wall. Pressing her body against it, she could hear crackles on the other side like gunpowder igniting, yet nothing got through. She disassembled the wall just as Alis sent a clump of half-formed purple the assaulter¡¯s way, hitting him square in the chest. Iris spotted the wand fly out of the man¡¯s grasp, and she caught it with an appendage she had not even realised she had created. With another manufactured hand, she snapped the stick in two, watching the Aether pull die along with it. With one target neutralised, she lowered the wall. Something else was driving her now. Something that made her take the first step in battle and force failure out of her opponent rather than worry about her own. She felt that something strongest when she saw Alis manipulate her shapes so expertly, a fledgling that could fly on the first day. He commanded an arm like Iris¡¯s to bridge the gap across the alley. It grabbed the second man by the entire body and reeled him into their reach. The arm disappeared, throwing him face-first into Alis¡¯s punch, reinforced by a layer of purple matter. The force of it knocked him out cold. He stood no chance against two full-blown Aether-infused. Well, one and a half. The night once again fell to peace, and Iris took a moment to breathe. Below her were nothing but shadows, and above was nothing but night sky. No sound, no smell, no Aether. Suddenly, Alis doubled over, his hacking interrupting the silence. ¡°What¡¯s wrong?¡± Iris asked, coming to his side. ¡°Whatever magic you have, that stuff is way too strong. How do you use it so easily?¡± Iris had no answer. Not one that she could give, at least. Alis seemed to understand, flashing a brief and pained smile. He looked out toward the inner city, lungs still heaving from the violent coughing. Excala City''s airspace, like most nights, was littered with floating orange lanterns. The many domed temples and ancient stone spires contrasted against the orange haze. They were utterly untainted by reality in such a way only abstract paintings could be. ¡°What are those towers there? The ones always in groups of three,¡± Alis asked, lazily pointing into the distance. Iris followed his fingers and found what he was referring to. Trios of thin spindles taller than anything else in the city. ¡°Power stations. These Spirits called Blue Stormers sit up there and make electricity from the wind. I didn¡¯t pay attention to how, though. Something about static electricity and¡­friction¡­maybe.¡± ¡°That really big dome with the four spires?¡± ¡°The Capitol building. Where the government meets and stuff. I¡¯ve never been there before, but apparently, Evalyn goes there a lot.¡± ¡°Evalyn, so that¡¯s her name.¡± ¡°Oops.¡± ¡°Don¡¯t worry. I didn¡¯t hear it from you. What about over there? Those orange lumps.¡± ¡°The Royal Parklands. Anything fancy happens, it happens over there. I like it. Now that it¡¯s autumn, the really big trees are all orange. The ducks are mean, though.¡± They sat in silence for a moment, almost forgetting their situation. The city was soothing, no matter what context, what lighting, or what angle one viewed it from. By way of some deep enchantment, every facet seemed to ease one¡¯s soul, especially seen from such rooftops. ¡°I hope I¡¯ll get to see it up close,¡± Alis muttered. Iris looked toward him, his attention still firmly on the city. The wind caught his hair for a fleeting moment, the wiry strands riding in the wind. There was an unusual glint in his eyes, as though they were lapping up the image that lay before him. A fire. Inspiration. Admiration. Something existed there that Iris had never seen before. Some sort of untamed blaze that the adults in her life had long since stomped into submission. Iris found herself watching him, wondering who he was, this person of such similar age. What did he have that she didn¡¯t? What was she missing that he evidently had in spades? Iris wanted to know. Variable four. Something rustled behind them. Light footsteps, those of an expert. The Aether pull, its origin too precise to be a Wizard or Witch. Iris felt the hair on the back of her neck stand as the magic materialised. She covered as best she could, but her best was not fast enough. Chapter 12 Part 2: Furnace Eyes A metal wire flew towards Iris¡¯s neck, reaching her faster than her body could react. She winced instinctively in preparation for the pain, but it did not come. She heard a growl of pain from beside her. Opening her eyes, she found Alis clutching his forearm as the metal wire started to constrict his arm, drawing blood along a circular line. Iris did not spend long assessing the damage and instead prepared her hair for another attack. Yet the moment she faced her enemy, she found her arms tied to her body in the same manner. She fell to the floor, unable to compensate for the loss of balance. Another wire wrapped around Alis¡¯s throat, refusing to let go no matter how much he tried to claw at it. The soldier made a stumbling beeline toward Alis, tearing his hands from his neck and prying at the brass knuckles. Alis disobeyed, ripping his hands away and striking at the man, but he missed. The knuckles flashed again, but the man struck him before he could replicate the magic. Iris knew that even if he did, his life was on a ticking timer. She needed to undo the spell somehow. Yet that could only end in her killing someone. The destruction of something special to someone, all for a stranger she had only met less than an hour ago. She felt cheated. She had been given another losing hand, and she was to accept it like anything else. She kicked up one of her feet, priming it against her body, and her hair followed her command. She prepared a needle protruding from her boot and aimed for the man¡¯s heart. Precise, instant. She had to hit the bullseye, or Alis would die. A single shot echoed along the rooftops. It rebounded in the district''s nocturnal silence until it faded completely. The soldier fell to his knees, then flopped to the floor. The constrictions vanished, and Alis immediately began gasping for air, his breaths even raspier than before. Iris hauled herself up, trickles of red blood trailing from two lines across her arms. ¡°Are you all right?¡± she asked. ¡°Yeah,¡± he managed to say through the incessant coughing and heaving. Iris turned behind her, finding a golden figure racking their rifle. The armour vanished, and Evalyn remained, shouldering her rifle. ¡°What happened?¡± she asked, running over and kneeling. ¡°I saw people crawling out of a wrecked car and followed the Aether.¡± ¡°I¡¯m okay,¡± Iris said. Evalyn looked Iris up and down, then straightened the spluttering Alis. ¡°I had a feeling something was wrong as soon as they stopped following me. I had no clue there were more,¡± she said. ¡°I¡¯m sorry.¡± Iris dove into Evalyn¡¯s torso in silent gratitude. She did her best to hide her cowardice, her guilty relief that she had been spared from carrying out the dirty work. ¡°Let¡¯s get out of here first,¡± Evalyn said, forming her armour once more. ¡°Then we can talk.¡± Evalyn stood up to leave when Iris noticed a fleeting tinkering sound coming from the fallen man. She squinted, her vision focusing on a small white sparkle on his hand. Iris stood up and shuffled over, wary of the soldier who had fooled her by playing dead once before. On his finger was a small ring with a single gem of the same make as the eight on Alis¡¯s fingers. The tinkering sound, reminiscent of a small stream of water, chimed in unison with a white beam of light stretching forward a centimetre or two. Almost like the needle of a compass. ¡°It¡¯s pointing at Alis.¡± Iris beckoned the others over, and Evalyn bent down, stripping the fallen soldier of the ring. She moved it around from left to right, up and down. No matter the position, the beam kept its heading, directly towards Alis¡¯s brass knuckles. Iris followed Evalyn¡¯s lead as they rushed into the apartment complex. Evalyn quietly closed the door behind her. She moved through the lobby noiselessly, signalling the others to stay close behind. She drew her handgun from the holster and pointed it forward, inching towards their apartment door. The moment they reached it, she turned her gun towards the front entrance. ¡°Iris, open it.¡± Iris did what she was told, compensating for the forgotten house key still resting in Evalyn''s office with her own makeshift one. By now, she had all but memorised the lock''s interior and where each pin set. Putting a finger up to the keyhole, she spindled her way inside. The purple skeleton key massaged each instrument into place until the lock conceded with a click. She turned the key and opened the door. It was not home. Instead, it was exactly what anyone else would expect. An apartment room of the same make as the rest of the building. ¡°Inside,¡± Evalyn said, pushing the two in with her body. They shuffled in, and Evalyn closed the door, closing the handle lock as well as a door chain and a heavy bolt. ¡°They¡¯d probably blast their way through it anyway,¡± she sighed, switching the lights on. Iris followed her as she travelled across the room, between ceiling-high book casings and a furnished dining table. Under her feet was a spread of floral carpet, and above her, a ceiling fan slowly turned, creaking a little as it went. ¡°I¡¯m going to close the bedroom curtains,¡± Evalyn said, disappearing into the adjacent rooms. Iris took in her surroundings, unsure what to make of it all. It was exactly what anyone would expect from an Excalan apartment. She could imagine a family of three or four spending their mornings in ordinary happiness¡ªmoving from simple breakfasts at the dining table to newspapers on the couch. There was not a sense of liberating wonder as there was in Iris¡¯s home, but instead one of confined intimacy. A family lived here; she could be sure of it. A normal family that did everything a normal family would, except exist. ¡°Right,¡± Evalyn said, re-entering the room. She jogged to the kitchen and began to rummage through the drawers. Not long after, she hauled out a large green metal box marked by a red cross. ¡°Come here, Alis,¡± she commanded, taking a white cloth and a brown brick from the first-aid kit. Iris watched as Evalyn broke a chunk of the brown material off the mass, crushing it with her hands until it resembled dry clay. She beckoned Alis over once more, and he finally conceded. ¡°Head down,¡± she said, using her free hand to turn on the faucet and wet the towel, wringing it out as best she could with a single hand. She sprinkled the grain onto the towel, letting it dissolve for a moment before applying it to Alis¡¯s neck. He winced, and Iris sensed faint magic from the towel as the solution began to sizzle on his wound. ¡°Calm down, it¡¯s just a disinfectant,¡± she said, working around his entire neck. ¡°Nothing powerful enough to close wounds or erase scars, though. I don¡¯t even know if that magic has been found yet. Would be mighty convenient.¡± She moved down to his hand, raising it to her chest and applying the same solution. ¡°It doesn¡¯t look too deep, but I¡¯m going to bandage it up as soon as you wash the blood away,¡± she said, wringing out the towel and putting it to the side. She grabbed another one from the box and began the process again. ¡°Bathroom¡¯s over there. You¡¯ve got a mirror,¡± Evalyn said, pointing Alis across the room. This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere. She beckoned Iris over as Alis left, taking Iris¡¯s forearms and running the cloth over them. Iris yelped, feeling the grainy disinfectant grind against her skin, tricking her nerves into thinking she was burning. ¡°It¡¯s okay,¡± Evalyn cooed. ¡°You¡¯re okay now.¡± Evalyn put her free hand on Iris¡¯s cheek, then ruffled her hair. ¡°Did you fare okay?¡± ¡°Yeah,¡± Iris said, ¡°but if you didn¡¯t come so soon, I don¡¯t think I would¡¯ve¡ª¡± ¡°You would have,¡± Evalyn said. ¡°I saw you, and if you had done that and saved him, I would have been very proud of you, okay?¡± Iris looked up to Evalyn, and any ounce of praise she could earn from her always meant the world. Yet she still could not find it in herself to take her mentor, her mother¡¯s words to heart. ¡°I know,¡± Evalyn whispered, seemingly reading her mind. ¡°I¡¯m glad I got there before that happened. But you fought well, Iris. Don¡¯t let yourself forget that.¡± ¡°Okay,¡± Iris said, gritting her teeth through the stinging sensation. Evalyn chuckled. ¡°But that car, was that you?¡± ¡°Yeah, it was.¡± ¡°Really? You left those four guys in that thing reeling.¡± ¡°I did?¡± ¡°Absolutely. The cops were already there by the time I found them. I¡¯ll tell Marie to work her magic and get them under higher security by the morning.¡± ¡°I just felt like I had to stop thinking and trust it, like Elly told me to.¡± ¡°Well, that man does say some good things sometimes.¡± Iris thought back on the entire sequence, from car chase to rooftops to entanglement. For the most part, she had been able to take the upper hand. Somehow, someway, just by following an example. Someone like her, using the same power. ¡°Alis, his things copy magic. It copied mine.¡± Evalyn¡¯s hand stopped moving, and she matched Iris¡¯s eyes with hers, her eyebrows furrowing. ¡°Are you sure? It¡¯s possible that he just has eight different types of magic, isn''t it?¡± ¡°No,¡± Iris explained, ¡°his hair disappeared, and the shapes he made were the same purple as mine.¡± ¡°That¡¯s not good,¡± Evalyn muttered, ¡°especially if he¡¯s not the only one with them.¡± Evalyn fell silent again, working the towel across Iris¡¯s wound. She brought it closer to her face, examining it. ¡°It really does look like normal flesh and blood. You might as well be human.¡± She returned to the task at hand as Alis returned, blood washed from his neck. ¡°How you feeling?¡± Evalyn asked. ¡°Fine, ma¡¯am,¡± Alis said, suddenly speaking with an air of reverence. Iris could better see evidence of Alis¡¯s supposed military side. That, at least to her, was something familiar. ¡°You¡¯re going to stay here tonight while I go home and notify someone who can better help you.¡± ¡°Is Elvera still at home?¡± Iris asked. ¡°How do you get back there?¡± ¡°Get back? How I usually do. This space is for strangers who try to break in, but if you or I or Elly or Marie open the door, it goes back home. Since we had a stranger with us today, here we are.¡± Hence the fakeness, the elaborate design of the house was all to make it feel as though it were inhabited; to convince those who wished Evalyn Hardridge harm that she was indeed not who they were looking for. Such was the life of the Wish Bearer. ¡°I¡¯d be grateful for any help, ma¡¯am,¡± Alis answered. ¡°You¡¯d better be, we¡¯ve gone through a lot of trouble to get your ass to safety. While I''m at it, I''m getting the tracking magic removed from the brass knuckles and that ring. ¡°...Yes ma¡¯am,¡± he said, taking a moment to no doubt suppress his protests. Evalyn nodded her approval and finished tending to Iris¡¯s wounds, placing the medical supplies back in the drawer and folding the bloodied towels. ¡°Might as well take these to the wash,¡± she said, getting up and heading for the door. ¡°Alis, the bedroom¡¯s free, and there¡¯s some non-perishables in the cupboard. If you need anything else, ask Iris.¡± ¡°Yes ma¡¯am.¡± She undid the many locks of the front door and opened it. Stepping outside, she glanced back at them, in particular at Iris. ¡°Play nice.¡± The door closed. Iris stood silent, intensely aware of the presence but a few steps away from her. She was still getting used to Elvera being a foreign third presence in the house, and now this. She was stuck with an almost complete stranger, and her curiosity only made things more uncomfortable. ¡°Thank you.¡± Iris turned his way, meeting his pre-emptive gaze; the same subdued, righteous flames burning like a furnace inside his eyes. ¡°For what?¡± ¡°For helping me. You almost saved my life as well.¡± ¡°I¡¯m sorry, I was going to¡ª¡± ¡°No, I don¡¯t mind,¡± Alis interrupted. ¡°I believe you would have hesitated even if it was your own life was in danger. Why?¡± ¡°Why? Uhm¡­¡± Iris fiddled with her fingers, indecisive on whether it was wise to tell him anything more than he needed to know. ¡°Does it have something to do with that power?¡± Iris had trouble looking at him directly. His eyes were nowhere near as sharp as Elliot¡¯s; she had all but gotten used to that sort of gaze. Alis¡¯s eyes were bright rather than sharp, as if he could tell no lies, as if whatever he said was justified by some greater law of the universe. Iris succumbed and nodded. ¡°Yes.¡± ¡°I see,¡± Alis said. He pondered for a moment before looking around the room. He eyed the armchair and made a beeline for it, his movements oddly disciplined for the situation. He sat down, arms on each armrest and backside firmly planted. He stayed silent for a moment, convincing her that he was done with the conversation for the time being. ¡°When I replicated it,¡± he declared, startling Iris, ¡°it took an awful lot of effort to keep it under control. That¡¯s never happened to me before, even with powerful magic. What is it?¡± ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± Iris admitted. ¡°I don¡¯t know what it is, I¡¯ve just always had it.¡± ¡°Since you were born?¡± ¡°I don¡¯t remember being born. I only remember since last summer.¡± ¡°I see,¡± he mumbled, closing his eyes. ¡°But if you mastered that power, I doubt there¡¯d be many people left who could stop you.¡± Iris was fairly certain that those words, especially from him, were meant as words of praise. But not for Iris. ¡°That¡¯s what I¡¯m scared of.¡± He humphed in agreement. ¡°I would be too. Trading blows with you in your prime would be the last thing I would ever want to do. But you¡¯re not my enemy, so I doubt it¡¯ll ever come to that.¡± ¡°Who is your enemy?¡± Iris said, eager to at least get a question of her own into the conversation. ¡°My enemy? That¡¯s a difficult question,¡± he answered, furrowing his brow. ¡°If you only remember as far back as last summer, then I doubt you know how Vesmos works.¡± ¡°No. I just know they¡¯re big.¡± ¡°Very," he said, then growing silent again as if preparing to tell a story. "The Empire assimilated seventeen different states during its golden age of conquest. Through extensive bureaucracy and treaties, the states, their people, and their customs were integrated into the Empire''s way of life and governance, thus creating an inclusive and prospering society.¡± ¡°That sounds like a textbook definition,¡± Iris commented, sitting on the far side of the couch from him. His eyes were still closed, detracting from his intensity. He was almost statuesque. ¡°It is. And, to give the textbook authors their due credit, it¡¯s mostly true.¡± ¡°Is it? I¡¯m not used to propaganda being true.¡± ¡°Nothing that I just said was false.¡± ¡°Then what¡¯s the issue? It sounds wonderful.¡± ¡°The issue is that their golden age of conquest did not necessarily mean an end to a war. The assimilation of culture and efficient bureaucracy, the sharing of power between different classes of citizens.¡± He opened his eyes and turned them towards Iris. Leaning forward, he rested his elbows on his knees, intertwining his bruised and scarred fingers. ¡°Everything exists only for war. A perpetual state of conflict exists not only to preserve borders but to challenge them.¡± ¡°Why?¡± ¡°Because that¡¯s what Vesmos does. It¡¯s hard to question something everyone takes for granted.¡± ¡°Who takes war for granted?¡± ¡°People who are born into it. People who never know of the outside world, let alone go there. Why would you when everything you ever need is in the country?¡± War that started long before anyone alive in the current day and age was born. War that had become a cultural pillar upon which everything else was bound. War that had shaped society, built the country, and brought a malformed form of peace and prosperity to its civilian citizenry. Just like Fadaak, it was yet another oasis built on blood. ¡°That¡¯s the enemy. That¡¯s the purpose of the resistance I want to join.¡± ¡°The Unified Front of Assimilated Nations isn¡¯t all you¡¯re chalking it up to be, Alis.¡± They both turned to the front door as Evalyn closed it behind her. Her body paid them no heed as she walked to the bedroom carrying a folded blanket. ¡°I¡¯ve seen how they work. By the looks of things, they have barely enough organisation to run a province, let alone an Empire.¡± ¡°But they¡¯re doing what needs to be done,¡± Alis argued. ¡°Sure they are. No one likes to be in perpetual warfare. Trust me, I¡¯ve been there,¡± she yawned as she walked back into the living space. ¡°Changing a nation¡¯s ingrained socioculture is one thing, but rebuilding it after violent collapse is another.¡± ¡°But¡ª¡± ¡°Take it from someone who¡¯s seen fifty-eight revolutionary forces come and go in their lifetime, and maybe even from someone who¡¯s seen two in but a few short months,¡± she said, pointing at Iris, ¡°too many fail. And even if they don¡¯t, they never make good on their promises. They just cling onto power until the next revolution comes along.¡± She rubbed her eyes as if she had been talking of nothing more significant than her plans for the next day. ¡°It¡¯s all just another step in the race for a utopia that doesn¡¯t exist,¡± she managed to say while stifling a yawn. It was a very Evalyn perspective on the world. An acceptance of its inherent evil and a rejection of any attempt to make it better. A perspective she was well aware came with her privilege. Yet Iris could not say the same for the hopes she had destroyed with her own two hands only a few short weeks prior. That was not some misguided, na?ve attempt at shaping the world to their ideals. That was an attempt to survive, to live. Who was to say that Alis¡¯s attempt at change was not something similar? Chapter 12 Part 3: The East EGL ¡°Found your guy,¡± Evalyn announced, taking the bloodied towels to the laundry. ¡°What guy?¡± Marie called from the couch, her voice battling the radio set''s volume. ¡°The kid with the brass knuckles.¡± ¡°You found him?¡± ¡°Yeah,¡± Evalyn said, returning from the laundry empty-handed. ¡°I¡¯m going to need you to organise a coverup, by the way.¡± ¡°What happened? What were the towels for?¡± ¡°We ran into more of Vesmos¡¯s men. Small wounds, nothing serious,¡± she answered, walking to her bedroom. ¡°Where¡¯d they catch you?¡± Marie said, jogging for Evalyn¡¯s home office and the secure-wire telephone resting on the desk. ¡°They caught him while he was at our office. No witnesses got away, or at least I¡¯m hoping.¡± ¡°That¡¯s just great,¡± Marie sighed, dialling her first phone call of the evening. ¡°How many calls do I need to make?¡± ¡°Metro Police, Intelligence Bureau and the Council reception while you¡¯re at it.¡± ¡°Council reception? What for?¡± ¡°He wants an audience by tomorrow. He¡¯s got valuable intel and he wants it in exchange for political asylum.¡± ¡°Political asylum¡­,¡± Marie trailed. ¡°The hell would he want that for?¡± Evalyn appeared in the office doorway once more. ¡°Let¡¯s just say¡­hot potato. Anyway, once you¡¯re done, come with me to the Aetherologist.¡± She flashed the brass knuckles at Marie, her brain unable to keep up with the rate at which things weren¡¯t being explained. Two tram rides later, Evalyn and Marie arrived at their destination. A wholly unassuming building sandwiched between two apartment blocks in Excala¡¯s East. Save for a few renovations made three years prior, the building had been left to its own devices. Peeling paint and boarded windows did not make for a flattering first impression. A late-night train rumbled overhead as Evalyn pushed open the door. ''East Excala Great Library,'' they called it, a name that was not a holdover of its golden age in the slightest. Rather, its caretakers had not bothered with their storefront in years. Every wooden surface from the floor to the bookshelves to the rafters gleamed with a healthy brown hue. A fireplace blazed in the front reading room¡¯s hearth like the building¡¯s beating heart. Its arteries took form in armchairs, couches, cushions and carpets. Evalyn had countless memories over her decade in Excala of the place. If not related to her checkups, it was of getting lost in the bookcase-laden rooms and archives that seemed to encompass all heaven and earth. Candlelight illuminated sparingly, never allowing for a complete sense of time and place. With every visit, Evalyn discovered new nooks and crannies despite the librarians claiming they were nothing new. Evalyn and Marie ignored the burning hearth, headed for the Spiral staircases on either side and ascended to the library¡¯s centre; a reception lobby disappointingly similar to its more ordinary contemporaries. The reception desk was vacant¡ªnot unbelievable for such a time at night. Evalyn immediately got to slamming on the call bell. ¡°Hello?¡± she yelled into the infinite space. ¡°Quit it with the bell!¡± a faint voice yapped from the reception desk. Marie and Evalyn looked down in time to catch the topmost drawer open by itself. A blue Spirit, about the size of two apples, hauled itself out of the drawer and onto the table. It was blue; the same blue as the Queen, yet it took the shape of a deformed owl¡ªhead too big, wings too small and a tail for good measure. ¡°Evalyn, take the damn bell if you like smacking it so much.¡± ¡°I only like the bell because it lets me mess with you, Tony. Where¡¯s Al?¡± ¡°Al¡¯s on vacation,¡± the library''s co-founder spat, eyes still peeling open. ¡°No, he¡¯s not. Great Library wouldn¡¯t be so great without a Spacehopper Dragon in-house.¡± ¡°And your stuffy apartment wouldn¡¯t connect to a dream cottage without one, so shut your mouth and leave the man alone. What can I help you with?¡± Evalyn extracted the weapons from her pocket and placed them on the desk. ¡°I want someone to take a look at these. Is anyone still working?¡± ¡°Crikey,¡± Tony muttered, transfixed by the weapons, ¡°the hell did you get these things?¡± ¡°Off a kid from Vesmos, says he was military.¡± ¡°That sure makes sense,¡± he said, eyes examining the magic in a way impossible even to Evalyn, let alone Marie. ¡°I¡¯ll get Frenquin on it. That boy has no clue that workdays are supposed to end, Frenquin! Get over here!¡± Evalyn heard a muted reply precede the appearance of a mousey-looking Beak in a white lab coat. He caught her eye, then descended one of the many staircases emerging from god knows where. The Aetherologists of the Great Library seemed to have bearings on the place in ways Evalyn could never aspire to mimic. ¡°Mrs. Hardridge!¡± Dr Frenquin exclaimed. ¡°Nice to see you. Is this about the girl?¡± ¡°No, this isn¡¯t about Iris.¡± ¡°Ah,¡± his voice box crackled, ¡°how is she doing? It¡¯s been quite a while since I gave her an initial examination.¡± ¡°She''s been doing splendid, but we¡¯ve been quite busy recently. I¡¯m here to get magic removed from an item.¡± As Frenquin shuffled over, he removed a loupe from the front pocket of his lab coat. Bringing it to the left eyehole of his mask, he inspected the items. ¡°My god¡­bring these up to my office,¡± he said, pocketing the loupe and ascending back the way he came. Tony took the liberty of hitching a ride on Evalyn¡¯s shoulder as they followed. His ¡®office¡¯ resembled more a forest glade than a room defined by four walls; a small vacancy that so happened to appear in the library¡¯s labyrinthine design. He cleared his desk of papers and gadgetry and directed Evalyn to place the weapons down. He then disappeared behind a bookcase. When he returned, he wheeled in front of him an instrument of Aetherology as tall as he was. A series of interconnected looking glasses, all fastened precariously to a web of brass supports. Each wound around the other and formed a complete, if not messy, disc. He centred the spider eyes against the desk and stood behind it, observing the weapons through the many lenses and countless new perspectives. He beckoned the rest of the party closer, and they all joined him behind the machine. The lenses had created one coherent picture, painting the magic Evalyn could only sense in defined streaks of vibrant colour. Greens, blues, yellows, reds. Eight colours in total circulated from one ring to another in a perfect, interconnected, never-ending circuit. If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it. ¡°There are eight different magical signatures,¡± Frenquin started. ¡°They relate to one another, judging by first glance.¡± ¡°What does it all do?¡± Marie asked. ¡°I can recognise three or four here, but they¡¯re all subdivisions of replication magic. Here, that crystal on the left-hand handles the replication of Aether pulling, and that is the replication of magical triggers and contracts.¡± ¡°Put together eight of them in such a way,¡± Tony continued, ¡°and you¡¯d get a pretty good recreation of true replication magic.¡± Aether pulling, triggers and contracts. It made sense why Iris had noted Alis¡¯s hair dissipating despite his body being entirely human. ¡°What¡¯s the verdict?¡± Marie asked, pressing the Aetherologists for an answer. ¡°How do I report this?¡± ¡°We¡¯re just scientists, we¡¯ve got no clue,¡± Frenquin said, still enamoured by the sight before him. ¡°Call the most important person you can get your hands on,¡± Tony recommended. ¡°In fact, it might be worthwhile getting the Queen on it.¡± ¡°You think I can do that whenever I want?¡± Marie scoffed. ¡°You can¡¯t, but I can,¡± Tony mused, hopping onto Marie¡¯s shoulder ¡°Chop chop, let¡¯s move.¡± Marie looked to Evalyn, pleading for answers she had pleaded for all evening, but Evalyn shrugged. ¡°He¡¯s not wrong. I¡¯ll finish up here, so you talk to Her Majesty.¡± Defeated, Marie followed the Spirit¡¯s directions, and Evalyn returned to the task at hand. ¡°Now, inside all of this, there should be something infused with tracking magic,¡± she explained, diving into her pocket once more. ¡°It should be connected to this ring.¡± Frenquin took the ring and looked over it in his hand. He walked around to the other side of the machine, shifting the brass knuckles out of the centre and placing the ring beside them. Evalyn watched as a faint line formed from the weapons to the ring, overshadowed by the crystals. ¡°It¡¯s very faint,¡± Frenquin observed, ¡°done in such a way that most Spirits can¡¯t sense it, let alone yourself. Is this what you want to have removed?¡± ¡°Yes. Even without all the rings, getting rid of the magic here is nipping it in the bud, correct?¡± ¡°You¡¯re not wrong. It does not seem to be infused too deep into the structure of things. It''s more like an afterthought to a completed weapon, like the serial number on a firearm or a bullet.¡± ¡°Can you get it done by morning?¡± Evalyn asked. ¡°If done carefully, yes, but could I make a recommendation?¡± Evalyn furrowed her brow, not used to the meek Aetherologist doing much more than observing and infusing. ¡°Go ahead.¡± ¡°I would say these weapons are extremely potent, to the point I don¡¯t even trust our own government to keep them safe.¡± ¡°What are you suggesting?¡± ¡°Give me more time, perhaps until midday, and I¡¯ll replace the tracking magic with one of my own designs. Keep the ring, and you¡¯ll have a direct leash and collar on it at all times.¡± Evalyn thought, albeit not for very long. Unless she could sign a contract, she rarely involved herself with governmental matters, and for good reason. Yet Alis was not someone she was ready to take her eye off just yet. A powerful individual with valuable information, a stick of dynamite in the form of a preteen boy. Legal involvement or not, the hot potato had walked into her office requesting her help and her help in particular. A wannabe warrior type still enamoured by the illusion of a world with order. And then there was the fact that Iris was likely warming up to him. ¡°Yes, that¡¯s a smart idea.¡± Frenquin nodded and moved to disappear once more into the bookshelf-lined great expanse. ¡°Doctor,¡± Evalyn called out after him, ¡°could you do me a favour?¡± ¡°I¡¯ve never seen one of Amestris¡¯s children outside government offices,¡± Elvera mumbled as she strode through the library. ¡°Well, we don¡¯t get many choices. It¡¯s either live in her forest like monkeys, make yourself useful in the military, or become a bureaucrat, god forbid. Me though,¡± he rasped, ruffling his featherless wings, ¡°got this post early. Only needed one director at the East EGL, so it was first come, first serve. Left here.¡± ¡°So, how far up the line are you?¡± Elvera asked, following the direction. ¡°The highest I¡¯ve met is three hundred and twelfth.¡± ¡°Oh I know him¡ªright, thanks¡ªhe¡¯s with the spooks, ain¡¯t he?¡± ¡°R.I.B., yes.¡± ¡°Poor fella. I¡¯m first, though.¡± ¡°First?!¡± Elvera¡¯s body entered an involuntary spasm, not exactly sure how to submit her long overdue respect. ¡°Yep. Prince of the Kingdom, flesh and blood. Well, not blood.¡± Elvera silenced herself with the clearing of her throat and chose to keep walking as unabated as possible. They were in a confined hallway, although she could not be sure if the bookcases were pressed up against walls or were the walls themselves. The only sense of space allotted to her was the low ceiling above their heads. ¡°Door on your right,¡± Tony said, and Elvera followed his lead, opening the door into a spacious room. The structure broadened into a twilit theatre filled with rows of upward-facing seats. ¡°The hell is a planetarium doing in here?¡± she said, observing the recreation of Excala City¡¯s unique perspective of the night sky. In a small corner of the Library, what had been lost with the advent of light pollution had enjoyed a faithful reconstruction. Elvera assumed it used the same magic as Excala Station¡¯s ceilings but to a level of detail umatched by a glorified schedule. ¡°Department of Astronomical Research used to hole up in the library along with most other sciences. Aetherology is the only one left nowadays,¡± Tony explained. He took a moment to observe the array of fake stars and planets before floating off Elvera¡¯s shoulder. The slow flapping of his tiny wings did little to justify his flight by any law of physics, but he reached a nearby lectern nonetheless. ¡°The Queen ordered the construction of a portal somewhere in the building back then, but it wouldn''t fit anywhere. The star boys suggested building a planetarium for their studies, and in return, the portal would be set up in it.¡± Elvera heard a familiar clunk sound from somewhere indistinct in the room. Steam whistled as panels in the night sky¡¯s canvas dislodged and swung open, revealing copper wires conducting a magical buzz that sizzled the air. It was a portal to the Queen¡¯s forest, much like the one on the Steel Whale, albeit orders of magnitude larger. It was not for subjects to enter, but instead for her to rear her head wherever she pleased. The blue ring tore apart the room¡¯s air, following the contours of the planetarium as it connected the limited space with the infinite of the forest. Moments later, Her Majesty made her appearance. Elvera bowed instinctively upon the arrival of the iconic antlers, the same she wore on her right sleeve almost every day of her life. ¡°Lieutenant-General, to what do I owe the pleasure,¡± the Queen announced. Her voice boomed in silence as her face remained frozen, statuesque. ¡°Your Majesty, there¡¯s been a development that your Prince deems worthy of your attention.¡± The Queen¡¯s eyes narrowed, turning to Prince Tony, first in line to the throne. ¡°Hi Ma, long time no see. Still talking in days of the week, are we?¡± She ignored him, returning to face Elvera. ¡°As much as my firstborn and his lack of Thursdays displease me, I do trust his judgement. What is it? Is it about the girl?¡± ¡°No, albeit she is entwined in the matter, sire. A military asset has defected from Vesmos and is asking for political asylum. He claims the possession of valuable intelligence.¡± ¡°And? What of it?¡± Elvera stumbled for a moment, but the Queen did not falter. ¡°Your Majesty, we are talking about the Vesmos Empire.¡± ¡°As so far as they do not threaten our borders, any action we take that can be interpreted as a threat to their national security is a step closer to war. I would much sooner see this asset executed or returned to the Empire so he may meet a fate befitting of a defector.¡± The Queen extended her head forward until her otherworldly figure exhausted Elvera''s vision. ¡°Matters of intelligence, espionage and other methods of destabilisation must be conducted covertly. Else, I fear there is no point to it whatsoever.¡± Elvera stepped backwards, the sound of her boots as inconsequential as she was in the face of Queen Amestris. Reverence. Respect. Citizen or not, she had an aura that one could sense even without sensitivity to magic. But Elvera had a standing, one that the Queen herself had awarded her. Giving in now, even to Her Majesty, was an insult to that display of trust. She cleared her throat once more, this time steeling herself for the role she had fought to play. ¡°I agree with you, ma¡¯am, and under normal circumstances, I may have considered such actions. Yet the boy has surrendered weapons that may hold grave implications as to the true potency of the Vesmos armed forces.¡± ¡°And what would those be?¡± the Queen questioned. Her tone emulated that of a loan shark listening to the snivelling excuses of a victim. ¡°Replication magic, your highness. A type that can copy a Spirit¡¯s magic and allow its users to harness it themselves. Even Iris''s magic is not exempt from this. Assuming your estimations of her power are correct, the replication of Hardridge¡¯s or even yours is not entirely off the table.¡± Elvera paused, assessing Her Majesty¡¯s reactions. Even though she was never one to punish the bearer of bad news, she still presented herself as someone who might. The Queen voiced no protest and waited for Elvera¡¯s words to continue. ¡°The weapon seems to be a prototype, judging by how little we know of it. But, the boy has expressed clues as to its mass production.¡± The Queen sighed, or at least conveyed a sound roughly equivalent. ¡°First these supposed beasts of steel and now this. Is their power anything comparable to an Aether-infused individual?¡± ¡°Greater, perhaps. I saw the subject fend off a group of Vesmos soldiers by himself. The wand-bearing type, ma¡¯am.¡± The Queen nodded slowly. ¡°It seems I am indebted to Hardridge one more. Lieutenant-General?¡± ¡°Yes, ma¡¯am?¡± ¡°See to it my debt to her does not grow any larger. As the head of Special Operations, I give you full authority over this matter. Use your resources as you see fit, and engage with matters from any angle bureaucracy alone cannot. Do you agree to this assignment?¡± ¡°Yes, ma¡¯am,¡± Elvera said, straightening herself and saluting. ¡°Good. Your objective is the safe extraction of any and all relevant information from the subject, by whatever methods deemed necessary.¡± ¡°Yes, ma¡¯am.¡± ¡°And Lieutenant-General, I do mean by whatever methods.¡± Chapter 12 Part 4: One Hundred and Four The tram rocked to a steady rhythm, side to side down the district¡¯s main road. It was a heavily pedestrianised place, almost a street mall if it were not for the occasional car crossing and central tram line. Flanked by both sides by storefronts and food stands, the place attracted the family sort. Evalyn flipped through a newspaper she had found abandoned on her seat, wondering if the next issue would contain anything of that night''s chase. Yet she trusted the woman beside her enough to know that would not happen. She turned to Marie, her eyes on the families but her mind elsewhere. ¡°Want to get off somewhere, spend some time in the city?¡± ¡°Alone?¡± ¡°Well, I¡¯ve got to go back and make sure Iris is okay, but you should enjoy your free time while you still have it.¡± Marie sighed, and Evalyn saw her eyes shift in the window¡¯s reflection. ¡°Sometimes you sound like Florence.¡± ¡°Is that a bad thing?¡± ¡°Yes, because you already look like her. Just a little less ladylike.¡± Evalyn chuffed, ¡°I¡¯ll take that as a compliment.¡± Marie fell silent again, facing forward. ¡°That¡¯s how I knew it was you, the first time you rocked up in Geverde. Just this younger version of Florence, making bold proclamations to the entire council.¡± ¡°What about Elliot?¡± ¡°He looked like a loser.¡± Evalyn chuckled, leaning her head on Marie¡¯s shoulder. ¡°But he reminds me of you. That boy, I mean, not Elliot,¡± Marie sighed. ¡°Alis? In what way?¡± ¡°Do I need to explain? He isn¡¯t the first bright-eyed youth with big plans for the world I¡¯ve dealt with.¡± ¡°Don¡¯t embarrass me,¡± Evalyn sighed, poking Marie¡¯s shoulder. ¡°I don¡¯t have to hear about it again.¡± ¡°Why not?¡± ¡°It was stupid. All of it was stupid.¡± ¡°Was it?¡± Marie said. ¡°I think you saved a lot of people.¡± ¡°I was lucky,¡± Evalyn admitted, ¡°I survived it all somehow, but ten years has come and gone since then. Seen too much shit to think that there¡¯s a greater purpose.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t think Alis thinks of it like that,¡± Marie suggested. ¡°He thinks of it how you think of Elliot, Iris, or even me. Just a thing he wants to fight for because it means a lot to him.¡± ¡°Revolutions are different,¡± Evalyn asserted, drawing a line in the sand. ¡°Good people and bad people fight for something that exists, even if it is just numbers in their bank account or lines on a map. Fighting for some sort of ideal is just¡ª¡± ¡°Stupid?¡± Marie said, bumping Evalyn off her shoulder and patting her head. ¡°Darling, how do you think anything changes in the world without stupidity?¡± The council would be seated in five minutes, and Lieutenant-General Marie Elvera found herself sitting in a room with a teenage boy. Even if the Commander of Special Operations enjoyed an unusual amount of freedom, the Queen proved herself alarmingly liberal with her assignments. The waiting room was lavishly furnished and equipped to entertain any manner of VIP. The clientele usually consisted of diplomats, emissaries, or other¡ªmore recognised¡ªforeign representatives. Yet Alis Harbourman did not stray too far from the definition, so he had been allowed to stay. They sat on symmetrical leather couches on either side of a glossy wooden coffee table. ¡°Tell me if the cuffs feel too tight. It¡¯s more a formality than anything else.¡± ¡°No, thank you, ma¡¯am. I¡¯m fine.¡± He was well-mannered; Elvera could give him that much. She readjusted herself and leaned forward, bearing over the two brass knuckles splayed on a velvet jewellery tray. ¡°Look, Mr Harbourman. I¡¯m going to be completely honest with you. You¡¯re going to have to cooperate with me here, and I mean fully.¡± ¡°I do plan on cooperating with you as long as my needs are met¡ª¡± ¡°The Queen would prefer you dead. The only reason she''s given you this opportunity is because of your weapons. Even then, we can easily reverse-engineer them if it came to that.¡± Alis shifted in his seat, and his eyes glanced around the room, yet never left the brass knuckles for more than a few seconds. ¡°Alright. What do you need me to say? I won¡¯t be giving up any information.¡± ¡°I just need to know your plan in all this. You come here to be willingly sold out to us by the revolution you want to fight for while being tailed by the people you ran away from.¡± ¡°Yes, I am aware of the situation,¡± he answered, tone blunt. ¡°And you¡¯re fine with that? All this, just selling yourself out?¡± ¡°I do not see it that way, that is all.¡± Elvera bit her lip and massaged her forehead. ¡°Dying a martyr isn¡¯t going to help anyone, Mr Harbourman.¡± ¡°Well,¡± he started, leaning back. ¡°Even I know to die a martyr, people need to know your name.¡± ¡°Is that what you want? For people to know your name?¡± ¡°If I did, this certainly wouldn¡¯t be the way for me to do it.¡± The door opened, and a suited security guard poked his head through, sticking up two fingers before retreating. Elvera stood up and began to pace. ¡°Any information you give us will be cross-referenced with our intelligence. Based on that and several other tests, hearings, whatever, your appeal for asylum will either be signed or burned.¡± Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road. ¡°I¡¯m not saying anything until I¡¯m guaranteed¡ª¡± ¡°Then I¡¯m not guaranteeing you asylum. See, please understand, Mr Harbourman,¡± Elvera said, sitting beside him. ¡°You don¡¯t have leverage here. Whether you give it or not, this information makes you worth more as an asset or a political bargaining tool. Do you understand that?¡± Alis nodded, albeit not in a manner that reassured her. ¡°I have orders from the Crown herself to find out what you know. That does not involve helping you. Do you understand that?¡± ¡°Yes,¡± he stated. Elvera nodded. ¡°Then tell me¡ªit can be brief¡ªwhat you gain from doing this?¡± ¡°What do you stand from being in your position, Lieutenant-General?¡± ¡°What do I get?¡± Elvera repeated. ¡°I get paid, I get power.¡± ¡°And yet we both know that that isn¡¯t why you do what you do. We¡¯re similar in that regard.¡± She eyed him, neither of their gazes wavering. Perhaps Evalyn was right, perhaps it was just another case of misguided brashness. Yet his eyes were stone cold, frighteningly so. It almost felt like looking in a mirror. ¡°It¡¯s almost time,¡± she said, breaking the stalemate. They stood up, Elvera picking up the jewellery tray as they headed for the door. Immediately, Alis was met by two of the security team who took no time manning his flanks. They began their trek down a repeating hallway of guards, doors, fixtures, and carpets. When put together, it all seemed to supplement an illusion of infinity. Elvera eventually passed the two who had escorted Alis to the building. ¡°Coming with?¡± she asked Evalyn. ¡°Do we have clearance?¡± she asked, pointing at her and then Iris. ¡°You¡¯ve had clearance since he showed up at your door. Besides, I¡¯d rather have you on this.¡± Shrugging, Evalyn followed, beckoning Iris to tag along. They kept walking until they reached the hallway''s terminus, where the officer guarding the door let them pass without pausing. Passing the threshold, they entered a white space. Vacant, in every sense of the word. The contours of the very building were barely discernible. Several council members had entered already, their importance whittled down to specks of black in the absence of any context. The council room was yet to be built, but it never took more than a few moments. A final member entered the white space, holding to his chest a red cushion. The Beak was slender, their boxy suit concealing an undoubtedly gangling frame. ¡°The Royal Curator has entered; this meeting will begin shortly,¡± he announced. The Royal Curator rose its head from the red cushion. A Spacehopper dragon the size of a hand, with a serpentine body and golden scales, stood on four stout feet and reared its head. With its silent, dazzling command, the seat of the Geverdian Council sprang into being. Pillars sprouted from the floor, outlining an oval and enclosing it with fine polished oak and walnut. The new walls bridged the gap above, sealing the council completely in the new space. Orbs of orange light sparked across the room, recreating Excala¡¯s night sky. In the light, horseshoe seating took form. It assembled itself piece-by-piece, giving the chamber meaning; a well-defined amphitheatre. Each seat swept every member off their feet as they rose, conjoining with the stands and ordering the crowd into their elected places. In nothing more than a few moments the hearing was ready to begin. ¡°This meeting is now in session. As requested by the Crown, a vote will be cast by the end of the session, its sway equalling that of the Queen¡¯s decree. The subject of this hearing goes by the name Alis Harbourman, claiming to be a defector of the Vesmos Empire.¡± The Speaker announced from the horseshoe bend¡¯s centre, the Royal Curator by their side. Evalyn patted Elvera¡¯s shoulder before ushering Iris off the floor. Not a moment too soon, Alis began his appeal. ¡°Members of the Geverdian Council, as my introduction has already stated, I am a defector of the Vesmos Empire. As recommended by rebel forces in the country, I have travelled to Geverde to disclose sensitive information pertaining to the Empire. In exchange, I request political asylum and rights appropriate to my situation.¡± ¡°Any questions,¡± the Speaker announced. A member at the far back stood to speak. ¡°What was the reason for your defection?¡± they said through their voice box. ¡°I grew disillusioned with the Vesmos military leadership and the country¡¯s system as a whole during my training within the Experimental Weapons and Training Program. I was told to come here after escaping my barracks and meeting with a ULEF recruiter.¡± Another stood, raising their voice. ¡°What is the Experimental Weapons and Training Program?¡± ¡°I cannot answer that at this time.¡± Punk. The council member sat down once more, and another took their place. ¡°How did you grow disillusioned with the Vesmos method of governance?¡± ¡°I thought for myself, sir, a surprisingly rare skill amongst the Vesmos military. Media outlets are tightly controlled, thus word of protest does not make it past local jurisdictions. After catching wind through word of mouth, I wished to see the country through my own eyes. Particularly the perspectives of the green and grey tier citizens, of which I am one.¡± ¡°What information can you offer us?¡± ¡°I can name the names of roughly forty-seven officers involved in the program, sixteen members of my unit, a broad understanding of the technologies being utilised amongst its armed forces, rumours of upcoming operations amongst other things.¡± The assembly began to murmur. The specificity of much of the information almost made it sound like a bluff. Yet, when considering the situation and Elvera¡¯s estimate of his intelligence, it was easy to believe. Another council member stood. ¡°What does ULEF stand to gain from this act of goodwill? This question is directed towards the Lieutenant-General.¡± Elvera stepped forward, raising her voice. ¡°The United Liberation of the Eastern Front has already gained this information from Mr Harbourman. However, they refused to be left with a risky Vesmos military asset still wanted by his previous employers. By sending him to us, they can feign ignorance of him while stoking the flame of war between our Kingdom and their Empire.¡± She looked toward Alis, who maintained a reactionless face. ¡°If Geverde, and by extension Sidos are pulled into a conflict with the Empire, the rebellion will have an opportunity to seize power.¡± The assembly again descended into chattering. This time, less hushed. Anxiety was mounting at the mention of war. The same council member spoke again, their mechanical voice faltering once or twice. ¡°And in your assessment, Lieutenant-General, what does Geverde stand to lose if this boy is given political asylum?¡± ¡°It¡¯s hard to say, honourable member. Yet, considering that Vesmos is already aware that Mr Harbourman is in Excala, feigning ignorance as ULEF did is no longer an option. Either he is given political asylum which lets us gain what we can, or we hand him back to his captors.¡± She stepped forward, past Alis and his security detail, and faced the council head-on. ¡°We incur their wrath knowing we are prepared, or we push the countdown to war a few minutes backwards.¡± The chatter finally degraded into disorder as members argued with one another. Neither the speaker¡¯s voice nor the strike of his gavel succeeded in quelling the discourse. Elvera stood in the middle of it all, watching the regular display of indecisiveness bureaucracy was so infamous for. ¡°So, our option is to feign ignorance or fight?¡± The Queen¡¯s voice, silent in the room yet booming in their skulls, obliterated the madness and left in its wake unadulterated silence. Elvera looked upward to where murals of a Medieval Excala had looked down upon the congressional only moments prior. Now a tear in reality had formed, much like the planetarium the night before. ¡°Yes, Your Highness. Fighting may not come for years, if at all. However¡ª¡± ¡°I understand¡­Sundays be damned¡­Lieutenant-General?¡± ¡°Yes, Your Highness?¡± ¡°I¡¯m assuming Vesmos has infiltrated our levels of governance to a certain degree already, yes?¡± ¡°An exact number is indeterminable, let alone whichever faction they may be working for. Even so, acting without precaution would be unwise. The chances of a mole being in this very room is not even zero.¡± ¡°And what can you say our intelligence network looks like?¡± Elvera glanced around the room, trying her hardest to get a fleeting glance at the members shrouded in shadow. She knew all too well it was impossible. Was one of them Wesper¡¯s? Perhaps one worked for Vesmos? ¡°Expansive, although informants have been dropping off the radar recently. The same can be said about Sidos. Yet, as I said, there is no way to be sure if you¡¯re asking for a direct comparison.¡± ¡°Such is the nature of an information war,¡± the Queen concluded, falling silent. Elvera looked around the room to all the members deciding on the matter. ¡°This is still a preliminary judgment. No matters will be set in stone before a full assessment can be conducted. Yet, as your Queen, I require a decision to begin or disregard the process entirely. A simple yay or nay will suffice.¡± The Speaker stood from his seat, raising the red cushion with him. The Royal Curator stood once more, wobbling to its feet as though exhausted. ¡°A roll will now be called. All in favour, make it known to your Queen and country.¡± The floating orbs, which until then had speckled the room with uneven light, whizzed around the chamber into a uniform pattern. Every member of the arrangement had assigned to them a lamp. And in unison, of the two hundred and fifty-six appointed members, the lights of only one hundred and four dimmed in protest. Chapter 13 Part 1: None the Wiser ¡°Can I work out of your office for a while?¡± ¡°Yeah, sure. If that¡¯s easier for you.¡± The day after the trial was coming to a close, and with it Elvera¡¯s final day of rest. Iris watched from the kitchen table as the two women buzzed around the house. Evalyn had been doing chores all morning, and Elvera had spent that time fiddling with Evalyn''s Magicopy machine. It was a remarkably corny name for a remarkably useful machine. According to Evalyn, it used Aether lines¡ªthe same used for phone calls¡ªto deliver documents from one place to another. Iris had seen it in action more than once, yet it still made no sense no matter how many times she watched the box spit out paper after paper. Evalyn peeped through the office door, a laundry basket in her arms. ¡°Is it working?¡± ¡°I¡¯m waiting for a file to come through; I told one of the analysts to send something random just to see if it¡¯s working.¡± ¡°It¡¯s not as reliable as a fax machine, but what can you do when the house has no telephone line?¡± ¡°It prints at a better quality, at least,¡± Elvera mumbled, arms crossed and waiting. The machine began to rattle, and the two both tensed with anticipation. Iris waited for something as the rattling became a whir, then a series of small clunks. A piece of paper shot out of the box¡¯s mouth, and Elvera grabbed it before it touched the desk. She inspected it and nodded. ¡°They sent me a dog,¡± she said, holding the photo up to Evalyn. ¡°Cute. Give ''em a call, let them know it¡¯s working.¡± She adjusted the basket under her arm and headed for the balcony, rousing Iris as she went. ¡°Help me with the laundry; we¡¯ll do your study later.¡± Iris nodded and got up, watching Elvera dial a number as Evalyn closed the glass door behind them. The wind was stronger than usual, still only enough to rustle hair and make sails out of bed covers. It was a warm wind, warm enough for Evalyn to wear a white singlet. Evalyn placed the basket on the balcony and started with the shirts. ¡°You do the socks for me.¡± ¡°Okay.¡± Iris scavenged for a matching pair in the basket, pulling out a set of Elliot¡¯s, judging by the size and colour. Without much fanfare, her hair disintegrated and reformed as stilts. The purple appendages lifted her a metre off the ground, giving her the height to work the pegs. ¡°Why is Elvera doing all the work this time?¡± she asked, clipping the socks onto the line. ¡°The situation falls under intelligence, and that¡¯s Spec Ops¡¯ ballpark. They deal with a lot of stuff. But apparently, this time Her Majesty put her in charge personally.¡± ¡°Hm.¡± The wind continued as they hung the laundry, and soon, Iris ran out of socks. ¡°Do the towels next.¡± ¡°Okay.¡± Evalyn hauled up a large bundle of bed sheets, too large for a single person to manage. The markings along her bare arms and cheek lit up, and a double of herself sprung from the ground. No matter how often she did it to simplify everyday tasks, Iris never got used to it. Both Evalyns tossed the sheet over the line, flattening it in unison. ¡°Thank you,¡± Evalyn said, permitting the clone to disappear. ¡°Oh, I was meaning to ask you,¡± she started. ¡°Did much happen between you and Alis while Elvera and I were gone?¡± ¡°When you went to the Aetherologist? No,¡± she answered. ¡°He talked, but not about anything fun.¡± ¡°What does he talk about?¡± Iris¡¯s stilts vaporised and she dropped back to the floor. ¡°He asked a lot of questions, like what I do and who you were. Not secret things though. Just things like do I go to school, or what you did before being an investigator.¡± ¡°That¡¯s nice of him,¡± Evalyn said, her tone throttled as if she was admitting it rather than stating it. ¡°You don¡¯t like him?¡± Iris asked, still scouring the basket for towels she could hang on the line. ¡°No, I don¡¯t really have an opinion,¡± Evalyn said, smiling. ¡°I just thought he¡¯d be a little weirder is all.¡± Iris thought back on his strange rigidity and sometimes lizard-like mannerisms. ¡°No, he¡¯s weird. He asked a lot of questions about the city, though. Like what people do and how schools and workplaces do things. I didn¡¯t know most of the answers.¡± ¡°He¡¯s curious, is all. Vesmos does things differently compared to here.¡± ¡°Okay.¡± ¡°¡­what do you think of him, Iris? You¡¯ve talked to him more than I have, and on our way to the council meeting, he really only talked to you.¡± With her stilts, Iris hauled the towels to the clothesline with both arms, and two extra purple arms clipped each piece to the line. ¡°I want to know more about him,¡± she admitted after a measure of thought. ¡°Are all people his age like that?¡± ¡°No, not at all. Most teenagers his age don¡¯t care for much outside of their crush and messing around.¡± ¡°What¡¯s a crush?¡± ¡°Don¡¯t know, didn¡¯t have one when I was his age.¡± ¡°But you just¡­okay.¡± Evalyn giggled, rustling Iris¡¯s hair. ¡°If you get another chance to talk with him, I¡¯ll let you. But right now, just remember he¡¯s got more important things to worry about.¡± ¡°Okay,¡± Iris said, hanging the last towel and dropping to the floor. She looked at Evalyn, a mischievous grin still plastered across her face. ¡°What?¡± ¡°Nothing. I just realised that you¡¯re growing up fast.¡± ¡°Evalyn?¡± A muffled cry sounded from past the glass doors. ¡°Evalyn!¡± ¡°What!¡± Evalyn shouted back, swinging the door open. Elvera leaned through the office door. ¡°The Vesmos diplomats are here.¡± ¡°They¡¯ve requested a private hearing with anyone involved with the case. That''s including leadership,¡± the Beak reported. His voice was insufferably monotone save for the occasional deviance in pitch. Wesper desperately wished his informant would invest in a more advanced voice box. But the Beak had insisted that more expressive models were easier to trace. Stolen story; please report. ¡°So, where¡¯s the boy in all this?¡± he asked, reclining in his leather armchair. ¡°At a safe house, although I don¡¯t know where. He will be at the meeting, though.¡± ¡°So that would be the best chance to snag him. Where are they holding the meeting?¡± The informant shuffled across the couch, looking around the otherwise empty apartment. ¡°They have not told me where. Apparently, I will be escorted on the day in an unmarked vehicle. This room''s not bugged, is it?¡± ¡°How should I know?¡± Wesper mused, grinning. ¡°I only occupied the building this week.¡± He watched as his informant began to fidget. Wesper knew that the apartment was not bugged. In fact, he could perceive every nook and cranny that attributed itself to the building¡¯s four walls. He could own a place in a truer sense than anyone else. ¡°I will get one of my men on it. All you need to do is take the car to the meeting, and we will handle the rest.¡± The Beak nodded, itching to leave. ¡°Thank you, brother. You have been most helpful.¡± ¡°Until the day utopia begins.¡± ¡°Until then.¡± The informant stood up and unwrinkled his trousers. He lowered his head to Wesper, who replied in turn before watching him leave. Wesper sighed as the door closed, leaving him with his own thoughts. He sunk into the chair, his favourite piece of Excalan furniture he had been lucky enough to buy at an antique sale. The rest of the room¡¯s furniture he had imported. With a whistle, the room began to vibrate. Entire sections of the floor flipped and revealed display sets of immaculate furnishings; their style alone trumping any aristocratic manor. A chandelier dangled from a trapdoor in the ceiling, and a mahogany writing desk occupied his front. The room completed itself with another doorway which rose from the floor and opened. The woman who walked through took a seat in front of him, flattening out her suit jacket as she sank. Shimmering albino eyes peered from underneath a light-brown fringe, and her posture remained immaculate. ¡°You¡¯re not getting rid of him?¡± she asked, her thin lips barely moving. ¡°No, I don¡¯t plan on it unless it¡¯s necessary to cover my tracks. How are you doing?¡± ¡°Money hungry as always. I heard you had a job for me.¡± ¡°Yes. Indeed I do,¡± Wesper said, whistling once more. The room changed again, shifting the woman¡¯s chair backwards and sinking his writing desk through a trapdoor. Wesper stood up as a sharp rectangular chasm opened in the room¡¯s centre. As he stood at the edge, a map table rose and filled the vacancy like a hand in a glove. The map of Excala City spanned across it, with locations already marked by redheaded pins. He took a blue pin resting on the desk and drove it into the map. ¡°This is my only certain location. My informant will be picked up from here in an unmarked car, and he will be driven somewhere, likely in one of the city¡¯s government districts,¡± he explained. He took a pen from his pocket and circled a small area in the City¡¯s heart, resting on the banks of the Alfante. ¡°Follow my informant in and capture the boy. When you do, I¡¯d appreciate it if you¡¯d take him here,¡± he said, pointing to a red pin outside the city¡¯s borders. ¡°I will be waiting here, yet if you can''t shake them for whatever reason, leave him at the house anyway.¡± ¡°You and your houses,¡± the woman¡¯s words complained. ¡°They eat people, don¡¯t they?¡± ¡°If you¡¯d like to put it that way,¡± Wesper replied, dipping into a pocket inside his beige suit. ¡°If you understand the assignment, I am willing to pay half now. What was it we agreed on?¡± ¡°Six hundred thousand Ixa.¡± ¡°Incorrect answer, but I will commend your attempt. Here,¡± he said, counting a hefty wad of notes, ¡°this should be two hundred and fifty thousand.¡± He handed it to the woman, who took her time in counting. ¡°All accounted for,¡± she said, swiftly rising from her seat. ¡°Pleasure,¡± Wesper smiled. The woman nodded and headed for the door. ¡°Do you like this world, Kepila?¡± The woman froze as she was pocketing her earnings. ¡°How do you know my name?¡± she muttered, refusing to meet his eyes. ¡°I heard from one of your colleagues; we¡¯re business partners with many of them.¡± ¡°Who¡¯s we?¡± Wesper chuckled. ¡°People you will be seeing more of soon enough. I hope you enjoy the rest of your day.¡± A narrow table ran down the venue¡¯s meridian, the hearing''s members seated on either side. Elvera had taken time out of ignoring formalities to size each diplomat up. Most of the party of sixteen looked terribly mean, too much to be simple politicians. Military people, most likely. Then again, military people were the government in Vesmos. ¡°¡ªand we are demanding his release into custody before the month is out,¡± the most official-looking of the bunch said before sitting down. Even if the man fit Elvera¡¯s image of a politician the best, his chiselled frame and swift movements despite his age told her all she needed to know. ¡°Thank you, ambassador,¡± the Prime Minister said, his age compared to the rest making him seem unfortunately out of place. ¡°Your grievances have been considered in our inquiry into the matter, and we will be sure to come to an agreeable conclusion.¡± The Prime Minister glanced toward her, a silent gesture signalling the discussion¡¯s next stage. ¡°However, we do have some questions regarding how the individual in question came to be in our custody,¡± he said, flipping through the small stack of pages. ¡°According to your testimonials, Mr Alis Harbourman was taken from your barracks unwillingly by terrorist forces and trafficked out of the country. This wildly differs from the testimony of the subject himself.¡± The Prime Minister landed on a page, flipping over the rest of the document. ¡°The subject has stated that¡ªthis is page thirty-two by the way¡ªhas stated he quote ¡®grew disillusioned with the Vesmos military leadership and the country¡¯s system as a whole during my training within the Experimental Weapons and Training Program,¡¯ end quote.¡± The opposing party did little more than stir at the evidence, and soon after, the same man spoke. ¡°We were prepared for such a scenario. The United Liberation of the Eastern Front¡¯s militia is notorious for coercing foreign support for their terrorist activities. Therefore, it is right to assume Private Harbourman is being coerced or blackmailed himself.¡± The man flipped through the papers in front of him, landing on a page and facing it toward the Prime Minister. ¡°In your report, it seems your people have come to a similar conclusion. ULEF is indeed using Harbourman as their pawn, and the information as a means of fuelling conflict.¡± ¡°Ambassador I would like to know your government¡¯s official position on the information Mr Harbourman has offered to share with us. Is it true, or is it false?¡± ¡°It is false, Prime Minister. A Private in a military school would not have any of the knowledge he claims to have.¡± The Prime Minister glanced at Elvera once more, and she received and replied to a silent transmission. ¡°If it is false, then is Vesmos allowing for a full assessment of this case? If his political asylum can be granted in a way that would align with an international tribunal, then it is fully in Geverde¡¯s rights to do so.¡± ¡°Because you would be playing a dangerous game, Prime Minister,¡± the Ambassador seethed. Elvera rolled her eyes; the insufferable attitude had almost taken too long to show itself. ¡°Valuable or not, a defector is still a defector, a matter which Vesmos takes with the utmost urgency. And do not forget, believing what he says is tantamount to siding with terrorists.¡± The Prime Minister sat back down, closing his folder. ¡°Very well. We will now bring the subject in for further testimonials if that suits you.¡± The ambassador nodded, turning his attention to the door at the end of the blank room. It opened, and Alis stepped through, once more flanked by two security members, one of whom held the red velvet jewellery tray. The jewels embedded in the brass caught the light brilliantly, no matter how dull and even. The entire tribunal seemed to fixate on their presence. ¡°Mr Harbourman, I¡¯d like to start with you restating your testimonial in confidence. This is an environment where your countrymen are here to watch over you, and forces of your nation stand right outside the door.¡± Alis looked to the Vesmos camp of the tribunal, his eyes flicking from one person to the next as if to tick off a mental checklist. He then inhaled, ready to speak as he glared directly down the centre of the table. ¡°I, Alistar Harbourman grew disillusioned with the Vesmos military leadership and the country¡¯s system as a whole during my training within the Experimental Weapons and Training Program. As a result, I defected of my own volition and escaped my barracks, where I met with members of ULEF, who directed me here.¡± ¡°And you can say that in full confidence?¡± the Prime Minister asked. ¡°Yes. Yes, I can.¡± ¡°Thank you, Alis.¡± Elvera caught a member of the Vesmos dignitary roll his eyes. It was an impractical ceremony, even Elvera knew that, yet practicality was never its intention. ¡°This proves nothing. The likelihood of blackmail or threatening¡ª¡± ¡°The Experimental Weapons and Training Program generally take applicants from disadvantaged positions,¡± Alis began. ¡°I do not have any immediate family, and I am not aware of any relatives. My orphanage was state-run, and I was selected from there.¡± His eyes turned to the man left of the ambassador, singling him out in particular. ¡°Isn¡¯t that right, Assistant Director of the Military Education Board, Mr Alan Truman?¡± The Vesmos half of the congressional stiffened, and the ambassador cleared his throat. ¡°By tomorrow, the Geverdian council will receive Vesmos¡¯s terms regarding the handover of the subject.¡± ¡°Do these terms resemble an ultimatum by any chance?¡± the Prime Minister interjected. ¡°These terms are grounds that we believe are acceptable for the subject to be released on. We will expect a full¡­where is he?¡± Chapter 13 Part 2: A Fake of a Fake The small white line moved. Despite the apparatus remaining still, it crawled from left to right ever so slowly. She lifted it off Evalyn¡¯s desk, aligned herself with the line, and ended up facing Excala City. Nothing suspicious there. He was attending a hearing, and by Iris''s guess, it was somewhere in the city at the very least. But it was moving. He wasn¡¯t stationary like he was supposed to be. ¡°Evalyn!¡± Iris called, running out of Evalyn¡¯s office clutching the ring. Her bare feet pattered against the floorboards until she reached the master bedroom and screeched to a halt. ¡°Evalyn!¡± ¡°What!¡± Evalyn echoed, clapping her book shut. ¡°The ring¡¯s moving,¡± Iris whispered at the pyjama-clad woman. ¡°How can you tell?¡± ¡°Because it¡¯s moving. Barely, but it is.¡± Evalyn hauled herself out of her bed, throwing the book onto her pillow as she walked over and crouched down. Her eyes level with the small beam, she squinted and analysed. She waited a few silent seconds as Iris began to doubt if she was seeing things. ¡°No, you¡¯re right,¡± Evalyn muttered, looking toward the clock at the end of the hallway. ¡°He shouldn¡¯t be in transit, not until late this afternoon.¡± Evalyn stood upright and strode to her office, with Iris hot in pursuit. She rounded the doorway and made a grab for the telephone receiver, but it rang before she could pick it up. ¡°Hello?¡± Iris could only overhear snippets of distorted conversation, but it did not take much of her intellect to guess the words. Evalyn nodded, listening in silence. ¡°The ring¡¯s still with us. We¡¯re on it.¡± She slammed the receiver back onto the switch hook and turned around. ¡°That was Elvera. Don¡¯t bother getting dressed; we need to hurry.¡± ¡°Okay.¡± ¡°And don¡¯t lose the ring.¡± ¡°Okay.¡± Evalyn disappeared into the office, returning with her usual two armaments. She strapped the sidearm holster to her shoulder and tucked an extra magazine in her waistline. Evalyn took Iris by the hand and dragged her outside as Iris struggled to fit the ring onto one of her fingers. They stepped onto the pillowy grass with bare feet, and Evalyn¡¯s markings began to shine. ¡°Act Three: Subtext.¡± Her armour sprang into being, wrapping itself gleefully around her and tightening her silhouette. Even without focusing, the aura around Evalyn was far stronger than last time. The armour was sapping an exorbitant quantity of Aether from the surroundings, something Iris sensed as a surge of energy. It felt familiar, for better or for worse. She could control herself, for now. ¡°Show me the ring.¡± Iris held her hand up to Evalyn, her visor¡¯s eyes beaming a brilliant gold. Evalyn held her hand out in the same fashion. ¡°A bigger version of that ring would be nicer,¡± she said. Not long after, a golden light streamed forward from Evalyn¡¯s hand like a compass needle. ¡°Once I use this much of my power, turns out I can copy some weak magical properties if I¡¯m near them. Nothing complex, but if I can make something elastic or flammable, I can make my own tracker.¡± She aligned herself with the needle and crouched, slinging her rifle over her shoulder. ¡°Get on my back, Iris.¡± Iris did as she was told and climbed on, her heart skipping a beat when Evalyn rose to her full height. She stuck the beam hand forward, and Iris felt her whole body rise another few centimetres. Evalyn bent her knees and put a single leg forward as golden matter shot out from the bottom of her soles. It flattened the ground underneath, propelling them forward faster and faster and faster. With every slight movement of the needle, Evalyn adjusted herself as fields of green sped past them. Fences turned into nothing but brown streaks, and trees into nothing more than their simplest shapes. They were at least a metre off the ground, the current of gold underneath surging like rockets. Iris could only see herself moving as fast as a car on a country road. Yet when the ground flew under her feet, and the wind assaulted her face, she could not help but hang on for dear life. They rapidly approached the first road in kilometres, unpaved except for two parallel absences of grass. The needle turned, following the road away from the city. Evalyn turned to pursue, but the road was clear as far as either of them could see. No wheels were kicking up dust, and nothing disturbed the grass other than the wind. Iris focused forward, scanning the road for anything pulling any amount of Aether. Not a peep. There weren¡¯t even any grazing Spirits to speak of. Iris let her hair dissipate and formed a rod with an outstretched hand. She extended it longer and longer, going further whenever she felt she had gone far enough. She stopped and with one movement, waved it from left to right. It struck something, something hard the size of a car. ¡°There¡¯s something there.¡± Bullets whizzed from thin air, pinging off Evalyn¡¯s armour. She erected a barrier with her off hand as more shots rained down on them. The silent gunfire persisted alarmingly fast, barraging them with several bullets a second. ¡°A fucking SMG?!¡± Evalyn shouted. ¡°For fuck¡¯s sake, if we could go one job without a Witch or Wizard.¡± Evalyn surged forward as the gunfire continued. ¡°It felt like a car! If you attack it wrong, you might hurt Alis!¡± ¡°I know! All we can do is wait until they run out of ammo!¡± The bullets kept coming, but Iris noticed she could see no muzzle flash nor hear any gunfire. No dust, no disturbance. It was as though it did not exist until something touched it and confirmed its existence. Almost like she could not notice it. ¡°The fuck is that?!¡± Iris looked to the horizon, and a castle greeted her instead. Standing tens of metres tall, its great walls were hewn from sandstone and tiered into increasingly smaller levels. Like an ancient temple, it stood with the promise of something divine at its apex. Grand carvings and hanging gardens beckoned them inside. Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit. They quickly approached the castle as the car¡¯s exhaust began to sound, and the body¡¯s dull grey painted the two pursuers a visible target. ¡°Can you tell if Alis is in there?¡± Evalyn asked. ¡°I don¡¯t know! Just follow it!¡± The great, steel grid at the castle¡¯s base cranked open, and the car sped inside. Evalyn surged forward, and Iris rallied her power into two colossal hands. They extended from the ground and met the closing gate, forcing it to stay open. The gate pushed back against the palms, rebelling against Iris¡¯s own strength and bearing down on her body. She was not supposed to feel her magic; the castle was not supposed to exist. The hands barely held, and the castle gates made swift progress at crushing them back into the ground. It wouldn¡¯t hold, not for much longer. Evalyn tore Iris from her back and held her close to her chest as she slid through the narrow gap Iris¡¯s pillars had given them. The gate slammed shut behind them, sending reverberations up their spine and chattering their jaws. Iris dared to open an eye and look around. The castle ceiling had kept its material make on the inside; an arching auditorium, like an aircraft hangar. Red carpeted sandstone tiers flanked their left and right, each lined with blazing torches. A lone pier sat at the end of the room, reaching off into a mysterious water. They got on their feet, examining the room. Evalyn¡¯s eyes fell on the water at the far side of the room. ¡°There¡¯s no body of water that big around here, let alone a castle.¡± ¡°It¡¯s him, isn¡¯t it?¡± Iris muttered. ¡°Looks like it; I don¡¯t know what he¡¯d want with Alis, though.¡± Iris took the lead as they strode through the room, Evalyn scanning elsewhere for signs of danger. Iris stepped onto the pier, but it did not creak like she expected. She stomped on it but felt none of the reflexivity wood ordinarily had. Even her footsteps felt less hollow than they were meant to be. ¡°A boat¡¯s recently left here,¡± Evalyn said. ¡°They didn¡¯t take the rope with them. ¡°Do you think they went that way?¡± ¡°Who knows? If it is one of Wesper¡¯s hangouts, then I don¡¯t know when the floor might drop out from under us.¡± Iris glanced around at the silent chasm, its walls wordlessly threatening unimaginable deaths. ¡°He knows we¡¯re here, doesn¡¯t he?¡± ¡°And he probably knows who we are by now,¡± she uttered, turning to the indiscernible blackness surrounding the stagnant river. It was as though the only glow came from the water itself. ¡°I can¡¯t overwhelm it with my Mind Palace; it must be tethered like last time. You remember what I taught you, right?¡± ¡°Yeah,¡± Iris said. She hovered a foot above the water and crafted a small platform, enough for both her feet to stand on. She stepped forward, uneasy about the water¡¯s murkiness. ¡°I don¡¯t know how fast I can move like this,¡± she said, conscious of every step she took. ¡°If you fall, I¡¯ll catch you. Once this is done, I need to teach you how to swim,¡± Evalyn said as her armour began to shimmer, the water¡¯s surface gleefully playing with its light. ¡°Act Two: Character.¡± It was a trick Iris had seen before. Buoyancy; another physical attribute Evalyn could cheat at will. ¡°How many more acts are there?¡± ¡°I¡¯ve shown you one, two, three, and five. I guess four and six?¡± ¡°Why did you divide them?¡± ¡°I didn¡¯t. I could do different things by exerting more magic, so I just gave them names. Makes them easier to do if I give them names. Come on, let¡¯s make pace,¡± she said, striding across the water. Their trek began, Evalyn looking forward as Iris took one tentative step after another. Eventually, watching her feet as she walked became more of a detriment than a precaution, so she looked forward. A faint, fairylike glow coloured their path, emanating from deep within the black water. The blackness was bent, somehow. No contours revealed themselves, but the glow''s path was not straight. It followed a curve. One foot forward, another foot, and then the other. Iris made the mistake of looking down, throwing herself off rhythm and tripping over herself. She fell forward, but her platform extended to account for her whole body by instinct. ¡°Are you all right?¡± Evalyn asked, running over. Iris pushed herself up and sat upright, her heart refusing to calm itself down. She peered into the water, unsure if the shapes moving in them were more than just her mind playing tricks. She looked forward, finally starting to see a faint glow at the end of the turn. ¡°Let¡¯s hurry,¡± she said. ¡°Hold my hand.¡± Iris stood, willing her knees to stop quivering, and took Evalyn¡¯s hand. They started forward, the walls of the darkness becoming narrower as they went. The end of their path glowed brighter until the water abruptly ended, but not at a pier. ¡°It¡¯s the hallway.¡± The same hallway that brought shape to her mind, and whatever remnants of her life past still festered. It was there, in form only. The light was not sickly, unnervingly even. The colour of the carpet did not eagerly replicate the same shade of blood red. The walls were stained, stained in such a way that suggested someone or something had traversed it once before. If the hallway in Iris¡¯s mind was such a farce, then the hallway before Iris¡¯s eyes was trying too hard to be real. They stepped into the hallway together, and Iris noticed the carpet was marginally softer. None of the same bristling, like a worn-out toothbrush. It was a fake¡ªa fake of a fake. ¡°I am deeply sorry for dragging you two all the way out here,¡± a disembodied voice echoed. ¡°It really was not my intention.¡± Wesper¡¯s voice. ¡°Where¡¯s the boy?¡± Evalyn hissed. ¡°He¡¯s all right. I¡¯ve been asked to hold onto him as part of a job.¡± ¡°Did you kidnap him?¡± ¡°God no, I wouldn¡¯t know the first thing about it. The culprit is long gone now, although you wouldn¡¯t have noticed. That¡¯s her magic, see.¡± Wesper materialised in front of them, unchanged from their last meeting. Out of Iris¡¯s periphery, she saw Evalyn¡¯s handgun slip through her gauntlet. ¡°Evalyn, wait!¡± Evalyn squeezed the trigger, unloading the magazine into Wesper. She shot over and over until squeezing the trigger granted her nothing more than a metallic click. Wesper stayed standing. ¡°Finished?¡± Evalyn¡¯s armour began to glow, the heat tingling at Iris¡¯s skin and the pull of Aether robbing Iris of clear vision. She could feel it again, even if it was a fraction of what it was before. That rush of energy, the same surge of crazed freedom, like her heart was flying. This time, she felt offence in place of glee. She had been mocked. The hallway. It was pathetic. Weak. ¡°Hey!¡± Wesper shouted, throwing his hands in the air. ¡°I don¡¯t want a fight, Wishbearer.¡± ¡°Give him back, Wesper, and we won¡¯t have to fight.¡± ¡°If you hear me out first.¡± ¡°How do you know this place.¡± Iris¡¯s cold mutter cut dismembered the discourse in an instant. She did not know what she was saying, the abruptness made her words feel foreign. The two adults turned to her. ¡°How do you know this place.¡± Wesper smiled, ¡°Because you¡¯re sheltering something here, fledgeling. Shelter happens to be my¡­speciality.¡± ¡°The Spirit of Shelter,¡± Iris heard from nearby, although who it was remained only vaguely familiar. She could only see him, it. The body standing before her, mocking her creation, her sacred sanctum. ¡°You cannot kill me here; my body and my life are elsewhere. You are under my control here, and I want to make that clear to you.¡± Arrogant words. Arrogant words coming from such a small rabbit, hopping gleefully between conversations. It took her creation and desecrated it. No, she would decide when things were to be destroyed. Wesper looked around, finally aware of his lacking product. ¡°Although¡­I sense I¡¯m no longer in control of this area.¡± The carpet¡¯s fabric grew stiff, the lighting nauseating, the walls flimsy, and the stains vague in their origin. She could feel it, the stagnant air that seemed to sap the life from her pores. The first two doors in the sequence opened, one leading to cold death, the other to pure death. The eyes behind Wesper¡¯s eyes shone with dull light, his magic attempting to take hold of the situation. ¡°Die.¡± The copy¡¯s limbs twisted, fake flesh contorting around fake bone, until everything blew apart in a shower of fake red. The disparity between real and copy blood was only exemplified by the deep crimson of the carpet. ¡°Iris!¡± she heard from beside her. ¡°Iris!¡± She needed to find something. What it was she could not remember, she could not care. It was somewhere in the building, another elaborate fake. She could see it all, layers upon layers of magic, built-in and squeezed into nothing more than an abandoned garden shed. What she was looking for was right in front of them, but space folded inward infinitely. Running forward would net her no results. She would kill it. She would destroy the magic. She raised her hands, conjoining her wrists in a diagonal cross above her head. The purple line drew itself on the ground, and the dome seeped from it and completed itself above her head. The purple was brilliant, shining, oozing magic that dripped from it, itching to destroy everything around her. The physical, the magical, it was all at her mercy. She twisted her wrists, and the dome ruptured outward, clearing anything and everything in its path. She could not see the utter decimation, but she could feel it. She could sense it like some innate instinct, the only thing she could really feel she was born with, the only semblance of self she knew to be truth and nothing less. Then she saw his face. Unconscious, helpless, lying on his side like he had just fallen asleep. She was there for a reason; to find him. Not some indiscriminate ruination, she was there for a purpose¡­wasn¡¯t she? Interlude: Returning home "Have Evalyn and Elly ever fought before?" "Fought? Once, I think. Why do you want to know?" "They seem too lovey-dovey sometimes. It doesn''t feel like normal couple behaviour." "How would you know what a married couple is supposed to act like?" "Intuition." "Where''d you learn that word from, Iris?" "You said it when you were talking about catching those bad guys." "The moles? When did you hear me say that?" "My room is right next to the office, and you talk on the phone loudly." "...well they''ve only fought once as far as I can remember. I can''t believe Evalyn tells me some of this stuff. It''s sad, realising your goddaughter has no friends she can gossip with so she does it with you." "She can''t say most of the stuff to regular friends." "She could this time. He kept nagging her about how frugal she was with her money and she told him to zip it. She grew up rich and didn''t want to live up to that stereotype again." "But she''s not rich now." "...how cheap do you think government contracts are?" "I don''t know, but our house is small and we don''t have a car." "See, that''s what Elliot was complaining about." "I didn''t know he was greedy." "He''s not greedy...okay maybe a teensy bit. Oh...." Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere. "Oh?" "There was that other time. It only happened once, so it wasn''t all that memorable. Evalyn asked him to quit being a pilot." "...she what?" "I know right?! I still can''t believe it now." "What happened?" "Well, a few years back Geverde was involved with a peacekeeping operation in a northwest country trying to resolve a civil war. The detachments were all coming back one day, filing one by one through Excala station. People were waving and clapping and flying flags. Elliot had wanted to go watch and Evalyn went with him, but she was sour the whole time apparently." "She didn''t like people celebrating about it, did she?" "...wow, you really are her daughter." "Huh?" "Anyway, like you said, she couldn''t stand to see a parade thrown by the same state that had sent soldiers to their death. It was a peacekeeping operation, Geverde''s main goal in it all was probably political influence, racking up an ''I-owe-you'' with that country. She could stomach the fact lives were being thrown away for that, but not the celebration. So that day, she asked Elliot to quit the Air Force." "Why?" "She was afraid the same would happen to him. He''d come home in a wooden box and a medal to replace his presence. I, on the other hand, was afraid what''d happen to whoever killed him." "She''d tear their entire country to shreds." "Probably. But Elliot resisted, saying that he wouldn''t throw away the other half of his life all for her. They promised each other that they''d protect each other, watch each other''s backs. She was the reason he flew, and he was the reason she fought. In his eyes, she was prepared to throw that promise away." "What happened?" "They didn''t talk for a few days, which is when she came whining to me." "What did you say?" "I told her she was an idiot. A guy like Elliot wouldn''t throw away his home away from home just because his wife can protect them both. And, I had to admit, a guy like him wasn''t going to come home in a wooden box anytime soon." "He''s good, isn''t he?" "Yeah...but he isn''t superhuman. Coming from a demigod like her, I guess I could see why she thought it was okay to ask him something like that. He was half her family, the man she''d kill the world for." "What happened then?" "What do you expect? It''s Evalyn. She went straight home from my house and apologised all teary and snotty. He forgave her, and they compromised. That''s why Elliot''s a flight instructor now for the most part. He''s the best in Special Operations, so he ends up being deployed when it''s necessary. But yeah, that''s where that comes from. Before Evalyn meddled, he was the top gun of the Air Superiority squadrons." "So they do fight." "Yeah, what do you expect? They were young back then, they''re still pretty young now. No one''s got it figured out at twenty eight and thirty." "Which one''s older?" "Elliot''s thirt¡ªhang on, you forgot this?" "When''s their birthdays? I don''t remember." Chapter 13 Part 3: Knocking at the Border Her vision fluttered. The darkness around the blue sky slowly peeled apart as she felt the hardwood against the back of her head. ¡°You okay?¡± she heard. The same voice as before, except now she could remember who it was. She turned and found that kind face and striking hair, the marking soft against her skin. ¡°It¡¯s only been a few minutes.¡± Evalyn sat cross-legged, her rifle barrel against her shoulder and buttstock propped against the ground. By now, Iris knew her guardian¡¯s weapon intimately. It had not been fired; its chamber remained dormant. The matter had been concluded by her own hands, or rather whatever was controlling them. ¡°I went crazy again.¡± ¡°Yeah, you did,¡± Evalyn admitted, glancing around at the bits and pieces of the decimated shed. ¡°Destroyed Wesper¡¯s magic along with the building it was tethered to. But that didn¡¯t kill him.¡± It didn¡¯t. Wesper was not that easy to kill, and in a way, Iris was relieved. ¡°Why did you try to stop me?¡± Evalyn asked. She did not turn to face Iris. ¡°Why did you tell me to wait?¡± ¡°There¡¯s people in his Mind Palace,¡± Iris croaked. ¡°I don¡¯t know what¡¯ll happen if I kill him.¡± Evalyn¡¯s eyes narrowed, and she gripped her gun¡¯s barrel tighter. Iris watched her, a worrying realisation dawning on her. ¡°Why did you shoot.¡± ¡°¡­.¡± ¡°Evalyn, why did you shoot?¡± ¡°Because Wesper is dangerous. You can¡¯t beat him without killing him; that sort of stuff only happens in fiction.¡± ¡°But those people in there¡ª¡± ¡°Don¡¯t exist, Iris. No names, no date of birth, no family or lives outside his Mind Palace. Wesper is god to them. If he treats them as nothing but domesticated animals, then they can''t be more than that." ¡°But you can¡¯t say something like that!¡± ¡°I¡¯ve killed real people for what I care about, Iris.¡± Evalyn finally looked at her. ¡°I¡¯ve killed people with friends, family, memories and ambitions for what I love. I¡¯ve killed hopes and dreams, people who may have changed the world, all for my own gain.¡± The kind face was not so gentle anymore. Iris was well aware of her guardian¡¯s life, even sharing it in part herself. But when said so plainly, like the light in her hallway that revealed ugly truths, her words did not sugarcoat anything. ¡°If we somehow saved those people in there? What do you think would happen to them? Geverde and Sidos are not large countries, and there¡¯s no telling how many are in there.¡± She racked the bolt of her rifle backwards and removed each bullet one by one. ¡°Both countries combined can take no more than half a million refugees a year. Yet for all we know, we could give them double that in an instant.¡± She pocketed the bullets in her trench coat and lay her rifle on the floor. ¡°If he were to have that many, then those who can¡¯t be cared for would be expelled. They¡¯d end up in poverty, probably on the slave trade in the end. What can you say we¡¯ve done then?¡± Iris could say nothing. Evalyn could see it. After a battle usually followed a moment of vulnerability between the two, but a cold tension froze any sign of affection from either. Evalyn looked like she wanted to say something, materialise the festering thoughts into concrete words. But what could be said could never be unsaid. Their eyes met, and Evalyn gave a wry smile that lasted no more than a second. ¡°If the chance ever arises, we can only hope the number is manageable.¡± Evalyn would forever confuse her. The self-proclaimed hypocrite, whose capacity for cruelty was unimaginably vast, was still somehow human. The hope that she could save even a fraction of the life she took remained somewhere in her autumnal eyes. Killing for herself and for her own life, never looking for redemption yet wishing she could attain it. No, that wasn¡¯t right. A woman like Evalyn wouldn¡¯t believe in redemption. But if Iris found herself with her finger on the trigger, could she keep to her wish? Or would she follow her erasing of the F.S.A. with the destruction of their purpose? ¡°Where¡¯s Alis,¡± Iris blurted, the thought returning to her clouded consciousness as fast as her anxiety. ¡°Check your ring.¡± Iris raised her hand to her face, and the needle pointed directly left. She turned and found him, bloodstains down the side of his head but otherwise unharmed. ¡°Must¡¯ve been struck hard, so he¡¯ll have to be checked for a concussion.¡± Iris sat up and licked her thumb. She held his head in one hand, and with the other, she wiped away the dried blood. She kept on going, clearing his skin of blood as though she was healing some wound. She could hear breathing, but she wanted to hear him talking like he had before. She wanted to hear him talk again. ¡°Iris.¡± She felt Evalyn¡¯s hand caress her head. ¡°I¡¯ve checked him. He¡¯ll be alright.¡± ¡°He¡¯s just trying to help people¡­why does he have to get hurt.¡± ¡°He has to get hurt because he¡¯s saving people. He¡¯ll get himself hurt, and he¡¯ll get others hurt. That¡¯s the cost of trying to do what he¡¯s doing.¡± Evalyn pulled Iris into her chest and hugged her gently. ¡°It¡¯s not that I don¡¯t like him. I just don¡¯t want you to become his collateral damage.¡± ¡°I want to help him.¡± Evalyn chuckled and squeezed her shoulder. ¡°Help him when you¡¯re strong enough to guarantee your safety. Then I¡¯ll allow it.¡± Iris closed her eyes, grateful she could feel her mother¡¯s warmth for the moment. The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings. ¡°And put the ring somewhere else. Some other finger.¡± ¡°Why?¡± ¡°That one¡¯s reserved for marriage.¡± ¡°Speaking of marriage, aren¡¯t you married sir?¡± ¡°We weren¡¯t even talking, Officer, who the hell starts a conversation like that?¡± ¡°A maintenance crew buddy and I were talking about marriage certification. I''m thinking of popping the question soon.¡± ¡°Oh, congrats,¡± Elliot said, patting the young pilot on the shoulder from the back seat. By now, a routine exercise for Elliot and one of his students, Flying Officer James Crowley, took place above the ocean. Roughly thirty klicks from Excala harbour lay the edge of Geverde¡¯s territorial waters. Although ordinarily a Navy pilot¡¯s domain, Special Operations had clearance to train for and operate in a variety of situations. The young pilot chuckled through the radio set in his helmet; a clear violation of communications etiquette. Yet Elliot¡¯s students all shared such a lax respect for the rules, at least in his presence. His own disobedience had no small part to play in it. He would teach a generation, much to Elvera¡¯s despair. ¡°So I was wondering, sir, how did the process go for you?¡± ¡°Uh¡­how do I explain?¡± Elliot pondered. ¡°You know how marital contracts used to be a little more serious?¡± ¡°Soul binding contracts, yeah¡­you didn¡¯t use one of those on your wife, did you?¡± ¡°¡­it¡¯s really not as bad as it sounds¡ª¡± ¡°Sir!¡± ¡°Listen! My god, you kids!¡± Elliot scolded, hitting the pilot across the helmet. ¡°Desperate times called for desperate measures. There wasn¡¯t any other way to guarantee her happiness.¡± ¡°Was this during the war, sir?¡± ¡°Yep.¡± ¡°Ah. I¡¯ll take your word for it then,¡± he said, going silent. "Even if she doesn''t seem like the type of woman who needs that sort of help." "Call it meddling on my part then," Elliot huffed. The pilot laughed. Elliot side-eyed him. He could hear the uneasiness over the radio in his helmet. ¡°Make sure your ass doesn¡¯t have to do the same. Be a good boy, and go to the town hall and pick up a certificate, and don¡¯t spread any rumours.¡± ¡°Aw, come on sir.¡± ¡°I will pull the eject lever.¡± ¡°Shit¡­.¡± ¡°¡­that was pretty serious. I was joking¡ª¡± ¡°No, look at that.¡± Elliot craned his neck and tried to peer over the aircraft¡¯s wings. ¡°Angle it a little; I can¡¯t see over the wings.¡± His student did as he asked. ¡°¡­you¡¯ve got to be fucking kidding me.¡± ¡°Those aren¡¯t ours. What do we do, sir?¡± ¡°Turn it around. They¡¯ll see the red wing stripes and know it¡¯s a training aircraft. Just stay calm and turn it around.¡± Elliot watched keenly as his student eased on the yoke and reversed their heading. ¡°Call it in.¡± Crowley pressed a button on his radio panel, switching on his communication with the Steel Whale. ¡°This is Officer in Training James Crowley with Senior Captain Elliot Maxwell. Does Steel Whale ATC, copy? Several unknown Navy class vessels spotted along Geverde territorial waters. I repeat, several unknown Navy class vessels spotted along Geverde territorial waters.¡± Iris found herself again eavesdropping from the living room. Laid out in front of her was an unfinished worksheet from a literature textbook, yet her pen had not moved for a while. ¡°They¡¯ve refused the existence of an entire fleet, only saying it was a battleship and two frigates returning from a routine exercise,¡± Elvera explained from Evalyn¡¯s office desk, sifting through a stack of documents. As they spoke, the Magicopy continued to vomit one after another. ¡°If they¡¯re not denying a battleship, then they want to show off,¡± Evalyn concluded, sitting beside Elvera. ¡°What¡¯re they saying about the Wesper incident? He said it was for a job; it could¡¯ve been the ambassador.¡± ¡°Can¡¯t have been. The bureaucrats we¡¯re working against are just as flustered as ours. Would¡¯ve been someone else in Vesmos, probably higher up the military chain of command.¡± ¡°Either way,¡± Evalyn sighed, standing up and stretching, ¡°we now have both sides blaming each other and fucking warships on the border.¡± ¡°It¡¯s a game of attrition. Whoever breaks under pressure first loses.¡± The two women went silent, fermenting in their thoughts. ¡°Marie, I¡¯m going to use the telephone if that¡¯s all right. I want to check in with Elly.¡± ¡°Sure,¡± Elvera said, standing and walking to the door. ¡°I need a break anyway.¡± She exited the office, closing it behind her with a quick smile at Evalyn. She exhaled, and her shoulders visibly relaxed. Her eyes met Iris, and she grinned wryly. ¡°You sure you don¡¯t need rest? Surely Evalyn will let you off the hook today.¡¯ ¡°I¡¯m just bored, and designing armour isn¡¯t going anywhere.¡± Elvera walked over and stood behind Iris¡¯s chair, resting her arms on it. ¡°Still having trouble?¡± ¡°Yeah.¡± Elvera rustled Iris¡¯s hair and smiled. ¡°You¡¯re always so serious.¡± She floated to the kitchen, opened the FrostBox, and began to search its shelves. ¡°I know how important it is to plan ahead better than anyone,¡± she said, dragging a half-unwrapped bar of chocolate out of the fridge. She snapped a block of four from it. ¡°But there¡¯s a difference between planning and overthinking.¡± She tried to snap the tight block of four but struggled, even when bringing her full strength to bear. ¡°Iris!¡± she chirped, throwing the chocolate at her. Iris could not see it until it was too late for her hands to make the distance. Her hair dissipated, and a purple wire caught it instead. The wire snapped the chocolate and tossed one half back the way it came. ¡°What were you thinking just then?¡± she asked, throwing her half into her mouth. ¡°Nothing.¡± ¡°What about when you were fighting those Vesmos thugs?¡± ¡°That I needed to protect Alis.¡± ¡°And what about yesterday?¡± ¡°That I¡­that wasn¡¯t me.¡± ¡°Well, what were they thinking?¡± ¡°I don¡¯t know. They were angry and wanted everything to die.¡± Elvera nodded, circling back around to the dining table. She took a seat next to Iris and faced her. No matter how casual her manner of speaking or how pastel her skirt and t-shirt were, a glint of authority never seemed to leave her face. ¡°There¡¯s a level of trust you need to put into anything to make it work, you know?¡± she said, brushing her black hair over her shoulder. ¡°Elliot said the same thing. Said I need to trust that I can control it.¡± ¡°Easy for him to say,¡± Elvera chuckled. ¡°Best damn pilot south of the Chain Ridge putting his trust in that fighter with that crew? No offense to him, but he¡¯s quite lucky in that aspect.¡± ¡°He said that too.¡± Elvera crossed her arms and pondered. ¡°Thing is, Iris, I¡¯ve worked with assholes before. The gung-ho kind and the limp di¡ª¡­weak-willed kind. Whether it be with a raised voice or forced kindness, either way, it¡¯s always been quickest to put my own foot forward.¡± Knowing her philosophy made Elvera¡¯s demeanour all the more understandable. Iris had never seen Elvera in her element, but she was more than convinced Elvera would trounce at commanding an operation. But asserting herself against another human was easier to picture than asserting herself against¡­that. Whatever that was. Stepping forward. Was it really that easy? The door to Evalyn¡¯s apartment swung open, and she waddled out, scratching the back of her neck and grumbling. ¡°What did he say?¡± Elvera asked. ¡°There¡¯s rumours that the Navy is being put on high alert. Standoffs on the high seas, apparently.¡± ¡°Where¡¯d he hear that from?¡± ¡°Navy pilot he met on an exchange. They¡¯re sending scouts in the air every hour now.¡± She walked to the kitchen and filled a glass of water. ¡°Stuff like this is how wars start, Iris. We have to start thinking what¡¯s going to happen to us if the worst occurs.¡± She swigged the water and placed the glass down, her hand ruminating on the action. ¡°We need to figure out how to get you out of fighting.¡± An uncomfortable weight draped over the room, gently squeezing Iris¡¯s throat. ¡°Why would Vesmos be doing all of that?¡± Iris asked. ¡°To raise tensions, intimidate us into thinking twice,¡± Elvera answered. ¡°Common tactic in strong-arm negotiations.¡± The pieces didn¡¯t match no matter how Iris turned them. ¡°Why is Wesper trying to catch Alis now?¡± ¡°What do you mean?¡± Evalyn asked. ¡°I thought they sent ambassadors and ships because they couldn¡¯t get him back quietly. Why is Wesper still trying?¡± Evalyn¡¯s face perked up at Iris¡¯s revelation. ¡°If they wanted to overwhelm us through negotiation, why would they muddy the waters with a kidnapping in broad daylight?¡± she mumbled. ¡°It¡¯s got to be war,¡± Elvera butted in. ¡°If Wesper''s working for Vesmos, their main tactic to retrieve Alis is still Wesper. They know they can¡¯t force us to negotiate with guns we already match, so they haven¡¯t been trying. Whoever employed Wesper wants Alis back, but whoever sent the ships wants to use it to provoke war. A divide in the Army and Navy, perhaps?¡± ¡°Either way,¡± Evalyn said, slumping into a chair across from Iris, ¡°it could mean that Wesper''s failing will deter his employer from trying to get him back. If the Experimental Weapons whatever gives up, then the Navy has no excuse to stay.¡± She leaned forward, eyeing Iris with an intensely bitter sincerity. ¡°It could mean that killing Wesper could mean stopping the escalation.¡± Chapter 13 Part 4: For What its Worth ¡°It¡¯s not like you to fail, Wesper.¡± ¡°Oh, come now, everyone¡¯s got their darkest hour, don¡¯t they?¡± Wesper heard his comrade humph over the phone as he twirled his finger around the cord. He had his feet kicked up on his desk, and his chair creaked with each forward and backward sway of his body. ¡°The empire is already using it as an excuse for war, and they''re getting awfully antsy about it.¡± ¡°I heard it on the radio today. An entire fleet is ballsy, don¡¯t you think?¡± Wesper noted, leaning out of the window of his exhibition apartment. ¡°They¡¯re already flying barrage balloons across the city. At least, I think they are. That¡¯s what I heard.¡± ¡°I¡¯d much rather you conclude this quickly, whether with your success or failure. If you throw your hands up now, the unit will give up this pursuit. We can avoid this.¡± ¡°I''ll get it done soon. The Wishbearer got in the way last time, that¡¯s all.¡± ¡°If she¡¯s involved in this, then that¡¯s all the more reason to quit while you¡¯re ahead. A job like this isn¡¯t worth the disruption.¡± ¡°Oh right, yeah. It¡¯s a little too early for war according to your book, isn¡¯t it?¡± ¡°Our book. You¡¯ve got as much stake in this as I do, Wesper.¡± Wesper stood up from his chair and picked up the telephone body, swinging it as he paced around the room. ¡°Sure I do, but if an opportunity presents itself, I¡¯ll take it. Who cares who does at it as long as it comes?¡± ¡°You speak like there is an opportunity now. If you think the Wishbearer is of any use to us, then you¡¯re only going to get yourself killed.¡± A mirror rose from the floor in the centre of Wesper¡¯s office, reflecting an image he could not see. Only a vague, outdated idea of what he presented to the outside world remained. What would it look like? His child self all grown up? Perhaps the scars were still there, all over his body. ¡°A day ahead of schedule is a day saved, friend. Don¡¯t take me as someone who would dare waste that.¡± He heard his comrade scoff over the phone. ¡°If you''re hiding something, I¡¯d rather you tell me now.¡± ¡°Nothing, friend. Nothing. I¡¯ll conclude the matter in the next few days; the boy will be handed over to Vesmos.¡± ¡°Experimental Weapons never expected things to escalate so far. They¡¯ve given you the permission to kill if capture is deemed unrealistic.¡± ¡°Rodger Rodger.¡± Wesper heard the phone line cut from the other end and put the receiver down before the operator could get a word in. He placed the telephone on his desk, and the bell clanked as it hit the hardwood. He turned toward the mirror, the blank sheen in the centre of the room. No matter how hard he focused, its gift of reflection remained elusive to his remaining four senses. This Wishbearer¡¯s famed power remained to be seen. Arguably, it was the only reason he was still alive. Seeing her exert her full capabilities would spell his death; his comrade was more than correct about that. No, the girl was far more valuable. The power she commanded was just as dangerous but leagues more destructive. Destruction was its very nature. It was what he was looking for, his ulterior motive. Two birds with one stone was an apt way of describing his plans, but by now, the first had only become the means for the second. The two nations could go to war that second for all he cared. The end was in sight already. He heard a timid knock come from the door. The thoughts running around his head had only deafened his senses further. He reopened his mind and the building came to him¡ªevery crack, crevice and unannounced visitor. It was the mole, one of his comrades in Geverde¡¯s Council. With two taps of his left foot, his prized antiques began to sink into the floor and retreat through the walls. The walls swallowed the furniture before sealing together like a child¡¯s block puzzle. The silent shifting abruptly ended, and everything fell into place. Wesper stood in an empty room, save for two half-rotten armchairs. ¡°Come in,¡± he called warmly, sinking into the cushion. The Beak creaked the door open, clutching his briefcase like a beggar. He bowed to Wesper, who once again repeated the gesture. ¡°Take a seat.¡± ¡°Sir¡ª¡± ¡°Please, friend. We are nothing but comrades. What are you here to discuss?¡± ¡°I¡¯ve heard from the Council that the asset has moved again, although I can¡¯t be sure where.¡± ¡°I assumed that they¡¯d do something along those lines. Not to worry, I¡¯ve made sure that the asset will come to me.¡± The Beak nodded slowly, unsure what Wesper meant by his words or even if he wanted to be involved. He spoke up once more. ¡°The Council is moving predictably to the threats from Vesmos. They¡¯ve moved to bunker down the harbour and mobilise the Navy into defensive positions. Negotiations are taking a turn for the worse, and it seems that dialogue has resorted to accusations and petty threats.¡± Wesper nodded. The information was useless besides what he had already figured out himself. Details would come if he asked for them; that was likely what the briefcase was for. But it was no longer worth the effort. ¡°What of your identity? Have you been made?¡± The informant¡¯s eyes shifted left to right, perhaps looking for the non-existent bugs that made him so paranoid. He leaned forward as if whispering was going to do him any good. ¡°There¡¯s no way to say for certain, but the crackdown is closing in on me. I don¡¯t know how much longer I can keep this up.¡± Wesper nodded, pretending to take the information with some level of sincerity and concern. He was well aware of it ever since he had focused his mind back on the building. Someone from somewhere had been paying too much attention to his dwelling. It was as if two sets of eyes were drilling into the back of his neck. Only panic would ensue if he told the informant he was being tailed. At worst, it would cause the coward to give himself up and spill his guts. The Beak had already been spotted entering the apartment, but loose ends needed to be cut. Wesper would have to bid the building and his incognito status goodbye if the Beak was never seen leaving. ¡°Times like these are dangerous. Considering the circumstances, Geverde might be more liberal with their arrests of suspects. Continuing these interactions would be of significant risk to either of us. How about this?¡± Wesper stood and brushed off the backside of his trousers. ¡°I have contacts with Vesmos; contacts that would happily treat you like royalty if you give everything up. You¡¯ll stay with them until you are needed once more. How does that sound?¡± The informant shook his head. ¡°I¡¯m a Beak; why would they allow that?¡± The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation. ¡°You don¡¯t have to live in the country itself, and I have enough leverage to keep you alive. Think of it less as a deal between you and them and one between them and me.¡± The Beak only hesitated, and Wesper shrugged. ¡°Right now, it is your only option.¡± Slowly, his informant nodded his head, and Wesper smiled. ¡°I¡¯ll let a Vesmos agent in the city know you¡¯re coming,¡± he said, reaching into his suit jacket and removing a pen and notebook. He scribbled an address onto it and handed it to the informant. ¡°Get there tomorrow night, and they¡¯ll handle the rest.¡± The informant read the address and nodded, stuffing it into his suit before bidding Wesper farewell. Wesper waved in turn until the door closed completely. His hand dropped to his side, the friendly expression vaporising. ¡°A lot of birds with very few stones.¡± He began to dial another number. Despite being biologically ten¡ªor thereabouts¡ªwith a height and weight to match, Iris proved to be little of a disruption even when on Elvera¡¯s lap. Elvera had invited her in after noticing her considerable vigilance over her work. The boredom of being unable to work from the office due to security concerns had only been exacerbated by Evalyn¡¯s return without her. ¡®A few days extra break after all you¡¯ve gone through,¡¯ was the reasoning. Yet, her perpetual silent suffering had been more of an ordeal on her psyche than any magical loss of agency. She was mad about it, to say the least. But admittedly, Elvera¡¯s work brought some entertainment, and Elliot''s weekly return was only a day or two away. He always seemed fatigued over the phone so late into the week, although Iris doubted he shared the same demeanour with his students. It was something she was allowed to witness, which made her relish it all the more. Elvera read through document after document, occasionally asking Iris to pin a snippet to a nearby corkboard. She was beginning to struggle to find any space between the feverishly highlighted scraps and scribbled-down thoughts. Elvera worked similarly to Evalyn but on a greater scale and depth. National security was a smidgen more complex than missing pets. ¡°Jeez.¡± ¡°What?¡± Elvera held a document up to her face, reading every line twice. ¡°They¡¯re already seeking approval for a Higher Order Armour division in Special Operations. The commission was only published last week.¡± ¡°Is it because of the balloons in the sky?¡± Elvera hummed with her thoughts, looking out to the office window. The city was not much more than a fingernail¡¯s width, and the barrage balloons were no more noteworthy than grime on glasses. ¡°Maybe, but all this is really serving as a wake-up call for the Council. Consequence of power escalation, I guess. There¡¯s always going to be a challenger knocking at your doors.¡± She put the paper down, grabbed a pen, signed off on any blank space and checked all empty boxes. ¡°Signing this might mean there¡¯ll be those things walking around our city soon,¡± she said. Her pen hovered over the last blank line of the document. The ballpoint touched the paper, but she did not proceed. ¡°What¡¯s wrong?¡± ¡°¡­nothing,¡± she muttered, scribbling her signature and moving on. The phone rang, and Iris reached out to answer on reflex. ¡°Ah! Nope. Can¡¯t let them know I¡¯m letting a ten-year-old in on state secrets.¡± She picked the phone up and brought it to her face, motioning a zip across her mouth before she began to speak. ¡°Hello, Lieutenant-General Marie Elvera speaking.¡± Iris realised she was close enough to the receiver to make out the words. ¡°Ma¡¯am, a counter-intelligence team believes they¡¯ve identified a mole in the Council.¡± ¡°How long have they been tracking?¡± ¡°Several months now, but they believe their activities started before that. I¡¯m sending through a document now.¡± The Magicopy beside them began to grumble like a child with a stomach ache. ¡°Where does their allegiance lie?¡± ¡°It isn¡¯t entirely clear as of yet, ma¡¯am. The residence he frequents isn¡¯t marked as a potential Vesmos hideout at the very least.¡± ¡°If it¡¯s owned under the name Recres Wesper, or any company that has anything to do with Workar Help & Labour, you let me know.¡± ¡°Yes ma¡¯am.¡± Elvera placed the phone down and snatched the papers from the machine. She poured her eyes over them without any concern for their confidentiality. ¡°Him? Dantel Hargrave, Deputy Minister of¡­shit. Deputy Minister of Foreign Affairs. That guy was in on the meetings with Alis, wasn¡¯t he?¡± ¡°Is Alis in trouble again?¡± ¡°I don¡¯t know, but if Mr Hargrave knows he¡¯s been made and backs off, it might mean that Alis''ll get to rest easy for a little while.¡± ¡°What are you going to do?¡± Iris asked, staring at the identity photograph of the Beak in question. Next to his name was the serial number of his mask, his voice box, and a blot of shifting ink in the shape of a thumbprint. The same shifting pattern that comprised their body. ¡°It¡¯s not up to me whether a hit happens or not. That¡¯s up to R.I.B.¡¯s director-in-chief.¡± ¡°I thought you were the rib boss.¡± ¡°I¡¯m the boss¡¯s boss, although people have been trying to change that recently.¡± She turned back to the matter at hand, straightening the incriminating piece of paper. ¡°This person almost exposed Evalyn. We shouldn¡¯t tell her about this, all right?¡± Evalyn sneezed, the autumn breeze finally getting to her. She stood up from her office chair and closed the nearest window. She took a moment to sweep the city like she was greeting a passing neighbour. Yet no matter how courteous her greeting was, she could not help but stare at the blemishes that were the barrage balloons. She turned back and leaned on the windowsill, eyeing her desk from another perspective. She was organising a healthy number of cases on it, but she could not find the motivation to continue. She could not, with peace of mind, move on to any other job without her concern for Alis¡¯s situation taking the reins. Even cleaning the entire flat top to bottom had done little to ease her anxiety. Iris had insisted she return to the office, but Evalyn had vetoed the decision. It was all a brave face or simply that she did not feel the toll on her mind and body yet. It must have been taxing somewhere. Even returning the day after was pushing things. But Wesper would not wait for Iris; she could be sure of that much. She pushed herself from the window and wafted over to her desk, picking up the telephone receiver and dialling a number. She waited a few moments until a gruff voice crackled over the line. ¡°Hello?¡± ¡°Hey, Liam.¡± ¡°Evalyn? You should¡¯ve called sooner.¡± ¡°I wanted to, but things got busy again pretty quickly. How¡¯re things on your end?¡± ¡°Ah,¡± he grunted. ¡°Ain¡¯t the first time I¡¯ve been to so many funerals at once, I guess. I had only spoken to one of them, though. Only briefly. It¡¯s more a formality, being the one to find them like that.¡± ¡°I know. I¡¯m sorry I didn¡¯t go with you.¡± ¡°Don¡¯t mind it, you¡¯ve got Iris to take care of. How is she, by the way?¡± Evalyn sighed, recalling the memory. ¡°She was pretty shaken up for the first few weeks back. I¡¯m just glad she fainted before she saw any of the aftermath. I haven¡¯t even asked for the number of casualties.¡± ¡°For the best, Evalyn. Things could¡¯ve gone a lot worse without her.¡± ¡°Yeah. Where are you right now?¡± ¡°I¡¯m staying in an inn for cheap, the manager was a friend of mine back in primary. Known him since we were six.¡± ¡°Does it have a view?¡± ¡°Oh yeah, lovely view of the headwaters and the valley. Nice change of pace from the plains down where you are.¡± ¡°I¡¯ll have to go back soon; take Iris with me.¡± ¡°Got to take her to meet Elliot¡¯s parents first.¡± Evalyn smiled at the thought. A visit had been overdue for months, and she sorely missed it. A small, medieval village where worries never extended further than the town¡¯s borders. A peaceful fantasy village life with none of the ancient barbarism or modern globalisation. ¡°Hey, listen," Evalyn started, "you know about the runaway informant, right?¡± ¡°Sure. Hard to keep that one out of the papers when the city¡¯s on high alert. I¡¯ve been seeing people arrive in Aerilia by the ferry load. Probably all staying with family until it blows over.¡± ¡°Yeah, it turns out that Wesper has some interest in the informant.¡± ¡°Wesper? Why would he?¡± ¡°I don¡¯t know. He has no reason but said himself it was for a job. Probably from Vesmos.¡± ¡°You talked to him?!¡± ¡°Briefly, before Iris lost her cool and tore the place to shreds. I can¡¯t talk much about it since it¡¯s technically confidential, but I need you to help me. You know more about Witch and Wizard stuff than I do.¡± ¡°You want to know how his Mind Palace works?¡± ¡°More specifically, how to kill him. The bodies we see when we enter one of his tethered Mind Palaces aren¡¯t really him. Iris snapped every bone and tendon, and he just disappeared like an illusion.¡± ¡°It¡¯s a weird mix between reality and his Mind Palace. People can die in either one, so the mix between the two must be where that line blurs. If he can fake an entire universe, then a copy of himself wouldn¡¯t be so much of a tall order.¡± ¡°So I need to either bring him into the real world¡ª¡± ¡°Or force him to open his Mind Palace, presuming he¡¯s even in the building he¡¯s controlling. You have the advantage either way, but he¡¯d have more of a fighting chance in the latter. Did you say Iris tore down the building along with his illusion?¡± ¡°Yeah, but not by her own volition. It was some magic-busting technique that I¡¯d have a very hard time replicating unless I copy it off her.¡± Evalyn slumped back into her chair and threw her head toward the ceiling. ¡°It feels like a lot of things have to go right to make it work.¡± Overwhelming force was always an option, but only one that could deter, not outright destroy. Even if she was able to manage the defeat, Iris''s wishes marred her path toward victory more than she cared to admit. More guilty conscience on someone who could not even comprehend it yet was not to be Evalyn¡¯s contributions as a mother figure. She would have to think fast and take what she could get, but mistakes were out of the question. ¡°I think you can take him, for what it¡¯s worth,¡± Colte said as Evalyn closed her eyes and relaxed her shoulders. She looked towards Iris¡¯s favourite armchair, the one she had claimed for herself not long after she began to frequent the office. She had taken up a large chunk of space in Evalyn¡¯s life in more ways than one. ¡°Thanks, Liam. I hope I wasn¡¯t as stressful when I was your student.¡± ¡°Student? You were a trainee I never asked for, get over yourself.¡± Chapter 14 Part 1: Only Gods Can The wind sang through Evalyn¡¯s office windows and whistled down the corridor, reaching Iris¡¯s ears as she mopped down the length of the floorboards. Evalyn had cleared the shattered pottery, but the same could not be said for the liquid remnants of her dropped tea mug. Evalyn blamed it on fatigue, but Iris did not feel tired, at least not in the sense that she needed to rest. A faint thumping sounded from the other side of the doorway at a rhythmic, rushed pace. It got louder, dispelling Iris¡¯s fears that the fatigue was playing tricks on her ears as well as her hands. She moved closer to the door, pressing up against it to listen in on what she hoped was just another resident. But the footsteps were too close; no one else lived on the fifth floor. A note slid under the doorway, stopping at Iris¡¯s feet. She looked down and backed away a step or two, eyeing the ripped square of paper with caution. Faint scrawl stretched from left to right, evenly spaced and allowing room for margins. The footsteps disappeared soon after. Iris glanced down the hallway into Evalyn¡¯s office, but she saw no indication Evalyn was expecting any mail. She crouched, her hand running down the length of her mop¡¯s handle until she could rest it against her neck. She picked up the paper and turned it over before reading. I want your help again; this may turn the tide. Meet me in the Royal Parklands at 1:00 am, and don¡¯t tell Mrs. Hardridge. Help. Surely another fight, but against whom, she could not be sure. She was certain he had refrained from being clearer so she would at least have to meet him. But turn the tide? Perhaps it was another way they could avoid the war, a way to avoid killing Wesper. If the blood of those lives did not have to end up on Iris¡¯s hands, anything was worth hearing out. She began to tear up the piece of paper, halving and quartering until it was nothing more than confetti. She strode into the archive room nearby and opened the far window, letting the paper fly out of her hands and rain on the nocturnal streets below. ¡°Everything all right?¡± Evalyn¡¯s voice said, calling from the hallway. Iris turned around, clutching the mop tightly. She nodded sheepishly, flicking a final sliver of paper off her palm. Evalyn squinted and tilted her head. ¡°I did the archive yesterday; we¡¯re all fine to go home if you¡¯ve done the hall.¡± Iris nodded. ¡°Yeah. It¡¯s all finished.¡± ¡°Good,¡± Evalyn smiled, ¡°I¡¯ll lock up, so after you.¡± What was perhaps riskier than sneaking away from the most powerful being in the world was probably sneaking away from one¡¯s mother. It did not help then that Iris was doing both at the same time. The discreet purple pads under her feet crawled along the floorboards silently down the hall and into the living. The clock hanging at the end of the hall showed it was twelve-thirty in the morning, and its counting of the seconds was the only sound Iris could hear. She reached the coat stand by the door and pulled on her field jacket. She heard a rustle, but nothing loud enough to be damning. From her many sleepless nights in the living room, waiting for her eyes to grow dreary, she had learnt that Evalyn¡¯s sleep cycles were light. That was unless Elliot was sleeping with her; all the more reason to count her lucky stars. She undid the latch on the door slowly, drawing out the click for as long as possible. The door did not creak normally, and on this occasion, it stayed loyal. She stepped outside, grabbing her shoes as she went. She closed the door and locked it as slowly as she had unlocked it, turning the key millimetre by millimetre. The door locked, and she waited. She sighed, shivers refusing to leave her limbs as she pulled on her shoes. Iris kept an efficient pace as she walked through the city streets, keeping to sidewalks well-lit by streetlights. The Royal Parklands were a fair walk away, and waiting for the tram only made her antsy. She could not even be sure if they¡¯d let her on. No one would want to be the one to let the ten-year-old child go missing. Begrudgingly she turned away, heading for a nearby alleyway dark enough to hide her silver hair. She disassembled it, sending forth a spindling limb that whistled through the air and caught the rooftop. The sky¡¯s blazing orange light never reached the rooftops, so crouching along them was always a surefire way to travel undetected. She sped to the roof''s edge, catching the tiles with her foot and leaning forward to not tumble back down. She relinquished some more hair and attached three new limbs to her back, using them to move across and between buildings without the thumping of boots on terracotta. With each building she traversed and each gap she leapt across, her body became more and more attuned to the technique. Soon, she was chaining movements and conserving momentum, moving faster and jumping farther. The streets underneath her flew by like scenery from a train-car window, and before long, she allowed herself to enjoy the sensation a little. The wind playing with her hair, the field jacket trailing her in a fluttering frenzy. She squinted her eyes against the rushing air, the actions becoming almost like instinct. The break in the repeated city blocks drew nearer, and the parkland treeline blotted out her field of vision as she made her final approach. She skidded to a halt, her boots coming millimetres away from the rooftop¡¯s edge. She looked over the ledge at the street below; well-lit but dark enough that she could get away with the drop. If she was seen, she¡¯d just have to convince whoever saw her that they were hallucinating. Taking a deep breath, she recalled what she had practised. Eyes firmly on the ground and stay calm enough to judge the distance from it. She stepped off, the freefall sending her heart into her mouth. Her instincts screamed at her rational mind to flail around, but Iris kept steady. The limbs extended past her legs and slowed her movement, albeit giving her more whiplash than she intended. Her feet hit the pavement with a light tap, and she looked left and right before crossing the street, entering through one of the many gated entrances. The gravel pathway crunched pleasantly underneath her boots, and not a pebble fell too far left or too far right. Whatever shingle she did disturb reordered itself as soon as she turned back to check for footsteps, like an invisible groundsman was following her. Looking upwards did not seem to do her much good; the gargantuan trees were not too dissimilar to the ones in the Queen¡¯s Forest. Unusually tall, but this time uninhabited. Their peeling bark ran undisturbed from branches of orange leaves to mighty roots drowning in a thin layer of wilting foliage. The place was awash with sleeping colours, illuminated only by fairy lights drifting throughout the forest¡¯s chilled air. They generally continued the golden-orange theme of the city, yet some lights rebelled, expressing reds, blues, and purples. The pathway terminated ahead, leading to a girthy avenue; its gravel was interrupted by a line of flowerbeds running through the centre. She saw a figure sitting beside a flowerbed, hunched over themselves as if waiting. A fairy light drifted past their face, and she recognised it. ¡°Alis.¡± Alis looked up and smiled. ¡°You came.¡± ¡°Of course I did,¡± Iris whined, ¡°how¡¯d you escape?¡± If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation. ¡°Admittedly, it wasn¡¯t as easy as I expected. Getting the brass knuckles was the hardest part. After that, it was a lot of Beak magic until I got here.¡± ¡°Aren¡¯t you going to be found¡ª¡± ¡°They keep me in a hotel room. Guards only check every two hours, so we¡¯ve got until three,¡± he said, peeling back his sleeve. ¡°Should be done by then.¡± ¡°What should be done?¡± Iris asked, meeting him by the flowers and sitting down. Alis licked his lips, and his eyes wandered. He turned his body toward her and began to explain. ¡°I¡¯ve received contact from the United Liberation, saying they want me to change tactics. Came across a paper hidden under my breakfast plate, saying they needed me to perform some jobs for them. If I do those, then they¡¯ll let me join.¡± A change of tactics? So late in the game? ¡°What do they want you to do?¡± ¡°There¡¯s a Geverde Councillor that¡¯s supposed to be meeting tonight with Vesmos agents for some sort of intelligence deal. They want me to get there first and stop it by any means necessary.¡± A mole in the council, information that Elvera had only figured out a few days ago. Iris couldn¡¯t understand it¡ªa revolutionary party with better intelligence than a country? That, or even the revolution had rats inside Geverde¡¯s government. The institution could be replaced with a block of cheese, and no one would notice the difference. ¡°Why do they want me?¡± "We made a good tag team last time, and it turns out they were watching.¡± Iris watched Alis in silence. His face was ever so serious about it all, showing no sign that he meant any harm. What he said was what he believed in, but Iris was not sure her trust extended beyond him. But she wanted to trust him. She wanted what was best for him, and in this case, what was best for him was what was best for Geverde. Joining the revolution could mean Alis taking the enemy fleet back to Vesmos with him. It was still one possibility of many, but she could only consider what was at stake. What would befall her life if the cannons at the edge of those waters were to light ablaze? What she would be made to do, made to defend, made to destroy. Perhaps, it was his presence that had spurred her on into action before, and perhaps that strange magic was acting again. ¡°If you wait here, I¡¯ll go get Evalyn and ask her¡ª¡± ¡°We can¡¯t; she has too many connections to the government. I don¡¯t like what the revolution is doing as much as she probably won¡¯t, but I can¡¯t risk them getting found out.¡± ¡°Found out? Alis, moles are moles; the risk is still so big!¡± ¡°I know, I know. But until I get back to Vesmos, I need your help with this.¡± Iris pursed her lips and held her head. She exhaled her stress, but it didn¡¯t seem to lessen. What was helping a revolution with good intentions if it cost her own country? Then again, what was helping her own country at the cost of a revolution with good intentions? She had learnt in Fadaak that nothing could be so black and white. One thing always came at the expense of another. Perhaps that¡¯s why Evalyn no longer believed much in allegiance. She had realised that fact ten years ago. Iris stood and began to pace, her mind working overtime yet producing no apparent answers. She had nothing to guide herself to a decision, no guardian figure to outline her objectives. It was her and only her, making decisions that could put her at odds with everything dear to her. ¡°What do you want to do, Iris?¡± What did she want to do? There wasn¡¯t much, at least nothing that carried weight like Alis¡¯s ambitions. Nothing so blindingly sincere it was comparable to Evalyn or Elliot¡¯s life goals. But she knew what she didn¡¯t want to do. She did not want to fight in a war yet. She did not want to be responsible for more sadness. She did not want such an interesting person to suffer, not on her conscience. ¡°Okay,¡± she finally said, calming her nerves as best she could. ¡°Okay, I¡¯ll do it.¡± Alis nodded, a slight smile forming at the edge of his mouth. He let out a sigh, sounding relieved. He looked up at her as if unsure how to express it. ¡°Thank you, Iris. Thank you.¡± ¡°Don¡¯t make me regret it,¡± she said, realising only after the fact how Elliot that phrase sounded. She shook her hands up and down, walking in circles as Alis stood up. ¡°The meeting starts in half an hour, just nearby.¡± Iris curled herself up against the trunk of the tree. Being so high up was not a new experience for her, but the lack of any consistent surface to rest on still troubled her. The branch wasn¡¯t wide enough for both of them to rest their backs, so Alis had taken a precarious position further down. She looked down at the gardens below, although it did little for her but heighten her fidgeting. She turned her eyes past the veil of foliage and across the Royal Parkland¡¯s borders, square at an apartment building across the street. Its design fell in line with the buildings to its left and right, but by Alis¡¯s word, it held far more importance. She kept her eyes on the sidewalk at the building¡¯s entrance for any sign of movement. ¡°Is there an entrance on the other side?¡± Iris asked. ¡°No. I checked earlier. It¡¯s just a back alley.¡± She nodded, wrapping her arms around her knees and resting her head. The atmosphere had been silent for what she assumed were practical reasons. But even if the intention was to stay hidden, it didn¡¯t make things any less uncomfortable. She glanced at him, feet dangling and back arched forward. He looked too confident in his balance. His stare though was much less pointed than what she had expected. It was absent-minded, not the type of stare she¡¯d hoped for in such a situation. ¡°I¡¯ve caused a lot of trouble, huh.¡± Iris perked up at the sudden conversation starter. ¡°What?¡± ¡°I mean,¡± he began, not turning away from his objective, ¡°me coming here has put a lot of people in trouble, hasn¡¯t it?¡± Even if comforting someone was the right thing to do, Iris could not condone false confidence. Not in someone like him, at least. ¡°Yeah. People are talking about war now. Evalyn was thinking about how to protect me, keep me from fighting.¡± Alis nodded. ¡°I¡¯m sorry.¡± An apology so late in the game. With such life-changing commitments already made, what use was one now? ¡°I doubt if putting this country through hell is worth the chance of bringing mine out of it.¡± Iris let the line sink in, feeling its weight reverberate inside her heart. The fate of millions, encapsulated in a small sentence, from an even smaller entity. ¡°What¡¯s your hell like?¡± Iris asked. ¡°My hell? I¡¯ve been in the army too long to know what hell is like. But, when I stepped foot outside and into the cities, I began to see it clearer.¡± ¡°What did that hell look like?¡± ¡°A city where so many people have forgotten what to be fearful of. Forgotten that the masked men that keep them safe are there to keep them in line. Even then, generations of being herded like sheep have already bred it into their DNA. Just¡­I don¡¯t know¡­cattle, going from one place to another. Each one gets the illusion of free choice, but both sides of the argument lead to the same loyalty to the emperor. Where¡­where it''s normal to watch your sons and daughters shipped off to war, with a chance you¡¯ll never see them again.¡± ¡°Where did you fit in all of that?¡± ¡°I didn¡¯t. I found relatives¡ªrelatives in name only. They knew my family before they gave me up to the army. They were nobility, apparently. Fled when they invaded. Don¡¯t know if they abandoned me out of love or neglect, but the fact that I had become one of Vesmos¡¯s dogs was what I ended up hating.¡± ¡°You want your country back?¡± ¡°I don¡¯t remember when I had one that wasn¡¯t the Empire. Maybe I¡¯m blindly continuing a fight that ended before I was born.¡± She watched him, waiting for their eyes to meet, but they never did. She tilted her head, wondering what was swirling around in his head. Even so, she had a rough idea pieced together already. ¡°There was a rebel group that was trying to save a lot of people,¡± Iris started, recounting the story out loud. It was just as much to inform him as it was to set it straight in her own head. No matter how much she agonised over it or how many times she wrote it down, it never felt right. ¡°This rebel group was building an army to rescue these people from¡­a bad person.¡± She hesitated, considering if stating Wesper¡¯s name was a good idea. It would complicate things and divulge into matters that Alis could not come to know about, lest she herself became a mole. Even then, she did not have all the answers. ¡°But that group had taken hostages, innocent people from this country that wanted to go home.¡± ¡°What did you do?¡± Alis asked, guessing the conversation¡¯s heading before Iris mentioned it herself. She exhaled, closing her eyes. ¡°I wasn¡¯t careful enough. I saved the hostages but destroyed the army. I don¡¯t know how many people¡­how many people died, but there were many more who weren¡¯t saved because of me.¡± Alis finally faced her, down-turned eyes barely meeting hers. Nothing needed saying, even if she wanted so desperately for him to say something. And eventually, he did. ¡°You have to choose, huh? Not based on anything logical or rational. Just pure selfish side picking.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t want to have to pick sides, though.¡± ¡°Then why do you fight?¡± His eyes finally came level with hers, glinting in the fairy light as if they were sparkling themselves. She turned away, eyes watering at the unbearable contact, voice giving out at the unbearable question. ¡°Because¡­,¡± she started. ¡°Because there¡¯s no use for me if I don¡¯t. If I don¡¯t pick, then all I am is dangerous. A danger with no friends that will keep me safe from people saying I¡¯m horrible and that I shouldn¡¯t exist.¡± The conversation froze over like water in a Frostbox. Alis shuffled closer, extending a hand and resting it on one of hers. ¡°You can¡¯t deny that people owe you their lives.¡± Iris watched his hand. It was cold¡ªcold and foreign. The alien sensation made her heart skip a beat, and she found his eyes again, unable to wholly trust his words. She wasn¡¯t strong enough to pick sides, not confident enough to choose who she would save and who she would condemn. ¡°I¡¯m not like you or Evalyn,¡± she said. ¡°I¡¯m not someone who can choose a reason and stick to it.¡± Alis smiled. ¡°Maybe that¡¯s a good thing,¡± he muttered. ¡°What does she fight for?¡± ¡°Herself, she says. Just to protect her life and the people in it.¡± ¡°Does that involve doing whatever Geverde tells her to do?¡± Iris nodded, and Alis understood. ¡°Sounds like a gift and a curse. It must be nice, though, to have the power to fight for something only you care about. It would mean that everything, almost everything in your life is completely up to you.¡± He turned away, back to the street below. ¡°Neither humans nor Spirits can¡¯t do that. Only gods can.¡± Chapter 14 Part 2: To Eat Your Own Tail Dantel Hargrave kept his head low and profile lower. Taking a walk to clear his head was not a convincing excuse at one in the morning. If one of Geverde''s agents really were tailing him, it would all but prove his guilt. Anyone with a shred of self-confidence would likely ridicule his lack of resolve. However, those same people would have a hard time maintaining their self-confidence in his shoes. The people Wesper associated himself with, to them his life was worth less than a poker chip, a pawn existing only for sacrifice. He knew that, but even if the ends justified the means, it made the act of self-sacrifice no less terrifying. He watched each foot fall in front of the other for the most part, stealing glances at his surroundings so as to not get lost. He was used to it by now; keeping a low profile was part of his second job''s description. His allegiances were elsewhere, a fact he had hidden as naturally as breathing for so many years. At the rate he was going, he could have lasted until retirement without anyone suspecting a thing. But now he was on the run all thanks to some stupid brat who couldn¡¯t keep his head down. He punted a pebble into the street, taking out the anger as discreetly as possible. Vesmos¡¯s citizens were equally as rambunctious as their warmongering empire, and equally adept at sparking chaos. No, there wouldn¡¯t be any of that soon enough. He raised his head, rounding a corner and arriving at a street bordering the Parklands. He looked left and right and upon seeing no one, began to walk toward his final destination. He''d ordinarily praise a safehouse so close to a parkland; conducting surveillance from a public space was nigh impossible. Yet the foliage of the Royal Parklands could effortlessly conceal entire operations. He could not sense any magic nearby, yet Geverde¡¯s counterintelligence would have accounted for it. He suspected human agents had been on his tail for months. He reached the address Wesper had scribbled on the parchment. Checking it once more, he confirmed that it was indeed the place. He gripped his briefcase tight as he opened the front door. It creaked open, revealing a sparsely lit lobby. Nothing more than a checkered floor of unpolished tiles spread out between four walls of timber and limestone. An old gaslight chandelier glowed above him, its light barely reaching the edges of the room. Judging by the small array of postboxes to his right, there were a total of six apartments. Six. Two on each floor with two staircases ascending on each side. Wesper had not left a unit number, so he¡¯d either have to search the whole building or¡­ ¡°Can I help you?¡± The entire building belonged to them. Dantel, stiff with shock, turned around at the command of the grizzled voice. A man sat in the corner, observing him from a wooden chair and card table, sipping on a glass of liquor. Trench coat, unpolished shoes, soot-coloured trousers. A member of the Vesmos rats that had been scurrying the city as of late, he could be sure. It was as though it were an unofficial uniform to don a shade of black pitcher than even Dantel¡¯s own shadowy body. ¡°We don¡¯t like Spirits here, just a fair warning.¡± A wand hung from his coat pocket, silently threatening violence if Dantel¡¯s silence continued for longer. ¡°I¡¯m here on account of an information trade. Recres Wesper should have called you.¡± ¡°Wesper?¡± the man scoffed, scratching his stubble. ¡°Who the fuck is that?¡± A chill set in over Dantel¡¯s body, and the grip on his briefcase weakened. The sheer terror did not show on his mask, but his voice more than made up for it. ¡°R-Recres Wesper¡­he called you today he told me you could help me if I helped you.¡± ¡°Did he now? And I¡¯m assuming what¡¯s in that briefcase isn¡¯t a bomb or anything, is it?¡± He heard footsteps from all sides, descending onto him like distant war drums. He had walked into the hornet''s nest utterly naked. ¡°No! There¡¯s information in here! Wesper! He¡¯s worked with you before he said you¡¯d¡ª¡± ¡°Sounds like an interesting guy,¡± the man smirked, removing his wand and tapping the table with it, sending sparks each time. Dantel backed away slowly as the man stood. ¡°But sorry, I¡¯ve got no recollection of him. Now I hope you¡¯re no one important, or we might get in some hot water.¡± He felt something press up against the back of his head. It was another one, another wand. Dantel watched in terror as he was forced to face forward. Each agonising footstep the man took became a tick in his life¡¯s countdown. ¡°The Sponsor! He goes by the Sponsor sometimes!¡± The silence after his final brash outbreak was deafening, and the man¡¯s reaction looked equally disturbed. ¡°Prove it.¡± A hand shoved him, and he stumbled forward, glancing back to see a group of at least eight with all their wands drawn. He looked back at the man who gestured with his chin, telling him to get on with it. He struggled through his suit and found his identification, passing it to the man while he undid the buckles of his briefcase. ¡°Deputy Minister of Foreign Affairs,¡± the man said, flipping through the small leather-bound booklet. ¡°He mentioned someone like you would be showing up.¡± Dantel opened the briefcase and held it up to the man who tossed the booklet into it, sneering as he did so. He began to search through it, indiscriminately opening files and flipping through them. The man nodded, placing the files back down and closing the case. Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings. ¡°We don¡¯t want to get on the Sponsor''s bad side. What are you asking from us?¡± Dantel clutched the briefcase to his chest, doing everything in his power to ease his shivering. ¡°Safety. I¡¯m about to be made.¡± ¡°About to? Buddy, if you were followed¡ª¡± ¡°No, I wasn¡¯t! I swear!¡± ¡°It¡¯s time,¡± Alis muttered, standing up and balancing himself on the branch. ¡°Without a plan?¡± Iris asked, standing up herself. ¡°We can¡¯t just bust down the door.¡± ¡°That¡¯s news to me,¡± he scoffed, raising his armed fist. ¡°Replicate.¡± Alis barely finished the word before his entire body began to seize in time with the crystals¡¯ radiance. The purple glow engulfed his hand and lit his face sickly pale as he struggled to stifle a slipping scream. Iris watched pensively, unable to ignore a whisper in the back of her own head. Spiteful, outraged. It felt mocked. Cheated. Alis calmed, and the voices subsided, but neither phenomenon completely settled. Alis¡¯s head kept on twitching, and her whispers remained as distant, persistent mutterings. Alis¡¯s hair dissipated, and he latched a purple rope to the tree branch. He tugged on the knot as the rope wrapped around his waist before stepping back and abseiling. ¡°Dammit,¡± Iris muttered, wishing her mouth would let her swear. She stepped off the branch, using the same method as the last time to slow her descent. She landed on the sidewalk and ran after Alis, already halfway across the street. She did her final preparations, imagining a simple cloth covering her face and concealing her hair. Even if Alis had a no-survivor policy, Iris had to make sure no one would remember her. Alis kicked open the door to the apartment with Iris close behind. A group of eight and a single Beak turned to them in astonishment. ¡°Divide and conquer,¡± Alis commanded as the magic came raining down on them. Iris had no time to think and erected a barrier as soon as possible, splitting the room. The array of assaulting magic ate away at the barrier, and Iris forced it forward in response. Geysers of purple from under Alis¡¯s soles launched him over the wall as he fashioned a spear. She watched as the weapon elongated at lightning speed, followed by a scream from the other side. Alis dropped to the floor as footsteps thundered away, echoing through the walls and up the building. Iris listened for a few more moments before dropping the barrier, confident no one remained. Two dead bodies lay on the floor; one was Alis¡¯s doing, and the other lay motionless, mask broken in two. ¡°We¡¯re clearing the whole building,¡± Alis said. It wasn¡¯t like Iris hadn¡¯t expected it, but the thought of a drawn-out sweep was not one she could stomach. An unsanctioned mission, and not to mention the time constraints. The deed was done, but even Iris could foresee the consequences of their vigilante activities coming to light. ¡°Let¡¯s do this quickly,¡± Iris said, glaring at him. He nodded and sped for the first staircase, bounding up it with Iris closely behind. They rounded the wooden stairwell, and the first bolt of magic flew towards them. It struck the wall, dislodging pieces of wood and limestone, suspending them all in mid-air. Iris covered her eyes as she pushed in front of Alis, creating a bulwark in time for a second bolt. The magic tore at her shield, desperately trying to claw apart the purple material as it had done the wall. But she did not let it. A tendril from Alis¡¯s arm shot out from his hand, snatching the assailant''s arm and dragging him from his cover. He slammed the target into the wall behind them before letting the body drop to the floor. ¡°Two,¡± Alis said as he picked up the wand and snapped it. They continued up to the first level, two apartments on either side of a narrow corridor. It was constricting¡ªperfect for an ambush from either side or from someone hiding in the far stairwell. ¡°You check the staircase; I¡¯ll blow open the walls and get whatever¡¯s on the other side.¡± ¡°Including civilians. We aren¡¯t sure if this is just a safe house or not.¡± Alis¡¯s brow furrowed, but he was wise enough to know to keep Iris happy. She patted his shoulder and sent out a spindling limb across the hallway to probe the far staircase. ¡°Watch my back,¡± she said as the limb reached the stairwell. A flair of magic lit up the dark corner, singeing her magic appendage. ¡°There!¡± she hissed, wrapping her purple limb around the enemy and reeling them like a fish. The man struggled, wand sending crazed sparks of fire left and right, but she had bound his arms too thoroughly. She took a leaf from Alis''s book and slammed him through the left-side apartment doorway. ¡°Now!¡± Iris commanded as she let go of her limb, and Alis took the chance to leap forward through the opening. Shield forward and charging like a mad bull. A shout and muffled grunting, the sound of clanking¡ªmetal on metal. The ensuing cacophony was agonising, the sparks of light from the doorway inconclusive. Iris steeled herself, but before she could join him, an army of swords pierced through the apartment walls. A thousand blades of magic origin demolished the plaster into Papier-mach¨¦, and the ensuing pulse of magic forced Iris backwards. The blades were not stained with blood, but Iris could not be sure until she saw him for herself. The whispers in her head relished it. The thought of the boy¡¯s body being shredded into ribbons, his life snuffed out along with the cheap imitation of her magic. ¡°Alis!¡± Iris screamed as the door of the adjacent apartment burst open. Another assailant revealed themselves upon hearing the chaos, brandishing a hostile wand. Iris¡¯s mind screamed, anger and panic mixing into a toxic cocktail. The unpredictable nature of fighting alongside someone so vulnerable terrified her. Terror brought out the worst in her. Not now, any time but now. The stranger turned to her, waving their wand in her direction. The sparks flew from the weapon¡¯s tip, and a black bolt of magic crawled towards her through frozen space. She watched it pulsate, itching for blood. The corridor before her flashed between reality and her Mind Palace, interlacing the two to nauseating effect. She felt time interpolating around her, slowing down while her senses heightened. The lights flickered, and the building rumbled as if a train speeding right overhead. Another danger lurked, hellspawn that writhed itself towards her. It crawled up the stairs and between her legs. A serpentine silhouette with scales dyed deep purple. Its head was gruffer than a snake''s, lined with teeth, two snarling nostrils and raised eyes. The beast slid forward, travelling down the erratic hallway until it reached the bolt of magic mid-flight. It raised its head, sitting upright atop its own winding body and bit it, destroying the magic in a single snap of its jaw. The magic ceased to be. It was obliterated, destroyed in less than an instant. The piercing purple eyes watched Iris in her helpless paralysis. A direct link, something animate she could attribute her past to, her identity to. This Spirit was her, yet was not at the same time. The beast relinquished its control and vanished, reality returning in its place. Time returned, the architecture stabilised, and Iris¡¯s movements were once again unrestricted, yet so were the assailant¡¯s. Iris reacted quickly, shielding herself from a follow-up burst of magic that erupted across her purple aegis in black flame. She distanced herself from the magic fire and formed a spear much like Alis had. She sent it hurling forward, making sure the end of her weapon was blunt. She hit her target square in the gut and kept on pushing until he was flying backwards, feet skidding across the floor and fingers grasping at empty air. She slammed them into the far wall and let them drop to the ground unconscious. The blades lodged into the wall disintegrated, and Iris took the opportunity to speed forward, retracing Alis¡¯s movements into the apartment. ¡°Alis!¡± she cried upon rounding the corner, finding the apartment inside virtually empty. Alis stood on the far side at a gaping window, curtains flowing in the night breeze. ¡°They¡¯re taking to the streets,¡± he said. ¡°We have to follow them now.¡± ¡°Alis! Are you okay?¡± Before she got her answer, Alis leapt from the window. Iris gritted her teeth but could still see only one way to conclude the situation. She would have to play his game till the end. Chapter 14 Part 3: Drawing the Line It felt like her knees were rattling with every step she took, the technique of her dash falling apart as she focused on preserving her own life. Stray bolts of magic just barely finding their mark pinged off the face of her shield, either enacting their effects on it, or whatever they finally landed on. Iris kept her shield up for the both of them as Alis continued harassing them with attacks of his own, performing the role that they both silently understood she could not. Iris parried another blue beam of magic that bridged the gap between the two rooftops. She pushed back against the initial force, focusing everything on keeping her footsteps in line. She gritted her teeth, leaning her meagre bodyweight into the shield, reforming every molecule it ate away from the shield like scar tissue on a flesh wound. She stumbled for a moment, tripping over her own boots as panic rose in her throat. The pressure ceased and she regained her footing which was when Alis took his chance. A purple orb the size of a gold ball formed in the open palm of his hand, the purple material swirling until it grew still and solid. It hovered a barely noticeable hair or two above his skin, but she could sense it was not the kinetic energy in his arm that catapulted it across the distance. The orb sped through the air¡ªnot nearly as fast as a bullet, but the inferior speed let it turn to his will much easier. It hit its mark square in the shoulder, tearing through it for good measure and leaving a gaping absence in its wake. The destruction of bone and snapping of ligaments echoed inside Iris¡¯s ears as she watched the man collapse onto the roof tiling, twitching. The remaining five, travelling in loose formation leapt from the edge and plummeted down into the streets below, splitting off their separate ways further into Excala¡¯s backstreets and underbellies. Domains that they undoubtedly knew better than Alis and Iris combined. Alis rushed out in front of Iris, leaping off the edge of the roof in pursuit of his remaining opponents. Yet, when she saw the contortion of his face for just a fleeting moment, she could not think of the battle as something so even footed. Predator and prey, that was what it was slowly turning into. Perhaps the world was lucky that his status as a Wizard was merely a borrowed title. Iris changed her elevation to follow, stepping off the roof and speeding down the side of the building. She caught herself at the last moment, her ability to judge distances accurately stifled by the darkness. She landed harshly, her knees buckling under the weight of her own body. She stood slowly, knees still trembling from the impact. With both hands on each knee, she rose to her feet and scanned her surroundings. The domain only revealed to her vague silhouettes, like the remnants of chalk on a blackboard. She focused in on any magic around her, but anything that did exist was obscured by tightly knit buildings and funnelled through compromising tunnels. Vague living shapes sustained a modicum of magic inside the many walls surrounding her, but she could not be sure if they were watching or just sleeping. A distant echo. The sound was too mangled to determine its original signature, but the direction was at least vaguely clear. She willed her knees to quit their whining and began to move. The little girl¡¯s footsteps lost their sound to the echoes of narrow, winding corridors. The lively streets of Excala city had withered into a catacomb under the guise of a moonless night. Suffocating, yet it hid its true boundaries. Eyes lurked in this place, watching where no light existed to betray their whereabouts. Pursued and pursuer, criminal and innocent. This realm did not dictate character with such niceties afforded to the overworld. Iris did not know this place. She did not know what it wanted to do to her. She did not know what it could do to her. Muffled shouting shockwaved from every which direction. Echoes that enticed her one way and dissuaded her from another. The bricks of the vague building walls rattled faintly with each scream, each command, each cry. She was lost, confused as to if she was even running towards or away from something. She had lost track long ago, her legs only concerned with preserving her life. No. The boy. That¡¯s who she was trying to find. She finally felt the ring on her hand, the accessory that she had forgotten to take off the night before. She brought it to her face and followed the small white beam with her gaze. A chilling crunch, the brutal annihilation of skin and bone jumped her ears. Over and over, it repeated, like a hammer driving home a nail. The sound beckoned from the same direction the ring pointed her in. It was him. No one else she had ever encountered fought with such brutality. She took off towards the hammering, which somehow grew more inhuman with every step she took. With every crunch, her surroundings faded. With every strike, the silence between them grew louder. She could hear only it, the rhythmic pounding, crushing, crumpling. She found a small light, big enough to mimic a firefly¡ªa pinprick in her blackened vision. She reached for it, running at it with renewed purpose as her vision tunnelled on the lone speck of light. Her shoes fell in crevices and slipped on damp brick, but she kept going. She could hear it now, every speck of bone, every splatter of blood. She could hear it all now. It all was so clear, so audible, so naked and visceral. It longed to demonstrate to her just what it looked like when the sound met the sight. The light enveloped her as she finally rounded the last corner. The sound stopped. A streetlamp, shining with a tinny orange from several metres above. The meek lighting illuminated the shutters of a corner store, an apartment staircase, and the sight of a massacre. Bloodied men, all fighting age, cut down like logs ready for a fire pit. Trench coats, black gloves. Well suited, almost like it was a uniform. Broken jaws, caved-in noses, dented skulls. No mercy had been shown in their pacification, only ferocious efficiency. The boy stood amidst the carnage, his poise as if he was standing atop a pile of deadened corpses, satisfied. Bruised and cut as he was, his lungs heaved wheezing breath after wheezing breath, sustaining the adrenaline overload for a few seconds longer. The author''s content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon. Blood seeped into the pores of his hand, clotted under his nails, and stained his clothes. Every muscle still twitched with anticipation, with a deadly instinct to use itself to its full lethal capacity. His raven black hair was dyed with a hint of crimson. It was anyone¡¯s guess if he was bloodstained or born that way. However, the same could not be said about his eyes. Razor sharp, needle-thin, predatorial. A gift from whatever hell had birthed such a monster. The brass knuckles on either hand lustred in the streetlight, glinting as though they were lapping at the fresh blood. ¡°I can¡¯t say I¡¯m that altruistic myself,¡± Alis said. ¡°With every movement towards greater good, there¡¯s vested interests. I understand that now.¡± He walked forward in a swaying limp, shoulders tense like a hunting mountain cat. Brass fists bared and fresh from its most recent feast. His voice was soft, yet a certain creeping confidence animated its very tone into something threatening. ¡°Ah, but what a beautiful thought! For the world to die for the sake of something as selfish as love,¡± he chuckled, feet finally coming to a halt. ¡°Yes, I would like to see how Mrs Hardridge would orchestrate the end of the world.¡± Iris¡¯s foot tapped away against the wooden floorboards like a rabid dog itching its fur. Anxiety was the liquor and exhaustion the tonic in the awful, heart dropping fuel that kept the insufferable tick going. The clocked ticked second after second, counting away the mid-morning in slow motion. The adrenaline from the night before would not subside, and in fact had gotten since seeing Evalyn¡¯s well rested, oblivious face the next morning. ¡®Didn¡¯t sleep well?¡¯ she had asked, to which Iris nodded, hastily accepting the convenient excuse. Since returning just before the crack of dawn to a quiet household, she had not been able to force herself asleep. Sunday. Elliot was home, and Elvera was in the office already working her¡ªas of late¡ªusual routine. Work started at ten on weekends, in two hours¡¯ time. A quick nap would do, but the stress of trying to fall asleep would only keep her eyelids peeled even wider. ¡°What¡¯s wrong with you?¡± Elliot asked, ¡°the house is made of wood you¡¯ll bring down the whole bloody place at this rate.¡± ¡°Tired,¡± she snapped, only registering her tone after the word had left her mouth. Elliot frowned. ¡°You want me to make you breakfast?¡± ¡°Yes,¡± she snapped again. This time, Elliot smiled, getting up from his chair with a slice of toast hanging from his mouth. She watched him walk over to the kitchen and fire up the stove, the familiar sight giving her pause. She knew it was a futile thought, but such small, everyday scenes almost tricked her weary mind into considering the possibility that nothing had changed. Perhaps what had happened last night had not happened at all, that the world could continue spinning even after pulling such a stunt. Her actions not having any sort of impact gave her security, the security that came in the absence of responsibility. Nothing changed, so it could not have been important, she could not be guilty. But that was not the case, undoubtedly so. What she had done had happened, what Alis had committed with his bloodstained hands could not be undone, nor could it be forgotten anytime soon. No matter how much her begging appealed to whatever god presided over her, nothing could change the fact that she had acted, and acted with intention. What excuse could she possibly have then? ¡°Iris,¡± a whisper called from the far side of the living room. Iris looked over to see Elvera leaning out of a partly ajar door. The glare she beckoned Iris with ensnared her like steel wire, digging into her skin and crushing her windpipe. She looked back at Elliot, back still turned and enjoying himself. She¡¯d have to enjoy whatever was left of her morning with him after her business was finished. Iris reluctantly relinquished her spot at the table and journeyed over, savouring every last step as if it were her last. Elvera held the door for her as she entered, closing it shut and leaving the room in an incomplete darkness. Morning light streamed through the window only to be stifled by the snowy floral curtains. A sliver of light fell on Elvera¡¯s face, bright enough to examine the deadened and heartless expression she wore. She sat in her office chair, leaving Iris to stand at the door. Even with the height advantage, Iris felt no more superior than a cornered mouse. ¡°The mole is dead,¡± Elvera began, speaking in a low whisper, ¡°along with a few people we¡¯re assuming are Vesmos agents. Some wounds seem like the work of bullets, but others are far from it. Do you know anything about that?¡± Iris stayed stock still; she knew fidgeting would give her away. She scrunched her brow and shook her head, feigning ignorance as if the mere idea of it was absurd. ¡°No. When was this?¡± ¡°Last night. The reports I¡¯ve gotten are saying sometime between one and three o¡¯clock in the morning.¡± Iris shook her head again. ¡°No, I was asleep.¡± Alis had already begged her not to tell Evalyn, someone with close ties to the government. By that logic, telling a public servant was the last thing she could afford to do. Elvera observed her, recording every tremble and twitch for the vaguest sign of guilt or remorse. But eventually, she blinked, several times in fact. She sighed, her shoulders drooped, and she began to rub her eyes. ¡°I had to check off the record since I told you about the mole off the record.¡± She leaned into her chair and threw her head backwards, stretching her legs. ¡°Just because you say no yourself doesn¡¯t mean I suddenly believe you wholeheartedly,¡± she warned, much to Iris¡¯s dismay. Elvera looked back at her, the striking features just that much softer. ¡°But if there¡¯s something you have to do, you can tell me. And if you can¡¯t tell me, then I understand that too.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t get it,¡± Iris said, driving the point home that she was indeed not guilty. Elvera smiled and chuckled. ¡°I¡¯m just saying that you¡¯re going to grow up to do some incredible things. For whom you do them, and at who¡¯s expense, only time will tell. You have to come to that conclusion yourself and you have to do it sooner rather than later.¡± Elvera stood up from her chair and crouched in front of her. ¡°People in the Council want me to tell you what to do the same way they want me to tell Evalyn what to do, but I don¡¯t want to do that.¡± Elvera wrapped a hand around Iris¡¯s shoulder. ¡°It¡¯s a dog-eat-dog world out there, and one day you and I might be on opposite sides.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t want that,¡± Iris blurted, which earned her a head rub. ¡°Me neither. But you¡¯re family, and for me, family comes first. I¡¯m not losing years with you like I did with Evalyn, all right?¡± ¡°¡­all right.¡± Elvera kept caressing her head. ¡°I don¡¯t think you did anything last night, nothing malicious anyway. But in the end, it¡¯s not people like me who get to decide what happens in the world, it¡¯s people like you and Evalyn.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t even think Evalyn thinks that.¡± ¡°Well, it¡¯s hard to be optimistic about changing anything these days. But that¡¯s what I think. As a lieutenant general, I would¡¯ve admittedly locked you out of this office a long time ago, but I guess the grandmother in me didn¡¯t want to do that.¡± ¡°Why?¡± Iris asked. ¡°There¡¯s no logic in it. You just need to know, in the same way future leaders do. It¡¯s the only thing I can teach you as the person I am,¡± she admitted. She stood up once more and walked over to the far window, spreading the curtains apart and letting the morning glow stream into the room. ¡°Are you really loyal to Geverde?¡± Iris asked. The question up until that morning had seemed so obvious. Elvera¡¯s hands rested on the windowsill as she let the sun¡¯s rays bless her closed eyes. ¡°Sure I am, as far as countries go. For the longest time, protecting the people of this country was my only mission. Then I met Florence, then Evalyn, Elliot, and now you. Now I¡¯ve got something else equally as important to worry about.¡± She turned around, sitting against the windowsill in a way reminiscent of her goddaughter. ¡°Evalyn¡¯s taught me a lot of wonderful things, but she doesn¡¯t understand the value of selflessness. I¡¯d like to see where you draw the line.¡± Chapter 14 Part 4: The View She Fell in Love With Elvera stood and bowed, filing out of the meeting room with the rest of Geverde¡¯s diplomatic entities. Well, except for one member recently deceased, who they had instead reported as being ill. That day¡¯s bargaining session with Vesmos¡¯s diplomats had been tense for her side of the table. Opinions were split almost down the middle between questioning Vesmos about their missing member. Everything from his mole status to his early death in a Vesmos hideout were burning topics for that day. The Vesmos side of the table was likely thinking something similar. Eight of their agents were killed in a single night, not as part of a mission but in a pre-emptive strike. They were likely wondering how Geverde¡¯s intelligence had gotten wind of the place at all. Not to mention who had killed them and how. Either side had new ammunition to rain upon the other, but thankfully for everyone, neither chose to do so. Elvera strode through the winding corridors of the Capitol building with haste. After several such meetings, the route had ingrained itself into her muscle memory. She exited through the front entrance and began to make her way down the steps. But she stopped halfway, between the landing above her and the grande lawn below. She looked up at the sky. Swirling clouds shifted ominously, like a premonition of what was about to come. The barrage balloons, ugly blotches marring the sky like blemishes on a gloomy face, did little to help the atmosphere. It still gave her pause whenever she saw them despite it not being the first time. They looked every bit the invader, even more so than the enemy fleet. The black ships on the maritime border were a distant, surreal threat. The barrage balloons were docile in comparison, yet they were ever present and demanded attention. Elvera pulled back her sleeve and checked her watch. Sixteen thirty; curfew began in three and a half hours. It was just about enough time for some grocery shopping before returning home. She continued down the stairs until she reached the grass. She turned heading left and started toward the closest tram station. The damp grass stuck to her boots as she ignored the paved path, taking a shortcut over the lawn. The ground was wet, yet not enough to be muddy, typical of late autumn weather anywhere else in the world. In Geverde¡¯s case, it just so happened to be the Queen¡¯s fancy that particular day. Elvera reached the station as a tram slowed and stopped at the platform. The nose-like lamp was shining despite the time of day, and the overhead lights flickered as it came to a stop. Elvera scraped her boots against the ground before stepping on. She spotted a police officer by the front of the carriage and nodded at him. Elvera had noticed the city increasing its security to enforce the curfew. Even if the nightly lockdown had not started, the city was under constant vigilance. It was a strange symbol of limbo between war and peace. It felt as though the city had pulled all the stops short of firing the first shot. Everyone was holding their breath, and it was suffocating. The tram rocked side to side as it began to speed up. The streets weren¡¯t busy, yet Elvera attributed it to the bad weather more than anything else. She saw lingering school children every so often, their distinctive uniforms blurry through the glass. She grabbed her sleeve, wiping off a thin layer of condensation to get a better look. Excala State High, Martyr Reid College, Alfante Grammar. Harrowville was the one with the bright green uniforms, but Elvera remembered it as a boarding school. Maybe parents felt uneasy about leaving their children alone and had returned from their getaway mansions to care for them. Positive thoughts. Railing the rich wasn¡¯t going to help in any way. The average height of the buildings fluctuated as the tram traversed through the neighbouring districts. Zoning restrictions were weak in Excala, and most of the city already stood by the time they were introduced. Yet the subtle change in buildings from commercial to residential, new to old, superfluous to subdued were obvious to an experienced observer. The lights were shining in many windows, and almost every car had its headlights on. Their tires splashed through shallow puddles, coming out glistening on the other side. Through the faint beams, she saw raindrops refracting light before they reached the ground. They fell leisurely for the moment, but Elvera hoped to make it back before it got any worse. ¡°I usually like this weather too¡­¡± ¡°My daughter took the ferry this morning. She¡¯s saying I should do the same before it¡¯s too late.¡± ¡°That¡¯s all I¡¯ve been hearing from my neighbours; I¡¯m almost glad they¡¯re gone.¡± ¡°If it were just your neighbours, I wouldn¡¯t be worried. But it¡¯s the whole city.¡± Elvera kept walking past the two middle-aged housewives, their lives so different it made her forget they were the same age as her. She reached the store counter and nodded to the clerk behind it. ¡°Welcome to Uley Combination Store; what can I do for you today?¡± ¡°Hi, uh, do you have a pen I can borrow? I¡¯d like to write down a list.¡± ¡°Certainly,¡± the Beak said, pulling a pen from their apron pocket and finding a notebook behind the cash register. ¡°Thanks,¡± she said as she began to scribble down her order. The counter stretched around the entire store from corner to corner. The product was stacked in tiers behind it, everything from meats to breads to vegetables. Lesser products¡ªitems that went for a few tens of Ixa or less¡ªwere stacked on low shelves throughout the rest of the store. They all seemed to be things the owner could risk getting stolen if only to make the place seem less barren. She handed the diverse list of ingredients back to the clerk, who glanced over it before nodding. ¡°I¡¯ll be back with everything soon,¡± they said, taking a paper bag and fluffing it. Elvera watched them leave the counter, but she did not do the same. Her body, tired as it was, refused to move a muscle once it had found a second of stillness. The same had been true when she got off the tram. Her job involved a lot of sitting, and she was finding it harder and harder to remember to move as of late. She glanced behind her and saw the two ladies step outside and open umbrellas. The sound of the rain gradually picked up volume and quickly drowned out their voices. ¡°Do you sell umbrellas?¡± she asked the clerk. Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings. ¡°They¡¯re by the door, eight hundred Ixa each.¡± She pushed her elbows off the counter and floated to the other end of the store, passing trinkets, stationery, and cheap tea as she went. ¡°You police?¡± ¡°No,¡± she said, picking an umbrella from a bin of twelve. ¡°Military.¡± ¡°Military now?¡± she heard the clerk say, followed by the crinkling of the paper bag. ¡°I didn¡¯t know the war broke out already.¡± ¡°No, not yet. You¡¯re still right to do business.¡± ¡°That¡¯s good to hear. You from around here?¡± ¡°No, I do my shopping on the other side of town. I¡¯m staying with someone that comes here, though, red hair and tattoo on the cheek.¡± She turned around and saw the clerk pause and scratch their mask. ¡°No, I¡¯d remember a tattoo on the face.¡± ¡°She probably doesn¡¯t go shopping then. It¡¯s the man with the black hair and the mean-looking eyes. Probably hyper-specific about his orders, too.¡± ¡°Ah! Mr Maxwell, yes. He¡¯s a pilot, is he not?¡± ¡°Yeah.¡± ¡°How¡¯s he doing?¡± the clerk asked, returning to the counter with a full bag of groceries. ¡°All right. The schedule¡¯s a bit hectic, but I¡¯m sure you figured that one out yourself.¡± ¡°Yeah,¡± the clerk sighed, punching numbers into the cash register as Elvera watched them appear on the cylindrical counter. ¡°Two thousand seven hundred and forty,¡± they said as the machine pinged. Elvera found her wallet and sifted through it, pulling out the coins she needed to receive a clean note as change. ¡°It¡¯s good work you¡¯re doing for us, I know it,¡± the clerk said. ¡°Ain¡¯t nothing going to happen as long as we¡¯ve got people like you around.¡± She gave a stifled grin and a small nod before taking the bag and leaving. ¡°Citizens of Excala. Be aware. Curfew starts. Eight o¡¯clock tonight. All who do not comply. Will be arrested. And questioned. Citizens of Excala¡­¡± The sluggish public announcement played on repeat as Elvera waited for a tram. The paper bag was heavy enough that she wanted to sit down, but the seats behind her were already occupied. A mother watched over her two children, one rowdier than the other. She barely heard their chatter over the rain, but it was sweet, even with a lack of context. They were talking about something trivial, maybe the latest episode of a children''s radio drama. She looked down the street and saw a pair of students walking towards the stop under the cover of two umbrellas. White blouses, grey skirts, and dark red accents. It was Elvera¡¯s high school, Excala East Secondary. They were chatting unevenly, one much louder than the other, yet not at all in a way that suggested a power dynamic. One was simply taking the lead, and the other was perfectly content with listening. She watched the two walk past, perhaps a little too hard. ¡°Can I help you?¡± the loud girl asked; she was attractive, with good posture and short brown hair. Her face suggested she was spooked, but not enough to refrain from confronting a stranger. ¡°Nothing, sorry. I just went to your school is all,¡± she said, smiling at her and her friend, a Beak with a rose engraved on her mask. ¡°Oh, I see,¡± the girl said, turning away. Elvera watched them go but couldn¡¯t help herself. ¡°Is the school okay?¡± she called. ¡°I mean, is everything still normal?¡± The girl turned around and smiled. ¡°It¡¯s all right; classes are in session. We¡¯re just being told to go straight home, and all our excursions have been cancelled.¡± She straightened herself, clacked her heels together and gave a sloppy salute. ¡°It¡¯s all okay, Ms Army Woman,¡± the girl reported. Elvera smiled to the point she felt her skin wrinkle around her eyes. She saluted back and watched the girls leave, the confident one giggling while her friend scolded her. Elvera looked up at the sky, wondering when the rain would stop. She wondered when the people of the city would not have to live undercover anymore. For a brief moment, she thought about the city in a way she had not in a very long time. She opened her umbrella and left the bus stop¡¯s cover. There was a view in the city; a view that she had fallen for so hard that she had spent all her savings on it as a young woman. Eighteen and fresh out of high school, she had begun to look for an apartment. A combination of inheritance and minimum wages had managed to buy her a small room in a sleepy part of town. Slightly worn was one way to put it, but for a first house, she had not found much issue with it. Her first morning in her empty house, she had woken up on a mattress with no bed frame, her Defense Academy uniform hanging from a windowsill. The mosaic window scattered the morning sunshine across her room, and she had yet to open it for the first time. For as long as she could remember, she felt suffocated in the city, restrained to a life in her small corner. She was an only child and a daughter, facts that led her mother and father to develop an insufferable parenting style. She loved them, but she had chosen a career path more out of spite than anything else. The city was just that, somewhere an extraordinary number of people lived. Yet when she opened the window, she found a view of the entire city waiting for her, as if it was some last resort to get her to fall in love with it. It worked. Three years from then, she would meet Percy and Florence Hardridge and four years from then, Evalyn would be born. Twenty-two years from then she¡¯d meet her goddaughter, and thirty-two years later, she¡¯d find herself with a god-granddaughter. A petite and peculiar child¡ªa sign of things changing in both her and the world around her. But the view remained, still beckoned her to give the city all her love once more. No matter how many times she renovated and no matter how little the apartment resembled its past self, the view stayed the same. She stood there, groceries in hand, back home for the first time in over a fortnight. It felt quiet, achingly empty; the thought that, for so long, her life had been so silent pained her to reflect on. She had learned so much about being close to someone in particular instead of hearing fleeting conversations in passing. She had learned the love most people associated the word with, and it had taken over her life. But the view still remained, the reminder of the duty she had given herself. She used to live on the perch, the outpost atop the city wall, looking down on citizens and enemies alike. She had seen the rest of the world and it had only made her fondness for Excala grow. Autumn, her favourite season. She had almost forgotten how beautiful it looked. The world wasn¡¯t changed by people like her. Looking back on what she had worked so hard to protect, that sentence now pained her. She wanted least to pick and choose between family and her home. ¡®What will it be?¡¯ it seemed to ask. What would it be if she helped raise a powerful enemy of the kingdom? No one would note her good intentions or her love then. They would scold her and look down on her for not indoctrinating the weapon to their side. They would ask why she had been too human, why she had allowed the ticking time bomb a choice. They would ask her if she really loved her country. The door slowly closed behind her, and she turned around. ¡°You crying?¡± Evalyn asked. ¡°Am I?¡± Elvera said, wiping her eye. ¡°Marie, you okay?¡± ¡°Why are you here?¡± she asked, only just noticing the tears in her nostrils. ¡°I figured since you¡¯ve been so busy, I''ve been coming here every few days to clean the place. As thanks, you know. For holding the fort and keeping Iris entertained. Are those the groceries I asked for?¡± Elvera smiled, ¡°I was just thinking about her.¡± ¡°What, Iris?¡± Evalyn said, placing her shoes by the door and pulling off her damp trench coat. ¡°What about her?¡± ¡°I don¡¯t know. Sometimes it hits me, you know? The fact that she¡¯s going to have to make some big choices soon.¡± ¡°I know the feeling,¡± Evalyn smiled, taking the groceries off her and leaving them on the kitchen counter. She walked over to the window, and her hair fluttered in the wettish wind. Even with the storm outside, neither could bear to close the window and shut out the view. ¡°Sometimes it keeps me up at night, thinking about what¡¯ll happen to her if she butts heads with the kingdom, or the whole world for that matter.¡± ¡°What would you do?¡± Elvera asked, turning to her and stepping closer. ¡°I¡¯d like to think I¡¯d support her. I don¡¯t believe she¡¯d destroy anything out of malice or for no good reason. It¡¯d be hypocritical of me to criticise whatever direction she picks. But I guess¡­¡± Evalyn turned around, meeting Elvera¡¯s gaze and speaking her mind as if they were connected. ¡°I guess my loyalties don¡¯t lie with the world, do they, Marie?¡± ¡°No, I guess not,¡± she chuckled weakly. ¡°Hey,¡± Evalyn cooed, coming closer and embracing her godmother. ¡°She won¡¯t turn out like that, okay? This country convinced me to stay by its side, and I¡¯m sure it¡¯ll do the same with her. And if not, I can always slap her on the wrist.¡± ¡°I won¡¯t condone violence,¡± Elvera said, wrapping her arms around Evalyn. ¡°You won¡¯t have to choose between us and this view. I promise.¡± Chapter 15 Part 1: What The World Has Come To Standby rotations were easier on Elliot than on many of his colleagues. Most of his drills for that day had gone up in smoke and, with it, all his regular entertainment. Even then, he was not averse to wasting away a good few hours napping in his chair or reading a newspaper. And that was if he had no office work to slave through. The pilots on standby with him, one or two of whom he had trained himself, almost convinced him that waiting on standby was more hellish than active combat. Every one of them stood kitted in full flight gear, which made everything more cumbersome than it needed to be. While Elliot took his time marking exam papers, his brothers-in-arms spent their time with competitive chess, cards with dangerously high stakes, and even the odd game of tag if they felt extra frisky. Today, after being checkmated, having lost several thousand Ixa and tiring himself out, a colleague of Elliot¡¯s named Romero had sat down beside him. He peered over Elliot¡¯s shoulder, watching him mark short responses with red ticks and crosses. ¡°Forgot they give exams to Spec Ops pilots. Sure doesn¡¯t feel like it when you see some of the monkeys that we get around here.¡± ¡°Speak for yourself,¡± Elliot muttered, ¡°some of these exams are pretty rough.¡± ¡°I never said the monkeys were dumb,¡± Romero deflected. ¡°They just eat with their hands and sleep in the same flight suits for a week straight.¡± ¡°Again, speak for yourself,¡± Elliot chuckled, ticking a sentence and giving the response four marks out of four. He heard Romero chuckle as he snatched the exam paper and passed his eye over it. ¡°You know, you¡¯re the most¡­Air Force pilot I¡¯ve ever met.¡± ¡°That¡¯s almost a compliment coming from a former Navy boy. Now all I have to hear from you is the part where having to land on a carrier at night makes you better.¡± ¡°Don¡¯t get me started¡ª¡± Sirens blared directly into the break room, piercing Elliot¡¯s precious calm and causing his pen to do the same to the paper. ¡°Go time,¡± Romero chimed, standing up and adjusting his flight suit. ¡°Ready?¡± ¡°Always,¡± Elliot sighed, dropping his pen and getting to his feet. The group of six jogged through the final corridor, the light at the end of the tunnel being the blue expanse itself. Rain the day before had cleared the skies of clouds entirely; the closest thing flying conditions came to being a blank slate. A hard restart of sorts. Elliot followed the others onto the tarmac, their aircraft already raring to go, noses pointed straight down the steel whale¡¯s topmost open-air runway. Elliot sped past the ground crew as they did their final checks before pulling away, leaving only one to man the step ladder. Elliot climbed on and slid into the familiar cockpit. Rotations had been tough, and several flight suits and their backsides had made impressions in the seat leather. The top brass was on high alert, so much as the twitch of an enemy gun battery warranted a full-scale scramble. Elliot strapped in and pulled the cockpit down over him, confirming the clunk with haste as he watched the final ground crew member wheel away the step ladder. He looked forward, taking control of the aircraft controls and steering the machine in line with others along the runway. No time for pre-flight checks; he would have to do those in the air. Elliot pulled his helmet on with one hand as his other kept steady on the throttle, letting his feet do the work of turning his heading left and right. ¡°Tower control to scramble team Falheina, confirm radio transmission.¡± ¡°Loud and clear,¡± Elliot reported as he adjusted his radio accordingly. ¡°Runway three cleared for free-wing taxi. Maintain bearing one three two, altitude one thousand metres, speed four fifty knots. ETA next zero three six. Confirm, F-4.¡± ¡°This is F-4, confirmed,¡± Elliot replied, lining up behind F-3. He grabbed the wing lever and eased on it, unlocking the joints of his fighter¡¯s wingspan. He continued loosening them until they were almost free-floating, with nothing but a fabric of magic holding the steel feathers together. Each monstrous crow flapped their overbearing wings, thrusting air downwards as their compressors flared with blue vapour. Their landing gear lifted as their noses cleared the runway, taking off one at a time until it was Elliot¡¯s turn. He began the procedure, feeling the rumble of the engines behind him in tandem with the vertical bobbing. Relatively unremarkable at first, the sensation grew as the aircraft approached the runway''s edge, throwing him up and down like a child''s plaything. He took off, gravity yielding its strenuous grasp on his machine and the sky took over. His wings calmed, and he returned his engines to a distinguished purr. Noting no audible issues, he began confirming the ground crew¡¯s pre-flight procedures for any discrepancies. He knew there would be none, but it was standard procedure. He was not exactly a stickler for the rules in all aspects, but he wondered if it was an old habit of his to distrust that saved him from exercising such blind faith. The minutes ticked by, and with it did the coordinates. Green pastures briefly gave way to cityscape and barrage balloons before the land ceased outright; just thirty klicks to go. Elliot passed his eyes over the loosely strung V-wing formation, not noticing any abnormalities as far as he could see. He redirected his eyes forward, waiting for the iron-cast monstrosities to peer over the horizon. Eventually, they did. ¡°Falheina One to command, confirming arrival at the operational area, requesting further orders, over.¡± ¡°Copy Falheina One, circle the area from three klicks out. Guns should be pointed at you; that¡¯s what the coast guards told us, over.¡± ¡°Copy, over and out.¡± Falheina One¡¯s wings dipped to the left, and the formation followed suit, turning their starboard sides to the enemy. Three klicks out. Looking at such a mess of steel and grey, it was anyone¡¯s guess as to which ways the cannons pointed, but certainly not in any standby position. The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation. The vessels had their broadsides turned to both them and the city, the full brunt of their artillery shown off like feathers in some peacock fight. No aircraft carriers, funnily enough. Perhaps the Navy still had some commitment issues. Nerve-wracking, it always was. Staring down the length of god knows how many anti-air cannons was the furthest thing from pleasant. One shot though, and they¡¯d be gone with the wind. The Navy was more aptly prepared to deal with that sort of trouble. He had seen a few Geverdian ships when he had flown over. Even now, he could spot several specks in the distance, no doubt the Navy¡¯s own Rapacian fighters. It was all too quiet; going over the information in his head made it all seem like nothing more than the cargo ships one had spotted on a day¡¯s fishing. He¡¯d seen war, and the same anxiety loomed where none of the noise and death did. Perhaps that was where the world had all of a sudden found itself. Alis found himself idle once more, pacing around his room with not so much more than the daily newspaper and his bedside window to keep him company. The glass was secured to the frame via padlock, something he had only managed to pick with a malformed hairpin. It had come in the same meal the last message was delivered in, and he had stashed it away in his shoe since. No contact from his emissary to ULEF since the night of the raid. Never mind being bored, he had been left in a silent room in the dark and with his own thoughts. Had he failed? Had he been used? Had he used Iris? The girl with the silver hair pranced across his mind any moment he finally felt himself escaping the thoughts, and she would pull him back into the midst of them. They had parted ways soon after the mission was over, nothing more than a quick goodbye between them. He felt as though he would see her again, but he did not want to leave a sense of lingering. Goodbye, that was it. Not much more. He just hoped things had gone over on her end without a hitch, yet seeing as his situation had not changed much in the past few days, he assumed she had kept silent. He owed her a lot. Everything, in fact, assuming things went well. A debt he¡¯d likely never repay without jeopardising each other¡¯s safety. He wondered¡ªif there had been a few more years of wisdom in her¡ªif she would have helped him the same way. He was not all altruistic, but the barrage balloons he had brought over the city skyline played on his conscience like nothing else. He paused by the windowsill, watching the city like a scene from a play. Every day, he would point out the monuments he remembered from his first talk with her. The towers, the buildings, the parklands, all of it by name. There was still much missing, place names and explanations which he doubted she even knew. He had picked up a few here and there from the newspaper, but it was not enough. Perhaps it wasn¡¯t even the city he cared about. The door to the room creaked open, and an anonymous pair of gloved hands set down a plate of food on the dresser adjacent to the door. Hotel staff, they were. After many meals, Alis had discerned the usual routine. He assumed a plate was prepared by the kitchen and brought in at the same times every day¡ªmorning, noon and night. What he knew for sure was that they were searched on arrival by one of the posted guards. It was almost a miracle the first message got in the way it did. The door closed and Alis walked over, unable to think of anything better to do with his time. He lifted his plate off the dresser and felt something underneath the plate once again. Another note. Alis took the plate to his bed, regulating his footsteps and playing with his spread of mashed potato, sausage, and bread. He sat down, eating as obnoxiously as was normal while he unravelled the piece of paper. It was unattached to the plate, nor hidden in any obvious way, likely the work of the hotel staff¡¯s sleight of hand. Even in a country of magic, the fake kind proved just as useful. The floorboards are thin. Alis heard a faint knocking from below him, almost immediately below him. Barely audible, practically invisible unless the note had put it to his attention. His fork stopped moving, and his jaw petrified to allow for absolute silence. It was there, he could be sure. He placed his plate on the bedsheets and cautiously slid off the bed, getting on his knees as the knocking continued. Softly, as if it was aware of the situation. He pressed his ear against the floorboards and whispered. ¡°Hello?¡± The knocking stopped, and Alis¡¯s heart was the only rhythmic sound remaining. He waited compromised, down on his knees in an all too suspicious sense. ¡°Alis Harbourman, I hope,¡± the voice said. Alis recognised it. It was his liaison with ULEF. The same voice he had woken to briefly during his kidnapping. ¡°Yes, it¡¯s me,¡± he whispered. ¡°The floorboards are thin here, Alis, so I thought I might take the opportunity.¡± Alis turned his vision to his own ceiling but could easily discern a thick layer of plaster, not to mention limestone. The floors were anything but thin. ¡°ULEF has one last job for you. A warehouse on the harbour, front for another one of Vesmos¡¯s claws on the city. Get there and dismantle it as best you can.¡± A small piece of paper slipped through the floorboards right by Alis¡¯s face. He grabbed the edge and pulled it through. ¡°The address is there; keep it safe,¡± the voice said. ¡°Now, I don¡¯t know how many of Vesmos men are close to you, but that mole you got rid of last week is only the start of it, I suspect.¡± Alis memorised the address before stuffing it in his pocket. He began to move away, but the voice stopped him. ¡°Oh, one other thing. The girl, you¡¯ll need her on this mission once more.¡± Alis hesitated. ¡°Why?¡± ¡°Headquarters wants a guarantee you¡¯ll deliver the same results. This isn¡¯t just another safehouse, Mr Harbourman, I can assure you that.¡± He ground his teeth, reluctant to put a premature end to his internal debate. One had to come sooner or later, but he had been praying for the latter. ¡°I can¡¯t do that,¡± he sighed, ¡°I can do the work myself.¡± ¡°But what if you can¡¯t?¡± ¡°Then I do not meet the requirements to join¡ª¡± ¡°But you already do. Yeah? Your eligibility isn¡¯t the issue here. It¡¯d take a platoon to clear out a warehouse like that, but they¡¯re leaving you to clear half of it. They just need to be sure it gets done.¡± Alis inhaled, doing everything in his power to stick with his initial judgment. No, he was not all altruistic, and sacrifices had to be made. But if it didn¡¯t sit well with him, it didn¡¯t sit well with him. He wasn¡¯t some soldier with a directive anymore. Blindly following orders from a different logo didn¡¯t mean anything. ¡°I can¡¯t.¡± The voice sighed, quite audibly, enough to hear through the albeit thin floorboards. ¡°Let me¡­let you in on something,¡± the voice murmured. ¡°There is no Vesmos front, only the warehouse. Furthermore, I¡¯m not exactly an emissary for the United Liberation of the Eastern Fronts, nor am I a sworn enemy to Vesmos.¡± ¡°Then what are you?¡± Alis asked, slowly backing away. ¡°I am someone who simply hates the world and who wishes for nothing more than to watch it burn. So look, I don¡¯t really care much about what happens to you, or your rebellion, or for either country for that matter. It is in my best interest to let them blow each other to bits.¡± ¡°Then why don¡¯t you?¡± Alis hissed. ¡°Because there are certain factors that call for a correct time and place, that and the fact that I want the girl.¡± ¡°Why?¡± ¡°Why do you care? It¡¯s not like she¡¯s worth more than this city or the rebellion, is she?¡± He could hear whoever it was on the other side smiling through the floorboards. In the palm of his hand, Alis was. Twirling like some rat after a crumb of bread. The barrage balloons and the enemy fleet were far from the worst he had brought upon the city. Whoever this was, talking to him from below, that was his greatest sin. ¡°Now please don¡¯t misconstrue this as optional, Mr Harbourman. Bring the girl to me, or else the cannons pointed at the city will fire, and ULEF will be dismantled top down in no less than a month.¡± The gap in the floorboards widened, warping around a cardboard box. Much like the letter, Alis took it and pulled it through. ¡°You¡¯ll be needing your weapons, Harbourman. I leave you tonight to contact her. Tomorrow night, same time as last time. I¡¯ll be waiting. Chapter 15 Part 2: Trust Me Another note. Brief, no words spent on anything besides an address, date and time. Excala harbour, that much was clear. Iris balanced her mop against the wall and picked it up, memorising the address once more. Determined not to miss him again, she glanced at the ring. The faint trace was moving, rapid enough to suggest he was close. But he was moving fast, too fast for her to catch him. She reread the note, wondering if its brevity was for any reason deeper than there being nothing to say. She knew the drill and so moved to tear it up. More writing, this time scratched on with something grainy, like dried clay. It had been scrawled on in haste, to the point it had almost lost its legibility. Trust me. Added as an afterthought, most likely. But it did not feel like the meticulous Alis she had come to know. She looked around, confirming she was alone before tearing up the note, moving to the archive window and dumping the remains. The pieces flutter into the street, joining the prior message in some soaked gutter. The night was very young, but the streets were already quiet. Curfew was to take effect in half an hour, enough time for Iris and Evalyn to return home. She thought of it, as she had thought of it several times before. Just letting Evalyn in on all of it, and getting her to press that ¡®fix everything'' button she seemed to possess. But no matter which way she looked at it, fixing everything to Evalyn did not mean the same thing as fixing everything to her, or Alis, or anyone else for that matter. Evalyn would make it perfect for herself, as she had always done before. Perfect meant finding a reason to expel Alis from the country in return for peace and flattening Vesmos if that failed. By finding a way to join the resistance, Alis had given everyone a way out of their worst option, their lowest level. If she were to run back to Evalyn now, she would never let herself on another mission again. Forego another glimmer of hope for even one person, all for the guarantee of living another day in comfort. She refused. ¡°Home time,¡± she heard Evalyn call from the office, followed by a pair of soft footsteps. Iris turned around and headed for the door, meeting Evalyn in the hall. She gave a characteristic smile at Iris, who returned it meekly. ¡°What¡¯s wrong?¡± Evalyn asked, moving past while finding the keys in her jacket. ¡°Nothing,¡± Iris said, hiding the ring with her other hand. ¡°I¡¯ve just been thinking.¡± ¡°About what?¡± Evalyn asked, unlocking the door. Iris did not reply, and Evalyn looked back, her brow furrowed. ¡°Is it something you can tell me about?¡± Words slipped from her mind and choked in her throat. A moment¡¯s courage overcame her hesitation before it could set in, and she allowed herself to speak. ¡°Do you really fight only for yourself?¡± Evalyn¡¯s grip on the door handle faltered, and she tilted her head. ¡°Why do you ask this all of a sudden?¡± ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± Iris mumbled. ¡°It just doesn¡¯t seem that way sometimes.¡± Evalyn shrugged as if to acknowledge the sentiment. ¡°Even so, it¡¯s never my intention.¡± ¡°Why? You¡¯ve protected the city before. You do what the Queen asks you to.¡± ¡°Because Geverde is a haven for people like us. Refuse their orders, and I ruin it for everyone else.¡± ¡°So if they didn¡¯t want us anymore?¡± ¡°Then I guess I¡¯d have to move somewhere else. I¡¯ve talked to Elliot about it already; made plans in case it ever happens.¡± ¡°So this is just a place to you? And the people you end up helping, they¡¯re just coincidences? Just people who ended up on the right side at the right time?¡± Evalyn sighed, scratching the back of her neck. She averted her gaze, something she never did. Iris stepped backwards, retracting her arms as it dawned on her what she had said. ¡°I¡¯m sorry.¡± ¡°Hey, no, it¡¯s okay¡ª¡± ¡°I¡¯m sorry, I.¡± ¡°It¡¯s all okay, Iris, just¡ª¡± ¡°I didn¡¯t mean it like that I just¡ª¡± ¡°Iris.¡± Evalyn¡¯s hands had made it to Iris¡¯s shoulders and were grasping them tight. Her eyes weren¡¯t averted anymore, and the smile had straightened. Evalyn looked up at her from below, one knee to the ground. ¡°I know what you¡¯re saying, Iris. But I have these powers now, and you do too. There¡¯s a world out there that won¡¯t cooperate with us if we just ask nicely to be left alone.¡± She sighed, the whale on her cheek shimmering a dull gold, as though Darminjun was speaking her words as much as she was. ¡°For people like us, we either be a beast or we stray and become a god. Being a beast in its lair means being something with great power that stirs when it''s provoked. Something that moves on animalistic instinct, doing what suits it and nothing more than that. Being a god means controlling everything, whether it concerns it or not, whether it matters to it or not. Do you understand what I¡¯m saying?¡± Iris nodded, only slightly at first. Evalyn smiled and pulled her into a hug. ¡°I don¡¯t want to play god, Iris. The fact that people like us can, makes me even more wary of it. I just want to be happy; I want Elliot to be happy, I want Marie to be happy, and I want you to be happy. Everything else can be damned as long as it leaves us alone, so I¡¯m sorry.¡± ¡°Sorry for what?¡± Iris asked. ¡°I¡¯m sorry we¡¯ll never be completely on the same side.¡± One more sleep. That time the next day, Wesper could expect to have the girl in her custody. An outstanding bargaining chip if exploited correctly. A leg up against the one person in the world that could come closest to playing god. To control a deity, what would that make him? Just a man, most likely. Nothing but a preacher. A self-proclaimed messiah who would do away with old scripture and bring in the new. The first to throw away old notions, and outdated prophecies and replace them with solutions. Tangible, achievable paths to finality. If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation. Wesper stepped out from the comfort behind his bureau and walked across his room. The creak of the pine floorboards echoed intimately in the curfew¡¯s silence, and Wesper relished it. The glorious peace¡ªthe terrifying, awe-inspiring standstill. The sensation of stasis one had to mimic to truly appreciate. He leaned out of the window, wondering where his little errand boy was. He hoped for his sake that the boy was making good use of the weapons that Wesper had toiled to retrieve. Like a set of jewellery, they were¡ªan odd way to describe a piece of military hardware, but accurate. ¡®Trust me.¡¯ It had been a nice touch to a rather dry invitation, but Wesper had let it slide. The threats he had levied were far from bluffs. Even if they were, he couldn¡¯t expect someone as straightforward as his errand boy to see through them. No, his errand boy was nothing but a lap dog. He leaned out of the window, being precarious enough to dangle his entire upper body through it so as to feel the nocturnal wind. Through his hair, up his nostrils, between the seams of his suit. It would be the last time he¡¯d enjoy such wind for a while. At all, if he were to consider failure. No, he had favours to redeem and contacts to use. His time in Excala would not end anytime soon. Iris had spent the day in stasis; the thought of her task alone prevented her from doing anything else. She lay in bed, eyes wide awake, waiting for the clock on her bedside table to strike one thirty. At the pace she had travelled the prior night, she could make it to the harbour in half an hour. Tick, tick, tick, boom. The time came. Iris slowly rose from her bed and planted her feet on the hardwood floor, socks already on. She stood and moved to the ajar door, slipping her body through without making a sound. She got ready, taking all the same precautions she took last time and then some. She looked back down the hallway, but nothing stirred. Just the clock at the end of the hallway reminding her of the fleeting time. She stepped out, easing closed the front door before pulling on her shoes and zipping the jacket up to her chin. It was growing colder with every night¡ªher first winter was growing near. She hurried off, wasting no time in checking her surroundings and making for the roofs. Each step she took had grown lighter, and every movement she made had grown swifter. She kept her eyes forward. A commute wouldn¡¯t gauge her improvements; proficiency was measured in combat whether she liked it or not. Eventually, the wind began to carry with it sea spray, and Iris could smell the salt. The rusted warehouses dominated the docks, and anything not of pure function had long vanished. She followed the landmarks, estimated her position and proceeded accordingly. The streets were quiet, but out of caution, Iris opted to stick to the vast rooftops instead. She moved swiftly over and between each warehouse, drawing nearer and nearer to the address. All the warehouses looked the same, and none had any indication as to their address. Observing from so high in the pits of night did her no favours, but she knew she was getting closer. There. A figure on the rooftop. ¡°Alis!¡± she said, somewhere half between a hiss and a shout. The figure turned to her and stood, so she drew nearer. ¡°You made it,¡± he said, a wry smile across his face as she closed the gap between them. ¡°Yeah, I did,¡± Iris replied. ¡°What is it this time?¡± ¡°This is the last one,¡± Alis said. ¡°They said I could go back to Vesmos after this.¡± ¡°Really?¡± Iris asked. She paused, the sentiment registering. ¡°This is it?¡± ¡°This is it,¡± he said, hands in his pockets. ¡°There¡¯s a warehouse down there, a front for a bunch of Vesmos thugs. They want us to take care of it, then I go with them.¡± Iris turned to look at the warehouse. No lights on, no hints of movement, not even a whisper. ¡°Really?¡± she asked. ¡°Yep,¡± he said. Iris looked back at him, confused as to the brevity of his words. ¡°Are you okay?¡± ¡°Yeah, why do you ask?¡± ¡°¡­no it¡¯s just¡­never mind.¡± Alis pulled his right hand out of his pocket and flashed his brass knuckles. The familiar feeling took over as Alis began to spasm, although the convulsions were not as severe as before. He was growing stronger with each use, and her magic was fighting him less. Finally, the crystals grew purple, and his hand dropped to his side. ¡°Ready?¡± Iris asked. ¡°Yeah,¡± Alis murmured. She gave him one last look, then turned away, preparing to drop. ¡°Iris?¡± ¡°What?¡± she asked, one foot over the ledge already. ¡°Thank you.¡± ¡°For what?¡± ¡°Showing me the city.¡± ¡°No problem.¡± ¡°Yeah.¡± ¡°¡­it was fun,¡± she said, flashing a smile. ¡°Being around you has been fun.¡± Iris dropped, hooking a purple line to the roof''s edge as she abseiled down. She swiftly touched down with barely a need to bend her knees. The warehouse¡¯s roller doors were shut, with only a lone streetlamp to illuminate the heavy metal shutters. No discernible way in, but going in from the front was never a sound plan to begin with¡ª A cold, dull sensation dug into her back. ¡°Don¡¯t move.¡± ¡°Alis?¡± A calloused hand clamped over her mouth, and Alis¡¯s voice whispered into her ear. ¡°Don¡¯t turn around, and do exactly as I say. Walk forward.¡± Alis began first, forcing her to step forward in turn. She knew the things pressing against her back were the crystals; the chill of the brass penetrated even her field jacket. She walked slowly, her head unable to think as adrenaline slowly but surely took over. ¡°Wesper!¡± Alis shouted. Wesper? No, there was only one. It had to be. ¡°I have her!¡± She had to get away, run and tell Evalyn, tell her everything. Yet the moment her hair dissipated she was as good as dead. ¡°If you want her, you¡¯re going to have to come outside!¡± Wesper. Since when? Was he the contact to ULEF? No, it was suspicious from the start; this had nothing to do with the resistance. Was Alis in on it? Was Alis working for Wesper? ¡°I¡¯m going to count to five! I¡¯m going to tear her in half if you don¡¯t come out!¡± No, why would he be bargaining? Alis was a victim too, to some extent. ¡°One!¡± Not all altruistic. He really was telling the truth. ¡°Two!¡± Evalyn would do the same. She would do the same. ¡°Three!¡± There were people he loved, people he cared for infinitely more than her. ¡°Four!¡± It was how the world worked, so why did she feel so cheated? ¡°All right, all right!¡± a voice echoed from the warehouse. Alis stopped his countdown, and they both waited in silence. The roller doors creaked open, ever so slightly. Out of the sliver of pitch black, a suited figure emerged. His beige suit was overshadowed by a longer fur overcoat, but he was unmistakable. ¡°Here I am,¡± Wesper announced, pausing outside the warehouse. ¡°We don¡¯t have to make this any harder than it has to be.¡± ¡°I¡¯m not going anywhere near there. I know what you can do. Come here, and I¡¯ll give her to you.¡± Alis¡¯s breathing was ragged, and his voice was rasping, almost at breaking point. She could feel his heart beating as he stared Wesper down. Wesper was not so agitated. He smiled at them, lips curling hideously. ¡°Fine, I understand,¡± he said, throwing his arms up. ¡°I don¡¯t want to bother having to reason with you.¡± He approached the two, each step leisurely in their pace. No matter how much he complied, he made it clear that he was the one in charge, the one with the upper hand in almost every way. She felt the weapon in her back retreat to the point the crystals barely dug into her skin. The hand weakened; an opening. She could use it to escape¡ª ¡°Thank you, Iris. You¡¯re a good person. Be careful who you lend a hand to until you¡¯re strong enough.¡± ¡°Alis¡ª¡± ¡°Run. If I fail, get Evalyn here as quick as you can.¡± ¡°What¡ª¡± ¡°I trust you, so please trust me.¡± Iris felt a pulse of magic from behind her, one that even stopped Wesper in his tracks. ¡°Alis¡ª¡± A purple bolt flashed past the two, striking Wesper¡¯s arm at the speed of sound and lopping it clean off. Blood tricked down from the stump as Alis tore himself away from her, charging towards Wesper, fists glowing a blinding purple. ¡°One step more and I¡¯d have been off my property. A bit premature there, errand boy¡ª¡± Alis¡¯s fist tore through Wesper¡¯s stomach, disembowelling him in an instant. The body tore itself apart, falling into pieces of flesh and tendon. An unnatural reaction to being punched, no matter how hard it was. ¡°Fuck!¡± Alis shouted, bolting for the open door of the warehouse. ¡°Alis!¡± Iris screamed. ¡°You can¡¯t beat him!¡± He did not turn back. He kept running, charging forward towards the opening between the roller doors. Iris watched. She could only watch. Her legs stood still like ten-ton weights, paralysed. Every second felt like an eternity, and for every second he did not emerge, every second she wasted, the dread only grew deeper. She looked at her ring. One clear, unwavering line. He was right there, at the end of the straight path forward. So close. She only needed to take the first step. So she did. Interlude: Escape 3/11/1934 Fifteenth entry of my limited-time journal, and I have to say it''s gone really well. Elly''s parents begged us to stay another week or two, but we had to refuse. To be honest, Elly has leave that runs out at a certain point, but I can just stay another month if I really wanted to. I might if I didn''t want to fall behind work that much. It''s a good thing I''m writing things down; I just enjoy it so much that I can''t bear to leave. There''s been entire days where I kind of forgot I was superhuman in the first place. I remember when I met Elly''s parents for the first time and stayed for a few weeks, I looked out at the field and went, ''I could clear another few acres and harvest this all in a day.'' And as much as that was¡ªand still is¡ªtrue, and as much as the in-laws would love it if they knew I could do that for them, I don''t mind not being able to. There''s just something to it. Maybe it''s just me being a pompous mistress who grew up in a big, rich mansion (Elly''s words), but there''s something to working with calloused hands and driving tractors that makes it all feel grounded; makes me feel real. Of course, Elly can''t help himself to drop by whenever it''s crop dusting season, especially since it seems like the old man is getting to old to fly that low. If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation. Mum and Dad are still kicking. Irene''s always been a gentler soul than Kenneth, but she''s the only person in the world that can put Elly in his place without having to raise a fist. I love her. She''s so nice. She made me rhubarb and apple pie, well she made everyone rhubarb and apple pie but we both knew it was for me. I just shared. I got thinking about it recently, and I even brought it up to Elliot, the possibility of moving here when we retire. Picturing us with a massive pot of cash made off the back of government contracts and civil servant pay for the better part of thirty-five, forty years, it''s pretty easy to consider us just fucking off to somewhere where no one will find us. Small, insignificant, tucked away in the middle of the woods. I can really see myself enjoying that. Sure I''d be visiting Marie, if she is still alive by then. I''d ask her to come with us, but she loves the city too much to ever leave. She''s able-bodied, and I don''t ever see that changing. It''d be nice though, to swap places for a bit and have me being the one visiting family if it turns out that way. But mainly it''s just being here, back in Sidos. No matter how much Excala feels like home nowadays, there''s always a part of me that wants to give this country a second chance. The city is still healing, and there''s still quite a few protests against then new laws being put in place, but things are changing. I don''t know what that''ll mean for the country, but I want to be there to watch it change for the better, you know? The me from six years ago put her life on the line to see this country change, no matter how foolish that ended up being. I don''t want to deal a disservice to her. Interlude: Escape 2 3/12/1934 Elly dusted the crops today. There''s always a grin on his face whenever he gets in a plane, but it''s the biggest when he gets in that dinky yellow biplane. I think it''s just being able to do what his dad did as a kid that makes him so giddy. I mean, being the best fighter pilot this side of the Chain Ridge is cool, but that was what he''s been working towards. He''s a hard worker when it comes to it. I never thought I''d say that about him, but I think Irene drilled it into him as a child to do the farm work that needed to get done. Maybe his laziness nowadays is to make up for that restless childhood, or maybe he just feels indebted. I certainly would. But he''s handsome when he works. Maybe it''s the difference in character I find surprising, but seeing him break a sweat and still be smiling by the end of it makes me feel giddy. A good day''s work makes a kiss taste better. What am I saying...anyway. I met some people in town today. Seems like I''ve become a bit of a quarterly phenomenon in the village. It''s been six years, and I guess my features make me recognisable. I''m known as ''Elliot''s wife'' by most people, which is no different to how I''m seen on the Steel Whale, but I don''t mind it. It''s another environment, and it''s fun to imagine their impressions of me. Especially when I know they''re all wrong. Find this and other great novels on the author''s preferred platform. Support original creators! Elliot''s friends seem to like me. I''m a decent drinker and refuse to sit quietly in a pub, so they''ve invited me out before regardless of if Elliot could join. They''re all great, really, a good bunch of lads so to speak. It''s an old town, just going off how social structure and hierarchy shapes around drinking. Old customs and old lifestyles that certainly haven''t kept up with the times. I don''t mind it, but I can certainly see bits and pieces of it that I wouldn''t want to practice myself. There was one interesting tidbit that happened today. Irene had asked me to go around the main street and buy some groceries. I got to the bakery, and there was a woman there, about my age, and she sort of scowled the moment I came in. I didn''t think too much of it, so I just went up to her and read off the list verbatim. She scowled at me even harder. And then she said, "that''s Mrs Maxwell''s order." And I said, "yes, she asked me to buy some things." And she said, "you really are Elliot''s wife." And I just nodded and looked around the store while she gathered the order. When I got home this evening, I asked Elly about it. Turns out she''s a girl named Rachel or something, poor girl I don''t even remember her name. Had a rampant, silent crush on Elliot in junior secondary school and according to his buddies, was crushed when he left for the Air Force. Can''t blame her if he comes home half a decade later as a married man. And I guess that makes me enemy number one. Apparently there''s one other girl and a guy who don''t particularly like the fact I snagged the one that got away. I''ve been in danger this whole time and I never even knew it. But more importantly, who the hell was into some narcissistic loner? That must''ve been one hell of a fantasy. Chapter 15 Part 3: My Turn To Live A temple. Walls of white, brown, maybe black brick hewn from limestone or marble or wood. Nothing was exactly clear. Stained glass windows stood high, crafted by the hands of tradesmen and installed with the help of slaves. No. No that wasn¡¯t right. No history in the walls, no personality in the glass. It was all some creation, some made-up thing that imitated an Excalan temple of worship. No, looking closely the walls were shifting, pulsating like the inner lining of a stomach. The light through the windows was not directed, it barely even resembled sunlight. No, Iris stood somewhere else. Enveloped in magic like hiding in a hollowed corpse. Out there was cold, vacuous. Nothing. Nothing. She could spit the words out, spit them out venomously. Worship. Wesper seemed like the type of person to worship himself. Lowering to his knees for some higher creation was not his way of life. ¡°Then you¡¯d be right, Witch,¡± he said, voice booming, echoing along the cavernous expanse and assaulting her eardrums. Spitting the words right back at her. There he was, at the end of the aisle, at the lectern at the end of the aisle, the lectern at the end of the aisle at which she stood. A white gown; purity, divinity. A sick mockery of someone¡¯s beliefs. Yet he only presented himself as a preacher. He only saw himself as a messenger whose job it was to spread the good word of god, or else he¡¯d have taken god¡¯s place on the stained glass behind him. A messenger. ¡°I am a messenger.¡± To enact the will of a non-existent god. ¡°To enact the will of a returning god.¡± Returning? ¡°A hazy god, a being of divine importance. Neither benevolent nor punishing, loving nor hating, real or fake¡­No. Not anymore.¡± Wesper¡¯s robes morphed and grew awash with the pitches of pitch-black inks. He threw away his divinity, his purity, his allegiance. He had the power to do so, the arrogance, the gall, the¡ª ¡°Courage. I had the courage to see that the throne of god was empty. Like an ant farm, whatever created this world and divided us between greed and pride, long ago left us to our own devices. No, even gods can¡¯t come back from the dead it seems.¡± A change of scenery. A rooftop. A hospital in Excala. Large one; orange brick stretched from the sidewalk to eight storeys high. Busy street below. Cars, people, carriages. Iris could tell. She was standing on the very edge. One gust of air, or one wrong twitch. It was¡­exhilarating. ¡°God¡¯s plan. Punishment. Reward. Tests. Do you think all these things exist? Do you think that it was chance which led sixteen people off that ledge last year, or do you think something divine pushed them? Was that part of some grand ordeal orchestrated by something above, or just the terminus of an animalistic brain?¡± Wesper stepped onto the ledge with her, his beige suit beautifully pressed as if he had come dressed for the occasion. The wind rushed through his hair as it did hers. As the grass plains right outside her veranda, it reminded her of home. Her home. ¡°No," Wesper said. "Whichever one it is, it doesn¡¯t matter. It doesn¡¯t matter which one is true or which one is fair. What matters is, which one is worse to think about?¡± ¡°Die at the hands of a higher power or to mere coincidence,¡± Iris finished. She could feel it inside her, the Spirit stirring in her and coming out to play. Maybe it liked him, this Wesper character. Someone insane enough to play along with. Scene change. An army base, forward operations. Tents set up in a clearing on the fringes of a distant battlefield. The frontline was miles away, but she could see smoke rising from over the horizon. The putrid smell of burning bodies, scattered gunshots, and explosions. The dust lingering in the air made her eyes water. They sat opposite each other in a medical tent, perfectly unharmed fortunately enough. Iris turned to her left and came face to face with a young man. Only one arm left; he was unusable, judging by his state. Unusable. What a word. What a horrid word. ¡°You see, young Witch. I think whatever made this world¡­god, let¡¯s say¡­I don¡¯t think they got it right.¡± ¡°Why?¡± ¡°Why do you think? It¡¯s not exactly a hard notion, is it? I¡¯m sure it¡¯s been drilled into you thousands of times. Godless we are! Entire schools of thought revolve around the disillusion with god.¡± The young man bent over, his dog tag dangling from his neck like a ball and chain. Another one rested in the palm of his hand, rusted and bloodied. He began to cry, the tears doing little to wash away the grime. ¡°No," Wesper continued, "the disillusion with god is not a cause, it¡¯s just another symptom. Even my assumption that god got it wrong is nothing but a symptom. No, there¡¯s something greater.¡± ¡°We hate each other and we have no way of justifying it,¡± Iris muttered, words not at all of her own making. Words that bubbled up from the pits of her stomach, brewing like foul, ancient alcohol so strong it almost made her gag. ¡°We hate each other for the fact that we are nothing more than creatures and therefore hate ourselves.¡± ¡°Human and Spirit, a wonderfully hideous parting gift. The biggest denominator of our world, one that we so easily get fixated on. The ''other''. It¡¯s easy, isn¡¯t it, to point at them and feel some sort of justification.¡± ¡°But this is no matter of human and Spirit,¡± Iris regurgitated against her will. ¡°Human between human, Spirit between Spirit. Smaller and smaller denominators divide us over and over and over and over and over again. Until what?¡± She watched the soldier cry. The incomplete soldier. The divided soldier. ¡°Until we are not even left with the self.¡± Not her words. Not her suffering. The pain of the other inside her. The divided self, the other portion of her was just as much a stranger to her as anyone else on the street. She observed herself and traced her eyes over the shaking hands which she could not even confirm were her own. Her jacket was numb to her, and so were her clothes. The presence beside her, breaking into tears felt so real. The warmth, the aura, the sadness. It was all there, completely there. The only whole thing about him. His breathing, his beating, his wish to leave the world behind. Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings. The presence was right beside her. The same presence existed across from her too. The same. Same beating, same breathing, the same revelation that the world was not even smoke and mirrors. The smoke and mirrors were only there because people wanted a justification for their suffering. There was only one truth in the world, and that was that the world could not do anything for anyone. All the world could ever do was be the eternal battlefield. The setting for the grand act of survival. ¡°There is nothing to it,¡± Wesper hissed, the words venomous as they trailed off his tongue. ¡°There is no game, no grand plan, no ingenious evolutionary happenstance.¡± He looked at her directly, pinning her eyes to him. ¡°There is only ''I want something'', and ''you want something different''. That¡¯s all there is to it. That¡¯s the fatal flaw.¡± He leaned in closer, his words nary a whisper over the faraway reverberations of the battlefield. ¡°There is no order to it, no sense, no fairness, no game, no reason, no logic!¡± he snarled. ¡°There is not even a dice roll. You don¡¯t even get what you get, you get nothing. It just happens. Don¡¯t you think that¡¯s wrong?¡± ¡°Yes,¡± Iris¡¯s alien voice said. ¡°It¡¯s wrong.¡± ¡°But it can be changed, Iris.¡± Could it? ¡°It can be changed when everyone sees the world for how it is. We can¡¯t be the only people who feel this way! We can¡¯t be the only ones who feel like there¡¯s nothing where there should be something!¡± No. ¡°Change it!¡± Why? When there are so many good things already. ¡°We can make it complete! Perfect!¡± Nothing is perfect. The bad makes the good shine twice as bright. That¡¯s what Elvera told her when she had listened to a poorly performed piece of music. ¡°We don¡¯t have to live in competition! We don¡¯t have to be divided to the point we can¡¯t even trust ourselves!¡± Yet doubt had made her stronger, forced her feet to move. She did not want to be divided, to compete with anyone else just to be able to live. But wants gave her purpose, wants gave her things to love, like Evalyn and Elliot. She wanted to protect them, was that so bad? ¡°It¡¯s all so simple!¡± It was all so confusing. She couldn¡¯t decide. She couldn¡¯t figure it out. She couldn¡¯t for the life of her find a way to prove him wrong, to say for sure that the world could be better, that the world could thrive if it were to be completed. After all¡­ ¡°What if you want a perfect world, but someone else doesn¡¯t? What does that solve?¡± Wesper¡¯s face contorted, and his deepest pangs of joy turned into a gruesome snarl. She had defiled him in his sanctum, his Mind Palace. The one place where his notions could run free. Everything he said was true, and as far as she knew, she was only contributing to someone¡¯s suffering, someone¡¯s pain, someone¡¯s life ending, yet she couldn¡¯t resist. She couldn¡¯t resist the urge to act on her own accord, the urge to move in her own interest and no one else¡¯s. To be a burden, to be a detriment, to be selfish above all. ¡°I want to save him, Wesper. That¡¯s all I care about.¡± She could feel it, the acidic bile churning deep in her stomach as she stared at the breaking Wesper. The same entity that had borrowed her tongue and manipulated her lips. It was still there, frustrated at her choice. She had angered it, made it feel small. Yet the reality was that she was in control. Whatever Spirit lay dormant in her, its time had already ended. She was the one alive at that moment, and that was all that mattered. The fake world contorted around her. It was messy, nothing like the instant scene transitions of before. Faulty, emotional, falling apart. It was breaking, and Wesper was triggered. She could not stay alive for much longer, not as she was now. She focused on the feeling at the base of her stomach, focused on the poisonous angst and embraced it, all the while picturing the manifestation of her inner workings. Her Mind Palace. She took her ten fingers and pried it open. She never thought she¡¯d be glad to see it, the musky lighting and dingy walls. Hostile it was, and hostile it forever would be. She¡¯d never quite be welcome, but this time she was standing on her own two feet. Feet that were planted firmly, and legs that refused to buckle or even shake. Two doors remained open behind her, and she eyed a third to her left. She knew the drill, and although it never felt as simple as it seemed, there was only one discernible, clear way toward reclaiming more of herself. She took a step forward, testing the waters of the situation, but nothing jumped out to bite her. She took another one, same story. Another, another, and then one more. The third door stood before her, silently judging her, waiting to see what she would do next. She cleared her throat and took a deep breath. The beast. The serpentine dragon from her last battle. She could sense it behind her, watching her every move. She could feel it, feel its presence and its intentions. It wouldn¡¯t attack her, no, but it would watch her keenly. The cold brass handle stung her skin, giving her a final warning, a final test of courage. A simple glance through a keyhole would not suffice. The world devoured me and used my life to destroy itself. Even then it wasn¡¯t enough. Another corpse. Another lifeless Iris, lying in a pool of her own blood. Her own fake blood. Her neck was ripped open, and her body was nothing but cuts of meat. A woman sat there, sat behind her, ripping at her neck with rotted yellow teeth. She was eating her with the insatiable hunger of something that could do nothing but consume. Strange robes, ancient robes. Ancient robes from a time long past, with unfamiliar patterns and long-lost symbols. Luscious black hair, smooth pale skin. A forgotten Queen. Then Iris blinked. A man in armour. Bare forearms and clad in leather and bronze. His short sword skewered her stomach while he, as before, ate into her neck. Then she blinked. A knight of old in shining iron, dignity thrown aside as he devoured the corpse with an unstoppable thirst for blood. She blinked again. A general. Again. A pitchforked peasant. Again. A boy with a musket. Again. An aristocrat. Again. An oligarch. And again, and again, and again, and again. Her neck would gush blood, and they would greedily lap it up. Different symbols, different insignias, different causes moral and amoral, different motives and reasons and perspectives. They all dug at her neck like parasites, like maggots crawling in dead skin. Then she saw Elvera. White sheet stapled to her face, a thin cutout with nothing but a vacuous cavern for her mouth. Geverde¡¯s insignia on her shoulder glistened in the fresh blood. She saw Elliot. Same dehumanising fabric, spattered in blood from head to toe, sucking at her veins like they were his lifeline. She saw Evalyn; her orange hair dyed sickly crimson, and nerves and veins stuck in her teeth as she scooped at the opening with her bare hands. They devoured my power until I was nothing. And still, they wanted more. The beast sat at its full height, watching the scene alongside her. It was her voice it spoke in, and it seemed to emanate from the corpse itself. The dead, blank eyes still somehow harboured a voice. Devoured. Eaten. Used and thrown away. Iris¡¯s past life was grim even without the detail. She watched the scene unfold together with the beast, knowing that the other half of her was trying to show her something. A plea wrapped up in a taunt, a way to warn her of danger in a way that did not seem desperate, in a way that still made her feel terrified of herself. They would eat her too, just like they had eaten her past life. ¡°I¡¯ve never felt used,¡± Iris said. ¡°I know I¡¯ve only been around for a few months, but I never thought I was feeling used.¡± She thought back on the battles she had partaken in, the choices she had been made to make. They were gruelling, and the outcomes of her choices would haunt her for the rest of her life. But in it, there were things she could be proud of, even if she did not wish to be. Her part in dismantling the FSA was something she would regret, but she had saved people¡¯s lives in the process. Not only the hostages, but the Spirits of Fadaak simply living an honest living. Helping Alis ended up doing more harm than good, but she had found value in him. Value she still clung onto, that she could still see in him. He wanted to be good but had no one like Evalyn to guide him. Has the thought ever occurred to you why you think you can be proud of your choices? She had saved the lives of a few citizens of Geverde, and other citizens of that same country had praised her for it. She would get no such love from the fractured remnants of the FSA. Her choices would never been good outright, someone would always be trampled in the process. Everything from destroying an organisation to buying the last loaf of bread. Someone would be left without. ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± Iris said. ¡°But there¡¯s something I want to do right now. Someone taught me to be selfish, and to me, there¡¯s a good guy that needs saving and a bad guy that needs defeating.¡± She turned to the purple beast as she spoke her final verdict. ¡°Maybe you''re right, and maybe I''m wrong. But it¡¯s my turn to live, so lend me your help.¡± Chapter 15 Part 4: They Will Eat You Too The beast watched her as she stuck out a hand toward it. The sound of the scene before them faded into silence, and they were left in a still, black vacuum. She steeled her expression and made sure her feet relinquished no ground. For the first time, she felt in control of her own Mind Palace. The place was and always would be foreign, never a place of her making or at her disposal. But she felt less like a prisoner and more like a guest. The beast slowly reared its head to her level, and she swallowed her saliva in anticipation. A strike, perhaps. She wouldn¡¯t put it past the beast; she had seen it in action before. Bow. She hesitated for a moment, the request catching her off guard. The beast kept its head level, refusing to retract its offer or settle things mutually. Even if it were to accept her request, it would have to do so on its terms. It was the original bearer of her powers, the original life. Iris found no way to reason with it, nor did she think it was wise to try. There were things more important than her own pride at stake. She got on one knee and dipped her head, keeping her hand outstretched. ¡°Lend me your help.¡± She waited in silence, feeling the beast against the tips of her fingers. They grew sensitive, tingling as though she¡¯d flinch away at any moment. Iris kept still, doing everything in her power to refuse her base human instincts to retract her hand. They will eat you too. She felt a burning against her fingers, but held still nonetheless. The burning got worse as it travelled from her wrist down her arms. Sounds of pain began to escape her gritted teeth as the sensation crawled along her upper back. It ate away at her skin, tearing cuts through it. It inched across her shoulder, arm, and eventually the tips of her other hand. She opened her eyes and found herself marked as Evalyn was. The head of the beast adorned her right hand, and its tail the left. Up each arm and across her back, its body connected the two. Faint trails of purple blood still seeped from the cuts, residue of her first true gift. It flowed, much like the purple matter now did. What was once hampered by a mental barrier, viscous like honey, now flowed like crystal clear water. She could see it, every curve and crevice in her armour. She could picture it clamping down across her body and hardening like freshly cast iron. The silhouette of a divine knight unshackled from the imperfect human body. She could feel the weight of her hair vanish as it materialised and became real. Her left hand, the mark of the tail, began to glow. Greaves and Cuisses that curved elegantly, alien-like up each leg, adorned with the beast''s scales. Her breastplate travelled lightly up her stomach and reinforced itself around her chest, where the head of the beast made its home across an ultra-dense disk, the sink for all unused matter. Much like Evalyn¡¯s, her rebrace, vambrace and gauntlet formed with jagged, knifepoint edges, each curving like the tooth of a rabid animal. Her helmet became clear to her at the last moment. A blank face with two eye slits, surrounded by the maws of the beast itself. It would not be the one eaten in this life, and her helmet would be its symbol. She stood to her full height, her armoured figure dominating the space in the small medical tent. The crying soldier was but a distant memory, although one that she would not let slip her mind. For now, the individual in front of her was her main target. Wesper remained still, barely looking up to meet Iris¡¯s gaze. ¡°Just because you pull the same stunt as the Wishbearer doesn¡¯t mean we¡¯re on the same level,¡± he seethed. ¡°You¡¯re bait.¡± The world began to dissolve around them, reacting in step with his anger. ¡°All you are is bait.¡± The world fell apart, leaving in its wake a familiar setting. The neverending halls and lobbies of Workar Tower, a zoo for the most dangerous of entities. She was close, only one division away from his true Mind Palace. She was getting to him, deep under his skin yet not deep enough. ¡°So act like bait,¡± Wesper seethed, standing up and stepping backwards. Iris swung a punch at him, but his body disappeared into thin air. The infinitely repeating pillars stood before her and, with it, a tense silence. She looked around, eyeing her surroundings for the direction of his first attack. The ceiling. Like a printing press, it came down, and it came down hard. Iris instinctively fashioned two purple pillars either side of her from the disc of material in her chest. She held them upright, her muscles straining under the weight. She could feel the markings across her left arm burning as her magic was tested to breaking point. She watched as the ceiling around her collapsed, merging perfectly with the floor. Keeping it from collapsing onto her was no use; she had to punch her way through. Evalyn had done so with simple pillars, but Iris¡¯s weren¡¯t even making a dent. She¡¯d have to tear apart the magic and destroy it from the inside out as she had done before. The markings on her right arm began to burn, and she saw the beast out of the corner of her eye unravel from nothing. It was segmented like a wooden toy, held together with ball joints, attached to fading strings. It was a puppet, one she could control. She willed it upwards, giving it a target and commanding it to destroy everything in its path. The puppet leapt to the ceiling, opening its maw and sinking its teeth into it, ripping it apart like worn fabric. A hole opened, and Iris let the opening fall around her. This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon. Office space. Another floor of Workar tower. Desks with file organisers, typewriters and lamps continued in perpetuity and all directions. The air was musky with a hint of sawdust, and the swinging overhead lights barely illuminated the floor. Iris heard a noise. An echoed, alien clicking. The first came from directly behind her, then another from her left, then her right. Spirits of some kind: nasty ones, no doubt. They¡¯d hunt her down if she stood still and chase her if she ran. ¡°I don¡¯t have time for this,¡± Iris muttered. ¡°Keep tearing; we¡¯ll get to him eventually.¡± The puppet took her command without quarrel and began thrashing at the fabric of reality. It dragged its jaws through space and opened gateways into new ones. Sewers, forests, warehouses, cities. The first protest came in the form of a crackling red bolt of magic, a scarlet glow whizzing through the darkness. Iris decided to test her armours true durability, so she stuck out her palm. She willed her gauntlet to stay unbreakable, to not move under any circumstance. The bolt collided with her armour, exploding with a powerful shockwave that sent desks, paper and typewriters flying. Iris¡¯s hand flew backwards, but her arm remained unharmed. Room for improvement. She noticed a flicker of movement in the corner of her eye and readied a spear. Regardless of whether the Spirit was real or not, a blunt one would unfortunately not suffice. She aimed and willed her armour to throw it as fast as possible. Her arm moved at lightning speed, releasing the javelin like a speeding arrow. The spear flew past another red bolt, and Iris traded blows with the unknown Spirit in the next instant. She heard a blood-curdling scream while incurring no damage herself. Success. The clicks grew louder and more frequent. An army would descend upon her soon, hungry for fresh prey. She turned to her puppet, which had torn tens of holes in the fabric, each with a different exit. She scanned every single one, looking for something that would get her closer to Alis. Anything. Any sight, smell, hint of a clue that could get her closer. Magic, a kind she knew intimately. She could sense her magic from the other side of a portal. Iris singled it out and bolted for it, foregoing caution and diving through, her puppet close behind. Her dive ended in a role, and she immediately stood up and took a stance. She took in her surroundings, scanning the terrain to get any bearing. Grass plains, green threads that crawled up to her ankles and azure sky that seemed to stretch forever. Mountains, far enough away to be coated in a blue sheen. It was too familiar. She turned around and found a small white cottage. Planks, all coated in lightly peeling alabastrine white and open windows welcoming the wind. ¡°No.¡± She began to run, her head unable to remain level enough to consider a faster way to get there. Wesper knew about her home somehow. How did he know? Who had he told? She bounded onto the veranda and threw the doors open, the weight of her armour heavy on the ageing floorboards. Not a sound greeted her, not even a creak. It was uncanny, as though it were a display furniture set arranged exactly like her home. The world went quiet as she stepped through. Bits and pieces were out of place, the walls didn¡¯t feel right, and the light didn¡¯t reflect the same way it always would. She wasn¡¯t home, but that was even more terrifying. She passed through the living room and moved towards her bedroom. She hesitated at the door, not daring to let her armour fade. Another door to open, and this time she felt utterly out of her own depth in her own domain, the exact opposite of her Mind Palace. She opened it and found Alis lying in her bed. ¡°Alis!¡± she cried, running to the bedside. His body was beaten to a pulp, bruised and cut from head to toe. His arm was broken, at least Iris thought it was. His eyes weren¡¯t open, but he was breathing. ¡°Alis!¡± she cried again, tapping his face with her gauntlet. ¡°Alis wake up, hey!¡± She kept on going until his breathing faltered. His eyelids slowly opened despite the bruising, and he looked at her through the sheen of blood across his eyes. He couldn¡¯t see her face, but he knew it was her. ¡°It¡¯s beautiful,¡± he whispered, reaching out to touch her. ¡°We¡¯ll get you to a hospital okay? I¡¯ll take the blame for everything, I¡¯ll say it was my¡ª¡± The shaking of his head arrested her mid-sentence, and he struggled to let out any words. ¡°I¡¯m sorry. I tried.¡± His eyes closed once more, and his breathing slowed. ¡°How did you get here.¡± Iris swivelled around, standing to her full height and shielding Alis with her body. Wesper stood in the doorway, relaxed demeanour utterly destroyed. His hair hung in loose strands, and his suit was crinkled and ripped. ¡°I put him here to keep him busy, now why the fuck are you here?!¡± His face twisted into itself as he tried desperately to control his breathing. His head shifted downwards, noticing Iris¡¯s puppet coiling around her legs. ¡°I tore my way in here,¡± Iris said. ¡°To kill you.¡± ¡°Kill¡­me?¡± Wesper smiled. ¡°Then do it! Come on! I¡¯m right here!¡± ¡­. ¡°The Wishbearer wouldn¡¯t hesitate to put a bullet in my head if she got the chance to! So come on, kill me!¡± Iris did nothing. ¡°I can¡¯t kill you yet.¡± ¡°Too bad.¡± Chains leapt out at her from all directions, ensnaring her body and binding her limbs. Without a command, her puppet got to work, clamping its jaws on the chains and tearing through the magic as if it were fabric. In less than a second, Iris was free. Wesper stared, genuinely astonished. He began to scoff. Scoffs turned to laughter, and laughter turned to cackling as the room¡¯s four walls fell away around them. Chains attacked her and Alis relentlessly as the three began to fall into the black void in unison. ¡°You¡¯re it!¡± he said as Iris grabbed Alis, shielding him as the chains continued to leap out at them. ¡°You¡¯re what we¡¯ve been looking for!¡± Iris looked down to find a floor of infinite spikes, polished metal ready to skewer whatever''s path it interrupted. She waved her hand, creating a mat of purple that caught them safely. ¡°You exist!¡± the crazed man continued to ramble. Iris faced him, forming a bladed edge a hundred metres long and swinging it in his direction. The cleaver sliced him in half, and yet he still kept on cackling. ¡°They were right! They were right all along!¡± Flames. Flames from flamethrowers she couldn¡¯t see. Her puppet took point, coiling around her and nullifying the magic. More chains lashed out at her, more spikes and more flames. Bullets, instruments of torture, hostile geometry, anything and everything denoting and residing in shelter. The entire world was at his fingertips, and it was all bearing down on her. Her puppet struggled at the volume no matter how hard it tried. She was holding it back. Without its strength, without her strength, it couldn¡¯t do anything. She watched Wesper through the chaos, seething with desperation. She could reach out, reach out and kill him, but it would only be one body. She was running out of options fast. She clung onto her unconscious friend with all her might, desperate to keep feeling his pulse, his breath against her helmet. ¡°You¡¯re the last piece! You¡¯re the saviour they''ve been waiting for!¡± She squinted her eyes and uttered something she had resorted to in the past. Something that she could not help but say. Save me. She gripped Alis¡¯s weak body as her puppet tore one final hole into space. She needed her knight in shining armour more than ever. Chapter 15 Part 5: Better Than Anything A crash, the tearing of sheet metal and smashing of glass. An explosion of magic invaded her nostrils and peeled her eyes open. She knew the feeling; she knew the feeling all too well. Wesper''s onslaught stopped, and Iris¡¯s puppet unravelled itself as she got to her knees. She couldn¡¯t help but smile as an aureate figure stood before her, lending her its back. She was safe now. ¡°For fuck¡¯s sake Wishbearer! You show up when you aren¡¯t needed anymore!¡± ¡°And when have you deserved my courtesy?¡± Evalyn said, her voice soft. ¡°All you deserve is a death sentence.¡± Wesper raised his hands in the air, smirking. ¡°You¡¯d need more than the executioner for that.¡± ¡°Luckily, the judge and jury already gave me their permission,¡± Evalyn seethed, her aura growing in magnitudes. ¡°Evalyn,¡± Iris managed to say, her voice croaking out. Evalyn¡¯s helmet turned to look back at her. ¡°I¡¯ll deal with you later.¡± Evalyn raised a hand forward as the deafening cry of a train horn pierced Iris¡¯s ears. Headlight beams raced up Evalyn''s body for a time-freezing split-second as Iris barely registered what was coming. A discordant crash forced Iris''s body to flinch as Evalyn''s armour shrugged off the full brunt of a subway train. The jagged edges of her figure tore each carriage apart down their centrelines, each half flying past Iris. The grating ended, and Evalyn lowered her stance, unfazed. By barely moving a muscle, she had given Wesper a glimpse of her superiority. Unbreakable defence followed by a single, fatal blow. Iris only then remembered the logic her guardian fought by. ¡°Don¡¯t kill him!¡± Iris cried. ¡°Please, try!¡± The adults ignored her cry as Wesper¡¯s domain began to spin like a roulette wheel, each number a different reality. The ever-changing lighting was nauseating while the floor beneath her feet threatened to swallow her whole with each new iteration: a hospital, a subway station, a high school. Her head began to spin with the roulette wheel, and her vision meshed together into a soup of sensory overload. Then it stopped, sending her senses into whiplash. Evalyn had raised her right hand and caught the porcelain wall of an indoor swimming pool, single-handedly stopping the motion. Poorly lit, as though it were closed for the day, the gentle waves cast dancing reflections across their faces. They stood at the water''s edge while Wesper floated above it. With the wave of a hand, the water began to boil and steam before surging from its container and into the cold air. ¡°Act IV: Climax.¡± A translucent golden barrier¡ªits opacity a trait she had never seen from Evalyn''s magic¡ªsprung from the floor, stopping the tidal wave dead in its tracks. Tree roots sprung from Evalyn¡¯s outstretched hand, winding themselves across the walls and down to the tiled floors below. They gained ground rapidly, invading Wesper''s landscape at a disturbing pace. Wesper was spooked judging by the contorted look on his face, and so he changed the setting once more. Yet the roots kept on coming. Clinging to any and every surface, each root sprouted golden leaves from off-shooting branches. A forest was growing before Iris''s eyes like a divine infection, a welcome plight. Wesper began another barrage of weaponry. Fire from unseen gun emplacements, mortar rounds, and artillery shells rained down on Evalyn''s unyielding defence. Each setting change Wesper tried failed at ridding him of the roots as they invaded every one of his realities. The roots wrapped around parking lot pillars, train cars, farmhouses, ancient temples and pitch-black catacombs. Evalyn¡¯s feet did not shift, and not once did her body yield ground. She did not lash out at Wesper once, knowing that doing so was futile. Wesper''s desperate attempts at even scratching her armour failed over and over as the roots kept spreading. The thunderous cacophany grew, forcing Iris to plug Alis''s ears with makeshift earplugs. She watched as Evalyn instinctively parried every assault with an individual barrier, providing a golden answer to every challenge as easily as shrugging a shoulder. Evalyn¡¯s palm slowly turned into a fist, each finger curling as if crushing something between them. In tandem came the sound of metal bending, snapping and crunching as the artillery, mortars, and gunfire deadened. Even if Wesper had a bottomless supply of weaponry, one clench of her fist showed him it was futile. Evalyn¡¯s hand dropped, and the ceaseless march of the roots stopped with it. They were in a temple now, the one Iris had found herself in when she first entered the warehouse. The walls still shifted, and the figures on the stained glass seemed to be eyeing Evalyn from every angle Wesper couldn¡¯t. Evalyn took the silence as an opportunity to raise her voice. ¡°I¡¯ve reached it all, Wesper. I¡¯ve found your true Mind Palace.¡± Wesper stayed behind the lectern, cowering. His black gown had turned white once more, perhaps a sign his faith in something greater had been restored. ¡°All I need to do is destroy the warehouse from the inside. We both know that without a tether, your Mind Palace won¡¯t hold up against mine.¡± Wesper stepped forward, slowly raising a bony finger at Iris. The sunglasses were gone, and Iris was left to stare at the fleshy organ-like substitutes for eyes. ¡°You...you don¡¯t know what you¡¯re dealing with. Wishbearer.¡± Evalyn stayed silent, listening as if obligated to hear his last words rather than out of interest or respect. Yet, even as he addressed Evalyn, his finger pointed at Iris. The lone, bony finger accused her of something she could not know, nor could he fully explain. ¡°They¡¯ve been waiting for someone like her. They¡¯ve been waiting for centuries, and they¡¯ll tear down the world to get her.¡± ¡°Who is ''they''?¡± Evalyn asked. ¡°You¡¯re going to relegate her to another servant of some temporary regime, huh? Some set of lines in the sand?¡± Wesper rounded the lectern and drew nearer, prompting Evlayn to keep on guard. He trodded forward, each step resoundingly painful to his psyche rather than his body. ¡°You are more significant than anything of man¡¯s creation, child. You do not belong to any society, people or even species.¡± ¡°Don¡¯t get closer,¡± Evalyn shouted. ¡°And yet you¡¯re going to let yourself be controlled again? Didn¡¯t the first time tell you that no one is worthy of your help? Nothing has changed since then! Nothing!¡± Crazed mutterings turned into maniacal shouting, and Evalyn decided that enough was enough. She raised a hand to the sky and kept the other to her side as a torrent of Aether rushed towards her body. Magic erupted from her armour in an intensity Iris had never fathomed, let alone experienced. ¡°For the desires you could not fulfil or the wishes no one could grant you, I am sorry,¡± Evalyn began as the magic pulled her off the ground. Her armour glowed like a lighthouse, its luminosity rivalling the sun as it bathed every possible surface with its divine, golden light. Wesper ignored Evalyn¡¯s incanting as his breakdown continued. ¡°They will eat you alive, Iris! For all the good you do for them, they will scramble to eat you alive!¡± ¡°For the desires your destruction will fulfil and the wishes your demise will grant, I am sorry,¡± Evalyn continued as sparks flew like meteors and the release of magic boomed like the shockwaves of megaton blasts. This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report. ¡°You¡¯re going to let them feed you into the infinite cycle of meaningless nothing while you squander your last chance at changing it!¡± ¡°In this world without gods or divinity, the one closest to such titles has taken your opposite side. That is all there is, and that is all there ever will be,¡± Evalyn concluded as the golden aura shrank into her body like the implosion of a star. ¡°I can see the puppet strings on you already!¡± ¡°Act VI: Epilogue.¡± Silence seemed to follow Evalyn¡¯s final sentence, yet it was the exact opposite. An overstimulation of sound, the antithesis of silence screamed through Iris¡¯s ears as the blinding light returned. Yet this time, it had a shape. A whale. Iris had never seen one before besides the occasional illustration. Its smooth contours, outlined with billions of golden maple leaves stood hundreds of metres high as it entered the pinnacle of its dive. Six fins, three on each side, and a tail with three thin flukes instead of two. Darminjun¡¯s visage glittered like a constellation against the black void around it, eating away at it with its golden aura how only a god could. A single whale song rode atop the wall of noise. A single, delicate melody that reverberated itself into Iris¡¯s core memories. She would never forget that sound, and it would always haunt her. How many people did the image before her haunt? How many had found themselves under the body of the god, the song lulling them to their death? It was awesome and sublime, terrible yet terrific. Beautiful, in the same sense death might be. Beautiful in the sense that one¡¯s ideals were beautiful simply because they were ideals. Beautiful, yet wrong to think it so. Sublime desire; a simple urge that both blessed and cursed every being to ever live to reach the greatest of highs and darkest of lows. A magnet to skew any moral compass. A beautiful, terrifying thing that Iris did not want to contemplate, even consider Before this god, all ideals were equal. From saving millions to killing millions, all were a fact of nature; a terrible, cruel, gutwrenching, wrong fact of nature that reminded her of just how base, insignificant and truly immoral creatures were. It was the symbol of someone who knew how cruel the world could be and had accepted every bit of it to stay afloat. Wesper was right: there was no meaning, order or fairness, and Evalyn¡¯s shimmering whale was the ultimate testament to that. Her ideal had won over his, in both beauty and power. The whale began to fall back-first into Wesper, yet his wide eyes were forever glued to Iris. Utterly fixated as though he had witnessed both a miracle and a curse all at once. The light overpowered her, and she closed her eyes. Iris¡¯s vision was hazy when she came to. Her pupils were still too constricted to grasp anything, yet her sense of touch remained intact. Amidst the chaos, her armour had dissipated, and her bare skin now felt a warming breeze caressing her. She still felt the boy she clung to for dear life, warm and breathing regularly. The steady rhythm eased her heart, and her whole body slumped. The exhaustion that had until then been kept back by adrenaline flooded her body like a broken dam. Her vision slowly adjusted, and the ringing in her ears lessened. She looked around her and recognised the setting almost instantly. A single dirt path ran through a forest of maple trees amidst an Elysian autumn. An elderly man sat on a bench beside her, softly smiling without a crinkle on his pristine suit. ¡°Hullo, Iris. It has been too long.¡± ¡°H-hello,¡± Iris mustered, staring at Darminjun. ¡°What happened?¡± ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± he answered honestly. ¡°These people began to appear in the branches of my trees. Then, Evalyn, yourself, and two others I don¡¯t recognise came after.¡± Iris looked around at the mention of anyone else. She looked at the trees first and finally noticed the anomaly. The more she looked, the more apparent it was and the more there were. The same dull uniforms, the same patches, the same thousand-yard stares now unconscious. The roots had found Wesper¡¯s true Mind Palace and had rescued the people from it. ¡°And then Evalyn destroyed the warehouse from the inside.¡± Just like she had said. The moment there was no longer a real-world tether, Evalyn, at that moment, had overpowered him. Evalyn. Iris turned her head dead centre, straight down the dirt road and found the back of her mother turned at her. Someone was on the ground before her, yet she did not need to see a face to know who it was. The rifle was not slung across her back, but her pistol was holstered in the same position as always, on her left shoulder. Iris watched Evalyn draw the gun as the limping man used a last spur of energy to crawl away. Iris heard the gun cock, then the unmistakable sound of a gunshot. She could see Darminjun flinch out of the corner of her eye as Evalyn remained motionless. The body, now a corpse, collapsed lifeless to the dirt. Yet Evalyn did not stop firing. Two, three, four, five, six, seven times the trigger was pulled. Each time, the pool of blood around the body grew larger and larger. Iris only then noticed the absence of an arm as the final remnants of that war-torn soldier she had sat beside faded away. Iris did not flinch once while she watched the execution. Neither hatred nor happiness seemed to fill her as the former likely filled Evalyn. She simply watched as though it was normal, and that worried her ever so slightly. Then Evalyn¡¯s face turned to her; the demeanour that could make a boulder cry was unshakable. ¡°You have done it this time, Miss,¡± Darminjun whispered to Iris. Evalyn¡¯s lips tremored as though every insult she had ever learnt in her life was fighting to get out. In the end, a hissing ¡®you¡­¡¯ was all that managed to escape. ¡°Evalyn¡ª¡± ¡°Are you serious?! I mean genuinely, what the absolute f¡ª¡­argh!¡± She stormed over. ¡°Just have a rebellious phase! Just wait three more years and smoke cigarettes in secret until I catch you and chew you out for it! But this?! You went out of your way to run after a goddamn Wizard and fight on his terms?! You are a child! Did you forget that!¡± ¡°I¡¯m sorry¡ª¡± ¡°I don¡¯t care! If I hadn¡¯t paid our Aetherologist to make a copy of the ring, I would be waking up to your dead body right now!¡± ¡°I needed to¡ª¡± ¡°You didn¡¯t need to do anything! You should¡¯ve kept yourself planted at home while we took care of things! You¡¯re a child, Iris! Before anything, you¡¯re a child.¡± ¡°I can¡¯t be a child.¡± Evalyn¡¯s expression faltered, and the accusatory finger began to waver. The sentence had even caught Iris off-guard, but she could not stop it now. ¡°I can¡¯t be a child, mum. You know that.¡± Iris¡¯s tears began to spill over as no matter how hard she tried, her eyes could not look at Evalyn. ¡°I didn¡¯t like the way you were going to do things. I thought you were going to kill Wesper and all the people in his head,¡± she said through choking breath. ¡°I thought¡­if things didn¡¯t work out¡­you¡¯d kill Alis.¡± Evalyn¡¯s fountain of scoldings ceased, insecurity quickly replacing her anger. ¡°No¡­Iris. I wouldn¡¯t kill Alis.¡± ¡°You would! And all the people in Wesper¡¯s head¡­¡± ¡°But I saved them, didn¡¯t I? They¡¯re all here, I made sure.¡± ¡°How was I supposed to know that?!¡± Iris shouted, finally finding the courage to look at Evalyn directly, yet she immediately regretted it. Her idol looked heartbroken, eyes searching for an answer in Iris¡¯s and unable to find one. She gripped Alis tighter, holding him closer as she averted her eyes again. ¡°Iris¡ª¡± ¡°I asked her to help me, Mrs Hardridge,¡± said a croaking voice. Iris looked down at Alis, yet his eyes remained shut. His mouth moved with the little strength he had left, determined to set the story straight. ¡°Before I knew who he was, I thought Wesper could get me into the resistance. I¡¯d leave...the ships would leave, and things would go back to normal.¡± His eyes slowly peeled open, still bloodshot. He turned towards Evalyn, his manners still dictating that he look directly in the eye of whoever he was speaking to. ¡°When I found out, I panicked. I didn¡¯t want to do that to Iris. Nothing was worth it.¡± ¡°Then why didn¡¯t you tell me?¡± Iris whispered. ¡°He could see me¡­I could tell. If he saw me tell you, he¡¯d destroy the resistance, make ships...fire on the city. I didn¡¯t want to take a chance. I thought I could take him while he was outside his building, Mrs Hardridge¡­but. I¡¯m sorry.¡± ¡°Hey,¡± Evalyn cooed. ¡°We¡¯ll figure this out later. Rest.¡± Alis took the invitation gratefully as though it were an order and closed his eyes. Iris slowly looked up at Evalyn, whose composure was barely holding together. She smiled, although it trembled immensely. ¡°Your armour looks pretty cool,¡± she said as tears welled up in the corner of her eyes. Iris nodded, unsure of what to say. ¡°And the puppet-looking thing. Did you make that too?¡± Iris shook her head meekly. A long pause followed as neither knew which step to take first. ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± Evalyn started. ¡°I didn¡¯t realise that¡¯s how you saw me. It¡¯s¡­it¡¯s true. A lot of it. I can¡¯t help it. I didn¡¯t have a mum like you, and my dad wasn¡¯t as good as Elly was. You two and Marie mean everything to me.¡± Iris hung her head, knowing it was futile to try to reason with someone so set in their ways. Then she felt a kiss on her forehead as Evalyn brushed aside her fringe. ¡°But you mean everything to me. If you don¡¯t want me to do something, I won¡¯t do it.¡± Iris looked up to her, their faces only a few centimetres apart. Her mother¡¯s face was pulled into a desperate, apologetic smile that did everything it could to illicit something similar out of Iris. But Iris had to be honest with herself, she could not show the same gesture. But she was happy. ¡°I¡¯ll tell you what I want to do then,¡± Iris said. ¡°Promise you¡¯ll listen.¡± Evalyn bit her lips and wiped another tear from her face. ¡°God kids grow up so fast. I promise.¡± Iris held out for one more second, the scenery of her last formative moment flashing back before her. She had cried then too, wept into the early hours of the morning over things she had done, things she could no longer change. She wept this time too, just as hard and for what felt like just as long. In the same warm embrace, watched over by the same woman with the strange marking on her cheek. But it was different the second time around. She may have done irreparable damage to countless people, and the future may look back on her actions deplorably. But she was alive, and at that moment, the embrace of her mother and the warmth of her friend felt better than anything else. Chapter 16 Part 1: Dont Let Anything Stop You Dawn was breaking once Evalyn dissolved her Mind Palace her pocket reality replaced with harsh silhouettes against mesmerising streaks of orange, violet and dark pink. Early morning, a time when the city¡¯s night outran the sunrise while the day crowd still slept their final hours. Around Iris were scattered shards of sheet metal and snapped iron scaffolding. Spreading out around her¡ªas though she were the epicentre¡ªwere the remnants of the Wesper''s warehouse. Evalyn stood beside her as her armour radiated a brilliant glow, refusing to lose to the sunrise. Her tree roots began to spread from her feet, meandering into wooden cradles as they spread across the former warehouse floor. A forest of wooden brush curled around them, stretching to every corner while sprouting bundles of foliage. Each cradle shone with a golden spark that blossomed into the form of a human, their knees to their chest and arms wrapped around their shins. The golden lights shimmered like fireflies one after another; each spark another life. It continued, and Iris watched, mesmerised. Tens of people, perhaps even hundreds by the end of it all reborn with the break of dawn. Nameless still, but more alive than ever before. ¡°Three hundred and ninety-seven of them. Makes sense; feeding more than what was in demand would just be a waste of money,¡± Evalyn said. ¡°This many, there¡¯ll probably be enough room for them somewhere.¡± The roots faded, and all three hundred and ninety-seven floated to the ground. Evalyn¡¯s armour waned as she looked down at Iris, the golden mark on her cheek returning to dormancy. Three hundred and ninety-seven. Three hundred and ninety-seven were so many when laid out around Iris. She imagined a place for every single one in and amongst the city, but could barely picture it. Millions, that was what Evalyn had prepared herself for. The gravity of that scenario finally hit Iris, and so did the insanity of what she would have been asking of her guardian. But as she watched Evalyn survey the cohort, three hundred and ninety-seven seemed to be more than acceptable. Evalyn had wanted to save them if there was a chance, that was now clear to Iris. A newfound layer of admiration in Iris took the place of what used to be an insecurity. She could trust Evalyn, trust her to be compassionate when the need ever arose. ¡°I¡¯ll take care of Alis for now, but there¡¯s someone here to see you,¡± Evalyn smiled, nudging her head forward. Iris followed Evalyn¡¯s directions and found a silhouette, almost engulfed in the shadows cast by the steel and concrete jungle. Jet black hair and a prim and proper figure, standing at attention no matter the time of day. Iris felt Alis¡¯s weight lift off her arms as Evalyn picked him up. She couldn¡¯t keep her attention off him, but Evalyn insisted. ¡°I¡¯ve got him now. Just go and say hi. He¡¯ll be here by the time you get back.¡± Iris nodded and stood to her full height. At first a meek walk, her legs still weak from the ordeal. She had gone and done it, gone and done what she thought was right without thinking about anyone else. Not for the good of the country, not for the good of herself, but for the good of someone she thought was worth it. Was she right? She wanted an answer. She wanted an answer so badly that she began to run. She began to sprint as her knees almost failed her several times. Where had she drawn the line? How had she defined selfishness and selflessness? Had she given herself up to a worthless world, or did the small piece of it she tried to save mean something more? Did it all matter? No. Not for the moment, at least. Even if the military garments were coarse against her skin, squeezing the waist of one of her favourite people would never cease to elate her. ¡°Hey!¡± Elvera exclaimed as Iris¡¯s small body rammed into hers. ¡°Slow down, you went through a lot.¡± Iris didn¡¯t care. ¡°Elliot¡¯s coming soon, all right? He¡¯ll be here by mid-morning.¡± Iris admittedly cared about that quite a bit, but Elvera seemed to catch the memo. Iris felt a hardened hand pet her scalp as the other pulled her closer. ¡°Did you do it?¡± Elvera asked. Iris nodded. ¡°Almost.¡± ¡°Almost is good enough for now,¡± she said. ¡°I¡¯m proud of you, no matter what happened.¡± ¡°Who¡¯s speaking right now, my grandma or the Lieutenant-General.¡± ¡°Just me, Iris. Just me.¡± Iris watched from a distance as the sirens zeroed in on the scene. Police vans, ambulances, and even one or two personnel carriers surrounded the crowd as Elvera tended to an unconscious Alis. Iris held onto Evalyn¡¯s hand as they watched from a nearby side street. Evalyn had tugged on her arm and asked to leave several times, but Iris refused. She wanted to go with him, see him through until he could smile again. If he ever smiled at all. ¡°I¡¯ve barely talked to him,¡± Iris lamented, unable to look away. ¡°You¡¯ll be able to. With Wesper gone, there¡¯s a good chance he¡¯ll be safe now.¡± She watched as paramedics loaded him onto an ambulance, all the while fussing over his every wound. The sirens sounded again, and the van drove away. She heard Evalyn sigh and raise a hand. On it was a ring similar to Iris¡¯s, a small white beam emanating from the jewel in Alis¡¯s direction. She slid it off and stuffed it into her pocket, ending another record in her career history. Iris looked at hers, the minuscule beam unsatisfied with being so far away from its counterpart. ¡°Keep yours on, Iris. Always,¡± Evalyn said. ¡°Save him if he¡¯s ever in a bind again.¡± ¡°You¡¯ll let me?¡± ¡°¡­only if you tell me you¡¯re going out first.¡± Iris nodded, content with both Evalyn''s consent and her newfound responsibility. They watched a while longer as each of the three hundred and ninety-seven were roused, checked for injuries, and loaded onto carriers. Their fate from then on was unknown to her, whether they''d prosper or not was no longer in her control. Come to think of it, it never had been, yet that was never the point either. To the people who had fought so hard to give them that chance, Iris hoped she had made amends, even if ever so slightly. It had been a week since the fall of an incredible man. Wesper had not been stupid. Between the phone calls and the occasional meeting, it was at least clear he had his wits about him, albeit never in the right way. He had strayed in recent months, but his motives always fell in line with the rest of the movement''s major actors. He was simply a lone wolf, harder to wrangle yet not impossible. The man brushed past the hotel¡¯s night-shift security, nary raising a finger while his magic did the work of subduing each one. Guards would look at him and ask questions, even threaten him with violence once those questions went unanswered. Yet, it never came to it. They would lower their weapons, clear the way, and the man would continue walking. Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings. Wesper had not told him everything, he knew that much. Besides the VIP¡¯s location, Wesper had given up very little of his plans. It had made communication with Vesmos that much harder if all he ever got out of Wesper were one or two hints from the other end of a telephone line. But that didn¡¯t matter now, Wesper was dead. If he couldn¡¯t do it, Vesmos¡¯s Experimental Weapons and Training program had no options to pursue further. They had pulled back their agents, and the Navy their fleet, albeit reluctantly. Yet that was no reason for the man to give up on Alistair Harbourman entirely. If not for his value as a fighter or a plant in a resistance movement, then for the mere fact that he was there at Wesper¡¯s death. What had happened? Why had Wesper bared the full brunt of the Wishbearer? What made him so eager to fight until he was left with seven bullet wounds and nothing to show for it? Harbourman knew, even if it was just a clue. The man waved another guard down as he entered the elevator, closing the metal grates himself and choosing his floor. Wesper had been obsessed with the Wishbearer, seeing her as the shortcut toward a new world. An obsession he had developed based on mere rumours and hearsay, much of which the man himself knew to be false. Wesper had fantasised about it for years, and in the end had leeched off the movement''s expansive global network to do so. He did not understand the futility of it and assumed someone as war-torn as himself would see his side of the story. He did not understand that the Wishbearer was someone who relished it and thrived in the broken world of today. He did not see her as the strongest symbol against the change they all fought for. Instead, he only chose to see another broken soldier whom he could sweet-talk with ideas of utopia. And in the end, he had tasted her wrath. The man could only guess what Wesper could¡¯ve done to provoke her. Endanger her family, no doubt. Perhaps it had grown since the last time the man had seen her. He reached his floor and stepped off, glaring at each guard that dared raise a hand toward him, wordlessly forcing them into submission as his leather shoes softly tapped against the hallway¡¯s red carpet. He tugged on his suit jacket and massaged his gloved palms as he approached the door. In the end, the man had been right. Wesper¡¯s shortcut was futile, and there was only one way forward towards something meaningful. Something rather than nothing. They would continue searching, holding onto their widespread network and boundless power until the time was right to tear it all down in a feat not even the Wishbearer could match, let alone fix. Despite the intrusion, the night remained quiet. He stood in front of Harbourman¡¯s door, grabbing the handle and twisting. Empty. Alis¡¯s door opened, and a familiar figure entered. ¡°Good morning,¡± the Lieutenant-General said as she entered. ¡°How¡¯s the everything?¡± ¡°Better,¡± Alis answered from his bed. He was able to move, albeit through pained breathing. He was on crutches and much of himself was still bandaged, however, the worst of it was healing. ¡°What brings you here?¡± The Lieutenant-General closed the door behind her but refused to venture any closer. She stood, hands in the pockets of her trench coat as she shivered slightly. ¡°Don¡¯t you get cold?¡± Alis looked at the open window, gusts of chilling wind invading through the gap as the last of autumn¡¯s leaves fell from their branches. ¡°Now that you mention it.¡± He moved to get up, but the Lieutenant-General strode in front of him and unlatched the window, sliding it closed. ¡°That¡¯s better,¡± she said, taking another moment to survey the cityscape. ¡°How¡¯s Iris?¡± Alis asked. ¡°She wants to see you,¡± she admitted. ¡°She can¡¯t stop thinking about you.¡± ¡°When can I see her?¡± ¡°Today, perhaps.¡± ¡°Perhaps?¡± The Lieutenant-General sighed and turned to him, leaning against the windowsill. ¡°People don¡¯t like you being in the country, Alis¡­Mr Harbourman. Even if they aren¡¯t knocking at our door, Vesmos will use you as a point of pressure.¡± The Lieutenant-General refused to meet his eye. He did not blame her in the slightest for she was just the messenger. It was the thought of Iris that pained her, as it did him. ¡°Is there anything you can do?¡± he asked, yet she shook her head. ¡°This isn¡¯t something the Queen can help you with, either. If the push back against your asylum is too strong, I don¡¯t know what will happen.¡± She walked over and sat down beside him, the bed creaking softly under her weight. The sound was strange, coming from someone who wasn''t himself. ¡°So I want you to write her a letter.¡± ¡°A letter?¡± ¡°A letter. One now, and one every single month for the foreseeable future. Write her a letter and tell her everything about you.¡± ¡°What if I can¡¯t afford stamps?¡± ¡°You won¡¯t need any. We¡¯ll take it as part of your intelligence report.¡± ¡°Intel¡­excuse me?¡± The Lieutenant-General allowed herself to smirk a little. ¡°You¡¯re still interested in Vesmos''s rebellion, aren¡¯t you?¡± ¡°Yes, ma¡¯am. Certainly,¡± Alis said, perking upright. ¡°You¡¯re young, but not as young as Iris. In fact, both of you are wise beyond your years. If you agreed to enrol in the rebellion as our informant, you''d have the full backing of the royal antlers.¡± The Lieutenant-General watched him for a response, yet Alis figured that she would not be wholly disappointed either way. He wanted to stay with his first friend as much as she most likely wanted him to, but what would that say about him? What debt would that repay as he faded into nothing while his closest friend bore the brunt of the world? He had been wrong. He had been na?ve and foolish. His black-and-white understanding of justice had been the leash Wesper had used to pull him down the wrong path. He had debts to pay, and mistakes to make up for. Stopping here, he would remain that boy for the rest of his life¡ªa boy with an idyllic romance for rebellion that blindsided him to everything else. His smug, all-knowing outlook, his imitation of how he thought those in power acted. He knew now that rebellions were no different to any other grab for power. Yet, if he wanted better, he¡¯d have to invest in a hope the same way someone had for him. He''d have to take its faults in stride and stamp out the ones that would endanger the idea as a whole. He''d have to realise that it wasn''t perfectly good, but not forget that it was better. ¡°The intel you¡¯ve garnered for us has been indispensable, and there are people who would honour your plea in the case you choose to stay. There are people who will fight for you.¡± ¡°I know, ma¡¯am, but I¡¯ve already met all the allies I need,¡± he said, earning him a smile from her. ¡°I want to let her know there was a point to saving me.¡± ¡°I¡¯m sure she won¡¯t care,¡± she said. ¡°She¡¯d be just as happy having you here.¡± ¡°Maybe, ma¡¯am, but I wouldn¡¯t.¡± She nodded, accepting his resolve for face value. She neither praised nor doubted it but simply respected it. ¡°Pack up your things, then. We leave in an hour. Welcome to Special Operations.¡± Iris mopped the last of the living room floor, finishing her routine next to the front door. She relaxed and leaned against her mop handle, sighing as she stretched her back. It was mid-morning and a week had passed since the incident. There had not been much to heal, but Evalyn had refused to let her back on the job without taking some time off. With Elliot back at the Steel Whale for the week, and Elvera returning to her own office, Iris was left incredibly bored. Abhorrently bored, and painfully lonely. She wanted to see him again, at least to say hello. Maybe she¡¯d bring him flowers, that was something people did for the injured. A get-well-soon card? Although she wouldn¡¯t have the foggiest idea on what to write in it. These thoughts would cross her mind incessantly like flies around fruit, and every time, she¡¯d catch herself staring at the ring. The faint line was moving. Barely enough to notice unless she held it level with her eyes, but he was moving through the city. She watched as he began to slow, moving at a minuscule crawl almost indistinguishable from a simple trick of the eye. But then she heard footsteps from the other side of the door. Faint, still a way down the hallway but undoubtedly in the apartment block¡¯s lobby. The time was too early so it wasn¡¯t Evalyn, nor was she expecting anyone else home for the rest of the day. Sure, it could have been one of the neighbours, but a nagging idea pulled at her psyche that she could not bring herself to ignore. She turned around and faced the door, still clutching the mop as the unlikely hope strangled her, tensing her fingers. A correlation she had no doubt foolishly conceived out of thin air. But she still held onto it, waiting for a knock on the door or a muffled greeting, to see his bruised yet standing self through the peephole. But instead, she got a letter. Not a note, but a neat envelope that slid underneath the door. Signed A.H. She dropped the mop, forced open the deadbolt and threw the door aside as the line on her ring whipped left. Its counterpart again, was slipping from its reach, beyond the limits of the small fading line. She wouldn¡¯t let it, not again. Not this time. She knew instinctively this time would be the last. She surged forward, magically extending her reach towards the drably dressed boy without a care for who might see. With her purple arms, she¡¯d snatch him one more time as if it were her last act in life. She caught him and pulled him closer, dragging his feet along the carpet until she trapped him in her embrace. He was silent, and so was she. Only then did Iris notice how much taller he was than her, almost half a head. He was smaller, boyish, unlike anyone she had ever hugged before and certainly nothing like Elliot. ¡°You¡¯re going,¡± she said, confirming a fact rather than asking a question. He nodded, solemnly. ¡°You believed in me, now I¡¯ve got to prove you made the right choice.¡± Iris didn¡¯t fight it, although it didn¡¯t pain her any less. ¡°Did you see my letter?¡± ¡°Yes.¡± ¡°One like that will come every month, so write back.¡± ¡°I will.¡± ¡°...keep living your way, Iris. I¡¯ll keep living mine. Don¡¯t let anything stop you.¡± Chapter 16 Part 2: A Letter a Month Dear Iris Hardridge-Maxwell, Hello. This is not our first correspondence in writing by technicality, but it does feel that way, so I have decided to treat it as such. How are you? I heard you have been wanting to see me, and by the time you read this letter, the odds of such are admittedly slim. I would have liked to have seen you too, and if we were not able to, then I apologise. I feel like I have deceived you in some way yet again. I hope you will forgive me. Thank you for all that you did for me over the last month or so. You and Mrs Hardridge took care of me, looked out for me, and eventually helped me do what I originally intended to. Thank you for believing in me. I am in the indirect care of Lieutenant-General Marie Elvera while I work as an informant for the Royal Intelligence Bureau. She has given me the opportunity to work towards a better future for Vesmos, while returning the favour to the people who have helped me in my time of need. I will correspond with you every month, and you will receive a letter through the mail. Please write back, I would very much appreciate it. Not too long ago, when I thought of the word ¡®Iris¡¯, I would have undoubtedly pictured the colour, or more reliably the flower. Yet now, for myself and for many others, you will be the first thing that comes to mind. I do not mind this one bit; I think you add a wonderful meaning to the word. Enjoying the story? Show your support by reading it on the official site. I know that you only remember yourself since last summer, and your time in this world has likely been one exposed to things a child need not be exposed to, much like myself. I am sure that in that time, we have yet to understand ourselves in even a superficial sense. So I propose something. Hello. My name is Alistair Harbourman, but my friend calls me Alis. I am thirteen years of age and I am from Vesmos. I have three aunts, two uncles and six cousins, all of whom I have only met briefly but wish to converse with more. I have a friend named Iris and am acquainted with most of her lovely family. I prefer cats, but do not mind well-behaved dogs. I do not like travelling, yet I have not experienced travelling on an aeroplane, so it may be a case of bad experiences. I have an interest in food, but mostly because I wish to try more dishes and find my favourite. I used to think fighting was the most effective path forward in any situation, but have recently found other alternatives and now look at fighting differently. I do not wish to take classes anymore unless absolutely necessary. I have an interest in friends if my job permits it, but I do not mind being alone. Thinking has become harder recently, as there is more to think about and more perspectives to take into consideration. However, it is a challenge I am willing to undertake. Spending time with my thoughts is not so terrifying for now. Even so, I cannot say for certain that I will ever feel lonely again. Next time I see you in however many years, it will most likely be for business reasons. However, please show me around your city and around your life as much as you feel comfortable doing. I would like to see how much you and everything around you has grown, and I would like to see if I am still worthy of your trust. This was a short letter, but I¡¯m afraid I do not have that much time. Say thank you to everyone for me. Sincerely, Alis Interlude: Iris Remembers III I remember sitting there, curled into a ball with my arms across my knees. Just watching each person run by was stimulating. I would say entertaining, but it¡¯d only feel wrong. Even so, I don¡¯t think I knew what being entertained meant; it was just something to look at. People would come by and check on me of course. I remember one woman tugged on my arm for a few minutes, but I never budged. She didn¡¯t seem old enough to have children of her own, and so she was probably one of the still level-headed ones spearheading the relief effort. She was really pretty, but I remember her expression being painful to look at. I mean, of course it would¡¯ve been. Everything was gone, everything. I have no clue which village in Sidos it was, but I doubt it¡¯s still there today. She eventually gave up though. If you come across this story on Amazon, it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it. Hm? Yeah, it was Sidos. The mountains I came down from were definitely the Northern Chain Ridge. I don¡¯t know. Who knows how long I had been alive for until then. Maybe I¡¯d been mindlessly trekking the mountains before that. The next morning had seen an end to the fires. The fuel had ran out by then, both the houses and the grass plains. I still sort of sat there, the wind blowing ash through my hair as I watched people scavenging through what was left. Most were mourning, but a few had started to notice me. There were whispers at first, that eventually turned into some careful steps forward. I mean, a child not of the village with rags and silver hair, staring at it as it burnt to the ground. I¡¯d think it was some sort of ghost, wouldn¡¯t you? No. They didn¡¯t take my presence too kindly at all. Chapter 17 Part 1: Mark, Set, Ready Mark. Crimson, blood, scarlet; colours that intermingled along the intricate, needle-thin lines that etched and carved a living Sigil into the brickwork¡¯s flesh. Breathe, the no-name symbol did, and like a living being, it had impulses. Slight twitching, flashing, swirling and mingling of its macabre colours. Like a living being, it had cravings. A single directive as clear and straightforward as the lines which cut through its host surface. To the passing human eye, it was mere graffiti. Vandalism painted on an unlucky wall¡ªthe crime itself rather than a symptom. To the Aether-sensitivities of a Spirit¡ªan impossibility in this case¡ªpassing by with similar apathy, the Sigil proved worthy of no more attention. Again, vandalism, yet perhaps using a paint with magical properties. The marking of a criminal organisation or a message hidden in a mural. Alarming, yes, but nothing to trifle with. It was someone else¡¯s problem. Yet, in part, the apathetic eyes of the theoretical passerby Spirit were correct. The convulsing lines each carried a meaning, like a brushstroke in a painting, a letter in the alphabet, or a key in a code. Each line was unique, and no two Sigils held the same directive. Each indecipherable tapestry would be born, live, and die at the whim of their artists, leaving nothing behind but singes of mystifying glyphs. Mere breadcrumbs as to the artist¡¯s identity, if they could ever even be considered so revealing. And to the eye of such a profoundly talented and well-read artist, the markings on the Sigil would prove no less cryptic. After all, it was a mass jumble of lines, more akin to the unknowable machinations of nature than something drawn by a steady hand. Like staining a canvas with oil, there was no control in the detail, yet there was in the application. The artist would contemplate the Sigil¡¯s shape, size and position. They would recognise the chosen brick wall, tile or cobblestone road as not a convenient canvas but a location worthy of marking. From there, it would be a matter of finding a motive, weighing the likelihood of a Sigil being one of warding or of sabotage. If experienced, they may predict what directive the Sigil would execute once its craving for Aether began¡ªwhat colours the Sigil would take when it bloomed into its full, sublime majesty. Yet most artists would not go so far as to investigate unless intrigued to the point of irritation. Making predictions based on the Sigil alone was paramount to playful fantasy, requiring leagues too much imagination for a serious investigation. Artists were well-versed in their art but equally well-versed in other artists. Yet in almost every situation, artists would only ever make sure they were clear of the vicinity for whenever the Sigils activated. And so, by the third week of winter 1941, no artist was setting foot in the vicinity of the Gruppur & Sons Armour Co. factory in Trepidite, the capital city of Demitore. In the human-dominated country, thick with the smog of diesel engines, not a single citizen could see through the ruse of simple vandalism. No one, until the floodgates opened. Set. The girl tapped her heel, the crease along her leather school shoes growing more pronounced as she continued. She could not suppress her need to vent and so could not keep her feet under control, unlike her father. His legs¡ªlong and slender¡ªhid behind the fabric of his jet-black trousers. They were still, unlike hers. Still as the statues she took for granted, flanking her school¡¯s main gates. She looked up at his mask, a habit she had picked up from many years of making human friends at school. She could tell everything about a person¡¯s feelings by their face, although, at times, it was harder and, at times, easier. A Beak¡¯s mask did not hold such significance, for it was merely a tool for communicating with humans. Beaks did not face each other to communicate, and the adults did so only out of habit¡ªa holdover from a time when masks produced only scrawl that would appear across the bone-white surface. The little girl, gifted with a voice box on her second birthday, did not develop such habits, and had been scolded for never looking anyone in the eye. She had learnt since, having the practice so much as beaten into her until perfection. She only needed to focus on another Beak to communicate with them. They were shadows, after all. Shadows, by definition, were never afforded the right of expression. Yet, even as she held her father¡¯s hand, and the shifting darkness of their two palms weaved between each other, she could not sense what he was feeling. Still. Like a statue. Even if he had a human face, the girl doubted it would help her much. And as sterile as her father¡¯s expressions was their environment. She had recognised the hospital, a strangely alabaster, uniform place she had once visited when her Aether intake had grown slack. The place was uncomfortable purely by association, yet her latest visit did little to quell her prejudicial contempt, if at all. She sat by her father in a hallway of what was the underbelly of the institution. Foot traffic was markedly lower, the lighting dimmer and the already sparse d¨¦cor almost non-existent. There was no life afforded to the space, only a profound solemnity. She straightened her uniform with one hand, patting down the white blouse and checkered skirt almost out of habit. Keeping it straight, tidy, and without wrinkles was almost an obsession of hers. She checked her hair, making absolutely sure every strand was tied back perfectly. Another habit she had developed when she was younger and only refined after making friends with humans. Somewhere down the line, the constant vigilance had shifted into routine. She felt irritated, almost sick if she went too long without performing the ritual. She was jealous of other Beaks, whose hair would never grow, fray or mangle, forever staying as perfectly sculpted silhouettes. She was special in that way, having to cut her nails and maintain her weight. Her Aetherologist had called it a defect. She was jealous of other Beaks. Foot traffic. It was not hard to hear in such a dead corner of the hospital. Two sets. Strong yet out of sync echoed down the hallway and squeaked against the polished floor. Her father stood, and she found herself standing, too. They were police officers; the girl recognised them by the badges they produced from their overcoats. Excalan Metropolitan Police. A Detective Inspector and a Detective Constable. She recognised the ranks, at least superficially, from a novel she was reading. ¡°Mr and Ms Mallorine, I presume,¡± the Detective Inspector said in a low voice as he removed his fedora, holding it against his chest. Far from the grizzled, hard-boiled image she had always held of the title, the man standing before her was well-groomed and clean-shaven. Even his shoes were polished to a shine that defied the dull lighting. Her father nodded. ¡°Yes. Gerteul Mallorine. My daughter, Crestana.¡± His voice matched the Policemen in volume, his luxury voice box emulating the policeman¡¯s solemnity with none of the distress the girl could feel in herself. She held it in, even contemplating turning her voice box off before she could let go¡ªfor it to express her. ¡°I¡¯m sorry for your loss,¡± the Detective Inspector said. ¡°This won¡¯t take too long; we just need to record an official statement as procedure.¡± ¡°Yes, officer,¡± her father said. ¡°I understand.¡± He sounded tired more than anything else. The Detective Inspector nodded to her father, then turned to her and gave an identical gesture. He led the way further down the hall, and the girl and her father followed closely behind the Detective Constable. Four sets of footsteps now echoed across the sterile underbelly, yet more made it feel no more merry. They brought with them a stark reality check, undeniable confirmation rather than any meaningful consolation. They were always bearers of bad news, and the girl did not envy their job. The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation. Each door they walked past was more or less identical to the administrative wings above ground. A distinct lack of natural lighting aside, the offices were clean, professional and sometimes almost inviting. The nature of their work almost made the girl forget that the pathologists who called the basement floor home differed very little from the doctors above. Even when surrounded by death, they filed paperwork, ate lunch and bantered all the same as anyone else. The only thing that differed was the pulses of their ¡®patients¡¯. The detectives paused at a certain door, leading to an exceptionally cold room, even colder in appearance. The girl did not see much beyond the door apart from the tiled walls, stainless steel benches, and a lone operating table in the room¡¯s centre, a mass lying atop it underneath a white sheet. The Beak behind it, draped in a white overcoat almost looked like death itself. She knew what lay there and couldn¡¯t bear to take her eyes off it until the Detective Inspector blocked her view. She looked up at his face in response, almost forgetting to communicate in the way humans understood. The Detective Inspector cut her off before she could speak. ¡°We only need one person to identify the body. You don¡¯t need to enter if it¡¯s too much to handle.¡± The girl froze. Equal parts ''yes'' and ''no'' cancelled out any coherent thought in her head. She wished for someone to make her do it, force her to walk into the room and take the burden of choice from her shoulders. Enter and grieve like a child or refuse for the sake of composure. Unlike her father, she knew she could not have the best of both worlds. ¡°Thank you, officer,¡± her father said in her steed. Wait here. And so, she waited, standing beside the Detective Constable as her father followed the Inspector inside. Their footsteps echoed horribly, and the room emanated the same soft whirring as any other domestic FrostBox. None of the grandiose a funeral afforded death; none of the ritual or symbolism. Just corpses. Heaps of flesh. For a human, the face of the flesh still bore a harrowing resemblance to the once-living person. Once one removed a Beak¡¯s mask, the heap of swirling black flesh meant nothing to anyone besides only the closest friend or family. ¡°Thank you for coming, Mr Mallorine,¡± the pathologist¡¯s mechanical voice said. ¡°I¡¯m sorry we¡¯ve had to meet in such a way, but¡­such is the case with this job.¡± ¡°Thank you for your work,¡± her father said, expressing little more than the formality itself. Over the whir of the magic coolant, the girl barely heard the removal of the cloth covering as it draped to the floor. And after a prolonged silence¡­. ¡°Yes. That is my wife, Regela Mallorine, and that is the serial code of her mask.¡± The girl¡¯s emotions slipped, and her voice box expressed it as a sharp exhale, as though she had been winded. Out of the corner of her vision, she could see the Detective Constable react but ultimately do nothing. She thanked him silently as she attempted to reassert her composure. ¡°Thank you,¡± she heard the Detective Inspector say. ¡°Please, take your time.¡± ¡°What has the coroner ruled?¡± her father asked them as she clutched her abdomen and tensed her body, refusing to let herself slip. ¡°Suicide,¡± the pathologist said. ¡°There are obvious traces of aggressive Aether compounds in her body, and a handwritten addition to her will was left in her personal effects.¡± The girl keeled over, racing to turn off her voice box before it could weave her outburst into something verbal. The Detective Constable by her side kneeled beside her. ¡°Hey,¡± was all he could say, his inexperienced face twisting into concern and confusion. He did not know how to help, and his help, his pity, was the last thing she wanted. The pathologist kept going. ¡°The coroner has also ruled that she¡­hung herself before the poison took effect and has called for further investigation into her motive.¡± The whirring of the coolant was all she could hear besides the faint whispers of her voice box. It was still on, taking her emotions and twisting them into a shaky breath. She listened to it, listened to herself, listened to the unbearable state she had devolved into. She could not even turn her voice box off and grieve like a normal Beak, the way her mother would have ordered. The mother who always hated how her hair grew and her body fluctuated. The hypocrite who now lay as a heap on a cold steel table, hanging herself like some human. Perhaps, it was all out of spite. Ready. ¡°¡ªwhich marks what seems to be an end to the three-year-long Help & Labour power struggle which followed the end of the Workar Empire¡¯s collapse. The sudden disappearance of well-renowned Workar CEO and disillusion of the company, left in its wake a major power struggle to corner the domestic-use market. Well respected for their disapproval of illegal kidnapping methods in favour of voluntary training and in-house production, the reputation has only recently been matched by the combined effort of the Tereka and Brikkil families and their newest business venture. As the last vestiges of the landmark tower are scrubbed of all ties to the historic business, one can only wonder if, and how, the legacy will last. In other news¡ª¡± The man turned down the radio and leaned in his chair, watching the snow fall beyond his window from a thoroughly overcast sky. Like a child with too much paint, the grey masses gave the world a blotchy, uneven overcoat. Such was winter. Even with the advent of modern technology, the cold kept most people off the streets and in their homes, huddled around a smoky campfire or a smoggy heater. Ironically, only when it snowed on the coldest days would the populous venture out, have fun, and regain a modicum of the spirit that spring would soon reinject into their cities. The man looked around his humble room on the seventeenth floor of a humble downtown Trepidite inn. Humble for a hotel room was a bed, a bathroom, and a chest of drawers, barely large enough for a single person sitting tens of metres above the concrete street below. Humble for a hotel meant being only one of many lessees in a building at least twenty storeys high, peppered with uniform windows and metal pipes like glowing pores and popping veins, bursting with steam and leaking smog. Humble for a building meant being connected to the grid by a myriad of streaking electrical cables, flanked by bridges and railways suspended in midair, rattling with the traffic of trams and trains through the entire district in perpetuity. Humble for a district meant not being afforded the privilege of glamorous billboards nor the honour of being bathed in blinding spotlights from below as did the city¡¯s uptown. Those same spotlights instead traced the dark ceiling as snow and ash fell from the sky in equal parts while the streets relished in its bottom-feeder society. Individual lights from neon signs, faulty streetlamps and grimy windows made up for the spotlights¡¯ absence, advertising bootleg products and shady services. Humble for a human city meant that such a way of life, from gold-laced sidewalk to overflowing gutter, did not extend as far as the eye could see. Yet. The man could easily recognise Trepedite as a human city¡ªone of abundance and excess, efficiency and greed. A well-oiled, churning machine that spread and spread, from austere lights and pearly towers that seemed to pierce the grey ceiling to the grit and grime which still somehow triumphed over nature itself. It was every bit a human city, but Demitore was still a middling nation. An older frontier for the species itself but new for the new-age human living condition. And so, it was ironic that the man in question had travelled to the hive of human activity to meet a Spirit. ¡°Friend of yours wasn¡¯t he, that Wesper guy? ¡­Provenance?¡± The man turned back to his guest. A skeletal figure hidden under a ragged corduroy suit stood by the door, head concealed in a tattered, fraying cloak. In the dim light of the glorified prison cell, one could not help but dismiss him as another figure of the streets. Almost like camouflage, his guest was one with the grim labyrinth, his appearance expertly encouraging assumptions of a lowly status and his mannerisms masterfully reinforcing them. Only Provenance had the opportunity to notice the inconsistencies between the shape of his guest¡¯s feet and his shoes, or the way his teeth seemed to glint more prominently in the light. The phrase he had fallen to in describing the figure was simply that it was ¡®best not to look at him for too long¡¯. ¡°Yes,¡± Provenance replied, collecting himself from his daydream and turning away from the ashen grey sky. ¡°Good colleague of mine. I gave him his last job three years ago, right before he died.¡± ¡°How did that end up?¡± his guest asked, and Provenance smiled, not wholly enthused on reminiscing. Noteworthy or not, the past was the past. He only found value in the past insofar as it affected the present. Beyond that, the history of such a misbegotten reality was hardly worth his time. ¡°Well, we all have our failures,¡± he warned, sighing while a bulleted summary of their conversation scrolled through his head, wrapping up his guest¡¯s report into a neat abstract he tucked away in his memory. ¡°I don¡¯t wish to see your campaign fall short, so please, do tread with caution in the city that killed my friend.¡± A final warning. Less of a formality than Provenance was used to delivering, for he meant every word. ¡°I¡¯ll take that in stride, friend,¡± his guest said, turning for the door. ¡°Until utopia begins.¡± ¡°Until then.¡± Blow. Chapter 17 Part 2: Sound the Sirens Early morning, five thirty, and six shadows glided over the snowy rat maze of downtown Trepedite, elongated by the maiden rays of the breaking dawn. Oblong in their shape, they most resembled rounded rhombuses than any recognisable aircraft. And even as the populous¡ªroused by blaring evacuation alarms¡ªglared into the sky, no one could quite understand what they were looking at. The more perceptive, able to glimpse the shapes from the suspended trams, found them to be Spirits. Through the layer of frost on their windows, they could only conclude based on loose theory rather than informed discernment. Spirit incursions were rare but not unheard of. Often misguided by the bright lights of the uptown district, such sights were nothing of note. But then those same people noticed the sirens attached to those cruising shapes. Sirens that cast bold shades of blue and red into the city¡¯s recesses where the morning light had failed to reach. Like the unmistakable toll of a fire engine, the speakers repeated a single message until their orders were inescapable. ¡°Geverde Disaster Rescue Team! Clear a path!¡± The shadows were Spirits. Capable of controlled levatation, they soared through the chilled morning air on two leathery wings. Despite being riddled with shifting holes, moving across the skin like oil in water, they flew. Their pinprick eyes faced forward as they carried ten bodies each. An even mixture of Beak and human, the operatives were fitted head to toe in tactical gear. Somewhere between the outfits of an army soldier and paramedic, the ten men and women on each transport carried with them an arsenal of tools. Not including their training, they came equipped with everything from medical equipment to rope, harnesses to gas masks. Where they differed were their specialisations. Many brought mining tools. Pickaxes and shovels intent on digging the injured out of the rubble. Others brought magically infused saws and axes, purpose-built for cutting through metal. Yet such implements were commonplace in Trepedite, if not having mechanical alternatives. More local rescue teams were as well trained, and their veterans were as well versed in the art of urban rescue as any of Geverde¡¯s finest. Instead, it was the third major specialisation amongst its members that made them so prized amongst their own kingdom, let alone any other. The four transports encroached on their final destination and, at the behest of their handlers, began to circle the site. The rescue workers peered over the edge of their transport as they prepared their abseiling ropes. A scarlet dome protruded from the ground. Magic, and a malicious kind at that. Stretching from the surrounding roads, the dome encased inside it, a manufacturing plant with everyone in it. The captives'' status remained unknown, but dead or alive, they were to retrieve as many as possible. Many of the rescue workers lamented, recognising the dome¡¯s colour and the claw-like markings across its translucent surface. Telltale signs of the tragedies that had plagued human nation after human nation in the previous weeks. From the heart of humanity to the fringes of diesel¡¯s influence, the mocking visage of the same scarlet dome had appeared across the species¡¯ empire. Each time, it took with it a tribute: every single human in its radius. The rescue workers tied their ropes to the carabiners stitched into the transport¡¯s harness and got into position. They took one final look at the police perimeter and local rescue teams raring for their turn to begin. They dropped. Zipping down the line, their gloves grew hot from the friction as the dome drew nearer and nearer to their boots. Each worker inched closer and closer to the malevolent surface, not daring to touch it directly. No adverse effects from direct contact had been discovered, but none were willing to be the first to try. They clamped up on their slack as their boots came mere centimetres away from the dome. They fastened their rope and confirmed their knots were secure. They gave their signals, and the final speciality of each team came into play. Four individuals adept in Aetherology drew pole charges from their backs. Like other instruments of Aetherology, the devices were made with the sensibilities of a bygone era¡ªencased in brass and packed tight with toothed cogs jutting from the body, interweaving the mechanical and the magical in a delicate harmony. The charge came segmented, needing straightening on use. After locking each segment into place, the charges were driven into the dome before activation. Despite each member''s expertise, little of it was required to operate their instrument of choice. Once the button was pressed and the gears began to turn, the charge¡¯s directive was singular. Destroy magic patterns. The charges let out sparks of green, weaving themselves into the silk-thin fabric of the dome and eating away at it. The wave spread, deciphering each and every claw marking and dispelling it. Like a virus, the destructive drive spread across the dome slowly, much slower than what was ideal. Despite the highest grade of implement Aetherology could muster, the raw power of unexplainable magic itself proved difficult to defeat. Despite their impatience, the virus proved triumphant, cutting incisions into the barrier¡¯s membrane wide enough for the teams to enter. They gave the signal, intent on a final approach. Gas masks, eyewear, the covering of any exposed skin, and a final protective implement. They tapped the bracelets on their wrists against their bodies, and the magic imbued within them blossomed. Hard to describe yet easy to understand: a strong warding charm was likely the most apt analogy. As fully protected as Geverde¡¯s brightest minds allowed, the rescue teams made their breach. The aura was thick, turning the crisp air viscous like a marsh in the heat of summer. The Beaks amongst the group, naturally more in tune with matters of Aether and magic registered it the instant they entered the dome. With their sensitivities facing imminent meltdown if it were not for the warding magic, they recognised both the lack of any chemical hazards, nor the need for any in the first place. Like a cancer, the magic was malignant and efficacious, yet the Beaks understood that they were not the target of its directive. The beast in red tint cared only for their human teammates, oblivious to the red magic clawing away at their warding barriers. This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source. The teams landed on the concrete sidewalk outside the factory¡¯s west wall. For only a metre or so in front of their eyes did the city street look like anything so quotidian. Beyond that, it was an alien landscape of harsh contours marred by toxic red. As soon as their boots touched the ground, they unhooked themselves from the line and awaited the remainder of their procession. But a few metres in front of them were the eager local rescue forces, helpless until Geverde¡¯s finest did their duty. They waited, a world apart. The teams got into position as the Aether specialists handed out pole charge after pole charge to every teammate in their vicinity as each silently carried out their pre-briefed orders. Pole charge in hand, they ran to the barrier¡¯s edge and snapped them into place, aligning them with the circular edge as close as a straight line could be. The line of charges eventually cleared almost twenty metres from end to end, with four Aetherology specialists kneeling beside it, evenly placed and equally prepared. The charges activated. Orders stronger than their breacher cousins, they were created for the express purpose of demolishing on a wider scale. Gears turning and magic patterns firing, they were what sticks of dynamite were to firecrackers. Green magic fervently latched onto the red membrane and began to do its work. An equally malignant force, eating away at the red evil layer-by-layer, like a horde of ants to a rotting corpse. The barrier lifted, although recalcitrant to the bitter end, fighting tooth and nail like a rabid dog to keep its form and continue its directive. As it lifted, the tainted Aether escaped, acting as problematically as any other hazardous gas. It charged the makeshift perimeter in rolling clouds, like a torrential wave with all the hunting instinct of a pack of rabid wolves. The local emergency services, shielded by the same magic that had, up until then, protected Geverde¡¯s finest, charged forward in a torrent of their own. Geverde¡¯s rescue workers were overwhelmed by the tidal wave of police, firefighters and medical services as they rushed into positions around the factory¡¯s perimeter. Door busting, window smashing, the operation came under full swing like clockwork striking the hour, and Geverde¡¯s team allowed themselves to breathe a sigh of relief. The Beaks looked around at each other, reassessing their position as the initial chaos subsided and the red tint drained from their bone-white masks. Yet none could find the masks with gas filters and glass lenses. From Beak to Beak, the growing realisation began to send pangs of panic through each and every one of them. They began to look around, verifying their positions, some even looking at where they remembered a human teammate to be standing no more than a minute ago. There were gaps amongst the eighteen remaining. A few began to run into the building, pushing past the rescue workers only starting to cross the threshold of the factory¡¯s outer walls. More tainted Aether escaped, more malice dispelled and dissolved into the neutral Aether outside, yet even as the morning sun¡¯s rays finally penetrated even the inside of the factory floor, there was not a single sign of life. Evident signs of struggle. Knocked over workbenches, hurriedly discarded tools, emergency alarms still blaring their red hue uselessly into the mist. A picture-perfect freeze frame of what the present could only assume was some sort of ¡®final moment¡¯ of the victims¡¯ lives. They still searched, combing through the still-life with the combined forces of all rescue workers still present. Searching under desks and in cabinets, crying out the names of their missing comrades until their voice boxes crackled and sparked. Provenance watched as the last vestiges of the short-lived yet admittedly awe-inspiring exhibition dispelled into the morning Aether. His humble hotel room¡¯s view barely cleared the roofs of the buildings across the street, yet he had observed the marvellous display through the generous gap between two city blocks before him. What was ordinarily a bustling morning market turned black with the fall of dusk had been utterly deserted. The streets were quiet, save for the few balconies that could get a clearer view of the scene. Provenance had observed the view over a morning cup, not so much enjoying it as he was overseeing it. As someone with no stake in the operation, he found less satisfaction in its completion than he did in his coffee. His guest the night before had proven more than competent in his method of operation, leaving Provenance nowhere to offer his expertise without coming off as crass. Seeing his comrade off as they left the city its final parting gift was the least he could do. Even if his guest did not realise it, they were but two beings with the same final goals; there was mutual respect in that no matter how far their paths strayed. His guest was more infamous in certain circles for an unparalleled ability to invest in opportunities long-term. Whether the goal be monetary or theological, the bread would bake in the oven for years at a time, its product always more than making up for the wait. Provenance, believing more in a quantitative approach to his methods, had only recently taken notes from his guest¡¯s handbook. He¡¯d leave only a handful of loaves where an entire bakery once stood, entertaining himself with the odd muffin or puff pastry. Puff pastry. Breakfast was sorted. But before that, there was still time for a phone call. There was no phone in Provenance¡¯s room. He had neglected to pay for what was nowadays a common luxury. The discretion coupled with the view from the window had been more than enough for him. After all, even if there had been, there was no chance he was using it, even if the room was booked out under a fake name. He pulled on his overcoat and stepped outside, ducking under the ceiling light hanging by a thread and taking caution with his footwork, stepping around the ominous stains patchworking the faded blue carpet. He came to the elevator shaft and called it, deciding to play the game he would most often play in such situations. He closed his eyes and listened for the rattles, gauged the incremental volume increase and waited. ¡°Four, three, two¡ª¡± The elevator screeched to a halt in front of him. Half a second off, as always. Taking the time to listen was a habit he had developed by himself, but the value of listening was something he had learnt from¡­an acquaintance. He stepped inside, leaving his daydreaming on his floor and descending to the first. The lobby was as empty as the day before, leaving only the tired old lady working the receptionist desk to hold the fort. ¡°Good morning,¡± Provenance nodded, not waiting for a response before heading for the exit. The street was still deserted, and Provenance had admittedly let slip the curfew order from his mind before stepping out into the street. Feeling aware of something beforehand took away the necessary urgency needed to act wholly natural. But instead of turning tail, he kept forward. He turned left, trekking along the sidewalk with his hands in his pocket and eyes on the concrete. A police patrol turned onto the street as he reached the jet-black telephone booth, sandwiched between a used goods shop and the entrance to an adult entertainment parlour. He entered the booth as the patrol made a final approach. ¡°Hey!¡± an officer shouted, leaning from the passenger window. ¡°You deaf? There¡¯s a curfew!¡± Provenance turned, stretching his mouth into his best imitation smile. ¡°Thank you for the warning,¡± he began. ¡°But I don¡¯t believe those rules apply to me.¡± The officer paused, his slight twitching and swaying only the involuntary variety. He blinked, then nodded. ¡°I see. Sorry to bother you. Have a nice day.¡± ¡°You too.¡± Provenance shut the booth door and began to dial a number he had only recently committed to memory. The dial tone rang once before the operator answered, much faster than he was used to in other less human-middling nations. ¡°Hello, I¡¯d like to place an international call on urgent business to Regalda city in the Kingdom of Yarro, area code four two three, house number six¡­seven zero.¡± The operator confirmed the request, and Provenance waited for the connection. He closed his eyes once again. ¡°Hello, this is Dr Herrel Fraddick speaking.¡± ¡°Hello, Fraddick. We spoke on the phone a week ago regarding your sponsorship. Congratulations, my business partners and I have decided to fund your research into Aether erasure technology.¡± Chapter 17 Part 3: A Familiar Dream Iris leaned against the dilapidated walls of her sorry excuse of a Mind Palace, yawning as she waited out the almost bi-weekly midnight visit. Again, she tried putting pressure on the wall with her shoulder, but unlike flimsy set-dressing, the phone wall did not seem to budge. The lights flickered, and she blinked, swearing that the harsh bulbs were not doing her eyes any favours. She yawned again, hopelessly tired even though she knew by now she always woke up the next morning refreshed. It was a pilgrimage in her dreams, but considering how regular they had become and how little happened during them, they were more a chore than anything else. Her beast-friend, whom she had never bothered to name, coiled around her feet, a sort of incarnation of her power that seemed to fend off any terrors that made the particular night terror well¡­terrifying. The walls had not loomed over her in a long time, the carpet had long since given up on clawing at her feet, and the imitation Evalyn sitting in the far corner had long since become docile. Iris refused to ever let her guard down, but once the horror had been sapped from the hallway, not much was left of it apart from its dingyness. She had seen countless others like it patrolling the city, and learning how dime-a-dozen such places were, had almost filled her with disappointment. She winced, clutching her stomach. Cramps, the ones her mother had insisted were a regular phenomenon for a girl her age. Both parents had kicked up an awful fuss when they began, celebrating and telling her to pick an age. In the confusion, Iris had chosen twelve; it had been almost a year since. Thirteen soon. The number made her smile sometimes. She had grown more proficient in just about everything. Reading, writing, speaking, schooling, and most importantly, fighting. Evalyn had said Iris was developing her own style, one strikingly different to herself, and Iris relished the thought of being different. She had always admired Evalyn, but the thought of doing things her own way was equally as enthralling. She had grown bolder by the day, needing a humbling from her mentor at least once a week. Now, she was bold enough to nod off during her bi-weekly visits, paying no heed to the dangers that lay just beyond the coils of her guardian Spirit. Today, she felt a bit bolder than usual. ¡°Hey,¡± she said, tapping her beast with the tip of her boots. The beast reared its head up at her sluggishly, looking equally as tired as her. ¡°Wanna try the doors again?¡± The beast began to uncoil itself, taking up a position Iris now found familiar. The tip of its tail hovered at her feet while its body curled around her, its head resting just above hers. It was a stance the beast assumed whenever she was preparing for a fight. Easier to attack from, sure, but Iris had long since figured it was defensive in its nature. Whatever small part of her psyche was responsible for letting bullets fly through her brain or opening her Mind Palace to override an enemy one on impulse had seemed to take physical form. A small part of the vast power she had yet to tap into, firmly as her ally. Never under her control, only an ally. She walked past the first three entrances she had opened years ago. She could not discern why, but doors had not opened for her since her first few months under her parents'' care. She had tried tugging on them, even going so far as to push off the wall with a foot until her fingers went numb. Just last month, she had grown so impatient that she had taken to one with her powers, thrashing it with oversized claws and pounding it with an imitation battering ram, the sort she had seen police use on safehouses. Nothing had worked, but she was bored once again. She walked up to the fourth door in the sequence and tugged on it as she always did, and as if it was a gag routine, it didn¡¯t budge. ¡°All right, fine,¡± she sighed. ¡°keep your secrets.¡± She turned on her heels and strolled across the hall to the next door, making it halfway across when¡­ ¡°Ha!¡± She swivelled on her heels, catching the door by surprise as she turned around. Her beast followed up excellently, surging forward in a fraction of a second and ramming its jaws into the door handle. The wood cracked, and Iris saw the handle hanging by a thread, the lock busted, and the door ajar. She froze in amazement, watching as the handle''s weight tore its final thread, falling to the carpet with a muted thud. She looked at her hand, the index finger still firmly pointed in declaration. Elliot had insisted the dramatic pose and vocal exclamation were key to a successful bait-and-switch, but the idiotic suggestion had largely wafted into one ear and out the other. She¡¯d have to apologise to him later. For now, she¡¯d explore the fruits of his miracle advice. Pushing the door further ajar, she ventured through, her beast following closely behind. A bright light burned her retinas, and her beast moved to shield them as they adjusted. The colours slowly began to seep into her vision, dyeing the scene before her in a stunning sheen of silver. Walls like crystals stretched around her, reaching for the sky or perhaps even further. It was a room, in some sense, but not a room with any human sensibilities. In the way ¡®room¡¯ and ¡®chamber¡¯ were technically interchangeable, but one commanded a grander, more mysterious picture in the listener¡¯s mind, the space borrowed heavily from the latter. A chamber of some sort, and chambers were never built without something to store in them. The crystalline walls and mirror-polished floors reminded her of something else she had seen, equally otherworldly and out of place. The first door she had opened, where she had frozen to death while overlooking a monumental city that looked as though one with the stars. The similarities were uncanny. She walked down the centre of the room, eyes fixated on an indent in the pristine crystal structures. A cave of some sort had been carved into the ¡®rock¡¯, a blue translucent glaze sealing its entrance. Iris approached it, shielding her hand with a gauntlet as she reached out and touched it. The barrier was physical insofar as it did not let her pass. When applying another mite of pressure forward, the barrier sparked and sent her hand flying. She shook off the light pain, squinting through the sheen for a better look. Beyond the barrier were runes; symbols floating in midair like bubbles in beer. Random in their patterns and sequencing, but Iris could not shake the feeling that it was information of some sort. She heard footsteps behind her and turned, materialising her armour on reflex after reminding herself just how brutal her visions could be. She stood in a readied position, but it seemed her adversaries had not noticed her. Two Spirits of variety that Iris had never seen before. Sentient and bipedal, they appeared to Iris as skeletons of jagged, ash-black bone, only vaguely resembling the illustrations she had learnt from in textbooks. They had no heads, only orbs of light radiating Aether and releasing symbols like the flames of a campfire, symbols that were similar enough to the ones behind the barrier. She watched as the two figures glided towards Iris, unbeknownst to her presence or, at the very least, uncaring. She could feel as they brushed past pulses of Aether emanating from each one, forming connections one after another between the two bodies. Iris released her gauntlet and focused on the pulses, honing into each to the best of her ability until she began to hear things or rather decipher the pulses into words. ¡°¡ªthink that the new barrier will hold?¡± ¡°It must. The mere drop we lost from this well has become a global gospel under our noses. If these¡­pilgrims gain anything more, they might find it an apt excuse to burn down the entire world.¡± ¡°A part of me fears they already have.¡± The two figures drew nearer to the barrier yet never dared to touch it. Iris watched in silence, all her focus purely on maintaining the connection. If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation. ¡°I don¡¯t understand what our forefathers aimed to achieve with this, moreover by making it impossible to destroy.¡± ¡°They did not want the world ever to forget its own cruelty. Even I do not know what made the few who read it so compelled to take action into their own hands.¡± ¡°Perhaps our forefathers were right, then. If their words are so powerful, perhaps they are truth.¡± ¡°Then all the more reason to keep it hidden.¡± ¡°Indeed.¡± The signals ceased as the Spirits entered a silence. Iris approached them, step by step, cautiously until she could almost touch them. ¡°What is it do you think the words told them?¡± Iris froze, focusing on the connection once more, practically salivating for something to make the vision worthwhile, meaningful, a step forward to learning something new. ¡°That there is nothing to the world, and that is its fatal flaw. A promise to make things perfect, and the story of a puppet pulled by its strings. Iris gasped, the words all too fresh in her mind no matter how many years passed. She stepped backwards, the two Spirits noticing her. The signals were no longer readable. Even if she covered her mouth, they already had her in their sights. They marched forward, auras transforming from scholarly to beastly. Iris mouthed words of attack to her beast, but it seemed as though it could not hear her. Paranioa, a feeling she hoped she would never feel again. They backed her closer and closer against the wall, the silent march silencing her power, voice, and ability to fight back. Panic rose for the first time in years, greeting her after a long parting with a fresh overdose of intense adrenaline. Iris was terrified as she watched the serene chamber turn ghastly, the infinite walls looming over her, bearing down their astronomical weight onto her shoulders as she fell to her knees. Gasping, grasping at straws and tugging on any chance to escape, fall through the floor, fly into the sky, wake up from her nightmare she sorely regretted poking. The black hands reached for her, aimed squarely at her silent throat crushed by the weight of a thousand suns. Iris watched as her back pressed against the stinging, cold crystal and her body turned to stone. Wake up, wake up, wake up, wake up, wake up, wake¡ª Iris woke up, quite violently. ¡°Fuck!¡± ¡°Language!¡± she heard Elliot shout from another room before a pair of heavy footsteps approached down the hallway. Elliot¡¯s head of jet-black hair rounded the corner, and Iris only then realised how long it felt since she last saw him. ¡°If you¡¯re going to swear, keep it down. Mum and Dad don¡¯t like it.¡± He threatened her with his greasy spatula, pointing it at her menacingly with his other hand on his hip. ¡°You¡¯re lucky they¡¯re out with your mother right now, or we would¡¯ve had problems.¡± ¡°I missed you, Dad,¡± Iris said through dreary eyes, gripping the covers. Elliot softened and lowered the spatula, retracting his threat of war. He walked through the door and sat by the side of the bed, grease dangerously close to the covers. ¡°What¡¯s wrong?¡± he asked. ¡°Mind Palace stuff,¡± Iris said, reaching out to catch Elliot¡¯s waist, staying vigilant of the grease on the edge of the spatula as she did so. ¡°Something happened, but I don¡¯t know what it means.¡± Elliot nodded, stroking her head. Whenever anything concerned her Mind Palace, it was always Evalyn who gave her the answers, and if even she had none to give, it was Colte through a phone call. Elliot only knew as much as Evalyn told him, but Iris always found herself coming to him first. ¡°How¡¯re you feeling now?¡± he asked. ¡°Calming down?¡± Iris nodded, and Elliot smiled, patting her head and standing up, the spatula running across Iris¡¯s hand, much to her displeasure. ¡°I¡¯ve got breakfast going, and in a few minutes, everyone will be back with fresh bread from the village. How does that sound?¡± ¡°Dad?¡± Iris asked, discreetly wiping the grease on her covers. ¡°What?¡± ¡°Make my eggs scrambled.¡± Elliot sighed as he turned and walked off, muttering something about having to make eggs five different ways for five different people, which made Iris chuckle through a yawn. The way Elliot never seemed to care about what he could not control was what made his presence so comforting. No pity, no problem-solving, just filling every empty stomach he could with kind words and good food. Iris yawned again, passing her eyes over to the window by her bedside. Only a few metres of short grass existed between her and a dense oak forest. She had gone in with her grandfather once or twice, trudging through thick undergrowth while the green ceiling blocked out most of the sun¡¯s light. Bugs would crawl on her boots while she would walk face-first into spider webs. The only memorable moments were when her grandfather would stop her, signal her to be silent, and point out a Spirit or an animal peeking out from the brush. They¡¯d stand there and wait out its presence, whatever the particular specimen happened to be until it moved on. Some of the last old growth forests of western Sidos, they had called it, and the people of the village made an effort to protect it, only logging from sanctioned plots of land. The forest surrounded the village for miles, and never had Iris felt so isolated until she had visited for the first time. They would make the pilgrimage to Elliot¡¯s childhood home every few months, and for a week, Iris would spend it miles from any major city. There were fields outside their house, the kind farmers would grow crops on. Iris had never seen one until she had paid her first visit. Now, she did not give it a second thought and hopped out of bed, rounding the corner and straight into the living room, the sound of sizzling eggs from across the way giving Iris the motivation to rub her eyes open and smack her cheeks to attention. Despite the similar structure, the house was much older than Iris''s and more akin to the older buildings near Excala¡¯s centre. Instead of brick, however, many village houses were unsurprisingly made with timber which, although sturdy, more readily showed its age. Deep, rich brown beams and white plaster walls¡ªit reminded her of the illustrations in her fairytale books, where cats would chase mice into holes in the wall and where witches would cook children for supper. Elliot turned his attention away from the stove as Iris sat at the table. Even the cast-iron pan he used looked at least a thousand years old. ¡°Last day here, so pack your things by twelve if you can.¡± ¡°Last day?¡± Iris asked, slumping onto the dinner table. ¡°I thought we were leaving tomorrow.¡± ¡°We were, but Evalyn asked if we could detour and spend the night somewhere else before we head home.¡± ¡°Why?¡± Elliot opened a cupboard above the stove, its hinges painfully creaking while he paid it no remorse. He snatched a plate from a stack of identical¡ªrelatively modern¡ªcrockery and laid it on the counter. ¡°Well, you know plenty about my side of the family,¡± Elliot began. ¡°You like grandma and grandpa.¡± ¡°I do,¡± Iris said. Sceptical at first, she had grown to adore the gentle, soft-spoken yet occasionally sassy woman who was Elliot¡¯s mother, and the gruff yet sentimental man who was his father. Elliot smiled as he loaded scrambled eggs onto a plate with sausage and a side of vegetables. Seasoning it, he walked over to Iris and set it before her, taking the adjacent seat. ¡°But I know you don¡¯t know much about Evalyn¡¯s side of the family.¡± ¡°Grandma died when she was born and¡­yeah. I don¡¯t know much about Grandpa,¡± Iris admitted. She had asked Evalyn on numerous occasions, and Evalyn had repeatedly dodged the question, only ever alluding to the fact that she did not think very highly of him. Iris had even resorted to asking Marie whenever she was babysitting for the day, but it would always be the same answer. She would prefer not to say unless Evalyn said otherwise. ¡°Are we visiting their graves?¡± Iris asked, and Elliot bobbed his head from side to side. ¡°No, not exactly,¡± he said. ¡°Your grandfather left a legacy, and I think Evalyn wants to show you that.¡± ¡°Then where are we going?¡± Iris asked. ¡°Place called Fort Nevoa,¡± a voice interrupted from the front door. Iris looked over and was greeted with a flash of striking red hair as her mother entered the room. She walked in, giving Iris a smile as she placed a paper bag on the dining table. ¡°Bread,¡± she said, as she unshouldered her overcoat, the gun Iris was so used to seeing on her absent. Behind Evalyn were their hosts, her grandparents. ¡°Finally up, are we?¡± Elliot¡¯s mother chimed, her eyes wrinkling as she gave Iris a warm smile. Soft brown hair waved across one shoulder, and she seemed to exclusively wear soft beiges and browns, which always suited her perfectly. Her husband followed, his figure a wall in itself while his head only just cleared the doorframe. He was a man of fewer words but expressed his soft spot for Evalyn and Iris through actions alone. Iris sometimes wondered if it was even possible for words to penetrate his thick beard. Her grandmother gave Iris a hug over the shoulder, before stealing a baby carrot off her plate. ¡°Fort Nevoa?¡± she said while she chewed, ¡°are you taking a train?¡± ¡°Yes,¡± Evalyn said, hanging her overcoat on her chair and sitting down, unpacking the brown paper bag''s variety of sweet and savoury pastries before handing the loaf to Elliot to toast. ¡°It¡¯s technically an active base, but they have tourist trains back and forth from it. Have you or Dad ever gone?¡± ¡°No,¡± Irene shrugged. ¡°We never found the appeal of it. Even if we did, it¡¯s hard to see it as just another piece of history when we¡¯ve heard it from the horse''s mouth.¡± She swallowed the stolen carrot as she walked around the table to Evalyn, rubbed her head and joined Elliot in the kitchen. Kenneth brushed past them, opening the creaky cupboards above the stove and carefully lifting a large plate from the bottom shelf. He brought it to the table and lined the pastries along it. ¡°Pick your favourite, Iris. We weren¡¯t sure which, and Evalyn wouldn¡¯t tell us,¡± he said. Iris passed her eye across the selection and came across one with a familiar green mess about its centre. A taste for Spinach was a rarity amongst children her age, surprising everyone she met, including her grandfather. A quizzical raise of the eyebrows and an impressed smile later, he chose one from the bunch and began to eat. ¡°Are you all right with that, Iris?¡± Evalyn asked her, and Iris nodded. ¡°As long as we stay an extra day next time,¡± Iris said through a mouthful. Evalyn grinned back at her, mouthing a thank you. Iris¡¯s dream lingered in the back of her mind, but she could not ask Evalyn about it in front of her grandparents. For all they knew, Evalyn¡¯s markings were purely aesthetic, and the faded scales along Iris¡¯s back and arms were but an abnormal skin condition. A problem for later. Now, was breakfast. Chapter 17 Part 4: A Monument to Her Torment Iris watched as the Northern Chain Ridge drew nearer, gradually swallowing Sidos¡¯s green prairies with sharp, deeply forested inclines. White mist spilt forth from the valley, swallowing the train tracks ahead and eventually claiming their carriage. The scenery beyond the window disappeared, with shrubbery growing only metres from the track relegated to vague, grey silhouettes. Iris turned away from the glass, convinced there was no more entertainment to be had. After a prolonged goodbye and the usual never-ending series of hugs, the trio had left the village that afternoon and embarked on their usual route towards Sidos City. Making a connection partway, they had boarded a northbound train destined for a small village in the mountains. That had been Evalyn¡¯s explanation, and the route drawn out on the map had been equally straightforward, but Iris had little sense of the scale inherent to Sidos. Despite being a citizen by soil¡ªin the lack of anything more accurate¡ªshe was a citizen of Geverde by family and certainly felt as such. Sidos was still a mishmash of various places that, although intimately familiar to her parents, remained elusive to her. So her eyes would often glaze over while she held the hands of one of her guardians, hoping that she did not lose her bearings amid a busy train station. With Elliot entering a deep slumber the moment his backside hit the seat and Evalyn immersed in a recently purchased novel, it seemed neither had the energy to entertain her. She closed her eyes, beginning a process Elliot had taught her, apparently carrying him through many a mind-numbing flight. Focusing on one sound at a time, she began to repaint the picture around her¡ªthe creaking of the wooden carriage, the footsteps just beyond their booth, the wheels underneath the train and the distant labouring of the engine. Iris picked something to time, choosing the periodical clunk of the carriage. She could hear the sound running towards her, repeating in quick succession louder and louder until she heard it underneath her own carriage. Three, two, one¡­. A second too late, much to her disappointment. In her garden of sounds, Iris soon found something invading it, shining a light on her eyelids. She opened them and rolled her head towards the window, swallowing her shock when she laid eyes on the culprit. The mist outside, once a ghostly pale grey, was now saturated with the colour that was her namesake. She heard scratching against the glass pane as though it were dust instead of water suspended in the air. There was something hostile about it, and Iris soon understood what it was. Liquid. She had begun to master it a year ago, finding its usefulness in combat limited, yet its practical use cases numerous. It was more volatile than solid matter, and she often described it as slippery, like a mischievous child. Gas, however, she could barely even consider taming it. She searched for Evalyn¡¯s hand beside her and grabbed it, holding it as tightly as she could. Evalyn responded, wrapping her fingers around hers. ¡°What¡¯s wrong?¡± ¡°Something¡¯s going on,¡± Iris said, ¡°Be ready.¡± She felt her guardian¡¯s golden aura engulf her fingertips; even if visits to her Mind Palace were rare, hallucinations were regular enough for the pair to coordinate a procedure. Iris, now with her anchor secure, stared into the mist and searched for anything familiar. The fog swirled, trading stagnation for malignancy, pressing against the glass and leaping over the carriage. She could hear it everywhere, drowning out her sound garden until there was only it and her beating heart. She waited with bated breath, preparing to jump like an athlete at a start line. A person, or rather their silhouette, stood immersed in the fog, uncaring of its virulent rancour. It stood still as though it were lifeless, only showing signs of animacy as its head slowly followed Iris. They never locked eyes, Iris doubting if the other had eyes to lock onto. They passed each other, time seeming to slow down around her as she did everything in her power to capture a glimpse. Tugging on her anchor for more slack, her eyes ventured further into the fog, pinpointing the figure until she could discern clear lines. A woman¡¯s figure, tightly dressed and adorned with something long, crosswise hanging from her back. The train passed, the purple fog cleared, and Iris retreated, resting her head on the seat. She held onto Evalyn¡¯s hand as she took a sigh of relief. ¡°What did you see?¡± Evalyn asked. Iris turned her head, and seeing her worried mother¡¯s face truly drew her from the deep and back to the surface. ¡°Gas,¡± she said. ¡°The same thing I saw years ago when I tried to make gas.¡± Evalyn¡¯s face tensed up, and another hand rested with Iris¡¯s as she drew closer. ¡°Did anything happen recently?¡± ¡°A dream,¡± Iris admitted, closing her eyes. ¡°Whatever Wesper talked about before he died, calling me ¡®what they¡¯ve been looking for¡¯. There¡¯s a place with more information, and ¡®they¡¯ are trying to get to it.¡± Iris sighed, resting a hand on her forehead as she continued to groan. ¡°I don¡¯t know, it was too vague.¡± ¡°We¡¯ll talk to Colte about it later, all right?¡± Iris nodded, preferring the simple respite to the complex solution. Even if Colte was one of their best chances outside the old Spirit nations at a clear answer, the chances were still unbearably slim. The tedium, confusion and eventual, ¡®I¡¯ll look into it¡¯ could wait another day. The fog was thickest by the time they stepped off the train, and their station was by far the most peculiar Iris had ever seen. Barbed wire lined the platform, only allowing exit through a single gate. Very few of the already-thinned passengers disembarked, being left stranded in the mist as the train pulled out of the station, its steam barely distinct from its surroundings. ¡°All passengers, if you could please follow my voice!¡± An old man¡¯s call roused the crowd, and they began to shuffle forward, those in working attire striding along, clearly used to the procedure, while the obvious tourists followed cautiously. Iris held Elliot¡¯s hand as they walked, the silhouettes of those responsible for their guidance finally clear. A man in a grey military uniform greeted them with a stern face, age showing through his slicked-back hair and moustache. With his hands, he waved the group down two paths: tourists and workers. Iris followed his left hand and down the path towards the gap in the barbed wire fencing. ¡°Iris,¡± she heard Elliot say. ¡°When you get to the gate, there¡¯s going to be some scary people. Stay calm; even Evalyn gets scared of them sometimes.¡± As he muttered his warning, two sets of white circles pierced the fog and, despite their vague shapes and lack of direction, seemed to be looking squarely at her. More of their figures came into view, from their steel helmets to their thick breastplates and bulky shoulders. Their armour platings held no desire to appear regal, as did Evalyn¡¯s or Iris¡¯s, instead inspiring fear through sheer practicality, scarring, and inhuman gas masks that branded the soldiers as monsters rather than mere men or women. The stamped steel rifles they held did not improve the image whatsoever. Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon. Another man in grey uniform, significantly younger than the last, asked the small crowd for an orderly line, waving his hands together. As they stepped into a loose formation, the man began to check visitor passes and identities of one tourist at a time, eventually getting to Elliot. The man perused his eye over the pass before looking up at them once more. ¡°Which one of you has the firearm?¡± ¡°That would be me,¡± Evalyn said, stepping forward and pointing to her suitcase. ¡°It¡¯s for work.¡± ¡°Certainly, ma¡¯am, if you could head that way, you will be taken care of.¡± He then turned to Elliot, nodding to him as though silently asking the same question. Elliot shook his head, and the checkpoint officer gave him a meaningful raise of the eyebrow. If confidence in their security was so high that such an exchange passed as a check, Iris wondered what lurked beyond the gates. They waited by the opening for Evalyn''s return, seeing her figure emerge from the fog ten minutes later. ¡°Let¡¯s go,¡± she said as she grabbed Iris¡¯s hand and led them through the barbed wire opening. They followed a short dirt path to a rickety shuttle bus parked by the edge of the road, the engine grumpily idling as the small contingent of passengers boarded. Evalyn chose three seats further back, Iris once again securing a position by the window. She squinted into the fog, wondering if the white mist held any secrets as terrible as the purple mist did. Pairs of white eyes seemed to answer her question, floating like tens of spectres back and forth amongst the trees. A moat of wolves, rifles and armour was their security, and Iris did not doubt it for a second. The bus rumbled forward, spurting diesel into the cold mist as they drove past the forest made of equal parts trees and soldiers. After another barbed wire fence, the bus entered the military base, its outer reaches populated by temporary barracks and tents, most often adjacent to vehicle bays and scrap yards. Workers in what Iris vaguely recognised as staff rather than enlistment uniforms walked back and forth between the buildings, striding with purpose and hastened by a job to finish. As they ventured deeper, so too did the buildings get taller and more robust. Training facilities, mess halls and administrative centres stood alongside armouries and ammunition depots. Soon, the smaller buildings made way to factories, warehouses and mass assembly lines that stood far above anything else Iris had seen previous. From their ceilings hung works in progress, suits of Higher Order Armour Iris recognised as the earliest models, now, according to Elliot, relegated to armoured infantry companies and labour. Each warehouse had five or so lined in a row, receiving attention from a dozen personnel each. Iris found it uncanny to see so many lifeless units, devoid of their police insignia or construction hazard patterns, lined up in such a fashion. Their forms and movements had sometimes made her forget that they were nothing more than machines. From the fog to the war engines to the soldiers armed to the teeth, her late grandfather¡¯s legacy was looking grimmer by the second. She turned to Evalyn, who had been more or less silent the entire trip. She continued her streak, looking out at the limited scenery with pursed lips and furrowed brows. Looking deeply bothered, her mother did not even seem to notice Iris¡¯s attention, so Iris decided to turn away and leave her alone. ¡°I had a mentor before Colte,¡± Evalyn began, her words trailing off as though changing her mind. Iris wrapped her fingers around Evalyn¡¯s, trying to, if at all possible, be her anchor as she was Iris''s. She felt a reciprocal squeeze in return, and her mother continued. ¡°Lyanna Keller. A Witch, of course, but more importantly, a really strange person. Back before I knew why the hell I was shooting people, she sort of¡­pushed me in the ¡®right¡¯ direction, the one that would stop me from hating myself. The reason I can do what I do now is because she was there to teach me.¡± Evalyn squeezed Iris¡¯s hand even tighter. ¡°If it weren¡¯t for her, I don¡¯t think I would¡¯ve been able to take her death, or Bluey¡¯s or anyone else¡¯s as well as I did. I don¡¯t think I¡¯d be here right now.¡± ¡°How did she die?¡± Iris asked, already vaguely aware of the other lost companion mentioned. ¡°Right up there, where we¡¯re going,¡± Evalyn said. ¡°She tried to stop it, stop my father¡¯s last gamble from marching on the city.¡± She looked down at Iris, smiled, and pinched her cheek. ¡°Next time Elliot¡¯s awake, thank him for being a good dad, all right?¡± Iris nodded as the bus came to a halt, waking the person in question mid-snore. Evalyn snickered as she stood and pulled Elliot to his feet, beckoning Iris to follow. They shadowed the procession off the bus and along a guided walkway, handrails beginning despite the lack of altitude. Before her, Iris could see the looming silhouette of a vague structure through the fog, too large to be an administrative building but the incorrect shape to be a warehouse. Conical, almost, perhaps a slanted cylinder with extrusions Iris could not yet make out. ¡°Look up,¡± Evalyn said, and Iris did. ¡°Wow¡­,¡± was her response, born from the need to say something, anything. The structure before her was a leg: gargantuan, steel, riveted, machined, and only the length below the knee. The titan¡¯s legs only distantly resembled the smaller H.O.A.¡¯s Iris was so accustomed to, being reinforced with plates three times as thick as her shoulders and sheltering gunner nests and artillery cannons in its recesses. The legs continued into the fog, disappearing from view behind a veil of vapour. ¡°This valley is almost in perpetual fog; there are very few days where the valley clears. No one has seen the complete Citadel since the war of Aether and Diesel.¡± They climbed the walkway, eventually ascending from the ground onto a suspended pathway, a single route marked out amid an incomprehensible mass of scaffolding. They drew closer to the beast¡¯s skin, the plates of armour fresh in some places and battered in others, riddled with canon crates and bullet holes long since cleansed of dirt and gunpowder residue. The crevices between each plate, if not occupied with a gun nest, were riddled with access ladders, electrical wires, steel pipes and skeletal framing. An entire ecosystem of war existed in the legs alone and only grew as they travelled higher. ¡°This thing marched on Excala and singlehandedly turned a third of the city into a sea of flames. I watched it move and wondered if it had been my fault that it moved, my fault that I hadn¡¯t killed my father when I had the chance. But now, I don¡¯t think it would¡¯ve made a difference.¡± Evalyn took a second to pause as they levelled with the cockpit, a row of reinforced glass providing them with the only glimpse into the god machine that rivalled the Steel Whale. The glass was as tall as any of the minuscule workers maintaining the control centre, but only a sliver compared to the icebreaker-like bow that spearheaded the beast, its scars telling stories of untold thousands of rounds shrugged off with ease. Eventually, a tour guide ushered them forward as one of the crew in the control centre caught Iris¡¯s eye, smiling before returning to his work. They walked past the first of two main cannons, one mounted on either side of the main chassis. Despite virtually no chance of danger, Iris still found herself rushing past the opening of the barrel, her heart skipping a beat when she realised it took a full five seconds to make the distance. Dormant, yet infinitely destructive. She tried to paint a picture of the carnage the cannons could inflict but found the endeavour futile. By then, the fog had begun to thin slightly, allowing Iris to gain a better understanding of the beast, if still only barely comprehensible. The sleeping mammoth, more a monument than a weapon, stood with only the mountains to overshadow it. A battleship on two legs, once spewing diesel fumes from red-hot combustion engines and denting the ground with every step. The steel god, hewn from greed, desperation, and hubris, was inactive as long as there was no order for its awakening. A trump card ready to be pulled at any second. So enamoured by its design, she had neglected its meaning. Looking over it as a whole, she decided to ask. ¡°Why did you want to show me this?¡± Evalyn looked at her and pursed her lips. ¡°I¡­don¡¯t know really. I could¡¯ve gone to his grave in the city, and my mother¡¯s next to it, but I thought that I wouldn¡¯t teach you much just by using my words.¡± She held onto Iris¡¯s hand. ¡°You can ask Marie about my mother; she¡¯d knew her much better than I ever could have. But this¡­this is as close as you¡¯ll ever get to meeting my father¡­your grandfather. And one day, you can decide if I ended up as a better parent.¡± She delivered her last line with a self-deprecating chuckle, one that Iris did not agree with at all. Despite her verbal illiteracy at the time, Evalyn¡¯s lamentations about becoming a mother were burnt into the back of her mind. Coming to understand them more deeply, she had learnt just how complex they were, harkening back to an era that Iris was only vaguely aware of, even as she stood before her grandfather¡¯s fingerprint on the world. ¡°Here, I followed my mentor''s advice and decided to do whatever I could to never have another person I loved die in my hands. But it was my father who waged wars for me. Out of paranoia, he tried to create a world where I¡¯d never be taken from him how my mother was. Sometimes I can''t tell the difference between us." She brought Iris into her side, staring aimlessly across the chassis, the monument to her torment. "If I ever become like him, promise you''ll stop me." Chapter 17 Part 5: Fly-like Payphone and Frog-like Statue Iris stubbed her toe against the raised doorframe as she entered her room, returning from a late dinner that had almost made her forget the horrors of their quaint, medieval inn chamber. The night was cold, with the laggard snow front encroaching from the west finally catching up to them. Snow, to Iris¡¯s disappointment, was much too overrated, and she had wished for nothing more than the comfort of a cosy room, a luxury she realised she had been robbed of. The deep red curtains by the paper-thin windows made her skin itch, and each wooden beam seemed to gift her a splinter with the slightest touch. The floorboards were¡ªafter thorough investigation¡ªuneven from anywhere between five and eleven millimetres and seemed to latch onto her boots with spiteful mischief spared only to her. There was a small statue of a Spirit resting on the nightstand, a set of four wings sprouting from what she could only describe as a frog-mouthed gargoyle with the stubbiest of fingers. Iris would sit on the coarse bedsheets and stare into its eyes, or at least the one it wasn¡¯t licking with a grotesquely bulbous tongue. She could swear it was laughing at her, sneering as she armoured herself, head to toe for a journey from the armchair to the bathroom. She had every mind to throw the thing out the window before having to sleep under its gaze. Unfortunately, Elliot intervened just as she was about to enact her revenge and, after a heated debate, settled on locking it away in the nightstand¡¯s drawer. ¡°You get way too invested in things sometimes, Iris,¡± Elliot complained, his voice toning down to disappointment, reaching the tail end of his scolding. ¡°Especially when you¡¯re mad.¡± ¡°It was looking at me funny,¡± she insisted, unsuccessfully trying to pry a splinter from her thumb. ¡°This place hates me.¡± ¡°It doesn¡¯t hate you, it¡¯s just old and you¡¯re cold and tired. Sleep early, it¡¯s been a big day.¡± Elliot waddled into the kitchen, switching on the buzzing light and the groaning faucet. ¡°Dad,¡± she called after him, only receiving a grunt of acknowledgement. She persisted nonetheless. ¡°Mum didn¡¯t end up telling me what Granddad was like.¡± ¡°Oh wow they still have tooth powder,¡± she heard him say. ¡°Dad!¡± ¡°Yeah,¡± he replied, pausing. ¡°You could ask¡­if you wanted, but I think you¡¯re too young to hear it,¡± he said, words fighting through his toothbrush. He trudged to the bathroom¡¯s door, leaning one arm on the frame while the other worked his teeth, yelping the moment his forearm rested on the wood. ¡°Splinter!¡± Iris plucked her own from her thumb, watching Elliot carry on the struggle and wondering what part of him was a renowned ace pilot, because it certainly wasn¡¯t the way he slouched in blue cotton pyjamas, suffering at the hands of the danger he had so hubristically dismissed. Too young to hear it. Iris had seen all manner of things in her short few years; she could imagine little that she¡¯d consider herself too young for. ¡°No, I don¡¯t think I¡¯ll ask,¡± Iris admitted, falling onto the bed. ¡°If that was all she had to show me, then there probably isn¡¯t much more I need to see.¡± Elliot smiled, although Iris was unsure if it was part of his response or his toothbrushing routine. ¡°Sometimes the simplest answer is the correct one,¡± Iris heard, but only after heavily translating the slurred words. He returned to the bathroom sink, spitting out the powder and running the faucet. ¡°I won¡¯t pretend that family is all about love,¡± he said before gargling and spitting, ¡°but a lot of things have to go wrong before family gives up on you.¡± He turned off the faucet and stepped out of the bathroom, sitting by Iris as he worked away at the splinter in his arm. ¡°I didn¡¯t know the old man too much, and I¡¯m glad I didn¡¯t, but even what he was doing was out of some twisted form of love. That¡¯s what Evalyn wants you to understand, probably¡­maybe.¡± Iris agreed, again internally applauding Elliot¡¯s knack for reading his wife like a cookbook, distilling a whole thought process into an easy step-by-step procedure. A kilogram of self-doubt mixed thoroughly with a pinch of guilt and served on a base of rocky upbringings and grey areas was, aside from being a horrid way to put it, accurate. Perhaps it was being in the same position as her father once was, but the line between fighting in spite of his assured peace and fighting for the sake of assuring her peace was blurry. When the collateral damage was similar, who could blame her? Fickle as it was forever, a blessing and curse enduring through silence and death. ¡°Weren¡¯t you going to make a call to Colte? Ask him about that dream last night?¡± ¡°Oh yeah,¡± Iris muttered, sitting upright. ¡°Can I borrow a coin?¡± Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings. ¡°Take a few,¡± Elliot said, ¡°it could get long.¡± The first floor¡¯s cafeteria was deserted by the time Iris returned to use the pay phone. The grazing guests who had until a few hours ago lined the candlelit tables and benches had migrated on to the next paddock, tonight being the local inn across the road. Iris shivered, feeling the cold set in as candle after candle ran out of wax. Frost was aggregating on the windowpanes, and all she could see of the aforementioned inn were the diffused windows and the warmth radiating from within. Winter was cold, the nights were dark, and it had long since been Iris¡¯s least favourite season¡ªa shame, seeing that the biggest festivities always sandwiched themselves in its most inhospitable weeks. She weaved through the tables, taking a snaking path left and right through the grid pattern just for the sake of it while being mindful of her wounded toe. The kitchen was sound besides a few whisps of closing-shift gossip and chatter, a good sign she could talk without being overly conservative with her volume. All were considerations that had become second nature to her, yet oftentimes were unnecessary. To the uninitiated, she sounded like a troubled girl talking to a counsellor or a bright-eyed amateur author with high fantasy in mind¡ªneither were strictly ideal portrayals of her character, but as long as they were not truthful. She found the pay phone drilled into the plaster walls adjacent to the bathrooms, a convenient location for someone to organise a ride home after throwing up their guts. ''Payphone'', however, was a gross exaggeration that described a wooden box nailed to the wall, fitted with two bells, a microphone, and a speaker that made for an oddly fly-like face. What gave it the title of ¡®pay¡¯ was the retrofitted money box nailed next to it, the glass front showing off the surprising lucrativeness of the trust system. ¡®Ten marks every three minutes,¡¯ the label read. Iris looked at the coins in her hand, then back at the box, the petty criminal instincts whispering in her left ear while the good morals of her guardians whispered in the other. It was two whole candy bars; that was two weeks¡¯ worth of ecstasy. She sacrificed one and pocketed the others, a compromise and disappointment to both the devil and the angel. As long as she wasn¡¯t stealing from Delis again, Evalyn would not bat an eye. She dialled the numbers one by one, leaning against the wall as she held the speaker to her ear and listened for the operator to answer, forgetting the microphone was still attached to the box itself. Speaking into the fly¡¯s proboscis was something Iris was glad wasn¡¯t a daily routine for her, especially when she could not help but stare into the ringer bell eyes as she spoke. International calls were tedious and time-consuming to organise, inflating the returns on Iris¡¯s immoral choice by the second. Eventually, she heard it: the familiar voice of someone who sounded as though they spoke through their smoking pipe. ¡°Who¡¯s this?¡± Colte grumbled. ¡°Hi Mr Colte,¡± Iris replied politely, ¡°how are you?¡± ¡°My god Iris it gives me the heebie-jeebies whenever you speak to me like that,¡± he sighed. ¡°What¡¯s wrong with my first name?¡± ¡°Mum says I should speak to you with respect,¡± Iris answered, ¡°or else I¡¯ll end up speaking to every adult too casually.¡± ¡°And if she didn¡¯t tell you to?¡± ¡°¡­no. Your first name is much easier than Mr Colte.¡± ¡°Somehow, that¡¯s even more discouraging,¡± Colte chuckled, turning into an ugly yawn halfway through. ¡°It¡¯s late, what¡¯s on your mind?¡± Iris desperately wanted to sit or lean during her explanation, the vexing topic frustrating enough without performing the endurance exercise. Their conversations were rarely more straightforward than her hallucinations, the sequence forward often cumbersome and meandering, with Iris stumbling upon details and conclusion only after Colte asked for further elaboration¡ªless like a maze and more like the process of building one. With no clear goal in sight nor a correct path, they could only hope to stand at the end once they cut the last hedge. Too often, they would lock themselves in a dead end. ¡°Hm,¡± Colte said, vocalising his deliberation after Iris finished her sentence. Dreams were often clearer than hallucinations, with door openings being excessively explicit as though to colonise her memory. ¡°Well, I don¡¯t think the two are related,¡± he concluded. ¡°You don¡¯t think so?¡± Iris asked. ¡°Well, I can¡¯t say for certain, but what¡¯s happened every other time you¡¯ve opened a door?¡± ¡°I get more power?¡± ¡°Well,¡± he yawned, ¡°it could be more that you¡¯re regaining power, each coming with one more ¡®memory¡¯, if that¡¯s even the right word. I¡¯m starting to think that¡¯s the only link between the two; you¡¯ve unlocked another door, and with it comes a reclaimed memory and power, like you¡¯re piecing things back together.¡± ¡°I thought the same, but I don¡¯t know what they mean.¡± Colte shifted in his bedsheets, communicated to Iris through a feverish rustle of many folds of fabric. ¡°I think the dream confirms you¡¯re in some way related to that crystal city and whoever Wesper was raving about before Evalyn put him out of his misery. Have you heard anything from that front by the way?¡± ¡°No,¡± Iris said. ¡°As far as we know, no one has seen anyone from that group. It¡¯s hard when you don¡¯t know who or what you¡¯re looking for.¡± ¡°Everyone wants to change the world nowadays, hell of a way to blend in if you ask me. At least there¡¯s a semblance of a doctrine we can pinpoint now; let me find a notepad.¡± Again, more shuffling followed by a brief period of silence. She heard the springs squeak, accompanied by a muted sigh. ¡°I¡¯ve got all the major points down; it¡¯ll be easier to find what we¡¯re looking for if we keep track of buzzwords and dogma. As for the hallucination, I don¡¯t think there¡¯s much need to ponder that.¡± ¡°I guess so,¡± Iris agreed rather half-heartedly. ¡°I don¡¯t think I¡¯m ready to handle it, though.¡± ¡°Gas and smoke aren¡¯t too different when you¡¯re controlling them,¡± Colte mused. ¡°I¡¯ll teach you when I have the time.¡± Iris heard him wheeze over the phone, the first half of the infamous steam-engine chuckle and the only thing that broke the silver fox illusion he otherwise maintained so religiously. ¡°You¡¯re growing up too fast, Iris.¡± ¡°I need to,¡± Iris answered rather bluntly. ¡°I know,¡± he said. ¡°I know. Look, I¡¯ll speak to you later I¡¯m on the cusp of passing out, but be an angel and tell your mother to call me when she has the chance, okay?¡± ¡°Why?¡± ¡°I have a job for her, unfortunately.¡± Chapter 17 Part 6: Ms Mallorine Needs her Drink ¡°Demitore?¡± Evalyn groaned from her office desk, rays of morning sunshine gracing her accounting books, the number of zeroes adorning the sums certainly deserving of such divine treatment. ¡°What does Demitore want with us?¡± Iris listened in on the phone call as she swept the bookshelves with a feather duster. ¡®A job¡¯ was as far as she knew of their discussion, and she could never bear to know only a fraction of the story. She was nosy like that. ¡°Yeah, well, jobs coming out of Trepedite are sketchy in the first place. Can¡¯t trust I¡¯ll get paid after last time,¡± Evalyn protested as she sat on her desk, twirling the telephone cord with her toe. ¡°Well, if you can guarantee my share, I wouldn¡¯t mind it¡­can¡¯t be too dependent on Royal contracts yeah, yeah. They¡¯re stable money; you can¡¯t deny that.¡± Evalyn slid off her desk, her expression still dour as she paced across the red and gold trim carpet imported from Rodhisva, now thoroughly flattened after three years of service. She kept pulling faces and crinkling her nose as though sniffing off milk while her excuses to bow out of the offer became weaker and weaker. ¡®But¡¯ gave way to ¡®fine¡¯, yet her enthusiasm did not follow the same trend. She ended the call and sighed, deflating into her chair as it took her for a ride three-quarters of a full circle, its protests to the age-old abuse weak but vehement. ¡°What did he say? What kind of job was it?¡± Iris asked, continuing from the bookshelf to her study desk in the corner. ¡°An annoying one,¡± Evalyn answered. ¡°You know the Red Dome incidents that have been happening in a lot of human nations over the past few months?¡± ¡°Yeah, I keep hearing about them over the radio,¡± she said, shifting around her textbooks, lamps and stationery bins as she worked her duster. ¡°Are you going to go investigate them?¡± ¡°I guess so,¡± Evalyn said. ¡°Demitore, Sidos¡¯s neighbour had one recently in their capital. They asked for Geverdian search and rescue teams for help, but that had the side effect of souring relations with more hard-line human countries. It means joint international investigations have ground to a halt, so the victims are seeking their own.¡± ¡°You¡¯re being commissioned by their families then,¡± Iris guessed. ¡°Not quite. All the factories are owned by¡ª¡± Evalyn began as a knock came from the apartment¡¯s front door. They looked across to each other. ¡°Shot not.¡± ¡°Shot¡ªugh, fine.¡± Iris reluctantly dropped her duster as another knock came from the front door. ¡°Coming!" she shouted as she slid into her boots lined up by the door before walking down the hallway. She shivered, forgetting how comparatively cold the hallway was. It was in such desperate times that Iris clutched onto her favourite field jacket for dear life, even taking up stockings underneath her pants as of late. Tapping her outsoles and standing on her toes, she took a peek through the peephole. A Beak woman was waiting anxiously on the other side, mask glancing around the landing and the staircase while her heels tapped against the floor. She looked rich, the type of client who¡¯d request a search for their exceedingly fluffy cat or the surveillance of their exceedingly flaky husband. Evalyn said there was good money in the latter, especially if it resulted in a divorce. Iris opened the door and poked her head through the crack. ¡°Hello,¡± she said. The Beak woman turned her attention to the door, having to adjust her sight to match Iris¡¯s unexpected height. ¡°Hello dear, um¡­is this the right address?¡± ¡°Yes, this is Excala International,¡± she said, a common query when she answered the door. ¡°Did you have an appointment?¡± ¡°Uhm¡­no. Sorry, did I need one?¡± Iris pretended to glance at her watch. ¡°It is standard procedure, but since we have no appointments for the next few hours, we can take your request. Please come in.¡± Iris opened the door and stood by it, ushering the guest in. ¡°Very end of the hallway,¡± she said. ¡°Thank you,¡± the woman replied as she walked past. Her mask was stunning, a subtle gold trim woven into the edges of a snow-white finish. The voice box was expressive, and the eye holes seemed to carry small shutters that expressed emotions where the eyebrows would on a human. Never mind the silken dress or the masterfully crafted perfume; it was the mask that carried with it status. When compared to their humble office on the top floor of an Excalan residential complex, the juxtaposition almost felt criminal. If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation. ¡°Hello, how are you?¡± Evalyn said as the woman walked in, the previously dour demeanour evaporating in the face of customer service. ¡°I¡¯m quite fine, thank you,¡± the woman lied as Iris closed the door behind them. No one was ¡®quite fine¡¯ if they were showing up at their doorstep without an appointment. Iris took her place by the door. ¡°Please, sit,¡± Evalyn offered. ¡°Would you like something to take the edge off?¡± ¡°Yes¡­please. If that¡¯s all right.¡± ¡°It¡¯s no problem whatsoever,¡± Evalyn said, opening up one of her desk drawers and drawing a bottle of liquified Aether and a small glass jar of beverage beads. ¡°It¡¯s nothing fancy, regretfully,¡± she said, standing and turning to the glass cabinets behind her, a more recent addition to the room made partly for more storage but mostly in the pursuit of the professional aesthetic. Evalyn would always joke about how she¡¯d operate out of her living room if looks played no part in business. ¡°Could I ask how you heard about us?¡± Evalyn asked as she grabbed a whiskey glass from the cabinet. ¡°My name is Evalyn, by the way.¡± ¡°Mallorine. Janice Mallorine,¡± the woman replied, and Evalyn¡¯s ears seemed to perk up. ¡°Mallorine?¡± she asked. ¡°Correct me if I¡¯m wrong but are you a member of¡ª¡± ¡°That Mallorine family, yes,¡± the woman answered. Evalyn brought the glass to the table and sat down in her chair. She undid the bottle of liquid Aether, pouring a tenth of the glass before continuing. ¡°Does this have anything to do with the Red Dome incidents, if you don¡¯t mind me asking?¡± ¡°It is related, yes. But I believe my brother-in-law¡­the head of the family, has already begun his own inquiries on why his businesses are being targeted¡­were you already aware, detective?¡± Evalyn undid the aluminium cap of the small glass jar and took from it a single green bead which she dropped into the liquid. A small amount of Aether and a weak radiance of magic, not nearly enough for Iris to see from a distance but certainly enough to make her queasy up close. ¡°Well, it doesn¡¯t take too much digging to figure it out,¡± Evalyn admitted as she searched her drawers for something. ¡°Police or not, it¡¯s standard procedure to look through stakeholders and money ties in such events to discern motive. The factories and businesses your family had rather large stakes in were publicly traded, and therefore that information is available to everyone.¡± She opened a drawer, a light ¡®ah¡¯ flashing across her face as she revealed a small teaspoon, using the butt of it to crush the bead and the head to stir the concoction before offering it to Ms Mallorine. ¡°My colleague who¡¯s been hired by your family came to much the same conclusion.¡± ¡°I see,¡± Ms Mallorine said, accepting the glass and lifting her mask. Beaks weren¡¯t particularly picky with where they absorbed their drink, but the gesture seemed customary in front of humans, especially amongst the aristocracy. Every mannerism was backing up the woman¡¯s claim of her heritage. Much to Iris¡¯s amazement, she put an empty glass down with a sigh as the motors in Ms Mallorine¡¯s mask flickered her eyebrows, the decorum barely hiding the desperation. ¡°I am requesting your services in protective duties,¡± she said. ¡°Police are not to get involved without sufficient reason, and as you know, investigations have not reached the country yet.¡± ¡°You¡¯ve heard I perform protection duties?¡± Evalyn asked, raising an eyebrow. Ms Mallorine paused, clearly vacillating on whether her words had been incriminating or not. ¡°I¡¯ve uh¡­we¡¯ve heard from friends of ours of your firm¡¯s experience in such matters. Mostly from government contracts, although much of it is hearsay,¡± she said, skirting around Evalyn¡¯s cautious gaze. ¡°It is true,¡± Evalyn said, ¡°but they¡¯ll cost significantly more as it takes me away from other cases for a significant amount of time.¡± ¡°Money is no object, I assure you,¡± Ms Mallorine blurted. ¡°We¡¯ll pay whatever we need, more if you would like.¡± Evalyn gave Iris a quick, sidelong glance. ¡°More detail on the case, if I may.¡± ¡°It¡¯s my niece,¡± she replied. ¡°She¡¯s beginning junior high school at the Excalan academy. The attacks have been getting closer and closer, and recently, my sister-in-law...her mother took her own life. I¡¯m scared something might happen to her. Gods, if something happened to her I wouldn¡¯t forgive myself.¡± Tragedy befalls the family one by one. They were omens for now, which was perhaps more horrifying to consider than the tragedies themselves. Like a laggard snowfront encroaching from the west. ¡°I¡¯m sorry to hear that,¡± Evalyn said, soon after nodding towards the glass. Ms Mallorine obliged, and Evalyn began the bartending process again. ¡°There are certain laws pertaining to and surrounding the external protection of minors since ¡®protection¡¯ can easily double as surveillance, restriction and, by extension, child abuse. Since they can¡¯t give consent themselves, nor are you the legal guardian, nor can I step foot in an educational institution without good¡ªand legal¡ªreasoning, things would be¡­.¡± ¡°Off the books,¡± the woman answered as Evalyn fixed her another glass. ¡°Are there any methods you could recommend? I understand homeschooling is the safest, but for some¡­abstruse reasoning my brother rejects it. Even my niece voices objections. Oh, bless her soul, she needs something to keep her mind off things.¡± Evalyn leaned back in her chair, pursing her lips as she stroked her chin. ¡°The Excalan Academy is already a decently secure place due to the clientele and all. I can¡¯t think of anything we could do for you on this¡ª¡± Evalyn¡¯s attention fell on Iris, much less discreetly compared to the last time. She squinted, contorting her lips as though mulling over the thought so obtusely even Ms Mallorine caught on. They both looked at her, one with confusion and one with consideration. ¡°I may be able to do something for you,¡± Evalyn began, exerting a frightening level of control over Ms Mallorine¡¯s attention. ¡°Really?!¡± she cried. ¡°Are you sure?¡± ¡°¡­depends on if you can fix us a very late enrolment into the academy, and obviously this fine young woman¡¯s blessing.¡± Chapter 18 part 1: Black Sheep Dear Iris, How are you? This is my thirty-eight consecutive letter, and I take much pride in my unbroken streak whenever I arrive at the post office. Many of my colleagues have gotten used to it now; they don¡¯t even bat an eye when I mention where I¡¯m headed. Two years ago, they¡¯d make the biggest fuss about it, teasing me for ¡®having a wife back home¡¯, and lamenting that they are yet to get hitched. It¡¯s their fault. I haven¡¯t the faintest clue about what I have to do with it. Maybe if they shaved a little and stopped paying for ¡®favours¡¯ they¡¯d be a bit more presentable. Anyway. Enough about them, more about me. Work at the grocer has gone very well, although my time at the butcher didn¡¯t set the bar too high. You remember that, don''t you? Since my family are taking care of food and rent, I¡¯ve been able to save up for something. A new pen, can you tell? It was quite pricey, but the shop owner insisted that these things were passed down from generation to generation. Like stopwatches and trauma. The owner didn¡¯t seem to like that joke. The pen is nice. It¡¯s a luxury, but since I look forward to writing these letters, I figured it¡¯d serve me better than booze. But thanks to it, my room is still rather dull. My family has been insisting I decorate a bit, or it¡¯ll seem suspicious when guests come over. They might get accused of neglecting me. I¡¯m too busy saving for clothes, though, and a frightening portion of my salary disappears thanks to my appetite. I¡¯ve toured all the street food stands I can find around here, and now I¡¯ve no choice but to graduate to slightly finer dining experiences. Once a week, that¡¯s what I¡¯ve limited myself to. So, without further ado, my unofficial selection for the first month of Winter, 1941. - Killuar Rump Steak, rare (obviously), lightly seasoned, topped with mushroom sauce and served with a garden salad. Rather pleasant. The steak itself did not disappoint, brilliantly marbled, but I think it would have been better if I had spent the extra money to eat out somewhere nicer. - Crab quiche with chopped green onion and red pepper. Very, very impressed. Originally, I doubted the meat to be real crab, but I was proven (to my joy) very wrong. Crab is expensive, so there''s very little of it, but quiche carries the flavour decently well. - Seafood spring rolls, fried and served on a bed of assorted leafy greens and seasoned with sweet chilli sauce. Too light for my liking, albeit good in its own right. I heard the dish originated in Geverde. I wonder if you know anything about it? - Fish and chips from the local store. By far the best thing I¡¯ve had all month. There you have it. I hope these recommendations aren¡¯t going to waste. It¡¯s only been a few years thus far, but some in my family have taken short vacations. We all tend to err on the side of overworking ourselves, but taking vacations now and then is customary. And it¡¯s Vesmos, fitting in is quite important in the workplace. So that got me thinking. When an opportunity arises, I¡¯d head to where you are, maybe for a week or two. As much as I enjoy these letters, there are many things that I can¡¯t exactly put into words. This year (and particularly the last month) has been quite stressful. Things seem to pop up at random, and workplaces have shifted from office space to office space. Restructuring of the company, apparently. I¡¯m just hoping I don¡¯t end up with a raw deal. I still haven¡¯t made too many friends. I¡¯m friendly with the grocer, and I think the woman working at the post office recognises me, but apart from that, there have been very few opportunities. I buy books as well, which serves as my main pastime whenever I¡¯m not on an errand or going to and from work. It¡¯s no different to what I¡¯m so used to, but I¡¯m reminded of that distinct absence whenever I receive one of your letters. Fingers crossed I can take that vacation, and fingers crossed your mother isn¡¯t too upset with us meeting. Bad impressions stain, and I don¡¯t want to make them worse by encouraging you to sneak out under her nose. Short letter, but I¡¯m afraid I wrote much of this during my four dinners. Time has been in short supply, but considering my last letter was five times the length, I think I¡¯ve earned some slack. Hope you¡¯re well and say hello to your parents and your god-grandmother for me. Sincerely, Alis ¡°Are you awake or what?¡± ¡°No. Come back later.¡± ¡°There¡¯s breakfast in the kitchen. Get your stuff ready for school, and then eat. God, I feel old saying that,¡± Elliot groaned as he closed Iris¡¯s door. She listened as he stomped down the hallway to tend to a distant crackling from the kitchen. Iris waited for the sound to fade as she rolled over and buried herself into her pillow, getting the morning sun out of her face as best she could. She had asked to go into town and buy thicker curtains, but business had been too busy to set a proper date. Lately, she¡¯d begun to forget her gripes as soon as she finished breakfast. Iris looked over the side of her bed, Alis¡¯s unfolded letter face up on the floor. She¡¯d fallen asleep reading it and guessed it fell out of her hand at some point. She pouted, remembering how happy she¡¯d been when finding it in their mailbox and then her disappointment by the letter¡¯s untimely end. She was used to his letters being vague; Evalyn didn¡¯t need to see a wax seal to tell they were being opened and read. His family and colleagues were his branch of ULEF, and the work he was doing for them paid for food and rent. The job at the grocer was a cover. But after thirty-eight letters received and thirty-seven sent, she finally understood that the foody nature he had alluded to in his first letter was no cover or backstory. She found it intriguing and had even taken him up on his recommendations more than a few times, but Evalyn, on the other hand, was quite conflicted. ¡®My daughter is pen pals with a foody terrorist,¡¯ she¡¯d often say, hanging her head. But the promise of seeing him again gave her something to look forward to. She would have begun to pen her letter, but like she¡¯d been warned, her days were no longer hers to study, find cats or missing spouses and thwart evildoers. No. Something much worse. She trudged out of bed and through her door, shivering and sneezing, each half of her brain taking turns moving their corresponding leg. She rubbed her eyes and unsuccessfully stifled a yawn when she felt a pair of hands grab her underarms and lift her up. This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there. ¡°Coming through,¡± Evalyn said as she picked up Iris like a cat, walked her to the kitchen and placed her on an excruciatingly cold seat. Dressed for the train, Evalyn returned to her briefcase by the door, half-open and stuffed to the brim with a disorganised mess. While she joined Colte¡¯s investigation and Iris spent her days as a bodyguard, it was up to Elliot to cash in his¡ªthree years overdue¡ªpaternity leave and hold down the fort. A last resort, seeing that Marie had her hands full at the moment. Between her, Alis, and now Evalyn, it seemed like everyone had one crisis or another to deal with. She watched her breakfast, appalled whenever she glanced at the hands on the clock and was reminded of how early it was. The office trading hours began at nine, meaning she could expect to wake up at eight, perhaps finesse an extra half hour if she was lucky. It was six-thirty, and she desperately wanted to shrivel into a ball. Her plate stared back at her as her parents got ready, which reminded her that she needed to wear a special set of clothes for the day. She had begged, and Evalyn¡ªthrough her liaison Ms Mallorine¡ªhad bargained with the academy to allow her to keep her jacket. Evalyn could barely give a coherent reason, but whatever Ms Mallorine said, the academy bought. She at least had that comfort, both physically and emotionally. ¡°Don¡¯t pick fights, don¡¯t steal stuff, don¡¯t show anyone what you can do, don¡¯t tell people to their face that they¡¯re stupid even if they are and¡­my word, you¡¯re going to have to unlearn all your habits. Don¡¯t swear! Don¡¯t swear, okay? And some people don¡¯t like it when you use the word ¡®god¡¯ in a sentence, like ¡®my gods¡¯ or ¡®for god¡¯s sake.¡¯¡± Evalyn¡¯s thoughts ran wild as her train blared its whistle through the cavernous Excala Station, fake snow wafting from the roof to match the weather outside. ¡°Be good, okay? The study will be easy. Just focus on her and nothing else!¡± She kissed Iris¡¯s forehead and gave her another squeeze before standing up and kissing Elliot a ¡®see you later¡¯. ¡°I love you,¡± she said. ¡°I trust you,¡± he answered. They watched her jog to the carriage¡¯s platform and hang from the handrail, waving them another goodbye as the train pulled out of the station. They waved her off, and she furiously returned the gesture, only ducking into the carriage proper when she came dangerously close to clipping a signpost. By then, though, she was out of sight. ¡°Well that was a little dramatic, wasn¡¯t it?¡± Elliot said, putting his hands on his hips. ¡°The way she acts makes me think she has separation anxiety, but every time I¡¯ve talked to old Colte about it, he swears she¡¯s as calm as a glass of water whenever she''s working." ¡°Don¡¯t you like that about mum?¡± Iris asked, to which Elliot pouted in agreement. ¡°Yeah, I love it. All right,¡± he said, ruffling her hair. ¡°We¡¯ve got an inauguration to get you to.¡± ¡°What¡¯s that?¡± ¡°Entrance ceremony. You go, they give you a speech, and you sit and listen.¡± ¡°Did you have that?¡± ¡°No. My school had sixty kids; there wouldn¡¯t have been a point. Everyone knew everyone, and that was probably the worst part.¡± ¡°Why?¡± He took her hand as they headed for the station exit. ¡°This thing called small-town mentality, you see. I am an unpleasant person, and I used to be worse. When there are only sixty kids in your school, that¡¯s a surefire way to end up friendless.¡± They entered the town square and began to cross it, following a path forever known to her as the way she had first ¡®met¡¯ Alis. ¡°Take this from a former egotistical loner married to a girl homeschooled in an ivory tower from junior high school onwards, don¡¯t be like us. Be approachable.¡± ¡°No. I¡¯m working.¡± Elliot sighed through his teeth, and his shoulders drooped. ¡°Maybe it runs in the family.¡± ¡°Maybe,¡± Iris said, bothered by how the pleated skirt felt around her waist. It fell to just above her knees, allowing those to breathe before long white socks took over. The blouse and tie were less alien but did little to make up for the travesty that was the rest of her outfit. Over a white blouse trimmed with a deep red outline, the field jacket looked less out of place than Evalyn had feared, but standing out was an immediate guarantee. Iris didn¡¯t care. She was there for the money. Elliot gripped her hand, and she looked up to him. He was smiling sincerely, a rarity considering even his sincere smiles were tainted with sarcasm. He let go of her hand and instead grabbed her shoulder, pushing her into his side as they walked. ¡°I get to feel like a normal dad for once,¡± he giggled. ¡°¡ªand we welcome in the new academic year, striving to meet and excel beyond our standards as students, staff and people. By doing so we may¡ª¡± Even when amplified through his mask¡¯s powerful voice box, the pear-shaped Principal¡¯s words entered through one ear and exited out the other without leaving a single extra wrinkle in Iris¡¯s brain. To make matters worse, halfway into his speech, she was already sitting away from the main body of students on account of a misdemeanour. She had walked in with the rest of the cohort, shuffling in from the central courtyard into an extravagant sandstone building while being funnelled and shepherded by staff into the main hall. Tall stained windows loomed over her left, using the student body¡¯s black uniforms as a canvas to paint with, and to her right hung framed oil landscapes and maps, most taller than her and even wider than that. Stained pine walls and ceilings had redirected her attention to the front stage, where a lectern stood before a wall of red curtains. It was at that point a woman with the nose of an eagle, yet none of the pride stopped her with an obnoxious ¡®excuse me¡¯, citing her jacket as against school policy. Iris had explained to her the deal with the Principal rather obtusely, which she did not seem to buy in the slightest. Therefore, time out. How long had it been? Iris checked her pilot watch and counted five minutes. Besides the compass, she could barely read the other dials and bezels that adorned the watch face, but both her parents had sworn by their usefulness when she received it for her¡ªretrospectively determined¡ªtwelfth birthday. Either way, she was sitting at the back of the hall next to the eagle-nosed teacher, swinging her legs and glancing around the room for something interesting to latch onto. The students, although wildly different in their look and even species, all looked the same when in uniform, and the speech was doing more to lull her to sleep than ¡®in-awg-yur-ate¡¯ her. Then out of nowhere, the room erupted into applause. Iris jumped from her seat and assessed for danger, of which she soon realised there was none. Flustered, she began to clap as well while she picked up on the nearby teachers glancing at her. The eagle-nosed lady gave her a particularly fuming look of disapproval. Iris gave a look of her own back, and this seemed to send the woman into a silent fit of rage. ¡°Class 7A this way please!¡± ¡°7G could I get everyone to follow me!¡± The teachers who hadn¡¯t found themselves preoccupied over petty disputes now began to herd the cohort like sheep while the sound of thousands of feet and hundreds of voices drowned out their efforts. Before Iris could even wonder where her class was in the suffocating amalgamation, she felt a bony hand grab her wrist. ¡°Come with me,¡± the woman commanded. Iris¡¯s heart jumped as she tore her hand from the woman¡¯s grasp. She held it close to her chest, backing away as she scowled. ¡°Don¡¯t touch me,¡± she warned, holding the urge to clock the woman across the cheek. The woman, beast, whatever she was, gritted her teeth as though she¡¯d never heard a greater insult. Her thinning grey hair stood on its ends like a cat, and the folds in her skin turned cavernous. ¡°How dare you!¡± she seethed under her breath. ¡°The Principal will¡ª¡± ¡°What about me?¡± a pear-shaped Beak asked politely, addressing the woman from behind like a well-timed haunted house scare. His mask barely moved, but Iris could innately tell he was passing his attention back and forth between them. Something about the Aether. ¡°This young girl is acting unruly. First a uniform violation and then retaliation against disciplinary¡ª¡± ¡°Yes, Evone, I¡¯ve read a dictionary before,¡± the Principal sighed, tiredly dismissing her. ¡°You¡¯re needed for first period, aren¡¯t you? Senior Accounting, was it?¡± The woman bit her lips before turning away, disregarding the crowd, and exiting the building through a back exit. Iris watched her go, cursing her with every expletive Evalyn had banned her from using. ¡°Iris Hardridge-Maxwell, was it?¡± the Principal asked, and Iris turned and nodded. ¡°Yes,¡± she said. ¡°I¡¯m here at the request of Janice Mallorine, my client.¡± ¡°Client?¡± the Principal chuckled, ¡°that¡¯s an awfully strange way for someone of your age to address an adult.¡± ¡°Why?¡± Iris asked. It was the truth. ¡°It¡¯s nothing,¡± the Principal insisted, waving a gloved hand before offering it to Iris. She took it, and they shook hands; awfully business-like for a first day at school. Or at least that was what Iris assumed the people around them were thinking. ¡°I¡¯ve already talked it over with Janice, but you¡¯ll still need a uniform pass for that jacket. Come with me, and I¡¯ll write one up for you.¡± Chapter 18 Part 2: For a Uniform Pass Iris had long since noticed a trend in Excala city¡¯s land use. Where many cities Iris had briefly visited built up to signify importance, wealth and power, Excala instead spread outwards. Very rarely would one stumble across swathes of single-use land, and every such case was a landmark of the city, one maintained either by state, crown or syndicate. The Excalan Academy was one such establishment. Its sandstone edifices spread across a generous plot of prime city land, created within itself a small ecosystem: an insular society that seemed divorced from and raised above the rest of the world by its tall, encompassing iron fence. Divorced from the bustling inner city where people mingled between their different walks of life, the Academy was quartered off, quarantined, sterile. A single walk of life, unchanged for hundreds of years, preserved in the name of tradition. Like Excala outside, the campus was divided into different courts, organised along a loose pattern that allowed for courtyards, brick lanes and gardens to glue it all together. Different banners, colours and demographics occupied each one, bringing subtle individuality to every court, like districts in a city. The way the Principal walked, each strut placed so consciously yet executed so effortlessly, made Iris straighten her back out of instinct. They travelled from one building to another through undercover arcades and overhead skyways, avoiding the light snowfall that had long since melted off Iris¡¯s jacket. They weren¡¯t alone, far from it. From students her senior chatting nonchalantly to the new recruits scared stiff, they were always fighting a current of black uniforms that threatened to sweep away Iris at any moment. Exiting the dim oak halls of a stuffy building of classrooms, they exited a last set of doors into a garden courtyard. Even with the flowers wilted and trees leafless, the place held a serene, delicate beauty about it, like something frozen in ice. Iris realised the irony, considering the fountain in its centre was due to be out of commission for the winter. There were very few students around, perhaps one or two roaming the arcades, bundled in scarves and pulling on gloves for the day. ¡°This is the administrative building,¡± the Principal said. ¡°If there are any problems, you should come here.¡± They continued through the courtyard, diligently following the left arcade as though an invisible barrier encased the garden. Perhaps it was a rule not to step foot in it. Rules, those strange things Evalyn sometimes enforced when Iris overstepped her boundaries. She wanted to try to break them, but if the consequences from her own mother scared her, she didn¡¯t want to try messing with the Academy¡¯s miniature society. Maybe they also had police. The Principal pushed open the doorway, letting Iris enter the lobby first. Red carpet stretched between the building''s ends, the area acting as a tranquil buffer between the public world and the school''s underbelly. It felt like the entrance to a museum rather than any public facility, especially when the arched windows themselves were art pieces. Preserved as much as it was used. They continued, passing small offices and staff rooms where each staff member who noticed bid the Principal good morning, and those that didn¡¯t a fleeting smile before they disappeared out of sight. They climbed a flight of stairs, reaching an even quieter domain deep in the school¡¯s heart. No students, and only one important-looking person per office, slaving away at whatever paperwork lay on their desk. None said hello, and little more than the sound of typewriters even filled the room. Gold plate, with ¡®Principal¡¯ adorned into the glossy finish with a fine-tipped brush. Old, but with immaculate maintenance, much like the rest of the building. Iris was offered inside, where a small chair opposite an imposing desk awaited her. ¡°Please sit, I¡¯ll sign a uniform pass now and ask one of the ladies outside to type you up an official one.¡± She entered, impressed at how well-furnished the place was, even if she knew much of it was for show. Iris had seen many such offices, and after knowing the inner workings of Evalyn¡¯s, she was now practically desensitised to whatever awe-inspiring qualities their decor once held. The books in the bookshelves were most often for show, and if there was a globe somewhere in the room, it was usually coated in dust. She sat down while the Principal rounded the desk, taking a small note of paper from a drawer and a pen already lying by a typewriter. He began to write. ¡°This isn¡¯t the first time in our history that we¡¯ve had such a situation,¡± the Principal began. ¡°Given the clientele of our school, we¡¯ve often had maids¡­servants and the odd bodyguard attend classes.¡± The scribbles ended with a dot, and the Principal handed the note to Iris. She glanced at it, the cursive handwriting so immaculate that she had no clue what it said. ¡°But it¡¯s no longer last century. I do not care if you score horribly in your classes or get on the nerves of our teachers as long as you do not disclose that you are Crestana Mallorine''s bodyguard to anyone, understand?¡± ¡°Okay.¡± ¡°That¡¯s ¡®yes, sir¡¯ to you.¡± ¡°Okay¡­yes sir.¡± The Principal watched her for a moment, his confidence in her visibly shaken. He sat down proper, the well-oiled chair staying as silent as he, while his attention took a moment longer to assess her¡ªher worth, skill, danger perhaps. Iris recognised the expression but could never figure out the intention. ¡°Ms Mallorine is a close sponsor of ours, and if it wasn¡¯t for her¡­vigorous input, I¡¯d see no reason to worry about Crestana¡¯s wellbeing. Don¡¯t overstep your boundaries, do as much as you¡¯re paid for and nothing more. Understand?¡± She had experienced ¡®talks¡¯ before, the most terrifying from Marie who¡¯d so often combine the words of a drill sergeant with the voice of a serial killer. But ¡®talk¡¯ didn¡¯t describe whatever the Principal was saying. ¡®Threat¡¯ did. ¡°Why¡­sir?¡± she asked, coming off as more clueless than intimidated. "She''s in a lot of danger." The Principal¡¯s voice box jittered as he gave a quiet sigh of disappointment. "Because who would want anything to do with Crestana Mallorine?¡± As it turned out, too many people. Iris had followed one of the many administration workers back through the school, taking a different combination of undercover walkways and overhead sky bridges until they came to an enclosed court: one of many she had seen on her way through the school. This one had been particularly restless, with lines of students her age single file in the courtyard being led off into doorways and stairs. Another part of the first-day rush; it was all but silent now. The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement. Iris followed her guide through the archway and into the courtyard, tracing the pathway left while indistinct eyes flickered through dimmed glass windows and wooden shutters. They continued into a stairwell to the third floor, footsteps echoing up and down the dim cavity while the stained-glass window towering behind them again coloured her clothes. She looked at it for as long as she could, failing to recognise the illustration as anything significant. A sunset, a small village street, five humanoid shadows rising from the ground. They turned right once they reached the third floor, walked three rooms down before coming to a fourth, each marked with a class code. 7L marked hers. The guide knocked on the door, and someone answered. A skeletal hand reached around the door; jagged and graphite black bones that disappeared under the sleeve of a suit. Caught utterly off guard, Iris stepped back, her hair standing on its ends as her brain was jumpstarted with adrenaline. A blue flaming orb rounded the door in place of a head, runes evaporating like smoke trails. She had to know if she was dreaming. A hallucination? Maybe, but her body didn¡¯t feel sluggish or paralysed, and her fright was her own, not induced by anything else. ¡°Yes?¡± the Spirit asked, turning from Iris¡¯s guide to her. He spoke with a voice instead of pulses of Aether, the familiar tone of a Beak¡¯s voice box. She held in her fright, focusing enough to notice the contraption clipped to his tie instead of fastened underneath a mask. ¡°Good Morning Mr Caynes, Iris Hardridge-Maxwell, your missing student?¡± Iris watched him, and he did the same, or whatever the Spirit equivalent to it was. Without eyes, she couldn¡¯t tell exactly where he was looking, only that his interest was concerned with her. ¡°Did I scare you, Miss?¡± Iris slowly shook her head, her body still tense and preoccupied with diagnosing her state of consciousness. She was alive, yes, and she was awake. Pinching the skin on her waist until it went numb changed nothing. ¡°Oh?¡± he said. ¡°Well, call me Mr Caynes. If you¡¯re part of this class, then I¡¯ll have the honour of being your Aetherology teacher.¡± He opened the door fully and stepped through, a bony figure hidden underneath a worn corduroy suit saved from being in tatters by numerous subtle stitch jobs. Offering a hand to Iris, he politely waited for a moment despite her having no intentions of obliging him. Evalyn was the one who always handed negotiations; she didn¡¯t like the idea of that responsibility falling onto her. Caynes understood, nodding his head before retracting his hand. ¡°So sorry, teachers don¡¯t do that with students. It¡¯s my first day as well.¡± He nodded at her guide, letting out a soft thank you before ushering Iris inside. She followed his direction, stepping into the classroom and finding the attention of thirty different children. It clicked with her why she barely ever saw children her age in the city outside of weekends. It had occured to her in theory, but seeing the real thing amazed her. ¡°Now where were we?¡± Caynes asked the class, returning to his post behind a lectern at the front. The alphabet was etched into the blackboard behind him, half the letters crossed out seemingly at random. He leaned closer to Iris as she hovered near him, paralysed by the glares, half on her face and half on her jacket. ¡°What does your last name start with?¡± ¡°Uh¡­H.¡± ¡°H¡­,¡± he mumbled, turning back to the blackboard. ¡°Ah, we haven¡¯t done H yet. Would you like to start us off?¡± Caynes took a piece of white chalk and crossed the letter off the blackboard. ¡°Now if you¡¯d introduce yourself to the class.¡± Iris stood stock still, glancing at Caynes and then back at the sea of black uniforms, a mix of humans and Spirits homogenised by the deep colour. ¡°Introduce yourself, like your name and something about you.¡± Introductions, the thing Marie had warned her about once. She¡¯d preferred not to think about it since, brushing aside the thought that she¡¯d ever need to. Her name, that¡¯s still all she had that she could carelessly disclose to anyone. ¡°Iris¡­Maxwell-Hard¡­Hardridge-Maxwell. Hello.¡± The class was silent. ¡°Anything else?¡± Caynes asked. Iris shook her head, refusing to break line of sight with the other thirty bodies watching her. Fear, but in a way that tried to pull her feet away instead of lash out and bear her fangs. ¡°That¡¯s okay as well, Iris, thank you very much. There should be a seat for you somewhere¡­down that way. Third column, five seats down.¡± Iris spotted it and followed his direction, keeping her head low to not look anyone directly in the eye. Yet they were more concerned with the teacher than her, attention turning back to the front as soon as she passed them. Like machines, they were diligent to the point Iris questioned their sentience. She took her seat at a small, square writing desk barely large enough for her to fit both her elbows on comfortably. There was an empty tray hanging underneath, pencil etchings and scratch marks vandalising the ageing woodwork. Not every nook and cranny in the school was maintained to perfection, and Iris would have added to it if not for her lack of pens. None needed for orientation day, apparently. ¡°Who¡¯s next on our list of Hs¡­Hallory? Could we get Hallory to introduce yourself please?¡± Afraid to look left and right, Iris stared at the person sitting in front of her, absent-mindedly studying the back of their head as a few rows forward, someone stood up and loudly introduced themselves. ¡°Turic Hallory! From Excala City Primary! I like dogs! That is all!¡± A few people chuckled as Turic Hallory¡¯s voice box crackled and cut out under his voice¡¯s volume. He sat down, and the next name was called. Once H was exhausted, Caynes chose P at random, and another group of students were called one by one. Iris kept quiet, doing her best to memorise the names and ignoring the extraneous details. Names were always handy, except she wasn¡¯t doing the best job of pairing them with faces. She guessed that she wouldn¡¯t remember much besides the back of one Veronica Horrick¡¯s head by the time the process was over. But someone grabbed her attention, someone staring at her from the front of the class. A Beak, mask embroidered with gold leaf and shutters across the eyes. Hair that flowed in strands instead of the roughly formed black mass Iris was used to, and fingers that were more angular than the average Beak¡¯s. She even seemed to have fingernails. ¡°M next! Let¡¯s see¡­Mallorine?¡± The girl stood, posture immaculate and voice box buttery smooth, articulating her words so clearly even the deaf would understand. ¡°Crestana Mallorine. Nice to meet you all.¡± That was all she gave, as brief as Iris¡¯s, but born from a place of confidence instead of confusion. The class was silent, born from a place of awe and respect rather than pity. Iris¡¯s client sat back down again, uniform fluttering gracefully as she did. Another sidelong glance and Crestana Mallorine turned away from her entirely. Their orientation continued for the morning, the class stiff under Caynes¡¯s guidance. If it was his first day, he certainly didn¡¯t show it. Charismatic in a quiet sense, he¡¯d call on members of the class without putting them in the spotlight, even mentioning Iris¡¯s jacket and turning it into a light-hearted joke when she blurted out that she had a uniform pass. ¡°Okay class, so although I am your Aetherology teacher, your normal homeroom on Monday first periods will be headed by Mr Greidus Forecer, your¡­I believe it was your music teacher. Yes, music teacher, who could not make it today,¡± he said, checking the notes on his lectern. A shrill bell rang throughout the entire building, waking Iris up from her daze in a startle that brought more than a little unwarranted attention from her peers. ¡°First break. Everyone is free to either stay in the classroom or go out into the courtyard, but be back by¡­ten thirty for your next class. Dismissed.¡± With Cayne¡¯s back exiting the room, it seemed as though everyone around her let go of whatever they were holding in beforehand. Chatter erupted rather quickly; girls grouped up with girls and boys linked with each other to run out of the classroom and join the sudden flow of students now saturating the court¡¯s many floors. Iris tried to gain a view of her client, but she was already surrounded by a group of girls, chatting back and forth with each other in a dizzying number of directions. It was a barrier that Iris had no chance of penetrating, but she decided she did not have to. Instead she was was bored, and staying in her seat twiddling her fingers for half an hour didn¡¯t appeal to her in the slightest. If such a powerful barrier already existed around Ms Mallorine, what could possibly happen? So she decided to go for a walk. Chapter 18 Part 3: Ash in Snow Midday, and five hours since she had left Excala station, but to her it felt as though she had been drinking for a day and vomiting for a night. The vomiting part however, was no metaphor. She stepped off the plane, wearily smiling at the flight attendant who had more than once feared for Evalyn¡¯s life. It was especially such moments that made her wish her appearances weren¡¯t so distinctive, lest she forever be remembered as the woman who barfed until there wasn¡¯t even bile left. The runway was freezing, and the air was thick and bitter. A human city, no doubt. The smell of the metropolis always arrived ahead of the sight, like an omen or a dark god¡¯s herald. Sidos was not truly a ''human city¡¯, but her distinct distaste for its architecture carried over. Where Sidos prized function over form, human cities like Trepedite were built as though the latter even existed. It was almost like nature, how the slums would grow with extension after extension like a living, breathing organism, sprawling around the feet of the uptown districts, which exchanged meaningful design for unapologetic displays of excess. The runway was cold. She needed something to complain about if she was to keep warm. Her journey through customs was tedious as usual. Despite her luggage being light, the first firearm tucked away under lock and key in her briefcase and the other under similar security slung across her shoulder always managed to add another hour to her time. Eventually, however, the customs officers always allowed her to pass, albeit with a disgruntled look, and this time was no different. She continued out to the ground level pick up loop where shuttle busses offloaded departures and taxies competed to snap up the arrivals. It wasn¡¯t snowing when she stepped onto the pavement, but the gutters were overflowing with small mounds of snow, cleared from the roads themselves. She shivered again, passing an eye over the ring, looking for her ride. ¡°Boo.¡± ¡°Piss off.¡± ¡°What?¡± Colte groaned as Evalyn turned around. He was smiling despite the cold, and even when there was snow stuck to his stubble, he still found energy for his lacklustre sense of humour. ¡°I¡¯m in a bad mood; let me in your car and do some fire tricks to keep me warm.¡± ¡°Ah, right,¡± he sighed. ¡°Planes.¡± He patted her shoulder and took her briefcase, leading her to a black sedan waiting in between two taxis. It was barely any different to the cars it was parked between, save for the light-up taxi signs sitting precariously on their roofs. She guessed it was a rental car, another in a long line that spanned over the course of Colte¡¯s entire career. He¡¯d expressed dissatisfaction with them, lamenting how he wanted one, but such a nomadic work life made it impractical. He loaded her luggage into the boot as she stepped into the passenger side seat, jumping when her backside registered how cold the leather seat was. ¡°You weren¡¯t keeping the heater running?¡± she complained as he stepped into the driver¡¯s side seat. ¡°It¡¯s freezing.¡± ¡°It¡¯s an older model; the thing doesn¡¯t have any proper ventilation,¡± he explained, reaching for his pipe tucked away in his overcoat. ¡°I¡¯ve been lighting a little fire to keep myself warm.¡± ¡°What about the smoke?¡± ¡°Well, if you can bear the windows rolled down a sliver, I¡¯m sure you¡¯ll be fine.¡± He puffed into his pipe as he clicked his seatbelt into place, a small flame springing to life just above the chamber. ¡°When¡¯s your check-in?¡± Evalyn checked her watch. ¡°An hour?¡± she replied. Colte raised his eyebrows in response. ¡°You think you can drop off your things and get to work straight away?¡± ¡°I¡¯d rather not,¡± she admitted, taking a keychain from her trench coat¡¯s pocket and unlocking the latch on her rifle case. ¡°But I can¡¯t say I was expecting not to.¡± ¡°It¡¯s nothing big, I just need you to sit in on an interrogation,¡± he said as he ignited the engine, ¡°get a feel for what we¡¯re dealing with.¡± The car spluttered to life, and Colte smoothly pulled into the loop. ¡°Just like the old days, I do everything, and you watch.¡± Evalyn glared at him, not even bothering to recall the times she¡¯d bailed him out of sticky situations. There was a reason one of them still got scars and the other didn¡¯t. ¡°Oh yeah,¡± he said as they turned onto the main road, the city now in clear view on the horizon. ¡°Where¡¯s Iris?¡± ¡°Iris,¡± Evalyn began smugly, ¡°is on her own commission.¡± ¡°Already that age, huh?¡± Colte said, entertaining her pride. ¡°Must have had a good teacher.¡± ¡°Aw, is that a compliment?¡± ¡°I can take it back if you don¡¯t want it.¡± Evalyn did a final once-over of her sidearm before tucking it into her overcoat. Under Colte¡¯s recommendations, she¡¯d left her rifle at home. Concealed carry was the safest option, considering the scene of their assignment. Downtown, and even then at its lower levels. Skyscrapers rose like trees in a dense forest, blocking the sunlight and leaving the bottom dwellers to feed on the compost. The smog hung above them, but being free of its stench only meant she was knee-deep in the grime and soiled snow. Engine oil from broken-down cars coated the streets while pressurised gases of varying toxicity spewed out of rusted pipes and broken vents. Nothing worked in the city¡¯s underbelly, and with its monorails suspending the wealthy above it all, the city had long since stopped caring. ¡°So, she¡¯s guarding the family¡¯s daughter, is she? Sounds easy enough,¡± Colte said as he drove, carefully steering while scrutinising his surroundings for danger. ¡°You think it¡¯ll be fine?¡± ¡°I think so,¡± Evalyn replied. ¡°There isn¡¯t much to worry about, but I can¡¯t help it.¡± ¡°Worry is what mothers do; just means you¡¯re doing your job,¡± he assured her, pulling over by the side of the street and into a snow-filled gutter. They undid their seatbelts, and Colte pointed out a building across the street. ¡°I looked over some Police records they lent me. Twenty sixth floor of that building is home to the strong-arming detail of a pretty big syndicate. One of many, apparently, that probably weren¡¯t too keen on the Mallorine family forcing their way into the local industry.¡± ¡°What kind of syndicate?¡± she asked. ¡°Legitimate. Well, their other branch, at least. It¡¯s how business runs in places like this, especially once you start playing with bigger sums. Using magic is a great way to shift suspicion off human shoulders, and it¡¯s worked on the police as far as I¡¯m concerned.¡± ¡°Look at you go, detective,¡± Evalyn jived. ¡°Might almost be as good as me one day.¡± If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it. ¡°One can only hope,¡± Colte sighed, rolling his eyes as he stepped out of the car. Her boots crunched through the dirty snow as she zeroed in on the building entrance. The greyscale between soot-black buildings and fresh snow made things harder to make out, which unnerved her, considering her environment. Relatively tight, elevated, and hundreds of windows to get shot from. The place wasn¡¯t ideal if things turned hairy. ¡°What¡¯s the verdict on magic?¡± Evalyn asked. ¡°How much are we allowed to use?¡± ¡°Up to our discretion,¡± Colte answered. ¡°It¡¯s not like there¡¯s any Spirits to notice something¡¯s wrong, and it¡¯s easy enough to convince a passerby that they didn¡¯t see what they saw.¡± In other words, free reign with a long list of caveats. It was about as good as she could hope for. A building typical of this part of town, which was to say it was tens of storeys tall and housed at least a few hundred people, if not pushing a thousand. It resembled an ant nest more than anything human, but one with no hive mind quality¡ªdecentralised and unpredictable from bottom floor to top. They entered the lobby, Evalyn expecting it to be largely vacant. But that wasn¡¯t the case at all, seeing as the snow had forced the populous off the street to make their own fun indoors. It sounded and smelled like a local pub; people sitting around makeshift tables of cardboard boxes playing cards, children bobbing and weaving through in a game of tag. The place was alive despite the space¡¯s original purpose, and the sheer number of people under lamp light was staggering. They cut through, Evalyn following Colte¡¯s lead as they headed for the four elevators at the far end of the building. All automatic, thankfully. The last thing they needed was a lift operator to remember their faces. They got on, and she closed the grille while Colte mashed the twenty-sixth button. The elevator cables groaned as the motors squeaked through the rust, grime and cold. ¡°Mask up,¡± Colte said as he puffed into his pipe, creating a plume of smoke. The black cloud wrapped around his head, retaining its shape but blackening out any distinctive features like a black marker on a classified document. She was standing at the wrong angle, but she knew there to be two flames where his eyes were. Where her armour spoke to something divine, his was hell itself. Very fitting. She felt the warmth well from her chest, expelling the winter cold from her fingertips as they were encased in golden armour. She heard the cable motor squeak again under the added weight, and she willed the plates flimsier for the time being. ¡°What do you want for lunch?¡± Colte asked, voice muffled. ¡°Sorry?¡± ¡°You haven¡¯t eaten anything.¡± ¡°I¡¯m not really thinking about that right now,¡± she hissed. ¡°Pies. Why not?¡± ¡°Pies? Really?¡± Colte asked, happily surprised. ¡°Yeah¡­just because you bought me them every time we worked together doesn¡¯t mean I didn¡¯t like it.¡± She could tell he was smiling under the smoke mask, and it made her just slightly regret the gesture. He nudged her as they passed the twentieth floor, and she figured that she¡¯d let it slide. Old habits died hard, but the man was getting old. They were peers now, even if he would always be her tactless mentor. The lift bell weakly chimed as they arrived, and before Evalyn could even step foot on the floor, Colte got to work. He threw his hands forward, directing a gust of smoke that enveloped the entire floor, reducing her visibility to a small bubble of clear air around them both. Screams and panic began to echo from various rooms throughout the floor, some close and others distant. ¡°Hm¡­,¡± Colte said, ruminating. ¡°Most people are armed¡­but those seven men with a submachine gun each don¡¯t exactly look like a renting family.¡± He retracted the smoke from the halls, allowing it only to linger in a single apartment block two doors down. ¡°Quick,¡± he said, ¡°before people start running into the hallway.¡± They made for the door briskly, Evalyn taking the lead and pressing her finger against the lock. She¡¯d gotten better at it after meeting Iris, a natural-born thief if not the greatest teacher. Either way, Evalyn had learned something, and thanks to that she opened it before the first signs of panic spilt from the rooms into the hall. Inside was once again filled with smoke. Several pairs of loud footsteps filled the apartment, and they all seemed to hear her lock the door. ¡°Who¡¯s there!¡± one called. ¡°That one¡¯s right over there,¡± Colte muttered, pointing in a direction through the smoke. Evalyn formed a tendril that spread out to find the suspect, binding him on contact and gagging him. ¡°That one¡¯s going to shoot us,¡± he informed her. She erected a barricade just as bullets started flying their way, leaving trails in the smoke Evalyn could easily use to pinpoint the man and snag him. One after another, Colte nonchalantly singled out suspect after suspect and Evalyn bagged them one by one. Evalyn knew the gunfire wouldn¡¯t exactly go unnoticed, so she prayed the locked door would be enough to deter any neighbourhood heroes or local law enforcement. She hoped downtown got less attention from the boys in blue, as much as that was a horrible thing to wish for. The smoke cleared leaving them with a barebones apartment room; even the walls were missing their plaster. Seven men lay bound and squirming, their weapons on the floor. ¡°Big toys,¡± Colte muttered. ¡°I¡¯m going to pick out the youngest, then you line the rest up against the far wall. All right?¡± ¡°Sure,¡± Evalyn said, already reading the pattern the next few minutes would take. She didn¡¯t have much of a stomach for interrogation, let alone torture, and Colte keeping her from partaking in it was probably the biggest reason. ¡°This one,¡± he said, pointing to one of the men, although the boy was more of an accurate word. He looked barely eighteen. Evalyn moved the other seven to the far wall, keeping her tendrils tight around their limbs and over their mouths as Colte approached his victim. He grabbed two chairs on his way from around a wooden table cluttered with empty beer bottles, sitting down on one and placing the other opposite him. Evalyn took the cue and placed the subject on the empty chair. ¡°Now,¡± Colte began. ¡°I¡¯m going to ask the nice lady over there to untie and ungag you. If you scream, one of your buddies gets their neck snapped, if you go for the gun, two do, and we¡¯ll continue for as long as we have to, or as long as we¡¯re able to. Understand?¡± The boy, eyes wide with terror, made no movement. ¡°Blink once for yes and twice for no. That woman over there has done a lot more than snuff a few people, I¡¯d prefer you don¡¯t try either of us.¡± It took a few more tense seconds, but the blink came. ¡°Good,¡± Colte said, and Evalyn undid the binds. As promised, the boy didn¡¯t scream. In fact, he didn¡¯t move, as if he hadn¡¯t been untied at all. His lips trembled in place, on the verge of breaking his agreement. ¡°What¡¯s your name?¡± ¡°F-f-f¡­.¡± ¡°F¡­f what?¡± ¡°F-fred¡­.¡± ¡°Fred. Nice to meet you. Unfortunately, I can¡¯t state my name, but I can state why I¡¯ve had to unfortunately¡­intrude on you this afternoon. See¡­,¡± he said, pulling his chair uncomfortably close to Fred¡¯s. ¡°There¡¯s been these incidents involving domes. Sigil magic, very serious, a lot of missing people. You¡¯ve heard about this, haven¡¯t you?¡± Fred nodded slowly, never taking his eyes off the two small flames. ¡°Well. I, and the relevant authorities who¡¯ve been keeping track of your cell, suspect your employers of having a vested interest in seeing the expulsion of the Mallorine family from the local market. Are you following?¡± Fred nodded. ¡°Good. Now, I want to know if you, or anyone you know, had anything to do with these attacks. Heavy-handed tactics are something your employers are known for, and so I am just looking for the truth.¡± Fred stayed frozen, mouth still trembling as the staring competition with Colte''s unflinching eyes dragged on for painfully long second after painfully long second. Finally, he shook his head. ¡°No.¡± ¡°¡­no? No what?¡± Colte asked, shrugging his shoulders. ¡°I¡¯m not telling pigs,¡± Fred said, standing his ground on tremoring knees, but it inspired no intimidation in Colte, only disappointment. ¡°Fred, do I look like a pig?¡± Colte asked from his laid-back posture, but he got no response. ¡°Because I¡¯m a lot closer to you than I am to a police officer. Let me put it this way. You, you know, and I¡¯m sorry to assume, probably vest your entire life, all your aspirations as¡­whatever your job title is, in this small world of yours. From here to let¡¯s say a thirty-block radius around us, which in Trepedite isn¡¯t all too big. Your enemy, the antagonist of your life are the police, the people who stop you from carrying out hit jobs for a local group who want to maximise their profits. ¡°I am muscle for hire, just like you. It¡¯s just that the world I operate in is the world, and the people I take jobs from have enough power to condemn millions of souls to a fate they never asked for. I avert wars, sometimes I start them, and the money I move could buy your employers a hundred times over. Now the fact that I¡¯m even sitting here, in this room, addressing you must mean that¡­something is horribly wrong. Either I¡¯ve made a mistake, or you and your battle brothers have grossly overstepped your calling. I don¡¯t think it¡¯s the former.¡± Colte put a hand on Fred¡¯s shoulder as they came utterly face to face. ¡°I¡¯m your only hope out of this mess and all you have to help yourself is tell me what you know, or who you think will know. Understand?¡± Fred, through his state of petrification, managed to maintain a foolish vow of silence. ¡°All right,¡± Colte said. ¡°This is your fault.¡± With the puff of his pipe, Evalyn¡¯s binds burst into flames around the six other men, and muffled screaming erupted through the apartment. Utter agony as the heat lapped at their skin, searing it like the steel bars on a grill. Fred¡¯s expression spelt mortification as the screams only got louder and louder. ¡°This will keep on going as long as you don¡¯t talk,¡± Colte stated. ¡°I don¡¯t know!¡± Fred pleaded as his body reflectively tried to run towards his comrades, but his fear kept him in place. ¡°What the¡ª¡± ¡°I¡¯m sorry for not introducing myself earlier,¡± Colte continued. ¡°They call me the Ash Man. I don¡¯t believe I need to spell out why.¡± Chapter 18 Part 4: Differences Second and third periods passed over Iris¡¯s head like a light breeze, not imparting anything of significance but stimulating her enough it made dosing off frustratingly difficult. Mathematics consisted of little more than a brief overview of the year¡¯s work, but Iris already foresaw that there¡¯d be nothing she¡¯d even consider challenging. Topic after topic was already familiar to her, albeit not intimately. Rather than learning, it¡¯d be a process of recalling. That was assuming she¡¯d stay longer than her contract required, which she vehemently refused to even think about. History was shaping up to be equally as tedious in its content, but unfortunately, her luck regarding her teachers had stopped with her other classes. The beaky-nosed old lady headed their class, and she had seemed to tunnel-vision on Iris the moment she took the lectern. Beak-lady had refused to air out dirty laundry in the middle of class, but that was simply clearing an already low bar; at least her pettiness didn¡¯t openly obstruct her professionalism. Again, Iris prayed she¡¯d be gone before it did. The bell rang once more, and the courtyard outside flooded with activity despite the layer of snow. Iris was beginning to see where the subtle differences between the various courts arose. Like clans, once a student was placed in a court, they rarely left besides select specialised classes, of which she assumed juniors took none. Everyone from bright-eyed seventh graders to the most jaded of twelfth graders all called Iris¡¯s particular court home, one she now understood to be named Tyrren Court after co-founder Fergus Tyrren, born in 1392 and died¡ª The golden plaque in the court hall had a lot written on it. In fact, many gold plaques lined the halls, each outlining names, dates and short biographies of famous overachievers who once walked the same halls. She counted two world-class athletes, five inventors, seven politicians¡ªincluding a Prime Minister, and three celebrated literary authors. No Witches or Wizards, though, but Iris knew that if they had been celebrated, they would¡¯ve shown up every other memorial. She got up to leave, at least somewhat excited to explore the next court over or at least find a quiet place to continue penning the letter she had started. ''Dear Alis'' was as far as she had gotten before the school bell had drawn her back to class, not that she had also spent too long sitting in silence, ruminating over what exactly to write about. It felt as though the type of letter written as days went by rather than a summary of everything that had happened until that point. She had noticed the two distinct types, the former often being longer, disjointed and rambling while the other was anything but. But before she could leave for the door. ¡°Hardridge,¡± a voice called. She turned, recognising it as Crestana¡¯s, ¡°where are you going?¡± The contingent of girls surrounding her seemed to all snap their attention to Iris, the girl with white hair and an incorrect uniform they had all but forgotten about since that initial expression. They stared at her with concerned looks as though wondering what significance this girl held to anyone, if at all. ¡°Another court,¡± Iris answered before moving to leave again. ¡°Why?¡± came another question, stopping her in her tracks once more. ¡°Because I¡¯m bored.¡± Crestana sighed, all the while managing to keep a curt smile through her disappointment. She stood up and rounded her desk, pushing past her escorts and approaching Iris. ¡°Come with me,¡± she commanded, taking the lead. Iris watched Crestana leave the room, wondering if she had any obligation to follow her and do what she said. But then she remembered the contract she had signed herself and cursed under her breath. She left the classroom soon after, following the swaying of Crestana¡¯s school-appropriate low ponytail as they traversed the hallway. Her pace was quick, quicker than what Iris would expect from someone simply wanting to chat, and her manner of walking was deliberate, confident in its direction and stride. She was being taken somewhere, and more curious about exactly where she was being led rather than why. ¡°What¡¯s with that jacket?¡± Crestana asked, sliding past two giggling senior boys, not bothering to even face Iris while she talked. ¡°It¡¯s my favourite jacket,¡± Iris asked, slipping past the same two boys, noticing them sparing a moment from their laughing to glance at her attire. ¡°I always wear it.¡± ¡°I feel like we all grew out of that behaviour years ago,¡± Crestana replied. ¡°But who am I to judge? It suits you.¡± She turned a corner and into a stairwell where another stained-glass artwork overlooked their descent. A human in medieval apothecary attire, face obscured by shaggy, blonde hair, shaking hands with what looked to be the Queen. Her figure and her clothes remained unchanged since the last time Iris had spoken to her. But shaking hands with a lowly human was something she could never picture her Majesty doing. They reached the bottom floor, stepping onto the stone pathway encircling the flat, grass courtyard. Unlike the administration building, Tyrren Court opened its common space for use however its residents saw fit. But joining the students chatting between bites of lunch was not their end goal either, and only served to make Iris hungrier. Elliot had given her money, but she didn¡¯t know how or where to use it. Crestana stopped somewhere Iris had walked past on her previous lunch break, Tyrren Court sparring gym. She opened the door and held it for Iris, who stepped inside and turned on the lights. It was a wide-open space, the width of a classroom and the length of two. Windows ran down the length of both, but wooden shutters kept the sunshine from streaming in, hence the lights. ¡°You¡¯re my bodyguard?¡± Crestana asked rhetorically, Iris assumed. ¡°You¡¯re a bit smaller than what I¡¯m used to.¡± ¡°What are you used to?¡± Iris asked, stepping onto the polished floor. Wooden weapons racks lined the room, mounting melee weapons rather than the modern rifles Iris was accustomed to. Swords, predominantly, but the gym didn¡¯t shy away from a manner of painful-looking armaments. Spears, hooks, scythes, both steel and wood. As long as it couldn¡¯t crush armour and had blunt edges, anything was on the table. ¡°The lean muscular type,¡± she said, ¡°could lift my weight fifty times over before running a hundred-yard dash in a few seconds type. Can you do that?¡± Iris wanted to say that she didn¡¯t need to do either, it came across as suspicious no matter how she phrased it in her head. ¡°No, I don¡¯t think I could,¡± she answered, settling on selling herself grossly short. ¡°I thought as much,¡± Crestana agreed, locking the door behind her before joining Iris on the floor. ¡°And I¡¯m sure you¡¯re a lovely person, but I don¡¯t see why I need protection, especially from you.¡± With her hands on her hips, she looked Iris up and down, and it became even more apparent to Iris what was so strange about her client. Besides the uncannily human hair and the faint outline of nails on her shadowy fingers, her movements carried weight. Beak movements were graceful, often moving from position A to B as though weightless; their arms never swung, their fingers never shook, and it seemed as though their limbs ignored basic laws of physics. Crestana¡¯s movements exhibited none of that. She was distinctly human. ¡°I propose a sparring match. Choose any weapon, and we¡¯ll act out a fight. Each would-be lethal blow is a point, and the first to three wins. Understand?¡± ¡°¡­yes,¡± Iris lied, understanding the basic principle but not wholly internalising it. One of those things one learnt while doing, as Elliot always said. A school of thought exceedingly concerning coming from a pilot. Nonetheless, Crestana nodded, accepting Iris¡¯s resolve and picking a weapon from the racks. A longsword, by the looks of it. Very knightly, not the most practical, and definitely not Iris¡¯s first, second or even third choice. But she didn¡¯t judge, it¡¯d make winning all the more easy. The author''s narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon. Crestana turned to her, brandishing the tip of her sword. ¡°Bare-handed?¡± she asked, the shutters on her mask angled downwards. ¡°Not exactly,¡± Iris muttered, looking around the room. ¡°Do we start?¡± ¡°Get a weapon then! Take this seriously!¡± Iris couldn¡¯t. She was hungry. ¡°Duel starting in three¡­.¡± ¡°Wait you don¡¯t have a weapon!¡± ¡°Two!¡± ¡°Take this seriously!¡± ¡°One! Go!¡± Iris reached into her jacket and drew a handgun, and Crestana yelped in response, dropping her sword and cowering behind her arms. ¡°I win,¡± Iris stated, re-holstering the pistol in her jacket. ¡°Do I do it two more times?¡± ¡°No! I mean what! Where¡¯d you get that!¡± Crestana screeched, acting more of a sore loser than Iris. ¡°The armoury. Where else?¡± Iris shrugged, taking the gun out of her jacket. ¡°It¡¯s not loaded, but since this is a sparring match, it doesn¡¯t need to be, right?¡± ¡°No! I mean how did you get in? That should be locked!¡± she continued, still cowering as Iris dangled the gun by the trigger guard. ¡°I picked the lock.¡± ¡°That¡¯s for the shooting club! You can¡¯t just go in there and take a gun whenever you want, you¡¯ll get expelled!¡± ¡°Really? That¡¯s the first good news I¡¯ve heard all day.¡± Crestana slowly lowered her arms once Iris¡¯s nonchalant demeanour overrode her fear of being shot. ¡°We need to put that back,¡± she said, panicked, ¡°before a teacher finds you.¡± ¡°Okay,¡± Iris said, stuffing it in her jacket for a final time. ¡°But what about the sparring? Do I win?¡± Crestana sighed, picking up the sword. ¡°No. You pulled a gun on me, that doesn¡¯t tell me how strong you are¡ª¡± ¡°Why does strength matter?¡± Crestana paused for a moment, hands falling to her side in apparent disbelief. ¡°Sorry?¡± ¡°Why does strength matter?¡± Iris asked. It was an honest question, one that seemed to stump Crestana. ¡°What does proving I can beat you in a sword fight have to do with anything?¡± ¡°It shows that you can fight,¡± Crestana said, still perplexed by the bluntness. ¡°That you can fight, at least better than me. To protect me.¡± Iris tilted her head how she always did when something didn¡¯t make sense. ¡°Every fight I¡¯ve fought has been won because someone had better weapons¡­more people or¡­because they struck first. If you have to use your strength to win, that¡¯s not good. You¡¯ve probably messed up.¡± Crestana was dumbstruck by the reasoning, but she didn¡¯t strike Iris to be the type to be so dense as to never consider such a reality. It was odd. As far as she was concerned, it was common sense. ¡°I¡¯m not your bodyguard because I¡¯m strong. I¡¯m your bodyguard because I¡¯ll get rid of threats to your life before they can get rid of you. That, and that contract.¡± Iris scratched the back of her head as she ran out of things to say. Crestana still seemed out of her depth, and so Iris walked up to her, took the sword and placed it back in its rack for her. ¡°Who are you?¡± Crestana asked. ¡°You don¡¯t sound like you¡¯re thirteen.¡± ¡°Twelve,¡± Iris said, correcting her. She wouldn¡¯t stand for her age being mistaken. ¡°And I told you this morning¡­well the whole class. But, y¡¯know, I¡¯m also an¡­what was it¡­assistant private detective¡­or was it detective in training?¡± Crestana turned around, meeting Iris¡¯s eyes with little of the confidence she had walked into the room with. What she couldn¡¯t gather through facial expressions, Iris could sense through the subtle change in Aether. It almost felt as though Crestana was intimidated. She felt sorry for her client, at least knowing the feeling of having to interact with someone you didn¡¯t necessarily enjoy the company of. ¡°Don¡¯t worry,¡± Iris said, ¡°we don¡¯t have to be friends. That wasn¡¯t part of the contract, and you already have your own.¡± She gave Crestana a wry smile, but the girl didn¡¯t look any happier. ¡°So¡­you really think I¡¯m in danger?¡± she asked. ¡°It¡­doesn¡¯t feel¡­real. No matter how I think about it.¡± Iris pursed her lips. ¡°It never does until it happens,¡± she said, ¡°but I have to worry about that, not you.¡± Crestana nodded and headed for the door. She held it open for Iris, and Iris obliged. ¡°Put the gun back before you get caught,¡± she said, voice once again carrying confidence and at least a mild sense of authority. Iris nodded her head as the bell rang through the court. ¡°Tell me all about it,¡± Elliot said as he helped Iris with her belongings while she pulled off her shoes. The house was spotless, meaning her father had probably gotten bored at one point. A rarity, considering that when he wasn¡¯t working he was sleeping, and when he wasn¡¯t sleeping, he was cooking. ¡°Weird,¡± she said. ¡°It feels weird to be there like it¡¯s a small city with a lot of stupid rules that I don¡¯t like.¡± ¡°Well,¡± Elliot sighed as he placed her things on the dining room table, ¡°it¡¯s where we send kids to prepare for society, so it only makes sense it¡¯s built as a practice run for the real world.¡± ¡°Practice?¡± Iris scoffed, ¡°I don¡¯t need practice.¡± ¡°Yeah you do,¡± Elliot warned her. ¡°It¡¯ll hit you at some point.¡± Iris crinkled her nose as she sat at the table, her legs turning to jelly once she finally got the chance to rest. Exhaustion caught up with her, and she felt a wave of fatigue wash over, starting from the numbing of the brain. ¡°Did you talk to your client?¡± Elliot asked from the kitchen as the kettle began to scream for attention. ¡°What was she like?¡± ¡°She tried to fight me,¡± Iris said. ¡°Well, that isn¡¯t a good start. How did that happen?¡± "She took me to the sparring gym and said she wanted to uh¡­duel me. To see how strong I am.¡± ¡°And what did you do?¡± Elliot asked, pouring two cups of tea. ¡°I pulled a gun on her.¡± Elliot sighed as he picked up the mugs and brought them over, muttering to himself. ¡°Okay, be a good parent, don¡¯t get mad.¡± He sat down and interlocked his fingers, staring Iris down with his razor-sharp eyes. They felt colder than the snow piles outside but cut through her like they were a thousand degrees hot. ¡°What did I say about taking from our stash, Iris?¡± ¡°Wait! No! I didn¡¯t¡ª¡± ¡°Then where did you get the gun?¡± The look didn¡¯t change. ¡°The school armoury! I swear!¡± ¡°What did I say about lockpicking, Iris? Locks are meant¡ª¡± ¡°Locks are meant to keep people out! Yes! But the point of an armoury is to¡ª¡± ¡°If it was a free-use armoury, of which none exist, then there wouldn¡¯t be a lock on it, would there?¡± Iris gave up, shying away from the all-powerful gaze that seemed to melt her dead every time she received it. She hung her head in shame, putting her arms by her side. ¡°I¡¯m sorry. It won¡¯t happen again.¡± ¡°I hope not!¡± Elliot insisted. ¡°What a way to get expelled on your first day! I¡¯ve got to get down on my hands and knees in front of this girl and thank her, assuming she doesn¡¯t snitch on you!¡± ¡°I¡¯m sorry. It won¡¯t happen again.¡± ¡°It¡¯s not about being sorry¡ªyou know what. Did you put it back?¡± ¡°Yes!¡± Iris said, grasping at the lifeline thrown to her, hoping beyond hope for a way to avoid the guilt, but more importantly his judgement and Evalyn¡¯s wrath were she to hear about it. Elliot inhaled, relaxing his muscles and letting the air out between his flapping lips. ¡°Fine. Fine. Just¡­never do that again, anywhere. Not to mention pulling a gun on a civilian, all right?¡± ¡°Okay,¡± Iris said, elated, but keeping it to herself. ¡°So I¡¯m guessing you won the duel,¡± Elliot said, sipping on his tea. ¡°I¡¯m hoping you did, considering you went that far to win it.¡± ¡°Yes, I think,¡± Iris said. ¡°She was upset that she couldn¡¯t¡­test my strength or something like that. I told her that how well I¡¯d be able to swing a sword wouldn¡¯t matter at all.¡± She crinkled her nose again, sitting up as she thought out loud. ¡°I mean, what does ¡®strength¡¯ have to do with it? I can¡¯t cut a bullet in half with my powers, let alone a sword!¡± Elliot put down his mug and slumped forward, resting his head on a palm as he looked at Iris. She noticed a flash of concern across his face that quickly vanished as though he was trying to hide it. ¡°Iris. She¡¯s thirteen.¡± ¡°And I¡¯m twelve! What does that have to¡ª¡± ¡°You might be twelve, but you¡¯ve seen and done things people never experience in their lifetimes. Think of it this way.¡± He sat forward, shifting his hands across the table like a professor¡¯s pointer. ¡°Someone is born into a normal household because, face it, we aren¡¯t normal. One parent goes to work at some office in the city, and another who might have a job might stay home. You grow up and go to school every day. That¡¯s all you do. The only violence you ever experience is on the news and maybe in a book or radio drama.¡± He pursed his lips. ¡°Do you remember that ballroom on that flight we took to Fadaak? How that dance floor could only exist because there was layer and layer of worlds and people behind the scenes keeping it afloat? If you¡¯re on the dance floor, you can''t see what happens beyond it, and once you step off it, it¡¯s hard to unsee.¡± He grabbed her hand from across the table. ¡°You¡¯ve never even stepped foot on the dance floor, Iris. Your mother and I have always been worried about that.¡± Like many things, she understood the concept but nothing of what it meant practically nor its implications. ¡°What should I do then?¡± Elliot smiled. ¡°Meet her halfway. For now, just think of it like gaining a client¡¯s trust. Sound good?¡± ¡°Sound good,¡± Iris repeated. ¡°Can I eat something? I haven¡¯t eaten all day.¡± ¡°Why not?¡± Elliot asked as he got up. ¡°I gave you money.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t know what to do with it.¡± ¡°You go to the cafeter¡ªyou don¡¯t know what that is, do you?¡± ¡°No.¡± ¡°Right. My fault. I¡¯ll make you something now.¡± Chapter 18 Part 5: The Sigil Comes Closer ¡°S-sorry about the uh¡­absence yesterday, class. My name is Greidus¡­Mr Forecer. I will be your homeroom and¡­music. Yes. Music teacher. Nice to meet you all, I hope you have a uhm¡­wonderful time at¡­yes. Roll mark.¡± Cowering behind a pair of round wireframe glasses, Mr Forecer didn¡¯t inspire the same confidence as Caynes had the day before. Although his stance was towering in spite of his drooping posture, he came off as a meek, mousy figure. Even taking his place at the front of the class, it didn¡¯t feel like he was in charge of anything, let alone a class of thirty or so children. Schools were amazingly docile at times. Iris had never felt as though arbitrary rules were physically suffocating her, but such was an apt way to put things. The roll was called one by one, the word ¡®present¡¯ snaking around the room, past Iris until it got to Crestana. Then Mr Forecer hesitated. Only for a moment, but enough to disrupt the rhythm he had established prior. ¡°Crestana M-mallorine.¡± ¡°Present.¡± That was all. That was the entire interaction. But it came across as off. The class continued directly into music, something Iris had utterly no talent for. Evalyn had taught her a few chords on an unused guitar accruing dust in her cupboard, but it seemed she had no better luck in picking up the more complicated strings than her mother. Despite being his area of expertise, Mr Forecer came off as near frantic in his mannerisms. Taking his class became a matter of deciphering his speech first, making things twice as hard for Iris. All while she wrestled with the fact that her attention did not seem to stray from her client. It was the correct thing to do as her bodyguard, but, at the same time, she felt she had lost somehow. An endangered daughter of a rich and powerful family, mother took her own life recently, looks and moves distinctly human. So many things were wrong with the picture, so many questions Iris couldn¡¯t ask outright without risk of alienating herself. Gaining trust was the goal, and now she was starting to overthink it, something she never did for anything. Ever. First period dragged on, the cryptic ramblings of a distressed man eventually blending into the trivial mid-class soundscape. Whispers of chatter, scratching of pencils and groans of confusion and boredom until the school bell rang, freeing the denizens of 7L from their misery for another twenty-five minutes. The routine was already growing tiresome, and Iris had only been subject to it for a day. She stood up and approached the contingent of girls that had once again surrounded Crestana with the bell''s ringing. At least they were taking seats around her now; much less of a wall than the day before but no less impenetrable. She missed her chance, walking straight past Crestana and towards the exit, the words choking in her throat before they managed to escape. She passed through the classroom door but caught herself on the frame, stopping herself in her tracks. She glanced at Crestana, a fleeting pass of the eye, and found Crestana glancing back. A spark of confidence came with the apparent validation, and Iris took it. ¡°Rematch?¡± Iris asked. ¡°¡­sorry?¡± Crestana answered. ¡°Me?¡± ¡°Yes,¡± Iris said, scurrying through the door before she could stay and watch herself become the fool. She pursed her lips, resolving to continue penning her letter if things didn¡¯t go as planned. It''d be a shameful writing session, but she¡¯d have to make use of her time somehow. Then again, she was supposed to be guarding Crestana. She couldn¡¯t keep reserving lunch breaks for herself. Halfway down the hall, she glanced over her shoulder, keeping her composure in case her client really was following her. And sure enough, the gamble had paid off. Iris turned away before her relief could blow her composure. ¡°You made a fool of yourself,¡± Crestana calmly informed her as she locked the gym doors behind her. ¡°Asking me for a rematch? What a way to arouse suspicion.¡± ¡°It¡¯s all true, though,¡± Iris said. ¡°And it¡¯s not like it¡¯s against the rules to¡ª¡± ¡°It is very much against the rules to fight on school grounds. At least without the supervision of a teacher.¡± Iris was surprised, and just the smallest bit impressed. ¡°You break rules?¡± ¡°When it suits me,¡± Crestana said, sounding as though sporting a sly grin. She gravitated towards the same rack as the day before. ¡°What changed your mind? About the duel, I mean.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± Iris admitted. ¡°But I figured¡­.¡± She took her time in perusing the weapons displayed around the room. ¡°I figured it¡¯d help me get to know you better. That¡¯s what my dad told me.¡± ¡°Your dad¡¯s a bodyguard too?¡± Crestana asked, drawing the sword from its slot and bearing it towards her opponent. ¡°A pilot,¡± Iris said as her gaze fell on a line of daggers. Guns had always taken precedence in her training, and her abilities before that. But, just as Evalyn had practised archery in the years before meeting Iris, Iris herself had dabbled with one or two more antiquated weapons of her own, her favourite of all being daggers. She selected two from the nearest rack; one more a short sword than a dagger, and the other being almost an idealistic representation of the latter. Reach would never be to her advantage, but even Evalyn had noted Iris¡¯s uncanny knack for closing the distance and working inside an opponent¡¯s weapons engagement zone. That terminology was Elliot¡¯s, unsurprisingly. The short sword would give her leeway to block, and the dagger would perform her offensive strikes. That was the general plan, but this was a sparring match; nothing of that complexity would be needed. She felt the leather bounds between her palms and her fingers. Worn, but not battle-worn, feeling more like second-hand equipment than something weathered and raggedy from war. She hopped on both her feet, loosening up her joints as Crestana, in contrast, took a rock-solid stance. ¡°Strikes are legal as long as they aren¡¯t¡­you know, breaking things or killing each other.¡± ¡°First to three wins, right?¡± ¡°Right.¡± ¡°Anything else?¡± ¡°Do you have a gun on your person?¡± ¡°¡­no.¡± ¡°Excellent. Then go!¡± Iris moved with the duel¡¯s commencement and rushed forward, confronting Crestana¡¯s long point guard with a head-on collision. Short sword in an icepick grip, she aimed the blade at her opponent¡¯s as though going for an uppercut to push the blade out of the way and clear a path for her dagger. But the moment her blade connected with Crestana¡¯s, her opponent twisted her wrists into an ox guard, catching Iris¡¯s blade in her cross guard, while the point, now positioned under Iris¡¯s short sword, bit at her neck. Iris¡¯s dagger was moments away from plunging into Crestana¡¯s side, but it was clear which blow would land first. A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation. Crestana had won with the flick of her wrist. ¡°Never fought someone using two short swords before,¡± Crestana remarked, easing her stance, and prompting Iris to do the same. ¡°Do you spar often?¡± ¡°Sometimes,¡± Iris replied, looking at her blades and rethinking her strategy. ¡°How about you?¡± ¡°My family donates to the school often. In return, they¡¯ve let me train here for many years. I apologise that I¡¯ve deceived you into fighting on my turf. But then again, you¡¯re the bodyguard, not me.¡± Crestana resumed her stand as Iris backed away, readying herself for another bout. She hopped up and down again, bringing her hands to her face as though in a boxing match, both weapons in icepick grips. Wordlessly, round two began. Iris circled her opponent, scanning the guard for a weak point but finding none she could so easily capitalise on. She fainted forward with a right hook, catching Crestana off guard and forcing a reaction from her. A parry, using the greater leverage at the blade¡¯s base. Another ox guard. Iris made another jab, using her other hand to test Crestana again. A similar movement. Iris smirked a little, realising just how stiff Crestana was. Either way, committing to a strike that circled around Crestana¡¯s blade was futile; she¡¯d have to move in first. Which was when Crestana struck. She lunged with one foot, driving the point towards Iris''s centre mass. Iris dodged the blade¡¯s edge just in time, using the opportunity to take Crestana¡¯s inside edge with her shortsword, destabilising her guard and controlling her stance. Iris pressed forward, aiming her other dagger at Crestana¡¯s head, but the blade she thought she had knocked away returned in the blink of an eye, catching her dagger by the crossguard and locking it into place. Both blades had been defeated, and Crestana¡¯s feet were looking to disengage. Iris dropped her dagger, making up for the lost pressure on Crestana¡¯s longsword by grabbing her opponent¡¯s wrist. She moved along Crestana¡¯s outside, past her sword and almost past her shoulders. Iris stuck one leg behind Crestana¡¯s and swung her body forward. Her opponent swung around her foot, falling to the ground and dropping her sword in the process. Iris stepped on the hilt before Crestana¡¯s hand could reach for it. They watched each other, one on the floor and the other standing, holding a weapon while the other didn¡¯t. Crestana¡¯s eye shutters slackened, and she exhaled. ¡°Dirty,¡± she said. ¡°Very dirty. But I don¡¯t mind it.¡± ¡°What about that was dirty?¡± Iris complained as she offered a hand. Crestana took it, and she heaved herself to her feet. ¡°Fight with pride,¡± Crestana said, as though repeating a gospel. ¡°That¡¯s how Spirits fight. Can¡¯t do it any other way, apparently. Or at least that¡¯s what my father told me.¡± ¡°Spirits can do that because they have magic. Humans have to be a bit more backhanded.¡± ¡°I know,¡± Crestana sighed. ¡°I know too well.¡± She picked up her sword from the ground, deflated as though the last sentence had knocked something of a spark out of her. ¡°The principal,¡± Iris started, not sure what prompted the query other than it feeling right. ¡°He said something like ¡®who would want anything to do with Crestana Mallorine.¡¯¡± The statement seemed to physically irk her client, but she kept on going. ¡°But I don¡¯t understand. It feels like everyone loves you.¡± Crestana brought the blade to her own chest and turned to Iris. Shutters neutral, and perfectly horizontal. ¡°Did you realise the ¡®everyone¡¯ you¡¯re referring to are all human?¡± ¡°Well¡ªno¡­. No, actually.¡± It was true. Not a single Beak made up the group of girls that gathered around Crestana¡¯s desk every break. ¡°Well, you¡¯ve certainly realised the hair¡­maybe the nails. But¡­I¡¯m not a Beak, strictly speaking.¡± She planted the tip of her sword on the floor weakly, the hilt hanging from her fingers. ¡°Beaks are the Spirit of shadows. They used to be formless, mimicking objects and occupying lightless spaces. But then we met humans. Right here, when this city was still only a village, we took the shape of humans.¡± The murals in the stairwells. ¡°And we took their shape for centuries, retaining it almost from birth to death. It¡¯s no wonder at some point it¡¯d happen.¡± She looked at her fingernails, fidgeting with her fingers the way one did when they decided they were too long. ¡°My doctor called it a deformity at first, but I think we knew what it was. I¡¯m not a Spirit of shadows, but a Spirit of human shadows. Tainted, apparently. Not all Spirit anymore.¡± She sighed as though the topic was old to her already. ¡°Wealthy, powerful Spirits. I don¡¯t think you¡¯d find any other being on the planet more prideful and conceited than that. And lo and behold, this school is full of them.¡± A pregnant silence followed as neither could bring themselves to speak. Iris wanted to, hoping that Crestana could at least find solace in the fact that, as far as Spirits becoming human went, she was far from the worst. But aside from the fact that it¡¯d blow her cover, even Iris herself would be hard-pressed to feel any reassurance from the sentiment. ¡°They don¡¯t wear their prejudices on their shoulders or anything, but I can call it for what it is. Some¡­cult of paranoia that sees me as everything wrong with the world. Whatever it is, the Principal is far from the only one that worships it. He¡¯d probably get all those stained-glass murals torn down if this wasn¡¯t a damn heritage site.¡± Everything wrong with the world. A sentiment burnt into Iris¡¯s psyche. ¡°Anyway!¡± Crestana said, asserting herself and ending the conversation with a single swift strike. ¡°You put me in a bad mood. Take responsibility.¡± She readied her sword, and Iris did the same, picking up the other dagger and repeating their pre-battle routine. Then, Iris¡¯s stomach grumbled, the brazen disruption stopping the ritual. Crestana dropped her stance. ¡°Are you hungry?¡± ¡°Yes,¡± Iris admitted. ¡°But it¡¯s okay. I can manage.¡± ¡°What? No,¡± she sighed. ¡°Get something to eat, then come back.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t know where to go.¡± Crestana¡¯s shoulders drooped, and she rested the tip of her sword on the floor again. ¡°Out of the court¡¯s front entrance, turn left and follow the path until you get to the food precinct. It¡¯s a two-minute walk.¡± ¡°Will you be okay?¡± Iris asked. ¡°Yes, I will be okay. Ten minutes maximum is all it¡¯ll take you. I¡¯ll still be here when you get back.¡± ¡°Okay. Bye.¡± ¡­ ¡°Iris!¡± ¡°What?¡± ¡°Knives. Leave them here.¡± ¡°Oh.¡± After an awkward exchange of pointing and nodding with the cashier, Iris secured herself a warm and impressively dressed hotdog for a flat two hundred Ixa. Not exactly a steal, but she still had half her allowance remaining. Wolfing it down to warm up from the cold, she returned through the entrance of Tyrren court with nothing but the sausage¡¯s end left. As she swallowed her previous bite, something out of the corner of her eye stopped her from immediately going for the final morsel. Her music teacher, Mr Forecer, closing the door to the sparring gym and running away. He looked frazzled, more frantic than he had been that morning. Iris began to run. The snow crunched under her shoes as she took the shortcut through the courtyard, racing past clueless students until she skidded to a halt outside the gym door, practically bashing it open with her shoulder. Crestana was on the ground, convulsing. ¡°Be fine my ass,¡± Iris hissed, locking the door behind her before rushing over. She got on her knees and assessed what the damage was. Nothing physical, no gashes or tears in her tissue. But Iris did not even have to look that far to discern the culprit. A pulsing mark was branded into the side of her neck, some kind of circle with many lines going from one end to the other. She didn¡¯t care for what it looked like; the Aether coming from it was potent, putrid almost and felt like dust inside Iris¡¯s throat. Never mind the convulsing; the tainted magic itself was enough to tell Iris all she needed to know. Time was running out, and her client was about to die. First aid wouldn¡¯t work; it wasn¡¯t that sort of problem. Even magic items that disassembled other patterns wouldn¡¯t work without maiming Crestana along with the intrusion. Iris had to destroy the mark and only the mark. Precision. One of her weaknesses. The head of the beast etched into her right wrist began to glow as she called forth her serpentine protector. It protruded from her palm, much smaller than usual. ¡°Kill the magic on her neck, not her.¡± Wordlessly, it understood, rearing itself closer to Crestana¡¯s neck and stopping just shy of it as though sizing up the malignant mark. Iris concentrated on the circle and its lines, refusing to slip her attention away from it and to Crestana for even a moment. She held the girl¡¯s body down, pinning her spasming chest and flailing her arms to the floor as she kept her eyes on the small circle. Her serpent drew nearer and opened its maw, taking an excruciatingly slow second to confirm its target once and for all. The serpent bit down on the mark and tore it off Crestana¡¯s skin, destroying its red lines and dispelling the foul Aether from her body. The convulsing stopped, and Crestana¡¯s Aether returned, albeit slowly, but Iris could not breathe a sigh of relief. Far from it. She had her work cut out for her. Chapter 19 Part 1: Is it worth it? Iris couldn¡¯t stop tapping her feet and chewing on her cheeks. She needed to cuss desperately, almost like she was having withdrawal symptoms. Her nerves were calming down but too slow for her liking. She needed to pace up and down the waiting area¡ªget the frustration out of her system before she took it out on herself. Mr Caynes was standing on the far side of the nurse¡¯s office door, checking his watch and looking nervous in his own right. His classes had started a few minutes ago, but he seemed conflicted in leaving his post. After answering Iris¡¯s plea for help, he had carried Crestana to the sick bay before handing over the unconscious student to the nurse. Things had been as swift as they were, thanks to him. ¡°Thank you, sir,¡± Iris said. ¡°But you have classes now, right?¡± ¡°I do¡­are you sure you¡¯ll be all right?¡± he asked again. ¡°I¡¯ll drop by your class on the way back; let them know where you are.¡± Iris gave a weak, toothy smile in response and nodded her thanks. ¡°Well,¡± he said, voice box crackling as he patted down his suit. Iris blamed it on the fabric¡¯s age, but it really did look like there was dust flying off it. ¡°If you need anything else, please let me know. And if you¡¯re not back by third period, I¡¯ll leave you and Crestana some notes you can follow. Does that sound acceptable?¡± ¡°Very¡­sir. Thank you.¡± Mr Caynes sighed and stepped closer, kneeling before her like a caring parent would. ¡°Crestana will be fine, and you did a lot to help her. I¡¯m sure she¡¯d appreciate you.¡± Iris pursed her lips, knowing how little of the situation he understood. If he was aware of it, Iris was sure his words wouldn¡¯t have been so friendly. She should have been watching her. It was her job. Her only job. Mr Caynes stood up, muttered a ¡®see you soon¡¯, and left, leaving Iris alone with her thoughts. The room behind her was quiet. She guessed that was a good sign, considering that if Crestana¡¯s condition was critical, there¡¯d be more than just a single nurse tending to her. But silence was silence; no matter how used to it she got, it was inherently disquieting. Silence followed death, after all. Sometimes she¡¯d see the end of a shoot-out on the job. The small glimpses she¡¯d see before Evalyn shooed her off to another room were always oddly¡­tranquil. Whatever deafening violence had occurred hours or even minutes prior, the silence was all that was left. She¡¯d learn to attach the absence of sound with it since, and that association had almost never been wrong. Luckily, this day was a rare exception. The nurse opened the door, an older woman with a motherly face who directed that warmth squarely at Iris. ¡°Your friend¡¯s awake. Would you like to speak with her while I call administration?¡± Iris nodded mindlessly and got up to follow, but paused when she neared the doorframe. She could see a bed just beyond the nurse¡¯s dress, curtains pulled halfway around it, and wondered what she¡¯d say. All she could say was ¡®I¡¯m sorry¡¯, but that wouldn¡¯t grant her forgiveness. Nothing would. What would Crestana say? Iris deserved it, whatever it was. Again, overthinking things. Iris didn¡¯t like it, how suddenly she felt herself changing. What made this girl so special that she had to second guess everything she did or say? The nurse furrowed her eyebrows subtly and egged her on, making it look as nonchalant as possible. Reluctantly, Iris followed the nurse¡¯s orders and entered. Crestana was sitting upright on the bed, back propped up against two pillows as she vacantly stared forward, through the blue curtains and brick wall beyond that. Her shutters weren¡¯t moving at all. The expressiveness that had made her so human was absent for the moment, and she was left a tranquil statue. She saw Iris approach and shuffled in her covers, straightening her back a little as she did so. Her blazer was neatly folded on her bedside, and so was her tie. Apparently Spirits that wore clothes were recommended to loosen or remove excess layers in the event of Aether Influx, so her attire affirmed Iris suspicions. ¡°Hello,¡± Crestana said as Iris sat on a stool beside the bed. Iris kept silent, unable to bring her eyes level with her client. She felt bile rise in her throat whenever she even tried to. ¡°I¡¯m¡­sorry,¡± Iris strained. ¡°This shouldn¡¯t have happened.¡± She didn¡¯t get a timely response, and the air seemed to hang thicker around her with every passing second. ¡°What happened?¡± Crestana asked, her voice cold. Iris tried to speak, but her jaw stupidly hung half open, the words tripping over themselves in her throat. ¡°I uh¡­when I came back, I saw¡­our music teacher come out of the gym and run away. And¡ª¡± ¡°Mr Forecer?¡± Crestana muttered. ¡°I don¡¯t remember seeing him.¡± Iris paused for Crestana, only continuing once she received her nonverbal permission. ¡°And I ran in, and I found you collapsed. There was a thing, on the back of your neck. A small circle, red, had a pattern in it. I think that¡¯s what was causing it.¡± ¡°And how did you get rid of it?¡± Crestana asked her, stunning Iris. She fumbled her answer, forgetting every scenario she had rehearsed and every excuse she had thought up. ¡°I can¡¯t tell you,¡± Iris said. ¡°But it¡¯s gone. I know that.¡± Another pause, and Iris hung her head, waiting for her cue to leave. ¡°Iris?¡± Crestana instead asked softly, almost as though she was pleading with her. ¡°Am I in danger?¡± Her client¡¯s Aether was infectiously mellow, and Iris realised it was half the reason she herself was feeling so downtrodden. In spite of it, her voice still demanded an honest answer. Iris nodded slowly, wanting to be honest above all. Crestana shuddered; even her mask seemed as though it was coiling in on itself. ¡°I¡­see.¡± ¡°I¡¯ll talk to your aunt about it, strengthen your security detail and¡ª¡± ¡°No. Don¡¯t tell her. Please.¡± ¡°Why not? You¡¯re in danger without stronger security.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t want her worrying about me. She can¡¯t handle stresses that come with the family business. It''s why she left when she got married. She¡¯s taking these attacks hard already." The words themselves sounded condesending, but Crestana spoke them with empathy more than anything else. "And besides, if what you said is true, there¡¯s no security detail I can think of that can do what you did.¡± She outstretched a hand, took Iris¡¯s trembling palm and held it. It was cold, and Crestana¡¯s skin was shifting against her own. Iris looked up, startled more than an act driven by courage. ¡°Thank you.¡± The words weren¡¯t as cold as her skin, nor as cold as her speech always was. The weighty insecurity radiating from her was still potently viral, but so was the small glimmer of warmth nestled amongst it. ¡°I¡¯ll stick with you. Even closer this time,¡± Iris said, smiling weakly and refusing to sew another seed of overconfidence so early. The vines had blinded her last time, and the small warmth in front of her would be snuffed out if she let them ensnare her again. At that moment, a sharp-eyed man burst through the door, thick wool overcoat thrown over crinkled pyjamas. ¡°Iris?¡± he called, looking through the room before his eyes fell on her. Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon. ¡°Dad?¡± ¡°I got a call from the school,¡± he said, striding over and kneeling beside her. ¡°Said you were in the sick bay, and I thought it might have been something serious. You golden?¡± Iris smiled, the turn of phrase giving something familiar for her to latch on to. ¡°Yes, dad. I¡¯m golden.¡± He checked over her, looking for any trace of injury or fatigue before his eyes fell on the occupant of the hospital bed beside her. ¡°Oh,¡± he muttered. ¡°And you must be Ms Mallorine?¡± ¡°Crestana, yes. Nice to meet you,¡± she said, dipping her head and performing the top half of a curtsey. ¡°I hear you¡¯re a pilot, is that correct?¡± ¡°Wow you really are high class,¡± he mumbled under his breath before his brain caught up with his mouth. He shook his head, readjusting the screws in his skull. ¡°Sorry, the way you spoke reminded me of my wife, is all.¡± ¡°Mum doesn¡¯t talk like that,¡± Iris interjected. ¡°She used to when I first met her.¡± He turned to Crestana. ¡°Yes, by the way, I am a pilot in the Special Operations Air Force, although I uh...don¡¯t exactly look the part. Are you feeling all right?¡± Crestana dipped her head again as thanks for the concern, but Iris noticed Crestana¡¯s mask wasn¡¯t exactly level with Elliot¡¯s eyes. ¡°Thank you. I am feeling better.¡± ¡°Dad,¡± Iris whispered, noticing the door open as the nurse re-entered the room. ¡°It was some sort of magic, as a small symbol on her neck.¡± ¡°What did it look like?¡± he asked, matching her volume. ¡°A small circle, with lines going through it like a pattern.¡± ¡°And what did it do?¡± ¡°I don¡¯t know, but it knocked Crestana out and had her spasming. I got rid of it before it did anything else.¡± ¡°The nurse said I had Aether Influx,¡± Crestana whispered, joining in on the hushed conversation. Elliot scratched his chin as he thought, a fine layer of stubble growing on it that Iris had never seen before. ¡°I¡¯ll go to the East Excala Library now, see if Al and Tony''s Aetherologists have anything useful on it. If this is linked to the attacks, I¡¯ll make sure to let Evalyn and Colte know, all right? Now, is there anything else before I get kicked out for wearing pyjamas in public?¡± ¡°There is,¡± Iris continued. ¡°I think our music teacher did it¡ª¡± ¡°It can¡¯t have been Mr Forecer.¡± Both Elliot and Iris turned to Crestana, her interjection creeping out of a whisper and coming dangerously close to the nurse¡¯s ears. ¡°It couldn¡¯t have been him.¡± ¡°Why not? I saw him running out of the gym?¡± ¡°I don¡¯t know about that¡­but I know him. He¡¯s been good to me, and I think before my mother died, they were, you know¡­, ¡®good friends¡¯. ¡°Ah¡­,¡± Elliot sighed. ¡°If anything, that just muddies the motive more.¡± ¡°What do you mean ¡®good friends¡¯? Why are you saying it like it¡¯s weird?¡± ¡°I¡¯ll tell you when you get home, darling,¡± Elliot said, ruffling Iris¡¯s hair before standing. He gave each a meaningful glance. ¡°Be careful, all right?¡± One final smile, and he left the room. Iris breathed a sigh of relief, and her gaze lingered on the door for a moment as she already began to miss him. The air hung again, slowly crawling from the ceiling to the floor in a slow, thick torrent that muffled all other sounds. However, it was light on her shoulders, washing away her worries and putting them into context. She couldn¡¯t wait to get home, away from the pressure of having a person''s life under her direct care. She¡¯d go home and forget she was involved in something so petty as a business struggle or, even worse, a family spat. She¡¯d disassociate from all of it and continue on her days doing nothing. What would even happen? Crestana would die, a girl she barely knew. One rich family would trade places with another; that happened all the time. What was so special about the Mallorine family¡¯s particular fall from grace that warranted her involvement, her sacrifice? And then she caught herself, recognising the thoughts as foreign. She imagined the words in her voice; they were distinctly her thoughts, there was no doubt about it. But she didn¡¯t agree with them or even believe she could conjure such ideas. She tried to turn to Crestana but couldn¡¯t. Her body was paralysed again. Why do you care? She could feel a tingling run along her markings, crawling under her skin like cockroaches. She wanted to scream but she had no mouth to scream with, at least one she could see or feel. Is this worth it? A sceptical call for her name. Too timid to break through the viscid air, too weak to earn her attention, her trust, her life. Why this? Why help them? Evalyn. Bloodstained. Her skin pale, dead, drained of warmth stood in the corner of the room, barely in Iris¡¯s vision. The white cloth sewn into her face rose and fell with her laboured, croaked breathing, new splatters of blood and plasma seeping through the fabric and drying. This. Will. Change. Nothing. A princess, a general, a warrior, a clergyman. One by one, the souls that had feasted on the veins in her neck crowded the room, lusting for another bite at her power from beyond the veil. A jewellery showcase of encrusted greed and gluttony, humans and Spirits who let their nature corrupt them. These people all lied to me, her thoughts seemed to say. Their promises were fake. The world never changed. Gas seeped from the ventilation shafts, invading the room from between the hinges and wafting from underneath Crestana¡¯s bedframe. Glass in her throat. Blood in her eyes. Her vision was stained pink as her hair, her face, her body began to atomise, disassemble, become one with the pink mist. What¡¯s different now? Construction armour. A convoy of stout H.O.A. units stomped down the main street below Evalyn¡¯s hotel window. Heavily modified compared to the combat and peacekeeping units in Geverde, Trepedite¡¯s commercial H.O.A. industry was diversifying at a rapid pace, almost faster than Sidos¡¯s. Instead of rank insignia and sleek bodies created for speed and manoeuvrability, construction units brandished yellow warning stripes across their heavily reinforced bodies, their inner workings thoroughly protected from the debris and dust kicked up during demolition. Their feet left black footprints amongst the grimy, off-white snow, and the diesel spewing from their exhausts felt like an industrial blaze: irritatingly warm on such a cold day. Behind their stunted cylindrical bodies were mass cargo trays; the units going past her window in particular were carrying construction material by the tons and quickly accuring snow as they went. ¡°A Sigil? That¡¯s what Elliot said, right?¡± ¡°Apparently,¡± Evalyn answered, retracting her head from the window and closing it. ¡°He said that¡¯s what the East Excala Library¡¯s Head Aetherologist said based on Iris¡¯s description.¡± She sat on the bed in the room¡¯s centre while Colte poured over a stack of case documents from the Trepedite Police Department. Tight lips from the foreign cities investigating similar attacks had loosened slightly, but not enough for a conclusive investigation. ¡°Here,¡± Colte said, pointing at a particular page of evidence. ¡°There¡¯s something about¡­suspicious markings. Apparently, a constable found it amongst a wall of graffiti burnt into the wall. They treated it as nothing until he began to see it all over the place. Twelve locations.¡± Evalyn peered over Colte¡¯s shoulders at a page of twelve film prints. Being run through a duplicating machine, the prints were hazy, but the same etching was visible in several photos. A ring with patterns running through its centre, burnt into the brickwork. ¡°Elliot said Sigils are an older form of magic patterns from before the Vesmos Empire invented magic infusion. Harder to make, and practically a lost art outside of old Spirit country, but it doesn¡¯t need to take magic from a Spirit, nor is it restricted to just one action.¡± ¡°Sounds dangerous and a perfect fit for what¡¯s been going on. Makes sense that no one in old human country would know what it is.¡± He turned to Evalyn, a concerned look on his face. ¡°Then this is it. Whoever is doing this is in Excala.¡± Evalyn chewed on her lips. Hearing the news from Elliot had almost sent her sprinting out the door and racing for the airport. Colte had managed to stop her, but even he was second-guessing their stay. Seven interrogations, and each one had felt like a repeat of the other. The evidence to suggest business rivalry as the motive existed but was nowhere near substantial enough to be considered actionable. Colte had suggested a new avenue of investigation focusing around a different rival to the Mallorine family, but no other business fit the bill. Criminal families were obviously another possibility, but the motive was essentially the same. ¡°Hate against a Spirit family, business¡­I don¡¯t know. But this entire thing, it¡¯s too big for there to be no evidence here, in Trepedite. God¡­we really have nothing right now. I¡¯m going to get on the phone to the East Excala Library, chat to Al about this more. You, once you¡¯re done with that, start calling around, see if anyone knows if there¡¯s a list or¡­registry, some formal record of everyone who¡¯s able to use Sigils.¡± ¡°Sounds like a plan,¡± Colte grunted, returning to his work. ¡°Sorry about the single bed situation, by the way. Somehow this monster of a hotel is booked out.¡± ¡°I think people live in a lot of the rooms anyway. It¡¯s fine, though. I don¡¯t mind.¡± ¡°You sure?¡± ¡°Yeah. Elliot knows, and he made fun of me for even thinking I should mention it.¡± ¡°What did he say?¡± Colte sighed. ¡°That you¡¯ve probably forgotten how to sleep in the same bed as a woman anyway.¡± Colte swivelled around in his chair, his mouth reaching for a comeback but finding none. Evalyn threw her hands up. ¡°I didn¡¯t say it! I know you get around.¡± Colte looked perhaps even more defeated by Evalyn¡¯s statement. ¡°You think I sleep around at my age?¡± he asked her, eyebrows raised in disbelief. ¡°I mean, yeah. At least you were when we did jobs together.¡± Colte rolled his eyes. ¡°No. Nothing interesting for a while now.¡± ¡°Aw come on!¡± Evalyn complained. ¡°No more weird girls you¡¯re going to complain to me about?¡± ¡°No¡­well,¡± he said, pausing his perusal of the case files. ¡°I can tell you about one I kept a secret.¡± ¡°Oh?¡± Evalyn said, invested already. ¡°Your old mentor, Lyanna.¡± Evalyn gasped. ¡°No! Really?¡± ¡°Mhm,¡± Colte said, flipping a page. ¡°This was long before you entered the picture; Marie was building the Espionage Division and Special Operations and came to a few Witches and Wizards to make it happen. We met, had a few drinks, and thought it might work out if we were both in the same career. Long story short, it didn¡¯t.¡± ¡°She made you feel dumb, huh?¡± ¡°Yeah. I mean, for someone who could make you spill the beans involuntarily, she could read you like an open book without the magic. I felt like¡­I don¡¯t know, like I was her pet.¡± Evalyn smiled, savouring the thought. ¡°Long term, huh? I don¡¯t think I¡¯ve met another Witch with a husband.¡± ¡°More people the state can use against you, more relationships you¡¯ve got to strain while you¡¯re travelling all over the place. You¡¯re lucky; that¡¯s what you are.¡± Evalyn chuckled, reading the jealousy as something familiarly light-hearted. She¡¯d been rooting for Colte to settle down for years, but it always seemed like he was unhappily married to the job. ¡°Hard to imagine you and Lyanna as anything but my mentors.¡± ¡°Iris is going to be saying the same stuff about you in a couple of years.¡± ¡°Yeah¡­I wonder.¡± Interlude: A Girls Thoughts This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there. Chapter 19 Part 2: Clay Pigeon ¡°And you¡¯re sure you¡¯re all right to go to school today?¡± Elliot asked for the fifth time that morning as he completed the presentation on a hand-made lunch, sealing it before Iris could take a peek. ¡°Yeah. I need to go anyway,¡± she said. ¡°I promised her.¡± Elliot flashed her a proud grin through the concern. He¡¯d arrived home late last night after hours at a library before going straight to bed, only briefly mentioning what he¡¯d found. Namely, what Sigils were and how to find them. Little was known about the latter, with most documents concerning themselves with their destruction over everything else. But in Iris¡¯s case, weeding out the suspect was the top priority. According to her client, every day consisted of a round trip exclusively by car, all manned by trusted servants with years of history with the company. Unless someone was breaking and entering under darkness, the artist had only six hours a day of opportunity. It was someone in the school. And despite Crestana''s objections, Iris¡¯s music teacher was at the top of the suspect list. If not the outright artist, then someone who knew something. A day of tasteful rule-breaking was bound to give her something, anything to work off of. Elliot rounded the table and placed the metal container beside Iris¡¯s breakfast before giving her a squeeze. ¡°If ever you feel like you¡¯re losing it, and you can¡¯t bring yourself to keep going, remember why you¡¯re doing this. It¡¯ll help you get back on your feet.¡± The embrace itself was admittedly more reassuring than the advice. The words only reminded her of the alien thoughts festering in the back of her head. Why do you care? This will change nothing. ¡°Dad?¡± ¡°What.¡± ¡°Just hug me next time.¡± The brass and Verdigris statues of wrinkly men and women flanking the school gates were enjoying a fresh new coat of snow. Like guard dogs, they overwatched the entrance while tirelessly holding imposing stances, the impact of which lessened by the piles of detail-obscuring white. Between them was most often a constant stream of students ignoring their welcome as they talked, and Iris would mindlessly follow with her head in the clouds. But the stream was clogged, and Iris stopped barely a few metres past the gates. Before her was a wall of student bodies numbering almost in the hundreds. Spreading from Gewen Court to her left to Kribikk Court to her right, a solid barrier of students blocked off the school¡¯s central courtyard, its equivalent to a town square. Iris approached a boy, a head taller than the surrounding crowd. ¡°Can you see?¡± she said. ¡°Uh¡­yeah,¡± he answered. Either his voice box was far from calibrated, or, for whatever reason, he was mortified. ¡°There¡¯s someone about to jump off Gewen Court¡¯s roof.¡± ¡°What?! Who?¡± ¡°I¡­don¡¯t know. He looks like a teacher. Hey, Jackal,¡± he called, elbowing a boy beside him. ¡°Who¡¯s up there?¡± ¡°Apparently, it¡¯s a guy called Forecer. Never had him in a class.¡± Iris¡¯s heart leapt into her mouth as she began to sprint, ramming into the crowd and using her size to get between student after student. Forcing through it was like molasses, with people at random becoming selfish roadblocks she¡¯d have to manoeuvre around. Forward. As long as she went forward. She slipped, and caught herself on a girl¡¯s shoulder, who yelped as they stumbled to the floor. Iris mumbled her apologies, her fingers freezing and her shoes losing traction on the snow as she began to run before even standing. She forced her way to the edge, spotting in advance the loose perimeter of staff trying to prevent the crowd from moving any further ahead. Breaking past the last bodies, she bent her knees and burst forward, clearing their arms in one movement before transferring the momentum into a sprint. The square was clear of foot traffic, with anyone already inside long since ushered into either of the courts. Iris glanced upward, seeing the suited figure inching closer and closer to the roof¡¯s edge. No self-preservation in his movements besides whatever instinct was keeping him from jumping then and there. The snow was soft but thin; face-first from that height would turn his ribs into shrapnel. A million eyes were trained on Mr Forecer and the teachers one floor below as their begging fell on dogged ears. Those million eyes connecting her to her armour was too big of a risk for her to stomach. Reluctantly, she sped past the teachers blocking Gewen Court¡¯s entrance, slipping past their arms and turning right, forcing her way to another wall of bodies. Rounding the corner and finding the stairs, she began to ascend several floors, skipping steps until she confirmed the stairwell was empty. The tail on her left arm began to glow, and she could feel her hair disassembling, something that by now barely irked her. The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there. Armour radiated from her helmet, forming plate by plate as it stretched to her extremities. The beast-like scowl etched itself into her helmet, ill-fitting for its mission and ridiculously distinct. But she had no choice and no time to think of another outfit. She reached the top floor and continued her sprint, speeding up as she reached the landing¡¯s edge and vaulting over the barrier. She shifted her torso a half-circle as her foot kicked off the brick. Liquids were ill-suited to combat, but the randomness inherent to their properties gave her control where and when Iris could not maintain it. She released a jet stream of viscous purple liquid, forcing it through the cold winter air and at the tiled rooftop. Solid points required accuracy, but the splash of the liquid against the hardened clay gave Iris a workable surface area for another trick. She concentrated on the liquid, willing onto its adhesive properties. She felt her trajectory change from a fall to a swing, and she knew it had worked. She tugged herself forward, a physical movement that acted like muscle memory, commanding the liquid rope to shorten rapidly until she landed on the roof, but its angle was too sharp to run over fast enough. Spider limbs raced from her gauntlets forward, anchoring themselves into the roof¡¯s apex. Like a catapult, Iris propelled herself up the roof and cleared the ledge. All to watch it happen. Mr Forecer¡¯s shoes parted with the tiles, bringing pieces of clay along with them as gravity¡¯s impartiality took hold, snatching him from Iris¡¯s grasp. She tried, willing her limbs to travel faster than they ever had, than they ever could. Solid or liquid, it didn¡¯t matter. Her last attempt brushed past his coattails as he disappeared over the edge. The collective gasp that fell over the school seemed to wind time itself. For a sublime moment, clocks forgot to tick, and the world forgot to turn. Then the first scream came. Then the second and the third, cascading like a sudden rainstorm that jumpstarted time again. Iris stood halfway down the edge of the roof. She couldn¡¯t see the body or the blood. She didn¡¯t want to. She didn¡¯t need to. The snow was red, and her one lead was gone. Sirens pierced through the newborn commotion, and Iris spotted the emergency vehicles arriving too late. She realised her position and the stares it was slowly garnering as the few whose attention wavered found her instead. She retreated, using the same method as before to clear the roof¡¯s apex. Sliding off and over the edge, her gauntlet¡¯s fingers liquified and stuck to it, catching her before she could drop as well. She swung onto the landing, the attention of those below solely on trying to get a glimpse outside. Iris ducked into an open classroom and closed the door, sending out eight liquid tendrils to force the shutters closed before letting herself breathe. In and out, like she¡¯d been told, but it didn¡¯t help. Her armour dissolved in time with her brain. The pressure built inside her throat until it had nowhere to escape but through her muscles. Her body shook, her teeth ground into each other as she suppressed a scream. His coattails. She had felt the strands of cotton fraying from his coattails. Her knuckles lashed out at a wooden desk, her self-preservation instincts armouring the hand before it made contact. Instead of her fingers, the desk bent and splintered into disrepair. She pried her fist from the indent, immediately regretting her decision as she released a shaky breath, tears taking their chance to spill in the moment¡¯s weakness. Iris wiped them away before they could roll any further down her cheek. Another failure, not even a day after the last. Why do you concern yourself with this? It taunted her from a distance, relegating itself to the closet in the corner of the classroom. Bloodied breath mocking her own, matching her from inhale to exhale. Earthly. Apathy in the face of tragedy. A man had taken his own life, and Iris¡¯s soul was telling her not to care, that it hurt to care. Not worth our time. Our power. Why was she doing this? She had to remember why, and think of an answer, or at least an excuse. Anything to prove the monstrous thing how wrong it was. There is nothing. I know there is nothing. Iris had no recollection if she ran, flew or even teleported. But she was there, across the room, her hands wrapped around the thing''s spongy neck. She squeezed, the pressure in her body gleefully coursing into her fingertips as she curled her fingers tighter around the pitiful imitation of her mother. The entity fancied herself a maternal figure to her, yet its attempts at comfort only went so far as bloodied spluttering of incoherent, unhelpful gargle. It wasn¡¯t what Iris wanted to hear, it wouldn¡¯t make her path forward any easier. For its hubris, Iris squeezed and squeezed, wringing the red from the thing¡¯s throat as she forced it to the ground. The entity didn¡¯t resist, only mocking the pathetic gargles of a choking human. No resistance or struggle as Iris crushed the life out of something she was sure never had any in it. I am you, don''t be me. She heard something snap. Bone splintering like a branch on a dead tree. The thing¡¯s head went limp, freely rolling backwards and swinging from loose muscle and skin. Gas. Gas again began to seep from the shutters, cascading to the wooden floorboard before inching closer. Her skin burned as the clouds clawed upwards, matching her height, then continuing to the ceiling. She couldn¡¯t breathe: a noose tightening around her neck. Iris let go of the body and bolted for the door, stumbling across chairs and desks while her lungs heaved for untainted air. She reached the door, undoing the lock with shaking fingers before ramming it open with her shoulders. Iris coughed as her face stung with cold, fresh air. It was sharp against her throat and her lungs, but it was clean. She gasped like a fish out of water, her heart beating in her ears and fingertips while she tried to loosen her quaking grip on the balcony railings. She calmed down, breathing in and out. It was working now. The commotion filtered through her pounding body, and through it all, she heard the cries of someone familiar. She ran across the landing, down the flight of stairs and forced her way to the front of the crowd blocking Gewen Court¡¯s entrance. The familiar cries were clearer now, and she ran into the courtyard, still empty by the order of staff. But someone besides her had broken through. Crestana was crouched next to the body, the source of the cries that had somehow reached Iris¡¯s ears. Someone was trying to pry her away, but she wouldn¡¯t allow them. Iris ran over, forcing the corpse from her vision as best she could. Besides the shaking shoulders, Crestana''s body looked as though in rigor mortis. Knelt in the snow, unfazed or perhaps uncaring by the corpse''s crawling blood staining the hem of her skirt. The surroundings seemed to hold their breath, waiting on what they pair would do, what they''d say. Iris reached a hand out to her client, but Crestana met it with aggression, throwing Iris¡¯s shoulder aside. ¡°Crestana! It¡¯s me.¡± Crestana''s eye did not stray from the body. A morbid obsession to witness the death was about her as the blood seeped into the snow below their shoes. She continued to cry, and Iris was dumbfounded. ¡°Iris,¡± Crestana finally muttered, a deathly whisper overshadowing the tears in her voice. Her fists clenched, the shutters in her eyes still and peeled open in sheer anger. ¡°Help me find out who¡¯s doing this. I¡¯m going to kill them.¡± Chapter 19 Part 3: Evidence Iris tugged on Crestana¡¯s wrist as they sped walked down the third floor of Hildrich court, a distinct structure in that its corners were spires. Hildrich court¡¯s west wing was where a living, breathing Greidus Forecer had retreated back into between classes. Offices were often times a presentation piece, a museum in disguise curated to sell its resident to whatever client or customer walked in. But the second kind of office was the one that held the secrets and witnessed the life and work of its resident in excruciating detail. The second was sacred, while the first was a fa?ade. Iris prayed that Forecer¡¯s was the former. ¡°Turn right, this door,¡± Crestana ordered, and Iris followed. They came to a rotted arched door carved along the spire¡¯s curve, a medieval lock keeping it in place. Crestana looked over her shoulder and across the court, but had nothing to report. Her sniffling was heavy, and apart from the voicebox strainingto recover from her cries, it was stable. Progress did that to those in mourning. Evalyn described it as a replacement for denial. ¡®If the hardest part about death is knowing there¡¯s nothing you can do about it, then feeling like you can helps you forget, even if it¡¯s only shallow,¡¯ she had once said after a meeting with a hysterical client, doubtful of the coroner¡¯s verdict concerning their wife. Crestana was on autopilot for the moment, and Iris had no choice but to indulge her. ¡°How are you going to get in?¡± Crestana asked. ¡°This door is old. Tapping it a bit would probably open it, but I don¡¯t want to break anything.¡± ¡°At least then it won¡¯t be breaking and entering," Crestana chuckled. ¡°No. I just don¡¯t want to get caught.¡± Iris hid the lock with her off hand and her body as best she could while she pretended to retrieve a bobby pin from her pocket. ¡°Turn around and be lookout. Casually.¡± ¡°Okay.¡± Crestana turned and leaned on the railing, all while Iris kept eyes on her back, looking for so much as a glance backwards. The ends of her hair disintegrated into purple dust and gathered at her hand, filling the medieval lock and setting the spring inside. The bolt detached, and the door creaked open. ¡°It¡¯s open,¡± Iris hissed to Crestana, who turned quite naturally before strolling in. Iris took one last look around the court. The school was closing for the day, with anyone unable to return home funnelling into the grand hall. The eyes of students and teachers weren¡¯t what worried Iris, however. The Excalan Metropolitan Police would descend on the scene in due time, and Evalyn wasn¡¯t present with her VIP pass. She locked the door behind them, Crestana already rummaging through the desk. The office looked as though there¡¯d been a struggle, and there likely had been. A man against himself, over weeks, maybe months. The walls reeked of alcohol, and the shutters were closed completely. Iris joined Crestana in their search, eyeing a filing cabinet behind the desk. She started from the top drawer, flipping through paper folder after metal binder, looking for any keywords that struck out. She continued in silence, thinking nothing of it as she moved to the second drawer, but was interrupted by quiet sobbing. She turned around, watching Crestana as her hands continued through the files. Her voice box betrayed her emotions while her body continued as though normal, the disparity catching Iris off guard. In her concentration, and if not for the mask, she¡¯d never have noticed. Mother taking her own life; if Iris had to endure anything remotely similar, she was certain her life would never be the same again. She caught herself, her mistake. Crestana had no less heart than she did; something in her could be sure of that. Crestana''s life had changed irreparably, and she had too. Iris just hadn¡¯t noticed¡ªno one had. ¡®Distinctly human.¡¯ Crestana Mallorine was anything but. And here she was, voice weeping in pain while her hands moved with a single-minded desperation disguised as determination. ¡°Can you¡­can you do this?¡± Iris said, the words coming off stronger than she intened. Crestana¡¯s voice box stifled another weep and emitted a sniffling sound. ¡°I can. Please, let me¡­god. There was so much blood.¡± Crestana let go of the documents as though they were thousand-pound weights, and her hands fell onto the desk as she tried to restart her rhythm, the voice box twisting her turmoil into shaken breathing. ¡°Talk to me,¡± Iris said, mimicking her father¡¯s first steps whenever Iris felt out of her depth. It sounded like a radio order, but it often worked. A simple order for a diagnostic was often the turnkey she needed to let herself go. Crestana shook her head. ¡°Is there always that much blood when a human dies?¡± Iris approached her, the few tentative steps forward being all she could manage, all she could bear. Evalyn handled distraught clients, not her. She was too insensitive. ¡°Yeah,¡± Iris admitted. ¡°It gets messy sometimes. Other times, it looks like they¡¯re sleeping.¡± ¡°Really?¡± she asked. ¡°I heard their hands turn cold¡­like a Spirit¡¯s.¡± ¡°Yeah. Like a Spirit¡¯s.¡± Crestana inhaled deeply, the breath croaking as the shutters across her mask closed completely. She was remembering something, projecting it on the inside of her shutters. ¡°Ironic. My family, our sect insists that a Spirit¡¯s death is more noble than a human¡¯s. But we all seem to end in the same place¡­maybe that¡¯s what my mother thought.¡± ¡°Your mother?¡± Iris asked. It was her chance to finally ask Crestana what had been bugging her for so long, but it barely felt like an opportunity. If it was, Iris felt no intention to capitalise on it. ¡°My mother hung herself¡­I know. Spirits can¡¯t hang themselves. But she uhm¡­she did, just before the beverage beads took effect. She had taken uh¡­two hundred and fifty grams, the pathologist said.¡± If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation. She glanced at Iris¡¯s lacklustre reaction. ¡°One drink is ten grams.¡± ¡°Oh,¡± Iris mouthed, and it seemed to amuse Crestana. ¡°You¡¯re so clueless¡­I¡¯m sorry I mean. I didn¡¯t mean that. It¡¯s just¡­.¡± ¡°It¡¯s just what?¡± Iris asked. Crestana met Iris¡¯s eyes for a brief moment before averting them in shame. ¡°It¡¯s just that sometimes you seem like such an adult, but other times you don¡¯t know such basic things. I don¡¯t understand it.¡± ¡°Basic? What does that mean?¡± ¡°I don¡¯t know, like how many beverage beads are fatal, how you can¡¯t steal guns or fight in school, how you¡­talk to people.¡± Iris frowned. ¡°Talking is hard,¡± she insisted. ¡°It¡¯s a skill, and I¡¯m not very good at it. The words are easy, but the¡­what was it¡­implicit meaning, I don¡¯t get it sometimes.¡± Crestana gave an insecure scoff, ¡°but that isn¡¯t special, anyone can do that¡ª¡± ¡°Not as well as you.¡± Iris smiled. ¡°Not as well as you can. People¡­well most people who don¡¯t already think you¡¯re bad love you, you can change the air around you and match people. You can¡ª¡± ¡°How is any of that good?¡± The whisper seethed from her mask like the fog spilling from a valley. ¡°I have to pretend that I¡¯m not broken¡­the people around me know I¡¯m not right, and I have to pretend that I am anyway. I do that all day, every day, and they still don¡¯t accept it. My own¡­my own mother looked at me like that.¡± She lost her human-like gaze in that moment, lapsing on the thousand-yard stare Iris had come to expect from Spirits, looking as though they were enthralled by the whisps of Aether themselves. ¡°And in the end, she died like a human. And I still don¡¯t know why.¡± Her voice box continued to let slip her emotions while the deadened air stood stagnant. ¡°I don¡¯t know what it¡¯s like when¡­when people die. I don¡¯t know how it feels when someone close to me does.¡± Crestana watched her for a moment, looking for an answer even Iris did not have. ¡°But I¡¯ve seen a lot of people die, and I¡¯ve seen a lot of people who¡¯ve lost someone. They always leave something behind, some leftover business some¡­words they didn¡¯t say. They¡¯re there, and they¡¯ll be there whether you find out or not. The world moves on, and those things are only ever as important as they are to the living.¡± Dreams reduced to redundancy, ashes burning anew and sparking new grief and trouble. Iris had seen it all and her dear mentors even more. The living decide what to do with the leftovers, to bury them like jewels in a king¡¯s tomb or wield them and continue the fight, whatever that may have been. ¡°And whatever bonds were left unspoken, are yours to close.¡± Crestana stood, inching closer to Iris. ¡°You¡¯ve seen a lot, haven¡¯t you?¡± Crestana whispered. ¡°I don¡¯t know anyone who could say something like that.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t¡ªthere¡¯s many people who could¡­.¡± Crestana shook her head. ¡°No. There aren¡¯t. Iris¡­I know you do this as your¡­job, I guess. But, I can¡¯t imagine going through this for just money. I mean¡­not someone like you.¡± ¡°I¡­I don¡¯t know what to tell you I¡ª¡± ¡°Why? Iris? Why do you do this?¡± Iris¡¯s throat caught itself again, and it was her turn to stifle her speech. The look of earnest concern on Crestana¡¯s face; no one but her closest family had given her that look before, and she had always brushed it off. Someone who she barely knew, who had nothing to do with her, had seen the same fault lines. They were real, the cracks along Iris¡¯s being, not fiends conjured by mere paranoia, but real. Crestana seemed to perk upright like a meerkat, her senses latching onto something subtle. ¡°There¡¯s magic coming from below¡­it¡¯s so strong.¡± Iris caught a fleeting brush of the sensation run up her spine and spasm her neck. She couldn¡¯t be sure, but the circumstances dictated an approaching police presence, and the Warpers they strung along were more than capable of emitting such an aura. ¡°We need to go,¡± Iris concluded, tugging Crestana to the door by her wrist, but she met resistance. She turned back, finding the girl fixated on a particular document buried under the pile. Iris couldn¡¯t clock the big, unruly blocks of text scattered across the other papers. Simple lines adorned with dots and symbols, sharing more with an etching rather than an essay. ¡°We have to go now,¡± Iris hissed, ¡°before the Warpers catch us.¡± ¡°Warpers?¡± The word seemed to latch onto her like a grappling hook and pull her from her own mind. ¡°But wait, Iris, this paper¡ª¡± ¡°Tell me later or take it with you,¡± Iris hissed, panic rising. ¡°Actually no, I think that¡¯s illegal. Just come on!¡± Confirming Crestana was closely behind, Iris rushed to the office door and dared to ease it open. The magic was still firmly below their feet, and luck had it that their floor was still cop-free. She took the leap of faith and betted on their continued streak as lawful citizens, sticking her head from the doorway. The gods were with her, while the police on the other hand, weren¡¯t, instead milling around the courtyard and the floor¡¯s lower levels. Iris didn¡¯t know the metropolitan police as the most efficient, but such a high-profile event was sure to light a fire under their blue trousers: the higher rank, the hotter. Less time for them to escape, less leniency to their excuses. ¡°The paper was important¡ª¡± ¡°And so is not getting arrested,¡± Iris hissed. She looked back to Crestana, confusion strung across her shutters like a banner. She grit her teeth, looking out into the court again and eyeing Warper units climbing the floors. ¡°Fine,¡± Iris said. ¡°Go get it, but we¡¯re leaving now.¡± Crestana¡¯s shutters crossed each other, and she nodded, sprinting to the desk and taking the paper. She ran back, and Iris joined her sprint, leading the way as they kept their bodies pressed against the concrete barrier. A staircase leading downwards began in the spire ahead of them; whatever happened once they got to the bottom was a problem for future Iris. ¡°There¡¯s something coming up those stairs,¡± Crestana whispered, ¡°turn, now!¡± Iris followed the order and abandoned her first attack plan, rounding the corner and picking up her pace. She turned behind her, the vague shadow of something climbing the last few steps of the staircase. ¡°Classroom,¡± Iris hissed, eyeing a classroom with closed shutters and an open door and taking the opportunity. Crestana followed close behind, and they ducked into the vacant room, pressing themselves against the closest wall. Iris covered her mouth, sensing the magic presence draw nearer. To her, it was muffled like sounds underwater, but she knew that to Crestana there was an orchestra booming behind her. Her shutters were squeezed closed with all the force their motors could muster, and she sat perfectly still while the vague shape in the back of their minds drifted past. The Warper moved with the elegance of a stalking predator, the only cue announcing its presence besides its magic being the footsteps of its handler closely behind. Blue scales and bone-white claws. All Iris could remember clearly were the teeth, the threat her eyes would refuse to peel away from. The Spirit passed, its atrocious aura passing with it and further down the hallway. Iris paced her sigh, ensuring the sound didn¡¯t leave fast enough to be audible. She looked over to Crestana, her shutters flickering open. Iris nodded to her, and Crestana returned the gesture. She turned her attention to the room around her, looking for any way they could escape their prison undetected. ¡°What are you trying to do?¡± Crestana asked. ¡°Find a way out of here,¡± Iris said. ¡°Escape, somehow.¡± ¡°But that looks too suspicious; we can''t risk that.¡± ¡°What other way is there?¡± Crestana thought for a moment, and then she scoffed quietly. Her hand came down on Iris¡¯s shoulder, softly patting it as though to reassure her. ¡°Trust me.¡± She brashly stood up and headed for the door before Iris could catch her. Even her voice was too slow, cowering underneath the shutters much like she was. Crestana, on the other hand, had summoned some sort of phantom confidence from thin air. Whatever shapes Iris could carve from her hair would never be as impressive. She swung the door open, and Iris¡¯s heart sank into her stomach and leapt into her throat all at once. ¡°Officer!¡± she cried. ¡°Over here!¡± Iris covered her ears as she felt the Warper¡¯s presence surge forward and growl. It was right beyond the wall, and Crestana was still somehow holding in her fear. ¡°What are you doing here?¡± the officer asked, a tone the teachers employed in their scolding but never truly mastered. Evalyn would always explain away their unwanted presence in a crime scene, but Iris knew how vulnerable she was without her mother. ¡°My friend and I were early for class, but something started happening outside the court. They told us to stay inside, so we did. Then you came, and we were frightened, so we hid.¡± A pause followed, and Iris¡¯s ears zeroed in on every small rustle the copper¡¯s clothes made, every grunt as the excuse sifted through his brain, teetering on the edge of the ¡®buy¡¯ pile and the ¡®can¡¯t buy¡¯ pile. ¡°There¡¯s been an accident,¡± the officer stated. ¡°It¡¯s over now, and we¡¯ve asked everyone who can go home to go home. Do you and your friends have anyone that can pick you up?¡± Iris dared open her eyes and look up, catching Crestana¡¯s glance backwards. Iris smiled, and Crestana winked, slipping the paper into her pocket. Chapter 19 Part 4: Code of Ethics ¡®A small fraction of Excalan Academy¡¯ did a disservice to the number of people in the great hall by mid-morning. Several hundred sat idly in loose formation, stringing across the cold wooden floorboard like a drunken spider¡¯s web. The line for the telephone stretched along its edges, snaking halfway around the building. Iris had been watching it for hours, and it only seemed to get longer. She heard Crestana hum again beside her, and she turned her head. Her client had been clutching the paper, desperately invested in the scribbles across it as though it held the meaning of life itself. A sheet of piano music; short and incomplete, but something of significance to Crestana. A significance that, until recently, she thought belonged to her. A piece of music written by her mother weeks before she took her own life left by her bedside table like a suicide note. She heard Crestana hum the same tune again, this time piecing together the music from the beginning, adding what she had just deciphered. Iris was positive Crestana had reached the end of the page by then, but the humming hadn¡¯t stopped. ¡°Crestana?¡± Iris asked. ¡°Have you figured anything out?¡± Crestana shook her head. ¡°No¡­why did he have this? Why did she give him this?¡± Iris curled her legs up to her face and leaned back on the wall behind her. ¡°Well, you said they were friends, and he was a music teacher. Maybe they were writing something.¡± ¡°Then why leave it where you died?¡± Crestana muttered. ¡°Did he know something I didn¡¯t?¡± Iris glanced over at her client, talking to someone who no longer existed. ¡°How¡­well, did you know your mum?¡± Crestana glanced at Iris, turned back, and did a double take. ¡°Pardon? Wait¡­no. Uhm¡­.¡± She pondered, the absence of an answer being one in and of itself. ¡°Not well. I remember her being nice to me when I was a child, but once we started going to sect meetings, she grew distant like everyone else.¡± ¡°When you were a child?¡± Crestana nodded slowly, shutters downturned as she clutched onto the paper. ¡°I¡¯m an only child, and my mother used to spoil me a lot. We¡¯d go on outings together while my father was at work and a lot of the time with my aunt. They were opposites, my aunt coming out of upper-class life, my mum going into it. I think they had some sort of...common ground there.¡± Crestana threw her head back, her hair softly crunching against the polished hardwood as she stretched herself out as though it were the middle of summer. Iris curled into her jacket more as another chill descended the room. ¡°It was when I first got my diagnosis. Somehow word reached t.o.t.s.o.s.¡­Temple of the Spirit of Spirits. At first, they invited us to a small communion every month, then every second Saturday, then every week. Before I knew it, they were holding sermons in my house, ones that I couldn¡¯t even step foot in.¡± Crestana crossed her arms, her head bobbing in the air as though she were fast asleep. ¡°Getting rid of the problem¡­. That was their promise. My parents must¡¯ve thought that meant getting rid of my deformity. But no. It was getting rid of me.¡± ¡°When did you realise?¡± Iris asked. Normally, children of such a young age never did until it was too late. Evalyn had often facilitated or sometimes even taken part in such interventions. Sects like Crestana¡¯s could, and sometimes would boil over, their belief spilling over into the realm of ¡®doomsday cult¡¯. ¡°When? When my mother killed herself.¡± She chuckled. ¡°It¡¯s not exactly surprising why that¡¯d be an eye-opener. ¡°What about your dad?¡± ¡°Silent as always,¡± she answered, tracing a finger over the black bars drawn into the paper. ¡°Stoic as always. Seems like that¡¯s the right way for a Beak to carry themselves. Did you know our weddings are silent? Even without the masks, no one says a word.¡± ¡°I see,¡± Iris said, reluctantly letting the conversation die. ¡°What about your parents?¡± It was Iris¡¯s turn to do a double-take. ¡°Sorry?¡± ¡°Your parents,¡± Crestana asked again, a hint of surprise in her voice. ¡°You¡¯ve made me say some awfully personal things about mine. I only think it¡¯s fair.¡± Iris frowned, reluctant to say anything, but something about the word ¡®fair¡¯ always backed her into a corner, branding her with the obligation to reciprocate her part. ¡°Well¡­my dad is a pilot. He flies fighter jets for the Special Operations Air Force, and my mum is a private detective¡­and my boss.¡± ¡°How did they meet?¡± ¡°Uh¡­it¡¯s a very long story.¡± ¡°We have time.¡± ¡°But the¡ª¡± ¡°I need a break. Humming notes for hours is giving me a headache,¡± she said, chuckling. The laughter was desperate. ¡®Distract me, please,¡¯ it seemed to say. Finding the implicit meaning was not and never would be Iris''s strong suit, but the patterns she¡¯d noticed over tens of distressed commissions weren¡¯t lost on her. ¡°Well¡ª¡± ¡°What¡¯s that, music?¡± Another mechanical voice interrupted their conversation, and the two looked up to see Mr Caynes peering over Crestana¡¯s shoulder. ¡°Ah, uh, yes¡­,¡± Crestana coughed, turning the paper over. ¡°Just some music.¡± ¡°I see,¡± Mr Caynes muttered, his gaze every so slightly nudging away. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, Ms Mallorine, about this morning, I mean. I understand you were somewhat acquainted with Greidus.¡± ¡°Yes. I was. And thank you, Caynes. I appreciate your concern.¡± Iris only then noticed the disparity in how they addressed each other. ¡®Ms Mallorine,¡¯ instead of her first name, ¡®Caynes¡¯ without his title. ¡°If there¡¯s anything you need of me, you can come ask. I¡¯m not in charge of this week¡¯s sermon, so any time before and after.¡± ¡°Thank you.¡± Sermon. The sect. ¡°Oh, and I saw a piano when I walked past one of the annexes over that way. Might help to pass the time,¡± Caynes said, pointing at the paper. He gave a meek nod before finally leaving. Crestana pushed herself off the floor. ¡°Let¡¯s go then.¡± ¡°You know Caynes?¡± Iris asked, following Crestana¡¯s lead. ¡°Of course¡­he¡¯s our Aetherology teacher,¡± she added. ¡°Sermon?!¡± Iris hissed. ¡°Oh. That¡¯s right. He moved recently, but he¡¯s a reverent from a foreign branch. My father took a liking to him, well everyone did. That¡¯s how he got the position at the Academy.¡± ¡°It doesn¡¯t look like he hates you,¡± Iris asked, following Crestana as she weaved through the knee-high labyrinth of tense bodies, their collective noise barely levelling to a whisper. ¡°I guess not. But it¡¯s a relief, isn¡¯t it?¡± Iris bit down on her bottom lip, dissatisfied with the sudden turn of information and vexed that she could not pinpoint exactly why. They continued, one behind the other. Some turned heads as they watched Crestana walk past, their glances fleeing the moment they felt her omniscient glare fall onto them. ¡®How is she fine now?¡¯, they seemed to ask as their eyes tried to look through the mask out of morbid curiosity. You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story. The entryway into the annexe was one of the more discreet doors of the grand hall, making up for its limited access with a glass peephole, a sliver as long as a face. Crestana pushed her mask up to it and scanned the room. ¡°I see a piano,¡± she said. ¡°It¡¯s a small one, I think the school uses it for their musicals.¡± She grabbed the door handle and twisted it, slipping into the dark room before anyone could notice, let alone Iris who found herself missing her client in the blink of an eye. Iris slipped in before easing the door shut behind her. Her eyes adjusted to the darkness. A beam of light pierced through the peephole, and a rectangular halo followed it through the seams of the doorframe. Besides the few wisps of the outside world, Iris couldn¡¯t notice when she was blinking and when she wasn''t. A piano note cut through the filtered muffle from beyond the doorway, a note that soon after blossomed into a scale. Each hit of the keys bounced spritely through the room as the hammer scratched against the string and the pedal squeaked. ¡°It works. Barely,¡± Crestana¡¯s voice said. She was all but a mask and a set of clothes in the darkness; the contours of her wrists and head were all but lost in the lack of light. Iris saw Crestana''s sleeve fish around in the air for a moment before her invisible fingers caught on to the pull cord of a dangling lamp hanging on by its exposed wires. ¡°You can see when it¡¯s that dark?¡± ¡°I¡¯m not that defective of a Beak,¡± Crestana scoffed, her body now visible under the lamplight. She turned back to the keys and almost immediately began to play. A rhythmic melody, each note refusing to stray too far from its predecessor. Stiff and rigid, a groundwork rather than something meant to steal one¡¯s breath. Crestana played it with a single, delicate left hand. The second melody began the moment Crestana¡¯s right hand graced the ivory keys. The notes were higher in heaven, floating above the melody on Crestana¡¯s left. In freefall they were, forever falling back and forth yet never reaching the consistent rhythm below them. The first melody continued unabated, repeating as though its existence hinged on one thing and one thing only. Like a diligent worker, a determined miner striking for gold, striking for something. ¡°I wonder if she played this for him,¡± Crestana whispered as her fingers continued to work the keys, the notes now burnt into her mind. ¡°I wonder if it¡¯s wrong, for me to pry like this.¡± Iris, her body still pressed against the doorframe, began to tap the melody with her finger while she closed her eyes and shut her ears, interpreting the melody not as music but as beating. Cypher. Quarter notes. Half notes. The spaces in between. Without the context of pitch or the encircling, enthralling second melody, it was nothing cypher. ¡°Crestana¡­,¡± Iris whispered. ¡°Don¡¯t say that.¡± ¡°But what if¡ª¡± ¡°Crestana! The music was meant for you!¡± ¡°¡­what?¡± Iris turned around and burst out of the doorway, flooding her eyes with cold, dry air and blinding light. She squinted but rushed forward anyway, recklessly stepping over tens of hunching students as she made a beeline for the telephone across the hall. The line was still hours long. Iris had no such time. If only the Spirit inside her could see her now. See what progress she was making. Iris barged into the front of the line as the previous boy hung the receiver onto the hook. ¡°Sorry, emergency!¡± Iris said, repeating it ad nauseam until the girl next in line fought to retain her place. Iris struggled to dial the numbers as Crestana caught up with her, pleading with the girl to let them use the phone for a minute. ¡°Hello, operator speaking.¡± ¡°East Excala residential, Maxwell please.¡± ¡°Won¡¯t be a moment.¡± Iris waited as she heard the line connect and the static buzz from the nebulous void between the cables. ¡°Hello, Maxwell speaking,¡± Elliot¡¯s voice asked from the¡ª ¡°Dad! Do you know Morse code!¡± ¡°What? Iris is that you? What¡¯s going on¡ª¡± ¡°Dad!¡± ¡°Uh¡­yeah I do.¡± Iris ushered Crestana closer, and she brought the music to Iris¡¯s face. She squinted at the first melody, translating the taps of her fingers into something audible. ¡°Beep beep beep beep. Beep beep. Beep beep beep beep. Beep beep. Beep. Beep beep beep.¡± Iris waited for an answer. She could hear her father working it out under his breath. She needed his brain to go faster. ¡°Dad!¡± ¡°Caynes! It spells Caynes.¡± The doctor¡¯s laboratory was exactly how Provenance had imagined it through the phone. A vast array of creaking brass instruments, magic that examined magic, breaking its components down and building them back up again in a new way. The room itself was painfully typical of a young academic living off their research grant, and Provenance could picture the contract screaming for anyone to sign it. The wood of the floorboards was hollowed out by a mixture of rot and termites, and the windowless ceiling was probably classified as a World Heritage site for the mere fact it was still standing somewhat upright. The attic of an old human building, built before its residents were killed and their land forcefully annexed. The nation-state of Kirelda was a state of Spirits through and through, but like squatters freeloading in an abandoned building, they¡¯d taken over the skeleton of the dead human nation for themselves. The players had changed, and without the human need for social order, the system had fallen into corruption. With no need for food and water, the social and economic apparatus remained solely to uphold the state¡¯s existence as a state worthy of trade and military respect. Such were most Spirit nations, particularly the small ones. ¡®Spirits were never meant to live like humans,¡¯ his colleague had said while masquerading as a man himself. For a Spirit, the lack of pride his colleague held in his own appearance was astounding. ¡®Ends were greater than the means,¡¯ was typically a turn of phrase reserved for humans. ¡°The university lent me this space for the express purpose of carrying out my study,¡± the young Spirit said through pulses of excited Aether so loud Provenance barely had to concentrate to decipher them. ¡°Wouldn¡¯t the university laboratories have been a better option?¡± Provenance asked through the Aether as he watched his footing for any of the countless trip hazards. ¡°Yes, but what I get is what I get. I can hardly complain, I like working alone,¡± the academic said. Edict Grotur; born and raised in the city, as far as Provenance¡¯s research suggested. Under the white lab coat was a vaguely humanoid body: a centre mass of wood and limbs made of interwoven vines, transitioning from brown to green as they grew more flexible at their ends. No face, but instead a small garden atop his head. ¡°Working alone on such a project? Sounds daunting.¡± ¡°Oh, you know Uralders. Can¡¯t help ourselves.¡± Spirits of gardening. Curious and experimental, but not so abstract in their existence that it made them impractical. Being scientists was in their nature. If not gardeners. He tripped over a table but quickly recovered, continuing as though nothing had happened. ¡°Just over here; this is what I wanted to show you.¡± Past the endless forest of scientific equipment and remnants of nights not slept was a clearing, a single contraption standing in its centre. A circular brass arch overlooking a small metal bed, the arch connected by wire after wire to a control panel on the other side of the room. Edict jogged over to the panel, his vines fiddling with the dials before his backside even touched the seat. ¡°Have you read the documents I mailed to you?¡± ¡°Yes,¡± Provenance replied. ¡°I know how it works, I¡¯m just here for the demonstration.¡± ¡°Perfect. I¡¯m not sure how many more times I can explain it before I go mad.¡± A slow whirring vibrated the air as a red light on the control panel began to blink. The wires running along the floor glowed blue, and irregular pulses ran down their lengths like overexcited children. ¡°The machine here is undoubtedly overengineered,¡± Edict admitted. ¡°Being the first of its kind, I needed to take precautions.¡± Blue lights along the machine¡¯s arch lit up one by one, beginning from the base and creeping towards the apex. ¡°Forgive me for asking,¡± Provenance asked. ¡°But, practically, what¡¯s the difference between these and the Pattern Destroyers used in Excala?¡± ¡°Those are only effective against infused objects,¡± Edict explained, standing from his seat and rushing to the arch, tweaking knobs and pausing to listen to the hum of the mechanical beast. ¡°They don¡¯t destroy patterns in Spirits who can heal, let alone Aether itself.¡± Edict turned, his Aether indicating confusion. ¡°But how would pattern destruction help with Aether infusion?¡± ¡°Oh, I don¡¯t know. Just curious.¡± Edict did not reply, simply turning back to his work. A scientist so involved in his study he did not fathom the true implications of his work. His proposal had pitched a more efficient method to reverse severe Aether influx. Aether pumps existed but were either too slow or too aggressive for use against extreme cases. Controlled destruction of Aether in the body was, apparently, safer and more regulatable. Edict ran to a cupboard in the corner of the room and retrieved a small Spirit, cradling it in his hands. A vaguely mousy thing with a hard shell and six paddle-shaped legs. ¡°I¡¯ve fed this Serek food with abnormal Aether content in it. Right now, it should be experiencing acute Aether influx.¡± After placing the Spirit onto the metal plate, the scientist ran back to the cupboard and retrieved a standard medical mass-Aether meter. Inserting the pointed end into one of the Spirit¡¯s legs as he held it down, he called out his measurement. ¡°One point one three.¡± Taking mental note of the number, he scampered back to the control panel and began to adjust the dials, inputting the variables and fine-tuning the machine. ¡°If not to add to body mass, facilitate life or fuel magic, physical Aether is usually dispelled into ambient, non-tangible Aether in a process we don¡¯t fully understand yet. There¡¯s no effective way to speed these processes up, and simply forcing the Aether out of their bodies is fraught with risks depending on the Spirit.¡± With one final switch, the machine began to whir profoundly, the vibrations reaching somewhere in Provenance even the oscillations of sound could not hope to penetrate. The lights grew in intensity, and the children of light running down the cables started to sprint. "Decompressing Aether into an ambient state is easy; that''s how compressor engines work. But if the Aether is already absolved in a body, that process is a mystery, so that technology isn''t useful to us." The air seemed to respond, bating its breath to see what happened next. The whirring ceased, and the lights along the archway died. Edict did not bother to wait for the machine to fully sleep before rushing for the metal plate and the Spirit atop it. Taking the meter again, Edict performed another measurement. ¡°Zero point nine eight. To happen organically, that would have taken half an hour.¡± Provenance nodded his approval. ¡°Impressive,¡± he said. ¡°If you¡¯d show me some more demonstrations, I¡¯d be happy to continue to the next steps of our agreement.¡± With zeal, the academic returned to performing his next test, convinced he¡¯d change lives in the way he had always dreamed. But all it took was for one person to crank the machine to eleven, and the test subject would be dead. Destroying the lifeblood of Spirits, harming those who do not have bodies. That was where the future of Edict¡¯s technology lay. The only one who couldn¡¯t see that was the scientist in question. Chapter 19 Part 5: Dead Man Walking Aetherology classes had become hell for Iris, but every waking moment Caynes wasn¡¯t in her immediate field of vision was even worse. Caynes. The six letters spelt out in Morse code, a signal for help hidden under layers of music. They now dominated her head from the moment she woke up to the moment she fell asleep, sometimes even denying her the precious time in between. She wanted to blame him for everything; strike now and forget the rest. It was increasingly difficult to discern if those thoughts were her own or of the Spirit inside her. The pencil snapped in her hand, rousing the dead-quiet room halfway through jotting down a dictation. The atmosphere churned momentarily, but Iris ignored it, keeping her head down. ¡°Is everything all right?¡± Caynes¡¯s voice called from the front of the class. ¡°Iris?¡± She nodded slowly, unable to lock eyes with him. ¡°Well. That¡¯s time. If you didn¡¯t finish, feel free to ask me after class. Does anyone have any questions?¡± The room was dead quiet. It turned out that children her age vehemently refused to ask or answer questions lest they stuck out, but the atmosphere had grown another notch more uncomfortable. Without Crestana present, no one could pretend that the day before had never happened. But Iris raised her hand, unsure of what exactly to say, but only knowing she needed to release her pressure valve. All she sincerely wanted was to prod him somehow, get some snippet of an excuse to tackle him to the ground then and there. ¡°Yes, Iris?¡± Caynes asked from his desk, his attention split between her and a tome in his left hand. ¡°Do you know about Sigils, sir?¡± Even with the lack of facial expressions, Caynes seemed taken aback. He moved from his desk and to the blackboard. ¡°Sigils? Taboo magic? Sure, I know a thing or two about them, why?¡± ¡°I¡­read about them somewhere, sir.¡± Caynes scoffed. ¡°You must have some stellar library access for a junior high schooler,¡± he said, leaning over his shoulder and checking out of the hallway. ¡°They¡¯re taboo for a reason but¡­well, it can¡¯t hurt.¡± He took a piece of chalk and began to etch a heading into the blackboard behind him. ¡®Taboo magic,¡¯ it said in rough capital letters. ¡°There are several types of this magic in the world of Aetherology, and often even mentioning them positively, let alone practising them, will see you excluded from most academic circles, if not have your entire reputation de-legitimised. The dictionary definition defines them as any magic that takes control away from the Spirit.¡± Caynes stepped forward, each foot hanging in the air for a moment too long. ¡°Sigils write magic without any need for a Spirit, essentially creating a replica Spirit in itself, like bacteria in a laboratory. Aether infusion was considered taboo until laws were enforced to throttle any¡­irresponsible use.¡± He stopped at the back of the class and turned around, shutting the book closed in a small plume of dust and rotting paper. ¡°And, of course, the most famous example, the Wizard and the Witch, the very definition of why taboo magic is considered taboo. There¡¯s the old saying of a Spirit¡¯s pride and a human¡¯s greed. These forms of magic arise when the latter transgresses on the former.¡± He walked forward and turned to Iris, looking apologetic. ¡°I¡¯m afraid that¡¯s all I can tell you without getting fired. It¡¯s a touchy subject, unfortunately. Any other questions?¡± Nobody raised their hands. Not even Iris. ¡°Good. Now next¡ª¡± The bell¡¯s shrill screech stopped Caynes mid-sentence. Flustered, he looked into the air as though a fly were circling his head. ¡°Goodness. All right, the last one will be for homework, page twenty of the textbook. Dismissed!¡± One by one, the students left the classroom at varying speeds and enthusiasm. The girls who normally hung by Crestana¡¯s desk left shortly after the sporty boys. With nothing left to anchor them to the room, they filed out just like everybody else. Iris was left with Caynes, who somehow whistled through his voice box as he packed his belongings into a single pile. Hauling it under his arm, he began to head for the door. ¡°Staying, Iris?¡± Caynes asked, half his body already exiting the room. ¡°Do you have anyone else to spend your lunches with?¡± Iris shook her head. ¡°Well, it¡¯s always nice to spend some time alone, but I can¡¯t recommend only keeping one friend.¡± The words entered one ear and left out the other; meaningless grovel was all it amounted to. He lied. Everything was a lie. Iris was sure of it. Silver-tongued, snake-faced. The use of words was an invention of civilisation, but tone and body language, those were something she could read, like writing on the wall. That writing was written in blood, telling her to trust her dreams and recall their stories. Caynes was there too, in the same place if not at the same time. He was one of the crystal cave¡¯s guardians. Iris saw no other explanation. Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel. ¡°Crestana¡¯s mum,¡± Iris said, catching onto Caynes like tugging a dog¡¯s leash. Caynes stepped back into the room. ¡°What about Mrs Mallorine?¡± Caynes asked, slowly placing his things down on the desk. ¡°Did you know her?¡± ¡°Did I know her?¡± Caynes repeated, taking a moment to feign a ponder. ¡°Well, yes. We were more or less acquainted. Why?¡± ¡°What was she like?¡± Iris asked, desperately swallowing down the most accusatory questions. Caynes placed his hands on the desk and tilted his head; the flames of runes never lost their orientation. ¡°Any reason these questions are so personal? I¡¯m your Aetherology teacher, not your Ms Mallorine teacher.¡± Iris wordlessly pressed on, egging him to continue playing the clueless character; the more words, the more chances to let something slip. Caynes sighed, giving in. ¡°She was a very beautiful woman in an untouchable sense. I¡¯ve noticed Crestana carries a similar demeanour but not to the same extent.¡± Pausing, he chose his words with care. ¡°She seemed¡­forlorn whenever I talked to her, as though she wasn¡¯t altogether there. Distant from our world. I don¡¯t know if that was by choice or¡­whatever the alternative to that is.¡± He stuffed his hands in his pockets and rocked back and forth. ¡°Is there anything else you¡¯d like to ask me today, officer?¡± Iris bit down on her tongue, afraid her questions could backfire and reveal more about herself than him. Caynes slapped the desk and pushed himself off. ¡°Well, if that about does it,¡± he said, turning to the blackboard and grabbing the eraser. He took to the heading near the top, wiping away the ever-present title that hung over Iris¡¯s life like a spectre. Caynes sighed as he returned the eraser to its spot and retrieved his things. ¡°Take care of yourself, Iris. Most of the time that¡¯s about all you can do these days.¡± Evalyn knew, in theory, not to rinse the solvents off her guns with water during winter¡¯s coldest nights, but her muscle memory proved a lot less adaptable than she had hoped. ¡°There¡¯s nothing here,¡± Colte said as Evalyn racked the frosty slide of her pistol back and forth. ¡°In this city, I mean.¡± Evalyn grunted, placing the gun back on the desk next to the mounds of police paperwork she''d sunk her morning into. Rubbing the bridge of her nose, she stretched her back, hearing her spine pop and crackle like pork skin. ¡°Not a single lead,¡± Colte continued as Evalyn watched him scan over another file through his reading glasses. ¡°Don¡¯t hunch, you¡¯ll ruin your back.¡± ¡°You think I don¡¯t know that?¡± he replied, stretching his upper body with a single slow motion. ¡°I¡¯m starting to feel it, unfortunately.¡± ¡°That makes two of us,¡± Evalyn lamented as she leaned into her chair. ¡°So there is no registry.¡± ¡°None in writing. Best I could find were different variations of ¡®I remember this one person¡¯. Did the East Excala Library get those prints you sent them?¡± ¡°About five days ago now. There was a fax machine in an uptown public library. Can¡¯t speak to the quality of the prints, but if there¡¯s even a sliver of luck I haven¡¯t used up yet¡ª¡± The bedside telephone began to ring. ¡°That should be him now.¡± Evalyn stood and walked over, her feet wobbling under the repercussions of many sedentary hours. ¡°Hello. Hardridge speaking.¡± ¡°Evalyn! How are ya?¡± Al asked, his thick accent oozing through the phone. It was too colloquial for a Prince. ¡°Those photographs, have you taken a look?¡± ¡°I wouldn¡¯t be calling you if I hadn¡¯t. Is this line secure?¡± ¡°Yes,¡± Evalyn said, chuckling at the spy novel phrase uttered so seriously. ¡°Colte set up an Aether line telephone when we first got here.¡± ¡°Okay¡­,¡± Al said, voice laden with blatant scepticism. ¡°Whatever you sent me was a real nasty piece of work, by the way.¡± ¡°The prints? What do you mean by that?¡± ¡°Well, the resident expert I have deciphering it is having a decently tough time. Says it¡¯s probably the hardest she¡¯s ever tried to decipher.¡± ¡°So our man¡¯s been around the block, then.¡± ¡°More than once. We were able to break down and decipher four larger components. First is the dome. Important, but doesn¡¯t tell us anything new. Second is human over Spirit, same story. The third component is interesting. Based on the articles and the reports I¡¯ve read, I assumed it¡¯d be some sort of kill and dissolve the bodies, one-two-punch combo.¡± ¡°Terrible wording, but go on.¡± ¡°But it turns out it¡¯s transportation. Like Warper magic. They¡¯re being taken somewhere.¡± ¡°Taken where?¡± ¡°We don¡¯t know. The fourth component is location, but the designation makes no sense whatsoever.¡± ¡°Find it, and we could take this whole thing apart in a day.¡± ¡°Yes¡­oh, and another thing.¡± ¡°What?¡± Al ruffled his feathers. ¡°My expert says that she¡¯s seen something similar before.¡± ¡°Really? Where?¡± ¡°Two years ago, photos were taken from a murder incident from overseas. Actually, let me¡­Patricia! Patricia can you come here for a sec!¡± Evalyn held as a distant pair of footsteps emerged from the dull background static. Someone fumbled with the phone receiver before a woman¡¯s voice came through the phone. ¡°Hello?¡± ¡°Could you tell me where you¡¯ve seen the Sigil before?¡± ¡°Not the exact one,¡± the Aetherologist explained, ¡°but there¡¯s something in the way they cross their t¡¯s and dot their i¡¯s that strikes me as similar.¡± ¡°To a missing person¡¯s case, yes. Do you remember anything about it?¡± ¡°The mark was found on the body¡¯s clothes with no identification to go with it. Apparently, only some village folk recognised him after the police started circulating pictures. A Geheret, Spirit of Records that was employed as the local school¡¯s Aetherology teacher.¡± ¡°What was his name?¡± ¡°I don¡¯t exactly remember that far¡ª¡± ¡°Caynes?¡± ¡°¡­yes. Yes, that¡¯s right. His name was Caynes.¡± Evalyn pursed her lips. ¡°Thank you.¡± She slammed the receiver onto the hook and immediately picked it back up again. ¡°What? What¡¯s going on?¡± ¡°Caynes. The name written in Morse that Iris found the other day. It¡¯s a stolen identity, taken from someone killed with a Sigil.¡± Evalyn finished dialling the new number. ¡°Might not be enough for a court of law, but it is for me. Yes, operator, international call, please.¡± ¡°So what¡¯s his motive? Why would he get close to the people he wants to destroy it¡¯s like he¡¯s trying to do two things at once.¡± ¡°Excala please,¡± Evalyn said before turning to Colte. ¡°Don¡¯t forget he¡¯s a reverend for a cult; there¡¯s an ideological angle to this. Yes, East Excala residential, Maxwell.¡± ¡°I guess we can ask him in a holding cell.¡± ¡°Elliot, Caynes is a fake identity of some dead schoolteacher in the middle of nowhere. He¡¯s who we¡¯re looking for, so warn the client. Tell Marie while you¡¯re at it and phone East Excala. Get the evidence and, I don¡¯t know, get a search warrant. Just do it quickly¡­love you.¡± Evalyn slammed the receiver down on the phone again before storming off, the thought of Iris fuelling newfound urgency in her steps. ¡°Book a fight; we need to leave. Now.¡± ¡°I think Evalyn¡¯s coming back,¡± Elliot said, dialling another number into the phone. ¡°But Caynes is the artist; we need to get Crestana to a safe place. She hasn¡¯t been at school, hasn¡¯t she?¡± ¡°No,¡± Iris said. ¡°But Caynes has access to the house.¡± ¡°How?¡± ¡°Crestana mentioned they hold sermons there. Crap.¡± Iris bolted from her breakfast for the front door and pulled on her boots.¡± ¡°Iris! Stay here until I¡ª¡± ¡°I¡¯ll find a payphone!¡± Iris shouted as she unlocked the door and ran outside. Interlude: A Girls Thoughts 2 Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions. Chapter 20 Part 1: Silent Words Iris took the rooftops. It was clouded daylight, but even the trams were unpredictable in the snowed-down rush hour. Busy intersections, packed carriages, snow stoppage, risks she wasn¡¯t willing to take. She pulled the collar of her jacket as far up her face as she could and tucked her hair in, hoping no one had the time to crane their necks or convince themselves that they had just seen a girl fly across an alleyway. She wanted to be armoured, but against a grey sky, her jacket at least gave her a fighting chance at concealment. Residential; at least it wasn¡¯t the busiest Excala could get. But the house was large, too large for the cramped Eastern district. From the information handed over during the contract, Iris knew the family lived on the outskirts. Her hair disintegrated and coagulated under her soles, the subsequent jet streams propelling her forward with a fraction of the effort. Not as refined as Evalyn''s process, but it would have to do. Iris sent forth two spiked limbs with an almost unconscious efficiency, digging them past the snow and into the terracotta tiles themselves. She soared metres above the concrete street below as mindlessly as riding a bike. Over and over again while she chewed on her cheeks and gritted her teeth, the mad dash for Crestana''s survival still not enough to satiate her anxiety. The one only made worse by the bleeding figure in the corner of her eye. Run. Faster. All for nothing. Iris ran. Iris ran as though it were her life on the line instead of Crestana¡¯s. She ran like Crestana wasn¡¯t a client, like there was something more to gain. Money? To prove. To prove something. That she was more than what the Spirit said she was. She slipped on the snow, stumbling forward and down the roof¡¯s slope. Her heart skipped a beat, and her body formed her gauntlets out of sheer panic. The spikes along their sides extended into fangs, and Iris forced them into the roof with sheer force of will. The tiles cracked, and her momentum stopped. She held in her voice. She wanted to scream. Silently, she got up and pressed on. Now wasn¡¯t the time to concern herself. Eyes forward. Like Evalyn. How she was supposed to be. She dropped from a nearby rooftop in the narrow space between two city blocks. Beyond the boundary street, the skyline had shortened to single residencies and indulgent mansions, rooftops too segmented and disjointed for Iris to traverse reliably. And so, she put her legs to work instead. The minutia of street names, maps and directions weren¡¯t a luxury Iris had left the house with. Sifting through each street, each residence would take her hours of combing on foot. But along with the address was another piece of information, jokingly tacked on by Crestana¡¯s aunt¡¯s wry smile. ''The biggest house for miles.'' And knowing her family, Iris did not doubt it. Like a beacon, one mansion stood head and shoulders above the rest. Wider and a storey taller, its majesty did not quite match Evalyn¡¯s Kestral Manor, but by a certain point, they were all the same to Iris. She followed the streets, an infuriating maze of one cookie-cutter house after another, their lawns impossibly flat underneath a layer of white powder. Rounding the final corner, the mansion¡¯s grand exhibition came into view; grey stone walls hewn from fairytale quarries rose from a garden choked by snow, their windowed facades ending in five distinctly pointy roofs, each separated from one another by chimney columns. Dead vines crawled up the face of the structure, hopelessly reaching for the gutters as the cold sapped them of their life. It greeted Iris, sceptically watching her every move as though she were an ant scurrying under a hovering foot. She pressed forward, through the hedge¡¯s gate and onto the shovelled snow path, the gravel grinding underneath every nervous step she took. She was nervous. When did that happen? She looked up at the manor¡¯s many windows, spread before her like the judges of an ancient tribal hearing, watching her with champagne glasses in hand and malice in their eyes. They were blacked out either by the disparity in light or by sets of scratchy, crimson red curtains accented by silver trimmings. She passed a frozen fountain, silent and drowning in snow where there might have once been life. Something watched her, glaring into her soul with no pretext other than doubt. It saw her, and its cold stare wished to kill her. It had killed the garden long before winter ever fell. Iris approached the front door, an ancient wooden piece that insisted one knocked by the gargantuan brass knocker, the ring hanging precariously from the mouth of some sort of Spirit. Almost reptilian, but not quite. The scales glimmered, the snout curved gracefully, and the eyes seemed alive. Through the brass and its Verdigris, the Spirit seemed to move in Iris¡¯s peripheral vision, waiting for the perfect moment to command her death. Watching her. Recognising her. Iris clutched the icy handle and knocked on the door, announcing the presence against her subconscious judgment. She waited, unable to tear her eyes away from the Spirit adorning the door. The door creaked open, and a Beak in a tuxedo answered. ¡°Yes?¡± ¡°Uh,¡± Iris faltered. ¡°Hello.¡± ¡°Who are you?¡± ¡°I¡¯m¡­Iris Maxwell Hard¡­Hardridge-Maxwell. I¡¯m a classmate of Crestana¡¯s.¡± The Beak watched her, his mask conveying no emotion in the absence of costlier luxuries and features. ¡°A sermon has just finished. I doubt the mistress can afford to see you¡ª¡± ¡°Please! It¡¯s urgent.¡± ¡®She¡¯s in danger!¡¯ Iris wanted to scream, but a sermon was underway. There was just as much a chance he was beyond the grey stone walls as at the Academy. ¡°How shall I announce you?¡± ¡°Uh¡­quietly. I don¡¯t want to bother.¡± ¡°¡­your name. How shall I address you to the mistress?¡± ¡°Oh¡­uh. Iris. Just Iris is fine.¡± The Beak nodded, closing the door behind him but not before slinking into the shadows first, a bone-white mask floating in space. She was greeted by the Spirit encased in bronze again, and another bout of staring ensued. But Iris noticed a difference. The way people used words was alien to her, but facial expressions¡ªanimalistic displays of emotion¡ªwas something she could recognise. Even when etched into copper, its face abstract and divorced from human resemblance. The door knocker was snarling at her, ever so slightly. It swung away, and the mask of another Beak replaced it, level with Iris¡¯s vision. ¡°Crestana!¡± Iris yelped under her breath. ¡°Why are you here?¡± Crestana asked from behind the door. ¡°You¡¯re in¡­.¡± A bone white mask peered from the darkness beyond her. ¡°You¡¯re in danger,¡± Iris hissed. ¡°What?¡± ¡°Is Caynes here? At the sermon?¡± ¡°No,¡± Crestana asked, stepping forward and closing the door. ¡°No he¡¯s teaching, so he can¡¯t come. Why? Is he dangerous after all?¡± Iris gently took Crestana¡¯s wrist. ¡°I think he¡¯s the one that¡¯s behind everything.¡± Her client recoiled, a delayed reaction that started in her wrists and spread to her shoulders. Her head began to shake back and forth. ¡°But¡­but he was nice to me I¡ª¡± ¡°He was nice to you because he needed something from you. Do you get it?¡± Iris wanted to leave. ¡°No but he cared¡ª¡± This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience. ¡°He didn¡¯t care. Crestana, he doesn¡¯t care for you besides your part in whatever his plan is!¡± Staying in the garden was not worth it. ¡°But¡ª¡± ¡°Crestana, this place is dangerous now. I don¡¯t know when he can get in and when he can get to you, but if he¡¯s after you in some way, then we need to take you somewhere else¡ª¡± Too much time. Too much risk. The door knocker would eat her. ¡°I don¡¯t want to.¡± ¡°You might die¡ª¡± ¡°Stop.¡± Crestana¡¯s cold voice quaked underneath her mask. Her uniform hung off her shaking shoulders; her whole body looked animated with fear. ¡°Stop. I can¡¯t.¡± ¡°Can¡¯t what? Crestana, I can¡¯t afford to leave you here.¡± ¡°You¡¯re wrong about this. I can¡¯t just¡ª¡± ¡°Leave the people who treated you like you¡¯re worthless your entire life?¡± Iris was dancing on the spot; the garden was nipping at her feet. ¡°They¡¯re putting you in danger! Can¡¯t you see that?¡± She was wasting Iris¡¯s time. Such a na?ve life wasn¡¯t worth the risk. ¡°Let¡¯s go. Your aunt is waiting.¡± Iris held on tight to Crestana¡¯s wrist as she dropped a coin into the payphone and dialled her home, sandwiching the receiver between her ear and shoulder as she did so. She waited for the lines to connect, tapping her feet while she glanced outside the glass booth. Crestana wasn¡¯t looking at her. Face downtrodden, too afraid to look at anything. ¡°Hello?¡± ¡°Dad. It¡¯s me.¡± ¡°Iris? You¡¯re all right?¡± ¡°Yeah. I¡¯ve got Crestana, but I don¡¯t know when they¡¯re going to notice she¡¯s missing.¡± ¡°Where are you right now?¡± Iris glanced at the nearest street sign. ¡°Boundary street at Heffernan Views. There¡¯s apartments behind me and mansions in front.¡± She waited as her father poured over the map he likely had before him, tracing his gaze with his finger until he pinpointed Iris¡¯s location. ¡°All right. I¡¯ll call a taxi there; it shouldn¡¯t take anymore than five minutes. Tell them to take you to the Rhelik near the city centre. I¡¯ll meet you there, and Crestana¡¯s aunt won¡¯t be far behind.¡± ¡°What about Caynes?¡± ¡°Talked to Marie about it, she said she¡¯d talk to the Metro police. Even if there isn¡¯t enough to nail him with terrorism, Al is making a case to nail him for stolen identity and accomplice in murder." ¡°Okay. We¡¯ll wait here then.¡± ¡°Good. Kill the driver if he tries anything.¡± ¡°Dad what would¡ª¡± ¡°You¡¯ll get it when you¡¯re older. Love you, okay?¡± ¡°You too.¡± Iris hung the phone up and turned to Crestana. She let go of her wrist and took her hand instead. ¡°I¡¯m sorry.¡± Crestana did not budge. Iris stepped out of the car and rounded the back, opening Crestana¡¯s door and letting her step onto the curb. The city centre was past rush hour, but the coattails of its frenzy still coursed through the city streets. Witnesses if anything were to happen. A double-edged sword, seeing that both Iris and Caynes stood to suffer in the public eye. The Rhelik stood a head above the surrounding cityscape. One of the premiere hotels in Excala, even securing a seat in its bottom floor restaurant was a feat in and of itself, let alone a reservation at its pinnacle. Iris walked side by side with Crestana through the rotating door, briefly reminiscing her last visit for her birthday. She looked at her client, but Crestana¡¯s silence spoke volumes to her indifference. Iris gripped her hand, and Crestana was gripping back. They continued forward before stopping at the reception, where a middle-aged waiter manned the lectern. ¡°Good morning,¡± he said through a greying beard. ¡°Do you have a reservation?¡± Iris tried to lead, but her words fumbled. ¡°I¡­do?¡± ¡°For Mallorine. Janice Mallorine.¡± ¡°Mallorine,¡± the waiter whispered, his eyebrows lifting in surprise. He licked his thumb and flipped through the pages. Two, three, four. He stopped and began to run his finger down a list. ¡°Hurry up,¡± Iris hissed under her breath as she glanced over her shoulder. ¡°Here we are. Right this way,¡± the waiter smiled, beckoning them to follow. They trekked across soft carpet and weaved through circular tables draped in white cloth. Few people occupied them, though they lay in wait for any potential customer. Iris¡¯s face lit up as her eyes fell on a sight for sore eyes, ones that had spend a lifetime in the matter of hours. ¡°Dad!¡± Iris skipped over, brushing past the waiter and dragging Crestana close behind. She let go of her client¡¯s hand and embraced Elliot instead, forgetting how itchy his coat was against her skin. ¡°Everything okay? Nothing happened on the way, right?¡± Iris shook her head and buried it deeper into his shoulder. ¡°You sure? You aren¡¯t acting like it.¡± Iris nodded, squeezing his chest. ¡°Well okay then. But you¡¯re still on the job, I¡¯m watching your client grow bored by the second.¡± Iris got a hold of herself and pulled away, awkwardly turning back to Crestana with uncommitting eyes. She was clutching her elbow, looking away. Iris shuffled closer and put a hand on her shoulder. ¡°Let¡¯s sit down.¡± Crestana followed the prompt, and they sat down to Elliot¡¯s right as he leaned over, putting his elbows on the table. ¡°Crestana, are you okay?¡± Elliot asked. Crestana nodded, although with none of the high-class politeness Iris had grown accustomed to. Just a meek nod that the mask hadn''t twisted into a formal greeting. Elliot tried to soften his eyes with the best smile he could muster. ¡°Now, your Aunt knows the whole situation. Iris mentioned that you¡¯d rather this kept a secret from her, but unfortunately she is our client. How do you feel about that.¡± Crestana fidgeted with her fingers. ¡°I¡­I don¡¯t know.¡± Elliot reached halfway across the table in an effort to parlay. ¡°You¡¯re in safe hands. Being married to a Private Detective for almost thirteen years, some things rub off after a while.¡± He leaned over and ruffled Iris¡¯s hair with a calloused hand. ¡°And this one has more experience than you could ever imagine, even if she doesn¡¯t exactly have a way with words.¡± Iris and Crestana¡¯s eyes met for a moment, but it was Crestana¡¯s that averted first. Iris had only realised in the taxi how the Spirit inside her had borrowed her lips. At least following that logic was easier for Iris to accept. It didn¡¯t matter now. The damage was done, and the rest was just semantics. ¡°Did you have a hard time getting here, Crestana?¡± Elliot asked, and Crestana shook her head. ¡°What about recently? I heard you haven¡¯t been coming to school.¡± ¡°No,¡± Crestana said. ¡°No I haven¡¯t.¡± Elliot pursed his lips and readjusted his chair. ¡°Crestana? I¡¯m going to ask some hard questions now, but I¡¯d really appreciate if you answered them. Can you do that for me?¡± Crestana glanced at him, but despite his efforts, she remained unable to find it in her to look directly at him. She nodded again, fidgeting with her elbow. ¡°Temple of the Spirit of Spirits. Can you tell me why they worship the Spirit of Spirits?¡± Crestana¡¯s shutters lowered across her eyes as she curled into herself ever so slightly, the words repulsing her. ¡°The Spirit of Spirits is¡­they say its our saviour. The entity that encompasses our being, sharpens the lines of our existence and reaffirms our power. In division we will no longer find weakness, but renewal and evolution. Prayer carried through the Aether will fuel its renewal, a return to balance.¡± As though a ghost had possessed her, Crestana shook free from the trance. ¡°That¡¯s what we¡­they worship.¡± Elliot nodded. ¡°And so he pretended to subscribe to this¡­philosophy in order to get close to your family. Do you know if he¡¯s talked to your family about the attack? Given¡­suggestions or advice, skewed their perception in any way.¡± Crestana shook her head, resting her restless hands in the lap of her school skirt. ¡°I haven¡¯t heard anything. Just condolences. And they don¡¯t speak outside of sermons.¡± ¡°So as far as we know, Caynes isn¡¯t staging these attacks to get the Mallorine¡¯s to accept his council.¡± He thought for a moment, scratching his unshaven stubble before placing his hands back on the desk. ¡°Anyway, I need you to do something, Crestana. If that¡¯s all right?¡± ¡°What is it?¡± ¡°It¡¯s a little strange, but I¡¯ll need you to go into the bathroom and check all over your body in as many places as you can for any sort of strange marking.¡± Crestana shivered, and Iris watched as her skin crawled, the though a thousand times more unnerving than knowing there was a spider somewhere on one''s body. She accepted and stood, her feet carrying her to the bathroom. ¡°Iris,¡± Elliot called. ¡°Go with her. I¡¯m going to find a pay phone somewhere.¡± She nodded, followed Crestana into the vacant bathroom, where she took a place in front of the wall-spanning mirror and Iris leaned next to the entrance. Crestana began with her mask, taking it off and turning it over, scrutinising it before she placed it behind the sink. She undid her hair and moved it to one shoulder before pausing. Iris, standing by the door, caught on much too late. Without a face, without a voice¡­without one they could openly communicate in, all that was left were gestures: ancient methods of communication. Iris walked over and held Crestana¡¯s hair in place for her. ¡°There¡¯s nothing here,¡± Iris concluded, only to be met with more pointing, this time along her client¡¯s scalp. Iris began her work and¡ªlike a grooming monkey¡ªsearched through Crestana''s hair while her client pulled at the skin along her empty face and neck. Crestana¡¯s hair flowed between Iris¡¯s fingers as though weightless, retaining at least that intrinsic Beak quality. It made no rustle as Iris sifted through it. She glanced up and into the mirror. The empty face before her was jarring but not out of place. The shutters and the voice made sense, but so too did nothing. Whatever was under the mask felt no less valid. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, Crestana.¡± Her client continued to look over her skin as though nothing had been said, but Iris could feel the small shifts in Aether, especially when they were so close. ¡°I don¡¯t usually do the talking. That¡¯s what my mum does¡­.¡± Crestana rolled up the sleeves of her blazer and silently worked her way along her arms. She was listening but refusing to show it. ¡°I don¡¯t know how to say things in a way people will understand. I¡¯ll just, say it, or I won¡¯t.¡± Iris caught onto the whisps of Crestana¡¯s Aether as they floated past. ¡°Then why don¡¯t you say it?¡± ¡°¡­but I don¡¯t have anything to say. All I know is that I¡¯m scared.¡± ¡°Why?¡± ¡°And¡­and I don¡¯t know why I¡¯m so scared. Part of me is scared of failing, but another part is scared¡­of even trying¡­no. Forget that. ¡°What are you doing this for, Iris?¡± Iris stayed silent in regards to the final question, letting the oscillations of Aether pass her by. Crestana reached over and reattached her mask. She walked past Iris and entered a cubicle behind them, locking the door closed. ¡°What¡¯s the ring for?¡± the familiar mechanical voice said, replacing the softer, intimate one Iris had heard a few seconds prior. ¡°It doesn¡¯t look like an engagement ring.¡± ¡°It¡¯s not,¡± Iris rebutted from outside, her heart skipping a beat as she recalled the meaning of the symbolic jewellery. ¡°Then what is it?¡± ¡°What is it?¡± ¡°Yes. What do you think I said?¡± ¡°It¡¯s uh¡­a tracker. A friend wanted me to have it.¡± ¡°So you can track them?¡± ¡°Yeah,¡± Iris said, bringing the ring to her face. The needle had not moved in years, forever pointing in the same direction like a compass that, unlike her pilot¡¯s watch, stayed true to her own selfish north. ¡°It tracks a friend of mine, or well¡­his brass knuckles. He does a lot of important things in the Vesmos Empire. Things that, you know, he¡¯d proud of, and I¡¯m proud of¡­Crestana?¡± ¡°¡­Crestana!¡± Crimson lines bled from underneath the stall, burning themselves into the ground and invading the outside world. ¡°Crestana!¡± Iris disassembled her hair and entombed her arm in purple matter. Pivoting around her hips, she obliterated the door¡¯s lock with an armoured fist. She sprinted inside and found Crestana on the floor, unconscious. Her mask had been knocked off her head. Bypassing her conscious thought, Iris¡¯s beast came to her aid, rearing its head into her palm and then forward to Crestana. Iris kneeled next to her client and heaved her onto her own lap. She searched across Crestana¡¯s body, looking for the mark, but found nothing. The beast nudged her and pointed to her right with its snout. Iris followed its glare and found Crestana¡¯s mask at the end of it, the lines stemming from it as though that were its centre. She grabbed the mask and turned it over again and again, searching it desperately as Crestana¡¯s body grew more still by the second. The magic beneath her burnt her shoes and threatened to cook her alive. Her eyes fell on the voice box, the small metal compartment at the mask''s base. She reformed her gauntlet and pried it open, bending the screws and tearing them apart. A Sigil on the inside of the lid. ¡°Go!¡± Iris commanded, no reservations of what collateral damage she might cause. The beast followed her command, snapping up the Sigil without hesitation. But the markings etching themselves into reality did not fade. Then came the gas. Chapter 20 Part 2: To Be A Witch Iris was melting. The noxious red gas ate away at her exposed skin and gnawed at it like a starving animal, jamming its teeth against hard rock. But like hard rock, Iris was inedible. Her body was Spirit mimicking human flesh. It couldn¡¯t be consumed, but that did not stop the gas from trying. Iris screamed silently as the crimson gas filled the bathroom and doused her eyes in red. A scarlet sheen, like blood had seeped over her eyes and permanently stained them. She armoured herself, locking her skin under airtight plates she squeezed together with the curling of her fingers and toes. The relief was substantial but fleeting. Her lungs struggled for air and her skin felt as though it were being torn apart by millions of fishing hooks. With all her strength, she hauled Crestana upright and over her shoulder, her knees buckling under the weight before her beast could come to her aid, propping Iris back upright with a nudge of its snout. Iris waved her hand, and the beat continued ahead of her, opening the bathroom door. Then came the screams. The grinding screeches of voice boxes straining to translate the untranslatable, pure outbursts of sincere terror. Iris trudged through it, barely recognising the untouched tables and decorative flowers, many of which hadn¡¯t survived the rushed exodus from the restaurant. Beaks navigated for the exits in a frenzied panic, tripping over themselves and each other. No humans. None at all. Iris could feel her eyes closing and her consciousness slipping while the only feeling she could discern from the sea of excruciating noise was the weight of Crestana on her shoulder, the weight of that responsibility. She marched with anvil feet, a world marred like a battlefield in mud. The screaming filtered out, and a deathly silence descended on the place. Just her breathing and the pounding in her temple, percussion that teased her death. She outstretched a hand through the pain and commanded a purple limb forward, wading through the mist for the rotating door. She heard glass smash and felt her limb impact something. Iris drove the pointed end into the ground and used it as her guide, morphing the rigid limb into malleable rope. She knew she could do more, escape quicker, but manipulating shapes needed creativity, which needed energy she could not afford to waste. Her eyes shook in their sockets. She filtered out the painful static, doing everything in her power to clear her mind. But she could see something else waiting in the light at the end of the tunnel. Is this what you want? She shook her head, desperately trying to free herself from the voice as she exited the building, only to see the outside world was no less corrupted. The crimson lines burrowed underneath the hotel walls and onto the pavement, spreading blood mist into the street. But Iris could make out an end to the red world, a patterned dome, behind which stood buildings, familiar and untainted. Is this pointless world really worth sacrificing yourself over? Iris kept her eyes on the roof of that building, her best shot at salvation in secrecy, coming out of the wreckage unscathed and anonymous. Even facing death, she thought about the consequences of being born a Witch. She cursed, despising how well she¡¯d been trained. Aren¡¯t you forgetting your father? Elliot. Iris¡¯s heart leapt into her throat as she began to search around her, knowing it was futile. Payphone, he had said. Iris had no clue where that was or if he¡¯d made it in time. Lost. Maybe dead. Her own father. The red gas began to shift, its colour deepening into an intense purple. The gas was her own, and Iris could not escape it. She choked, choked on herself as the mist forced her eyelids open to watch figures emerge from the monochrome landscape. People long dead, the same that had feasted on her flesh and lapped her blood like dogs. It was a trick, the Spirit in her taking advantage of a hopeless situation to burrow into her head and break her. What would Evalyn do? What would Elliot do? What was a Witch supposed to do? Do as she was ordered. She ordered her beast to press for the rooftops and clear a path, which it did with another mechanical snapping of the jaw, tearing a piece from the dome-like flesh from a neck. But the dome began to recover immediately, reclaiming lost space like a feverish infestation. Iris grit her teeth and strengthened her grip on Crestana with loops of binding rope. She ordered her beast back to her side, and let her armour mould and sink into its body. Haphazard at best, but so was her escape route. She needed to move, and fast. ¡°Go!¡± she shouted with all the strength left in her, and the beast diligently followed, speeding for the opening in a winding motion that drilled into a single, small point. Iris closed her eyes and prayed beyond all hope that the next breath she took would be of clear air. A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation. The next thing she felt was her side crashing down onto terracotta tiles and her lungs involuntarily gasping for air. Iris coughed and spluttered like an old car engine as her vision tripled and blurred. She heaved, relief washing over her as she felt the absence of pulling across her skin. Crestana was still within her grasp, arm''s length away and still unconscious. ¡°Are you Evalyn Hardridge?¡± an unimpressed voice mused from the periphery. ¡°Different colour from what I¡¯d heard, but the armour unmistakably matches.¡± A distorted speech, like several voice boxes out of tune, speaking all at once. Iris couldn¡¯t talk, and even if she could, it would only blow her cover. ¡°How did you do it? Placing your apprentice a stone''s throw away at all times was obviously how you got to the girl, but how did you undo my Sigils?¡± It was Caynes. Iris could not see through her compromised vision or the figure¡¯s draping hood, but it was Caynes. ¡°No human has a right to such magic. This is why you people make me sick.¡± Iris placed a shaky hand on the tiles below her and raised her head, watching as the figure walked closer to Crestana, the metal heels of their boots crunching into the snow as distant sirens began to wail. The screaming was coming back to her, a chorus that she could only hope included her father''s voice. Her father. Elliot. Where was Elliot? The figure waved a hand, and a red projection of lines scanned over the tiles towards her, like the frame of a slideshow. ¡°But I got what I wanted out of this. You were my only problem, so thank you for handing yourself in.¡± Her father. Crestana. He¡¯d take them away. She still had years with both of them. Years. Iris wanted to kill him. She raised her wrist, and jets of purple matter jutted from her body, coagulating at the figure¡¯s feet and glueing them to the rooftop. Iris felt the lines reach her body and begin to burn, but something higher than cognitive thought was manipulating her body. She kicked off the floor and out of the way as the area inside the circle disintegrated into a perfect crater. Iris raised an arm as another projected Sigil scanned towards her. The movement summoned a simple barrier, enough to avoid the spell and give leeway to lasso Crestana, bringing her behind the wall before ducking as the spell exploded on the barrier¡¯s surface. Iris swung her fist, firing a cannonball with one motion and a series of flechettes with another, covering both the figure¡¯s flanks. Both attacks were met with Sigils, one to destroy the ball, the other to block the projectiles. Two more shattered the bounds around the figure¡¯s feet as Iris swung a horizontal blade at her enemy, a cleaver metres long that the figure caught with its hand, the lines of another spell already imbued into the glove. Iris pounced forward, mindlessly looking for blood as her arms conjured four walls around her opponent, and her fingers brought them together. But a circle projected into the snow below, and the roof inside its perimeter disappeared. Iris pursued, carelessly jumping through the circular hole, and into the building¡¯s attic. She was in midair but already caught in another projected Sigil, her armour casting a shadow into the red lines behind her. The figure was at the far end of the attic already, arm outstretched. Iris swiped her right arm, and the purple matter at its fingertips raced towards the figure¡¯s hand and knocked it off course, redirecting the Sigil away from her and into the side of the attic. The Sigil activated, and the attic''s side was blown to pieces. Iris landed on the floor in one moment and cleared the distance in the next, the spikes in her armour extending into teeth that stretched until they found its target. The figure¡¯s outstretched hand was too far from his centre to be of use, but the other was poised to put a hole in Iris¡¯s side. Iris could not reach it in time; her attack had required too much commitment. Help me. Help you do what? Help me kill him. Her beast returned from thin air, jaws already poised around the figure¡¯s free arm. It clamped down just in time for the Sigil to shatter and the pair to enter a deadlock. ¡°You¡­.¡± ¡°Destroy him,¡± Iris muttered. Her beast obliged, but her opponent acted faster, drawing a Sigil across their chest that activated immediately. He disappeared in the ensuing flash of red light. Sirens and screams. Sirens and screams instead of silence. Iris¡¯s knees buckled, and she collapsed, the adrenaline trading places with pain. Her beast caught her, nestling her in its coils. ¡°Up,¡± Iris said, and her beast mindlessly followed. Iris watched its puppet strings as it floated through the attic and ascended through the hole in its ceiling. She landed on her feet, but barely, her armour and her beast disintegrating as she stumbled towards the unconscious body. The scene below them was garnering more and more attention. Nearby residents crowded the area as the police began to arrive, slowly closing off a perimeter. She needed to descend before anyone saw her, she needed to stay in cover, retain anonymity, remain¡ª ¡°Iris!¡± A familiar voice. One that made her cry. ¡°Iris!¡± ¡°Dad!¡± Iris shouted with everything left in her lungs. She couldn¡¯t see him, but she could isolate his voice from somewhere in the crowd. ¡°Dad!¡± She was so tired, her joints ached and her muscles were shredded. She stumbled towards Crestana and looked over her body. Beaks didn¡¯t breathe, telling if they were alive was harder at first glance. But Iris felt it, the small oscillation of Aether at her fingertips when she touched her skin. Crestana was alive, and Iris felt her eyes watering. ¡°Dad!¡± she called again, closing her eyes before she could cry and resting her head on Crestana¡¯s chest. She couldn¡¯t take it. Something was snapping in her and she couldn¡¯t bear it. The unresponsive body of an abused child, the cries of her own father unsure if his daughter was still alive. She held Crestana tighter, unable to stop herself from wondering how much of it had been her fault, how much destruction she could attribute to her own carelessness, her inability to hold the situation and the lives it entailed on her shoulders. She couldn¡¯t take being a Witch. And yet she was. A realisation that struck her not as some inspirational last stand but as a cold, cruel fact of life. A matter of survival, the weight on her back forced her forward, even if that March forward was nothing more than a desperate stumble. She lifted Crestana¡¯s body upright and pressed it against hers, summoning her last ounces of strength to venture to the roof¡¯s edge step by laboured step. Then, she let herself fall. She closed her eyes and felt her hair disintegrate, pooling around her body as she kept Crestana cradled in her arms. The matter materialised, and Iris felt her insides press against her back as she slowed to an almost immediate halt, free-falling the last ten centimetres as her hair retreated back to its place. They lay face to face on the snow, Crestana¡¯s mask lying in between them. Iris studied her client¡¯s blank face, taking in every detail as though there were more than just dark contours adorning it. But there wasn¡¯t. Like a veil, there was nothing but black shapes, as true to her client as she could reach. Iris outstretched a hand and touched her cold, cold face, running her fingers along it and feeling her head skip a best with every wafting pulse of Aether. Iris smiled and closed her eyes. Chapter 20 Part 3: Object of Intrigue Evalyn was there. Younger, her gorgeous red hair floating through a white void like a fleeting spark yet to grow into a flame. The red dress she wore was flamboyant; it hugged her figure and gleamed with sequins like rubies woven together. There were no markings up her arm, her skin was without scars, and her toned muscles were still hidden underneath the fa?ade of an innocent young girl. A profound sadness hid in her hazel eyes, the kind Iris had only ever seen in clients who had exhausted all their options. They held razorblades to their wrists every second of the day, their fear of death wrestling with the fear of themselves. Evalyn had seen that fear before; she knew what it felt like to hold the cold barrel of a gun to her head. Elliot was there. He was younger but not innocent. The scent of spilt Aether lingered from his jumpsuit and his jet-black hair. He was thinner, and his shoulders weren¡¯t as broad as Iris was used to. The unkempt hair fell over his face, marring his sight and his path forward to the girl in the red dress, and his body wavered, unsure of whether to turn back or leap forward. There was longing in his eyes, a want to shed his skin and become something else. He wanted to keep his jumpsuit but not the residual Aether that made it stink like death. He wanted to be a hero, not a butcher, even if it meant doing the same thing. There was hope in those sharp eyes, but that flame was wavering, like Evalyn¡¯s hair in the void. Crestana¡¯s mask. The shutters moved. It cycled through the facial expressions like a machine. Happy, sad, frustrated, angered, excited. Crestana¡¯s aura. It pulsed in different languages. It beat like the heart of a human. Happy, sad, frustrated, angered, excited. The cycling stopped, and the pulsing ceased. They deadened like death, but the fa?ade remained. Like shadows, the negative of the light, they were neutral. Unwavering. Unemotional. Inhuman. Inhuman. How Spirits should be. How Spirits ought to be. Not like her. Not like her. Abomination. Defective. Weakling. The culmination of corruption, of imbalance, of domestication. They sought balance. Those who followed its teaching, its concept, sought balance. Not out of a desire for peace but a fear of obliteration. Annihilation at the hands of redundancy. Spirits who grew redundant the more they divided. Spirits who devolved. Strayed from their original concept, their founding idea. Crestana. Who is to say that you aren¡¯t defective? Who is to say that you are a natural progression? Your people will judge you. Your people will judge you as that is their right. But they will judge the world because they are prideful and conceited. They will judge the world and find it lacking. That is not in their right, but they will do so anyway because they feel the world is wrong. You are a microcosm to them. The object of their frustration, their desire for change. But you are the object of my protection, my desire for love. Mother. My mother. Your mother. The mother who despised you. The mother who looked at you with cold eyes and a colder heart. The mother who looked down the bridge of her nose towards her pathetic, defective daughter who desperately tried to ignore her unchangeable condition, her existence as an omen to the Spirits that their time would end if change did not occur. The mother who left you a message. The mother who warned you about who was behind what was to come. The mother who hung herself in protest, out of guilt. A clumsy, desperate, misguided effort to atone for her sins that resulted in nothing more than an ultimate escape. A flawed mother. A deeply flawed mother. Not like mine. My mother is perfect. My mother is strong; my mother loves me. The sadness in her eyes isn¡¯t real, and the fear she held is long gone. She wasn¡¯t perfect before, but she is now. She made herself perfect, and now she has to reap the consequences. I have to reap the consequences. I have to live in this world. I have to clean up your mess. I have to follow the foolish desires of the prideful and the greedy, or else they will maim me, kill me, target me as their common enemy. I can only bring peace by turning on them all. I can only bring peace by killing them all, destroying the world, giving it another chance to make things right. They think they can do it, but I know I can. You know it too, don¡¯t you Iris? You know you can. You know you want to. You know you should. A cold, damp sensation jumpstarted her brain and shocked her out of her dream. Inside light. At such a time of year, it wasn''t much darker than the outdoors but much warmer than sunlight filtered through an overcast sky. She blinked the sheen of sleep out of her eyes, and Crestana came into focus. Like a mother caring for a child, she was leaning over her, tending to Iris with a cold towel and wiping away the sweat on her face. Her shutters widened when she noticed Iris stir. ¡°Mr Maxwell, she¡¯s awake,¡± Crestana alerted, her tone rather polite. ¡°Is she?¡± Elliot¡¯s voice said from somewhere in the room. It was the safe house, her supposed home she¡¯d only seen the inside of twice. The first time to stow away Alis, and the second to procure a lamp for her desk in Evalyn¡¯s office. Elliot walked over and sat down next to Crestana, a broad smile stretching across his face as he put a palm on Iris¡¯s forehead. ¡°How you feeling?¡± ¡°Dazed,¡± Iris answered. ¡°What happened.¡± ¡°One of the dome incidents happened while we were in the bathroom. Do you remember? Somehow, we got out safe, and Mr Maxwell found us unconscious.¡± Iris glanced at Elliot, who grinned and raised his eyebrows before getting up. ¡°I don¡¯t know how, but you didn¡¯t¡­you didn¡¯t disappear.¡± Iris noticed Crestana¡¯s grip on her hand. It tightened the more she talked, the more she thought about it. Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original. ¡°You didn¡¯t disappear because of me. Thank goodness. Thank goodness.¡± Her shoulders began to curl into themselves again, and Iris watched the girl lose herself to guilt and incompetence. Neither was true, both were lies no different from self-flagellation. Iris embraced her tightly. Even she was surprised, but something else in Iris seemed to deem it the correct course of action, and she was too slow to retaliate. Not that she wanted to. The moment she took Crestana in her arms, Iris understood why she had done so in the first place. ¡°I¡¯m glad you¡¯re safe,¡± Iris whispered, but her sentiment was met with silence. She felt Crestana stir through the creaking of her mask, the movement of her body, the change in her Aether. ¡°How can you care about me?¡± Her client wrapped her arms around Iris¡¯s waist, holding her tighter as she dug her mask into her shoulder. ¡°You almost died, your dad almost died, but you still care about me.¡± Iris kept her grip on her client¡¯s shoulders. The desperate cries of confusion hurt to hear; they begged for an answer Iris did not have yet. Crestana was her client; until recently, she thought that would be reason enough for her, reason enough for her to put herself through hell and protect someone who couldn¡¯t protect themselves. ¡°I¡¯m just glad¡­okay?¡± Iris pulled away, holding onto Crestana¡¯s shoulders as she did so. She gave her client one more look before turning to her father, sitting at the dining table and spreading butter over a piece of toast. She shifted her legs from the couch to the ground, only realising the severity of her condition once she tried to stand. Crestana caught her, and she found her footing. Together, they stumbled to the table, where Iris took a seat beside Elliot. He handed her food, and she gave him another hug. ¡°We¡¯ve been doing this too often,¡± he said. ¡°What?¡± ¡°Meaningful hugs after thrilling escapades.¡± ¡°I think they¡¯re nice,¡± Iris argued, squeezing him. ¡°The hugs, yes. The escapades, not so much.¡± He leaned in and whispered. ¡°You¡¯re going to tell me everything later. But for now, I¡¯m proud of you.¡± He rubbed her shoulder and kissed her forehead, holding her closer than she had ever felt before. Iris wanted to take the compliment as it was, but pride wasn¡¯t an emotion she could share with him. Proud, as if it was a performance. Iris had only seen it as a desperate struggle she barely escaped with her life. They stayed like that for a moment, the feeling of his warm embrace too engrossing for her to notice Crestana looking on in abject silence. Iris said something strange. ¡°Do you want to join us?¡± Crestana snapped out of her trance, startled. ¡°Excuse me?¡± ¡°Yeah,¡± Elliot whispered. ¡°I¡¯m a weird old man.¡± ¡°Shut up Dad,¡± Iris hissed back, elbowing him. Iris watched as Crestana broadened her shoulders, puffed her chest, and gripped her towel tightly. ¡°Yes. Yes, I would.¡± Evalyn¡¯s feet wouldn¡¯t stop tapping. Aeroplanes were not her strong suit, but her worry for Iris made her ill to her very core. Her body couldn¡¯t even vocalise its discomfort, and she¡¯d been suffering in silence next to Colte for the past hour. The man flew, too much, perhaps. He¡¯d made his cramped seat home with no qualms whatsoever and had already begun working through a late breakfast. Evalyn, on the other hand, couldn¡¯t even think about food. If the sickness wasn¡¯t enough, her thoughts were clouded with that of her daughter. There were no phones on aeroplanes; she¡¯d have to go without a status report until she landed on solid ground. ¡°Evalyn,¡± Colte said. ¡°What?¡± Evalyn asked, turning towards him. His face was serious, eyebrows downturned with a solemn expression. It looked as though he was working through his thoughts just as much as he was his food. ¡°Evalyn, I¡¯ve realised something. Well, no. I had this feeling from a long time ago, but I¡¯ve written it off until now.¡± ¡°What is it?¡± He put his bagel back into its paper bag and turned to her. ¡°I think I know the motive.¡± ¡°What?¡± Evalyn asked, perking up in her seat. ¡°What is it?¡± ¡°I think it has something to do with the cult.¡± ¡°The cult? So you think that Caynes is doing this for some agenda?¡± ¡°No, no. I don¡¯t know why exactly Caynes is doing this¡­sorry motive wasn¡¯t the right word. I¡¯m just¡­I think the family is in on it.¡± Evalyn crossed her eyebrows. ¡°Excuse me? They¡¯re sabotaging their own factories?¡± ¡°It¡¯s a thought! It¡¯s a thought, but I can¡¯t get it out of my head. I don¡¯t know why, but it¡¯s a Spirit-supremacist cult worshipping this big Spirit and using the factories of a prominent member as part of some sort of ritualistic sacrifice of humans. Does that not make sense? Does that not sound like this family is using their resources for some sort of purpose?¡± The international acquisitions of the Mallorine family were recent, recent enough that numerous police forces had cited its rapid ingress into rival business territories as the most likely motive. ¡°It would explain why the mother took her own life. I mean, their own family, their own cult was putting her daughter in danger. She must¡¯ve found out what they were planning before she died. That¡¯s why she hid that warning.¡± And her lover¡¯s suicide. Seeing the state Crestana was in might¡¯ve driven him to suicide. Plenty of people used death to escape from debts; it wasn¡¯t a far leap to assume he took the same route to escape from a murderous cult. Principals, businesses, who was to say that power didn¡¯t extend to the police? The military? Spirits in the high echelons of society that Forecer knew would intercept his plea for help even if he ran to the highest authority in the land. ¡°I know I can¡¯t prove it, but everything fits,¡± Colte sighed, rubbing his temple. ¡°It fits too well. Gods that poor girl.¡± Evalyn closed her eyes and leaned back in her chair, the sickness in her growing by the second. ¡°Can this plane go any faster?¡± In the few hours Iris had spent unconscious, the city had changed. What Iris thought would be a simple commute to Crestana¡¯s aunt¡¯s residence had become a maze of security detail. Word had travelled the lines, from Elliot to Elvera to the metropolitan police. As Iris and Crestana were ushered into the back of the police car, Iris watched as Elliot talked to a police officer, an Inspector by the rank on his epaulettes. Evalyn had made Iris memorise each rank, to determine who she could safely talk down to and who she was to avoid. A brief conversation passed, and Elliot jogged over the sidewalk to them, leaning into the doorframe. ¡°It doesn¡¯t look like I can come with you.¡± ¡°What? Why not?¡± Iris asked in stark opposition. ¡°You¡¯re both in police custody right now. The only reason you¡¯re allowed to stay with Crestana is because you¡¯re her security detail. I¡¯m not.¡± ¡°Surely you can come,¡± Crestana said, ¡°you¡¯re her guardian, and there¡¯s not a chance the authorities know she¡¯s actually my security detail.¡± ¡°Security detail, servant, Iris gets put in that category as long as she¡¯s hired by your aunt. That gives her exemptions that I don¡¯t get.¡± He ruffled Iris¡¯s hair, then put a hand on Crestana¡¯s shoulder. ¡°Just remember your training, Iris. Fall back on your defences and run away if it gets too tough. I¡¯m going to do what I can from here, and I¡¯ll give you a call when I head for the Steel Whale, got it?¡± He squatted and gave them both a meaningful smile. ¡°I¡¯m sorry I¡¯m not as much help as Evalyn is, Iris. But I¡¯ll do the best I can.¡± Iris smiled and gave him another hug. ¡°Mum said that you not being needed is a good thing, because it means we aren¡¯t at war.¡± Elliot chuckled, squeezing her in return and kissing her cheek. ¡°I guess she¡¯s right.¡± ¡°You¡¯re not useless, sir,¡± Iris heard Crestana say. ¡°Iris needs you. I don¡¯t know where we¡¯d be without your support.¡± ¡°Yeah Dad,¡± Iris smiled, taking the compliment as light-hearted encouragement. But between the way that Crestana¡¯s shutters drooped and the way Elliot¡¯s smile turned solemn, Iris sensed there was something she was missing. ¡°The way you cared for Iris and me this morning¡­. Not all parents will cry for their children like that.¡± ¡°Maybe, but the good ones will always try to make sure their children are safe, even if they can¡¯t live to see it.¡± ¡°You cried, Dad?!¡± Elliot pinched Iris¡¯s cheeks and wriggled her face to and fro. ¡°I don¡¯t know where you got that idea from,¡± he grinned as he stood and closed the door shut. He stepped back, nodding to the officers before waving. The car started, and the two watched his figure grow smaller until they finally turned around the corner. The sound of turboprop engines roared high above the city, and Iris watched them pass through the window of the car. The city had changed, and what was once a simple commute across the district was interrupted by an emergency crossing. A temporary roadblock made of iron bars and enforced by traffic control. Flashing lights warned commuters to pump the brakes and a deep rumbling of the concrete warned them as to why. Crestana leaned over Iris to look out her window as two units of Higher Order Armour came marching down the street before them, their chassis painted blue and white, adorned with the mark of the Metropolitan police. Hand-me-downs from the military, but no less terrifying. Diesel machines that had once terrorised the city returned as their protectors, but the way their march shook Iris to her core still triggered some sublime, innate fear inside her. The way their limbs were uncannily human, the way their overbearing stance supplanted humans as the top of the food chain. But more than that, they were harbingers, like the tremors before an earthquake, the gust before a storm. The units passed, the barrier rose, and Iris was left with a sickening pit in her stomach. The empty, pristine ruins surrounding the Rhelik had guaranteed the city another scar, one that Caynes had yet to finish carving. Chapter 20 Part 4: Tetrica His hand was still trembling as he let go of the door handle. Once again encased in his apartment like a hermit¡¯s shell, the windows closed, relegating the outside to an incoherent murmur like concert-goers before the curtains rose. The curtains were about to rise, but Caynes had lost his footing at the last moment. Death. No, something more final than death. A return to nothing: that was what awaited him on the ends of those sharp, sharp purple teeth. It had sunk its jaws into his magic, but any further, and he would have never existed at all. Never mind a fake identity; he would have disappeared in the truest sense of the word. Destruction. Utter annihilation only a god could be capable of. Or a Spirit imitating God. He undid his black robe and let it haphazardly fall to the floor as he traversed his sun-kissed apartment, its insides immaculately furnished to suit his needs as the individual named Caynes. Albeit none was of his own design, but of his benefactor. By the kitchen counter was a stout black telephone, one with Aether lines connecting directly to no more than three numbers. He dialled one with a single rotation and waited patiently for the receiver to return his call. He was a Spirit of Records, having to double-check his knowledge was something that went against his very being, but that only spoke to the direness of his theory. ¡°Hello,¡± Provenance¡¯s soft, rolling voice said through the phone¡¯s distortion. ¡°Who is this.¡± ¡°Caynes.¡± ¡°Ah, yes. Your performance in Excala. It reached my ears before the news¡¯s. Is that what you wanted to talk about?¡± ¡°No. Well, it is close. I need you to confirm with me the Spirit the Wishbearer is infused with once again.¡± Provenance¡¯s confusion vibrated through the wire. ¡°Come again, old friend? I thought it very obvious.¡± ¡°Please, Provenance.¡± ¡°¡­the Wishbearer is infused with Darminjung, the Spirit of Wishes and Desire. Her power is a manifestation of her wish. Why?¡± ¡°It¡¯s¡­no reason,¡± Caynes lied. The purple armour. That was not Evalyn Hardridge. The answer seemed obvious but wildly unreasonable. Or perhaps it was. Perhaps he was the unreasonable one. ¡°I need to ask you one more thing, Provenance.¡± ¡°Many questions for a Spirit of Records. What is it?¡± ¡°The text you stole from my peoples¡¯ Crystalline Library, whatever you call it now.¡± ¡°The Tetrica Resonances. That is their name.¡± ¡°Spirits of Records don¡¯t need to give their texts names. Anyway, the first resonances, do you remember them?¡± ¡°Would you like me to recite them?¡± The Resonances, passages of text written by his ancestors, and long since locked away deep in his peoples¡¯ library. The texts he had glanced at once and never understood. Even after being stolen, even after meeting Provenance and having them explained, the texts had never unravelled themselves to him. Unclear stories and warnings pointing to the world at large being flawed, that its very existence was in jeopardy, and only some once great messiah could ever hope to save it. ¡°Yes. Recite them.¡± ¡°Okay. If you wish. The world was made. Aether swirled amongst the physical plane as both were moulded and forced through ice and fire. Stars took shape, constellations came to rest, and the world began to form. Two wisps of Aether granted the gift of consciousness, observed the cycle of creation and destruction, and copied it. One took up the mantle of creation, forging, moulding, and the other took up the mantle of destruction, obliterating, shattering. ¡°They played for eternities, watching as the world grew from nothing to something. As trees sprouted and grass grew, animals began to roam the Earth, while the powerful ancient Spirits observed and copied the symptom phenomena of the cycle itself. ¡°But destruction grew to see the world for what it was. A world without order, without compassion or justice, one where living constituted killing, taking, maiming, and fighting. No hatred or love, only a repulsive need to live. Destruction looked at creation and grew mad, for if they were equal in their game, the world would have stayed stagnant, yet it had grown corrupted, evil, irredeemable. ¡°Creation insisted the world did not deserve to be destroyed, and for the love of its friend, destruction decided to curate the world, play God and judge right and wrong. But as the world was corruptible, so was destruction.¡± ¡°Stop,¡± Caynes said. ¡°That¡¯s all I need to hear.¡± ¡°But that was only the beginning.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t need more of your bedtime stories, Provenance. They aren¡¯t going to solve anything.¡± ¡°Then why did you ask for them, old friend?¡± A buzz in the wire leapt to his fingertips and arrested him. All his mind could muster from his body was a twitch in his finger. His joints weren¡¯t disobeying him; they were just as helpless and confused as he was. ¡°Are you realising that what¡¯s written in the Resonances aren¡¯t as¡­unreasonable as you insisted they were?¡± Caynes tried to hang up the phone, but he couldn¡¯t even strain his voice, let alone his muscles. ¡°Your desire to change the world for the better is a testament to their warnings. The only difference is that your methods fell short of the root cause. You are not remedying a problem, but a symptom.¡± The seed had been planted the moment those jaws destroyed his magic. Provenance could smell it; he could nurture the doubt. ¡°Is there anything you wanted to tell me?¡± The scream building inside Caynes''s head burst out of his voice box, and he slammed the receiver back into place, almost smashing apart the phone. He had stumbled before the curtains rose. It was up to his recovery. You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story. Another batch of police were waiting for their arrival at Crestana¡¯s aunt¡¯s residence. A ¡®small¡¯ mansion, by Iris¡¯s estimates. Uniformed officers formed a loose perimeter around the entire block, and in addition to the first Higher Order unit station at one end of the street, Iris could see the tip of another gargantuan bayonet rounding the corner at the far end. ¡°Are you sure this is the right place?¡± Iris whispered, recalling Crestana mentioning her aunt¡¯s desire to marry out of wealth. Perhaps it was a matter of status rather than the treasure in one¡¯s vault. ¡°Why wouldn¡¯t it be?¡± Crestana asked. ¡°Look, there she is now.¡± A woman waddled down the paved stone pathway bridging the immaculately levelled lawn, looking as though running any faster would see her heels snap. An officer opened their door, and Iris exited first, giving a hand to Crestana while she scanned the street. A habit, but not an unwelcome one. It never hurt to check both ways and scrutinise the apartment windows from across the road. Janice Mallorine brushed past Iris in a flurry of woven money made to look like clothing and violently grabbed Crestana by the cheeks underneath her mask. ¡°Oh goodness, you¡¯re all right,¡± Janice panted, brushing loose strands of hair from Crestana¡¯s mask. ¡°I heard about it all. Oh, how awful.¡± She pulled Crestana into her arms, ignoring every implication her niece was uncomfortable for the sake of fulfilling her own turbulent emotions. Caring had a way of bottling up feelings. Showing one cared was a release of such emotion. Beaks felt emotion. Beaks were allowed to feel emotion. Her own family, however removed from the Mallorine way of life, so readily showed it when times were tough. The small skip in Crestana¡¯s Aether told Iris that perhaps her client was coming to terms with that fact. Slowly. Iris grinned, finding it ironic how easily she could read Crestana¡¯s feelings. Even without her Aether, the way her arms awkwardly snaked around her aunt¡¯s waist was evidence enough. ¡°Inside,¡± whispered the officer who had opened the car door, and the small, happy moment was put on hold. Janice turned to Iris, the shutters angling in such a way they practically spelt the word ¡®sincerity¡¯. ¡°Thank you,¡± Janice said, and Iris smiled, wishing that a thank you could make everything worthwhile. With Iris trailing close behind, the three quickly travelled over the stone pathway that kept them half an inch above the snow cover. The second mansion she¡¯d visited that day, and perhaps the noon sun had blessed Janice Mallorine¡¯s home in a more welcoming light, but Iris felt none of the same dread as she had when visiting Crestana¡¯s home. She still could not discern if her body and mind¡¯s feverish rejection of the place was born from paranoia or not, but that phenomenon was no longer sinking its claws into her. Not yet anyway. A final pair of officers manned the main entrance. No ornate door knocker stood to intimidate her, only a brass handle. ¡°Don¡¯t bother with your shoes unless you prefer to take them off,¡± Janice clarified as she closed the door behind them and started down the hallway¡¯s vivid red carpet. The two girls followed, Crestana as though it were nothing remarkable and Iris as though she were rudely speeding through a fine arts exhibition without reading the blurbs under the paintings. Not that there were any. ¡°How are you feeling, Crestana? What happened after today?¡± ¡°Iris''s father took us to their home, and I cared for her. She was worse off than I was.¡± ¡°Oh dear,¡± Janice said. ¡°Are you all right now?¡± ¡°Yes,¡± Iris stated, small talk still totally alien to her. ¡°That¡¯s good. There is a lunch spread on the table if you¡¯d like and a¡­Crestana? What¡¯s wrong?¡± Crestana has frozen still in the centre of the hallway, her body seizing like a deer in headlights. ¡°Crestana?¡± Iris asked, drawing nearer as the girl took a step back from the open door to her left. ¡°Not here.¡± ¡°What?¡± Janice asked again. ¡°Is there something wrong with the prayer room?¡± ¡°Prayer room?¡± Iris asked, rounding the corner. ¡°Yes. I¡¯m not as involved as my brother, but we were both raised in the temple. I keep a room in the house for the material aspects that come with it.¡± Janice flicked the light switch by the doorframe, and a lightbulb buzzed above their heads. The marking carved into the wood of the ritual cabinet struck Iris before anything else. In between the ornate statues akin to Crestana¡¯s door knocker, the fern pots littering the inside of the wood, and the candles set along its base was a painfully familiar engraving. Another Sigil. ¡°The marking in the middle. Why is that there? Why is that there?!¡± Iris stormed forward and placed a hand on the Sigil. Instead of her hair, she disassembled the excess on her fingernails and felt the small beast protrude from her palm. ¡°It¡¯s a symbol of our temple! That¡¯s all! It¡¯s in every ritual cabinet in Excala!¡± ¡°Since when? I don¡¯t remember!¡± ¡°Since your father recommended it to me a month ago!¡± She let her beast¡¯s teeth search for the marking¡¯s magic. It found a trace, one that Iris could barely feel, and tore it to shreds. Done it''s job, it retreated, and Iris turned around. ¡°Maybe Mr Mallorine was tricked. Maybe he was convinced that these were a real symbol.¡± ¡°Tricked?¡± Janice questioned. ¡°My brother is the authority of the whole city! If someone was trying to fool him into putting¡­false markings into our cabinets, he¡¯d be the first to realise!¡± Iris¡¯s heart sank, the statement unknowingly implicating the final suspect. She''d thought about it all wrong. Crestana had worked it out too. ¡°Then that would mean Mr Mallorine is complicit¡­no. He¡¯s working with Caynes.¡± ¡°Why?¡± Crestana whispered. ¡°Everyone¡­one after another¡­.¡± ¡°What on earth is going on?!¡± Janice cried. ¡°Ma¡¯am,¡± Iris started, adrenaline taking over her mind. ¡°These Sigils are what cause the dome incidents. There''s no magic in this one, but anyone who¡¯s with the Temple, their house isn¡¯t safe.¡± The shock filtered into panic through Janice¡¯s mask as she grabbed on Crestana¡¯s shoulders. ¡°What should we do?¡± ¡°Leave,¡± Iris said. ¡°Leave now before something happens.¡± Janice nodded, slowly at first, but her mind began to catch up to her body. ¡°Let¡¯s go,¡± she said, ushering Crestana back down the hall. ¡°No!¡± Crestana protested. ¡°What about you? Why does it look like you¡¯re staying behind?¡± ¡°Until you¡¯re gone, I need to make sure you¡¯re safe¡­¡± ¡°Stop it! You¡¯re not some superhuman! I¡¯m not leaving without you.¡± Iris smiled. ¡°I¡¯ll be all right.¡± Crestana''s shoulders were shaking. "How do you know that doesn''t have magic in it?" Red lines. Like a projector. They flashed across Janice¡¯s body the instant she dropped to the floor. Crestana screamed, then screamed again when she turned her attention down the hallway. Iris rushed outside, skidding on the red carpet and putting her own body between her client and the threat. The black-cloaked figure stood at the end of the red carpet, a mark of evil framed against the pure white walls. ¡°Caynes,¡± Iris whispered. ¡°Caynes!¡± Crestana screamed. ¡°Caynes, you wretched monster!¡± Crestana bellowed, her voice box straining as her anger oozed infectiously. ¡°How could you! You used my family! You ruined my life! You were even kind to me!¡± On the verge of a breakdown, her mind had found a deadly catharsis. Months of a ruined life, like a pipe bursting from too much pressure too fast. It wasn¡¯t just the hallway that led their eyes to him, Caynes was all she could see. Caynes was her life whether she liked it or not. Caynes had played God of her world. And she wanted to slay God. ¡°What was this for? What was this all for?!¡± Caynes stayed silent. ¡°Answer me!¡± Crestana sidestepped Iris¡¯s barrier, pushing past and blindly rushing forward. ¡°No!¡± A Sigil formed along the carpet and ran up the walls, encapsulating Crestana in its perimeter. In the next instant, Crestana was in Caynes¡¯s arms, an arm around her neck, the other holding her unresponsive mask. ¡°Let her go!¡± Iris shouted, her hair disintegrating into a jet stream of purple liquid headed directly down the hallway. A Sigil blocked it, severing the hallway in two while Caynes held another small circle to Crestana¡¯s temple, making sure it was visible. ¡°So it was you,¡± Caynes said, no longer bothering with the distorted voice. ¡°The Witch who survived this morning¡¯s performance.¡± Iris caught Crestana¡¯s face one final time. Shock, but no shutters to show it. The next moment, they were gone. Iris was left with her breathing, the shock paralysing her while the ringing in her ears refused to leave her in silence. She clocked her heartbeat and finally realised how fast she was breathing. Iris looked around, gathering her bearings, and found Janice, still lying on the floor. ¡°Ma¡¯am?¡± Iris cried, running over and crouching, putting a hand on her back. Still, the pulse of Aether was still alive. Weak¡­too weak. ¡°Help!¡± Iris screamed at the top of her lungs, looping her arms under Janice¡¯s arms. ¡°Help!¡± The main doors swung open, and the two officers stationed by them stormed inside. ¡°What happened?¡± one asked as they took hold of Janice. ¡°Ambulance,¡± Iris said as she pressed on down the hallway, a senseless urgency once again piloting her brain in her stead. She exited the building and continued forward, picking up speed as she travelled the stone pathway, breaking into a sprint. ¡°The Excalan Academy¡¯s under attack!¡± she overheard an officer shout as police radios blared inside their vehicles. The Academy. His centrepiece. Chapter 21 Part 1: Rude Awakening The air was alive. As Iris sped across the rooftop encased in armour, the Aether in the air seemed to seep through the cracks in her plating and suffocate her. She watched from her vantage point as red dome after red dome rose from the streets and towered over the skyline; there was no more question to whose houses facilitated their Sigils. Higher Order units awoke from their slumber, the whirring of their engines just enough to overpower the Aether clogging her ear canals. Canon fire began in small bursts like fireworks across the city as Iris drew nearer to the Academy on her horizon, itself already encased in a dome. The clouds had darkened, and snow had begun to fall, but when Iris looked upward, glowing lights caught her attention instead. The lanterns above the city never glowed until after sunset, and the hundreds lighting the sky seemed to pulse outward, like small parts of a bigger organism. The small parts were people; oblong and unclear until she stopped to squint, but there were four limbs, lifeless and hanging from the torso like a dead puppet. The missing humans. Iris did not want to jump to conclusions. In such a case, she wanted to do anything but. But she knew there was no way she was mistaken. The domes were converging, the cult was about to welcome their deity, and Caynes was about to take his final bow. She started again, not wanting to test how close he was to succeeding. The air was thick. Every Beak Evalyn had passed in the airport terminal had mentioned it through hushed whispers and uneasy muttering, and she suspected there was a truth to the shared instinctual feeling. Despite her queasiness passing, Evalyn could sense a tingle in the air: the sort that made her want to itch her skin incessantly. With Colte waiting beside her, she dialled the final numbers into the pay phone and waited for the operator to answer. But the line was silent, ring after ring. She put the receiver down and tried again, but the same numbers garnered the same result. Silence. ¡°The operators aren¡¯t picking up,¡± Evalyn said. ¡°What¡¯s going on?¡± ¡°What? I wouldn¡¯t know I landed with you,¡± Colte replied, opening his suitcase. ¡°Something¡¯s happened in the city then.¡± Colte undid the protective bundle of clothing around his Aether-Line telephone and turned it over, undoing the bottom and fiddling with the electronics. ¡°Your calls go to your official address, right?¡± ¡°Yeah. They¡¯re rerouted down an Aether line afterwards.¡± ¡°What¡¯s the phone number for that line?¡± ¡°Zero seven four two, five five six nine three eight.¡± Colte finished punching the numbers into the telephone¡¯s face, and the tone began to ring through the receiver. Evalyn waited, crouched beside Colte as something rustled on the other side of the line. ¡°Who¡¯s this?¡± Elliot¡¯s voice said, although heavily distorted. ¡°Elliot, it¡¯s Colte. We¡¯ve landed, but the operators aren''t picking up. What¡¯s going on?¡± ¡°Colte? Thank god.¡± ¡°Thank god what? What¡¯s going on?¡± ¡°Domes are springing up all over the city. It¡¯s under attack.¡± Evalyn grabbed the receiver off Colte and pressed her face against it. ¡°Where¡¯s Iris?¡± ¡°She was with Crestana and her aunt. Went by police escort to their house, but something has to have happened.¡± The fear in her gut welled up to her throat as Elliot admitted he had no clue what had happened to their daughter. ¡°Something?¡± she cried. ¡°Elliot, she walked into a trap! The family¡¯s in on this whole damn mess! I have to find her before¡ª¡± ¡°Evalyn, the city needs you right now more than she does.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t care, I¡¯m going to find her.¡± ¡°There won¡¯t be a city left to search by the time you do,¡± Elliot said, his tone deathly cold in an attempt to keep his mind off reality and on the task at hand. He was a soldier, something Evalyn would never manage. ¡°Iris is still part Spirit, she¡¯s survived those domes, and she can fight Caynes. Our little girl isn¡¯t out of the fight yet, darling. You¡¯ve trained her better than that. Right now, there¡¯s bodies floating in the sky, and if what you¡¯re saying is true and the family is in on it, then something worse is about to come.¡± ¡°What?¡± ¡°Crestana told us that the Spirit of Spirits isn¡¯t just a name, it¡¯s their deity that¡¯s promising some sort of¡­change.¡± ¡°Then Colte and I can draw it into our Mind Palace and¡ª¡± ¡°No,¡± Colte interrupted, prying the phone from Evalyn¡¯s ear and keeping it between them. ¡°If it can control Spirits in any way, then we can¡¯t risk it invading our heads.¡± ¡°I thought as much too,¡± Elliot agreed. ¡°But you¡¯ll still need to draw it away from the city. Make an ash storm over Excala, that¡¯ll at least disrupt it. Evalyn can taunt it out of the city, attack it from a distance.¡± ¡°Over the ocean, that¡¯ll be best,¡± Colte suggested. ¡°No. Draw it north, over the plains. I¡¯ll¡ª¡° The Aether line crackled and cut as sirens began to blare over the terminal intercoms, setting panic into the travellers before a voice began to speak, repeating the same message over and over. ¡°Dear passengers, a state of emergency has been declared in all districts of Excala City. For your safety, the airport has now entered lockdown. Please remain calm and do not move from where you are. I repeat¡ª¡± Colte threw down the telephone and stood. ¡°We need to go. Now.¡± Iris leapt from the roof of the nearest building, feet first towards the dome¡¯s tattooed red membrane. With one hand, she guided her Spirit into the dome first, clenching her fist as it clenched its teeth. She slowed her descent with the other, conjuring a liquid cone that rushed to her feet. She landed, immediately feeling the fishhooks in her skin as she had before. This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere. Worse now, as though they were dipping in and out, threading string through it. She choked on her pain and clamped her jaw down on a makeshift mouthguard, but it wasn¡¯t enough. All she could see of the school were its gates, the statues flanking it observed patiently, waiting to see if she had learnt anything during her time there. She looked at her hand, her near loss of consciousness blurring the line between her armour and its surroundings. The purple was bleeding from the contours of her plating. Not purple; not quite. Purple gas. A layer was seeping from her armour, mingling with the gas around her before disappearing entirely in the overwhelming red. As she focused on the phenomenon, it allowed her to focus on the sensation, or lack thereof. Up her arms, down her legs, on her cheeks, the stinging had subsided like she had gained immunity. In her delirious, pain-inhibited visions, the red gas had once turned purple, but her mind¡¯s coopting of the gas and its pain had been far less metaphorical than she had initially thought. It was trying to tell her something. In between mind-numbing textbook monologues that entered through one ear and left through the other, her science class had taught nuggets of information that had stuck. Mixtures and solutions: mixtures were crude fusions of different materials capable of being physically separated. But there were no gas mixtures, only solutions. Because gases always mixed. Whatever bonded with the red gas, she could control. Iris exhaled and let go of her body. The purple in her hair, her nails and her armour began to jitter as she relinquished more and more control until, like popcorn, they burst free from her shackles. She caught it, never letting go of the plume¡¯s edges and remaining wary of how far it travelled up her nose. Short inhales, long exhales. She kept a boundary between her and the gas, like a rowdy dog in need of discipline. Swaying her arms through the air, she fanned the growing plume around herself and further forward, ventilating the contaminated gas outward before recalling it to her body. Like riding a bicycle for the first time, it was easier said than done. Half the work was subconscious, so Iris could focus on pressing forward. The grounds were quiet. The further she ventured, the more she found it strange. There were no humans, but no Beaks either. Little commotion besides the blaring lockdown alarms resonating like a siren¡¯s call through the fog. Nothing suggested Caynes ever strayed from his method of operation, but the fact Iris was still standing meant that the gas still preserved Spirit life, else she would have disappeared immediately. The answer was something else. There was no clear place to start, but if the sirens were sounding, lockdown procedures had begun. Every court¡¯s process was the same: gather in the court hall and lock the doors. With no pain inhibiting her thought process, she gathered purple matter under her feet and materialised it quickly enough to launch her into the air. A pair of lassos took her the rest of the way, stabbing through the crimson-stained snow cover and anchoring themselves into the roof. She cleared the first hurdle and plummeted towards the courtyard, catching herself with another liquid cone and sticking a landing she took no time savouring. She ran for Gewen¡¯s court hall, recalling where it stood from one of her many lunchtime wanders. Two great doors loomed out of the suffocating red gas; the gaps between the wood and the stone doorframe offered no resolute protection from the gas, and a lack of windows left Iris wondering if her hope had been misguided after all. An entire school of children. An iron lock, a latch and a barricade stood in her way; she could surmise that from a previous examination of each hall¡¯s doors. Lock picking was a luxury; she¡¯d bust through instead. Like the sling of a catapult, she winded her arm backwards, the spikes along her gauntlet morphing into a battering ram. ¡°I wouldn¡¯t try that, Iris,¡± a voice advised her. Without thinking, she threw the fist to her right, launching the battering ram aimed squarely at Caynes¡¯s chest. As much as she could hope, the attack never landed, disintegrating at the mercy of another Sigil before returning to her armour. ¡°They¡¯re safe for now. More use to me as ransom.¡± ¡°Ransom?¡± ¡°Pays to have people on your side in a situation like this.¡± Iris scowled under her mask, the subconscious call to arms her beast was waiting for. Being selfish. Good guy, bad guy. It was right; she was wrong. The things she had first promised her beast had crumbled with each passing day she spent with Crestana, each time Crestana had asked her what exactly she fought for. Right and wrong. The FSA, S.H.I.A., and even Wesper had convinced her that right and wrong only existed in her own head, and the right and wrong in her own head was all that mattered. Evalyn had told her that it was an unshakable fact of life, Wesper had suggested an alternative world. But in that moment, all Iris saw was rage. Good or bad, she didn¡¯t care. Selfless or selfish, there was only one reality that mattered to her at that moment. ¡°Kill him,¡± she muttered. Her beast lunged at her command, gnashing its teeth as it aimed for Caynes¡¯s torso. Just barely dodging the attack with a barrier Sigil and well-timed movement, Iris caught him by the ankle instead, wrapping an intestine-like rope up his leg before stepping forward and swinging her arm, flinging across the courtyard and into the far inner wall. A Sigil flashed across the building before a circular opening sliced itself into the brickwork, saving Caynes from the impact. Iris started on a pursuit, but a strong pulse made her stumble as though she¡¯d been winded. She doubled over, struggling to maintain her breath as the gas around her grew stronger, both the red and the purple. She felt sick, and her fingers jittered uncontrollably. Aether influx, a level she¡¯d never felt before. It was too late to stop whatever was happening above the city. All she could do was go after Caynes. A shockwave of Aether erupted the city, taking even Evalyn by surprise. Even with the little Aether she could sense, the surge had stopped her dead in her tracks and had her gasping for hair. ¡°Your tattoos,¡± Colte said, pointing at a golden glow peeking from her sleeve. ¡°They''re reacting to something." Evalyn looked up towards the main street. Of the fleeing crowd running away from the converging golden lights, half had keeled over, clutching themselves and spasming in pain. Beaks, any Spirit for that matter was reacting in some way or form. And there was something in the sky, appearing in the few moments her eyes had gone askew. Like the moon had descended from the heavens and chosen a new resting place above the city. An orb cast a shadow across Excala; its pearly-pale turquoise veneer arrogantly challenged the sun for its place. Two rings, circular scrawls of Sigil markings wrapped themselves around it crosswise as lines began to spread across its surface like incisions made under the guise of a surgeon. The skin split and bloomed, unfurling from its shape with all of the life of reanimated flesh. The six separate wings unfurled like ancient ferns; almost looking divine amongst the snow. Another incision across the shape¡¯s centre and the white flesh peeled backwards, behind it a world in inverse. Like the mirage of an oasis, there existed another Earth through the white gates of the Spirit of Spirits; one more rich with Aether and dense with Spirits. One utterly hostile to human life. The Beaks around them that had felt the surge of Aether the hardest began to dissolve into the ground, their bodies morphing into their own shadows and leaving their masks behind. ¡°What¡¯s going on?¡± Evalyn muttered. ¡°They¡¯re Beaks, that¡¯s how they were before they settled with humans,¡± Colte answered as he pulled out his pipe from his coat. ¡°None of the Beaks alive nowadays even know how to do stuff like this anymore.¡± Colte wrapped his head in a layer of smoke, the two burning eyes peeking through to Evalyn. ¡°Let¡¯s get this over with.¡± He puffed his chest, ribs creaking as his lungs expanded twofold and blew a gust of air through his pipe. The ensuing ash storm was almost sudden, with the smoke billowing from his wooden pipe swirling faster and faster by the second. ¡°Go,¡± he commanded, and Evalyn nodded, armouring herself before grappling to the rooftops. She ran north, unable to tear her eyes away from the Spirit deity as the ash storm slowly descended onto the city, blackening the sky and blotching out the sun. The surging Aether did not cease, but Evalyn could only hope the Spirit of Spirits had a pride to match its size, a pride she could use to lure it into a fight. She thought of Iris and wished that the little girl could live in peace. But the world didn¡¯t work like that. It never had and never would. ¡°Act II: Character.¡± People didn¡¯t treat power with respect or decency; not her, not Iris, not the Spirit of Spirits itself. The shackles circling its body were all but proof of that. ¡°Act III: Subtext.¡± But there was a small piece of the world that would at least keep those shackles from being physical. Her home. Iris¡¯s home. That was worth everything. That was more than enough to remind her why she fought. The bow sprung from her hands, the string between the bow¡¯s ends more taut than physically possible. She rested her fingers on it, forming an arrow between where the two delicate tips met the golden fibres. ¡°Come here.¡± She pulled back and fired her arrow into the storm, Darminjung¡¯s blessing guiding her shot into the black abyss where flashes of gold fired like lightning in a storm cloud. She turned to move to her next position but found out that she couldn¡¯t. Her armour had frozen, joints locked up and forming an airtight prison. She tried to shift herself, the human part of her panicking as she assumed the worst. And the worst came. She saw herself as though looking in the mirror, but there was no human behind the eyes of her armour. The world blinked, and a gargantuan square iris stared at her. Chapter 21 Part 2: You. Know. Nothing. Iris climbed through the almost perfectly masoned opening, the dust settling on her armour as she stepped into the dead room awash with scarlet. Book pages torn from their bindings fluttered from the ceiling, and a bookcase lay broken before her, snapped down the middle and resting on more shelves of identical make. Caynes¡¯s padding, undoubtedly. An imprint remained in the shape of snapped wood, but he had already fled. ¡°What did I teach you in Aetherology, Iris? Or have you already forgotten?¡± The voice reverberated crystal clear, sounding impossibly close: in earshot but not in sight. She summoned her beast back to her side. ¡°Aetherology. I don¡¯t subscribe to those lunatics¡¯ stupid belief that making logic of magic is what weakens us Spirits, but it makes one think, doesn¡¯t it?¡± She stepped forward, looking for directionality in his voice and finding none. Bookcases broke sightlines and gave superficial cover, but the gas made the world his world¡ªthere was no point relying on anything but herself. ¡°Those who believe equality exists are either stupid or blissfully ignorant of the privilege they hold. The Spirits who say the world is balanced are the former, the humans the latter.¡± Iris continued to cycle the gas plume around herself, fanning it outwards and giving herself a wider safe area. She tried to filter out his words as she had done his lectures, but found it impossible. Perhaps it was the voice itself and not the words. Iris hoped that was the case. ¡°With every generation, we grow weaker, supplementing our own degradation by adopting human society. We water ourselves down to survive. We devolve, Iris. Each time our concepts become more defined, we lose touch with the Aether, we lose our power. Even you are relegated to a mere child.¡± Her fist tightened, and her heart lost its rhythm, disrupting the cycle of ventilating gas. ¡®Even you¡¯. ¡°What do you mean?¡± she muttered, feeling the pins return before restarting the flow. ¡°What does that mean?¡± Caynes was silent for a second too long. Her intuition told her that his words were failing him. She rounded another corner: nothing. ¡°The Temple shared my beliefs. They knew of the degradation the Spirits were suffering, and they knew of a way it would stop.¡± ¡°The Spirit of Spirits.¡± ¡°Good, Iris.¡± His voice was taking on directionality. Left, if only by a few compass bearings. ¡°They prayed and prayed, but the Spirit never answered, for it was weakened by something long forgotten, so long that the world thought Spirit de-evolution was natural. It needed Aether to strengthen; Aether it could no longer consume by itself without a conduit. Tell me Iris, you should know this. What consumes Aether but doesn¡¯t use it?¡± Iris turned her direction thirty degrees to her right. He was there, somewhere, cowering behind the librarian¡¯s desk, waiting for her to come closer. The heinous things he uttered, he did so all with the common tone of a teacher heading a class. The way he egged her on, the way he complimented her reasoning, it made her sick to her stomach. ¡°Carbon-based organisms.¡± ¡°And which one do you think checked the most boxes of efficiency, abundance and social significance?¡± The voice narrowed to a single point, unclouded despite the blood mist. ¡°Humans,¡± Iris answered. The hundreds of humans floating motionless above Excala city while the Spirit of Spirits fed on their Aether. ¡°Where¡¯s Crestana?¡± Iris demanded, shouting in Caynes¡¯s direction. ¡°What did you do with her?¡± ¡°The ritual needed a centrepiece; the Spirit of Spirits required a medium. I think it was symbolic, why the Temple chose her for the role.¡± Iris threw forward a razor-sharp edge down the direction his voice originated from, but her attack froze not a few metres from the tips of her fingers; her frozen fingers. Suspended in time; her extremities couldn¡¯t even twitch. Caynes stood up from behind cover and turned to her, no fear burdening his movements as he rounded the desk and approached one step at a time. Iris looked down, and harsh beams of light blinded her from below; a Sigil she had walked straight into. ¡°Wesper doubted you were ever the key to changing the world, I always doubted if you were ever needed in the first place. Only Provenance believed, him and the people he managed to¡­convince.¡± Caynes closed the distance between them, staring through her mask and addressing the Spirit inside her. It listened while she struggled with and strained every muscle in her body, praying to everything for one to move. Without her arms, the gas lingered, slowly diffusing into the red with each passing moment. The pain grew, and her skin prepared itself in anticipation. ¡°I¡¯ll do what you couldn¡¯t, Tetrica. We don¡¯t need you to fix the world.¡± Caynes¡¯s face dipped closer, mere inches away from hers and into the layer of gas around her. Subconscious, reactionary, running on instinct rather than conscious thought. She needed her arms to move the gas, but whether it even was gas¡­. Iris solidified the matter floating around Caynes¡¯s head, encasing it in a rock-solid cast like hard candy. Caynes reeled instantaneously, severing his concentration and with it, his connection with the spell. The author''s narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon. Iris broke free, dropping to her knees as the strain in every muscle took hold, even her heart and lungs. Her Spirit side had kept her alive like a lifeline while the Sigil had stopped them dead. Caynes knew what she was, otherwise, she would¡¯ve died only a few seconds into his speech. Another Sigil wrapped itself around Caynes¡¯s mummified head and broke him free; the blue flames erupting once again with newfound contempt. Iris took advantage of his split-second disorientation; a rough-handed swipe with her arm radiated a knife¡¯s edge forward from her body. The onslaught sliced everything in its path before reaching Caynes¡¯s hand, already encased in a Sigil itself. The knife shattered like a glass mirror, but Iris surged through the pieces and into the fray, her gauntlets already transformed into knives. Up close, she pressed her advantage, lunging at him with a flurry of fanged punches and blows, ones he managed to dance around, but only barely. He was reading her range and taking it for granted, a fatal flaw. Her next strike, she extended her claws another inch further, catching him in the side and tearing through his cloak. His body was hard; almost crystalline, but Iris had help. The armour up her arm stiffened into a lever and the joint in her left shoulder moved with a mind of its own, putting behind her slice the uncompromising force of a machine. Caynes stumbled backwards, his voice box vocalising an agonising cry before falling from his face. ¡°If you know who I am then you should give up trying to fight me,¡± Iris said, putting on a brave face and bringing her beast to her side. Pieces fell from Caynes¡¯s shirt; black ashen bone like burnt firewood splintered into dust against the hard floor. Caynes looked up, facing her; facing her Spirit, and spoke through the Aether. ¡°Give up?¡± he said, his words teetering on the edge of laughing or crying. ¡°Like you did? Like you gave up because you didn¡¯t want to hurt your friend¡¯s feelings?¡± The words struck Iris deeply, somewhere she had never even imagined existed. The place beyond the final door in her Mind Palace; somewhere not even she had managed to venture. ¡°I see now, what Provenance meant. Maybe you can burn the world." A Sigil lit up on Iris¡¯s chest, giving her little time to react, let alone retaliate. She braced herself, the action subconsciously reinforcing her armour tenfold below the Sigil. The impact of the disintegration carried weight, and she was blown backwards. Bookshelves flew past her before her beast¡ªand subsequently the wall¡ªcaught her. It softened the impact, but not enough to keep the air from escaping her lungs. Her first gasp, but already more lines painted her body and the wall behind her. Iris brought her fists up, materialising two walls between her and the Sigil¡¯s projection. She felt the blast as a hole was blown cleanly through the first wall, her cue to push the second forward directly at Caynes¡ªsomething to distract him while she ducked into cover. She leapt behind a bookcase, pressing herself against the spines of the hardcovers as she heard her second wall shatter as well. She caught the matter before it returned to her and transformed it into gas. Doubtful the trick would work a second time, she could at least use it to whittle down Caynes¡¯s working room. The bookshelf across the aisle from her burst into a flurry of paper and wood splinters; an unlucky guess, but her cover was next to go. Iris twisted her wrists together, shielding herself with a dome as the bookshelf blew apart. Residual pieces of the Sigil that shone through the cracks exploded across her barrier like firecrackers. She segmented her dome into pieces, sharpened the edges and launched them across the room, peppering the entire direction like a sawn-off shotgun. Whatever bookshelves remained standing were torn to pieces; whatever already broken was reduced to mulch. Iris stood from the carnage, assessing for noise; a rustle to suggest he was still standing. Another Sigil lit the ground beneath her feet and swept the solid ground from under her. She fell through a circular opening¡ªa repeat of her rooftop battle. She whipped a jet stream of purple that solidified upon sticking to the far wall, pulling her out of harm¡¯s way as the wall behind her disintegrated. She landed behind an array of desks, glancing at a dark figure across the room she assumed to be her enemy. A defensive barrier, two more for good measure before she unleashed a flurry of sharp edges, each turning into gas once she felt them impact with something she couldn¡¯t see. Each attack doubled as a probe, creating a game of trial and error until one of her knives or the gas cloud they produced caught onto something. And they did; something rigid and skeletal. She tightened the gas into a solid around the object and sent her beast after it. ¡°We used to have Gods.¡± The air seemed to freeze again. Iris looked around for another Sigil but couldn¡¯t find one. Even if one was stopping her movements, she could feel her beast frozen in mid-air along with her. The walls dissolved; the prison around Caynes dissolved. Iris, or at least one part of her, was listening. ¡°We used to have Gods that watched over us, now their unworthy successors don¡¯t dare leave old Spirit country. This happened while you were asleep, while you left the world to rot.¡± Iris felt a calm wash over her; her own consciousness took a step back as something else stepped forward, overriding her own thoughts and claiming¡­reclaiming her own body. ¡°You. Know. Nothing.¡± The library unravelled. Reality traded places with a fake imitation: cardboard cutouts masquerading as borders of sensation. More literal borders in a sense, for no light passed through its cracks, no sound through its wood. Simple borders, suffocating borders. Irritating carpet, sickening light, stained plaster with no human presence to justify its existence. Caynes stood in its centre; Iris was nothing but a bystander. Caynes showed more bravery than Iris did; standing his ground despite the disfigured battlefield. Advantages hadn¡¯t swapped sides; both parties were simply at the mercy of something greater. A Sigil painted Iris¡¯s body; catching her and her surroundings in one indelicate assault. He clenched his fist and Iris prepared for the worst, but what shattered instead was the Sigil itself. ¡°You. Know. Me. But. Attack. Still.¡± Iris¡¯s body took a step forward, the armour clinking like chainmail as a thousand borrowed voices spoke in unison between laboured exhales. ¡°Imbecile.¡± Thin twine stretched from the tips of her fingers, elbows and knees. Tens of delicate strings with no obvious puppeteer put in question her Spirit¡¯s autonomy. But what controlled an absolute power, Iris couldn''t fathom. Another Sigil flashed across her face, Caynes taking another split-second to zero in on her head, but her gauntlet grabbed it¡ªthe entity that was still only light¡ªand tore it from her face. He lit one underneath him, hoping to escape through the floor, but the hollow plywood proved tougher than steel. Not even a scratch as though clawing it with his bare hands was a better option. ¡°They. Told. You. No?¡± Iris felt the all too familiar terror set into her system as the pit in her stomach rose and sunk at the same time. ¡°Symptom. Not. Cause.¡± The weight of her armour¡¯s footsteps toppled Caynes¡¯s stature and shattered his assuredness in his existence. She could watch him, manufactured and genuine terror tearing him to his core piece by piece. ¡°You. Haven¡¯t. Suffered. Ideas. Idealist. Imbecile.¡± ¡°Suffered?¡± Caynes choked. ¡°I¡¯ve seen the world, I¡¯ve scoured our knowledge, I¡ª¡± ¡°Your. Kind. Scholars. Nothing. Else.¡± Iris¡¯s feet stopped. ¡°Books. Wrong. Books. Lie. World. Does. Not.¡± Caynes dryly chuckled. ¡°If books lie, then how do I know what you are? And if the world doesn¡¯t¡­what say you of our chances, Spirit of Destruction?¡± Iris closed her eyes as hard as she could as the beast surged past her and took Caynes by the leg, sinking its jaws into him. She opened her eyes, and he was gone. Chapter 21 Part 3: Defense of the Realm The void iris of a deity observed her; no curiosity, intrigue, fear or adoration. The eye was simply an eye, a makeshift sensory organ that retreated as fast as it appeared, once again swallowed whole by the fathomless pit of repeating worlds. Evalyn made her stand, for that was all she could do. She rapid-fired several arrows into the abyss, each more potent than the last, and watched them erupt in the illusionary distance. Great, blinding flashes of gold streaked across her vision, the physical force of them doing indisputable damage; damage Evalyn could not see. A scream¡ªone of anger rather than anguish¡ªforcefully weighed down her body as though her armour had suddenly gained a thousand tonnes. Paralysis from her extremities to her core organs, the Aether inside her was locking everything in place, turning her into a yet-living statue. Evalyn resisted, but she could feel her consciousness fading as the blood in her body began to coagulate. Then she was flying. Dragged by the sentient smoke, the infinite worlds before her rapidly regressed into the ash storm. Vague silhouettes of city blocks sped past her, already overgrown by the city¡¯s Spirit trees, their branches spreading rapidly like painful tumours and mutations. The lanterns in the sky flashed through the haze, their light vivid, blinding, frantically flickering as though seizing. Evalyn¡¯s vision cleared as she met fresh air once again. The cloud began to grow smaller as she lost her momentum and plummeted towards the ground. Her body was once again under her command as she re-started her internal rhythm, waiting until she was close enough to the ground to encase herself in a sphere, the golden material decentralised enough to take the full brunt of the impact. She felt herself tumble across the snow-covered ground of a farming paddock before a fence stopped her momentum. Shedding her protective layer, she looked for the city in her view and found it behind her. The great visage of the capital remained obscured by Colte¡¯s smoke cloud, but even under the foggy veil, Evalyn could surmise the destruction underneath. The great shadows of the Lipia Spirit trees, their growth running amok, the Blue Stormer electricity towers burning as the Spirits who produced the energy overloaded the grids. From such a distance, the screams weren¡¯t audible but were undoubtedly there. The perpetrator reared itself once again, this time through the smoke and into fresh air. With its presence followed a surge of intoxicating Aether which the entire world around her seemed to react to. A force of nature, something Evalyn had been compared to in the past, a comparison she had always scoffed at. Now she knew how wrong those who called her such were. Good or evil, its presence would destroy the place she called home, burn it by just being there. What good was she if she could not protect her home and use the wish she asked for? Her inaction before the war of Aether and Diesel had brought the city close to destruction once. She wouldn¡¯t let it happen again. ¡°Act IV: Climax.¡± She let the Aether in, traded her own Mind Palace for reality and surrendered herself partially to the surge around her. Exhaling outwards, the trees of her inner domain followed, taking root in the real world and flourishing in the sheer abundance of nourishment. The branches and vines littered with golden maple leaves rapidly radiated in all directions, diving in and out of topsoil like dolphins as saplings became trees which, in turn, became giants. A forest grew from the tips of her boots, and she could already feel the Spirits of Spirits vying for control. She raised herself high above the treeline on a golden spire as her bow sprang from her gauntlets. Priming her back muscles, she pulled another arrow from her invisible quiver and notched it. Taking aim, she fired again and again, altering each arrow as it flew to divide into thousands, each warhead as powerful as its original. She showered the Spirit of Spirits with lethal rain that drilled into its flesh without mercy as behind her, she formed the outlines of ten gargantuan spears, their size rivalling the constellations themselves. She forced them forward with both her arms, their points directed squarely at each fern-like limb of the deity. Without her input, the ten spears burst into flames mid-flight; sudden flames, eternal ones that burnt and consumed until nothing was left but ashes. Evalyn found its source in her peripheral vision. Kilometres away was a hellish circle of fire and smoke, flanked by two skeletal hands cloaked in ancient red robes. Colte had once more asked a favour of his patron Spirit, and the benevolent hands of the Spirit of Hell had answered. Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel. The spears struck the Spirit squarely in every limb, the fire transferring like a parasite from the golden weapons to the pearlescent flesh, eating away at it in an attempt to slow it down. The Spirit screamed once more, the blistering sound able to penetrate further into her head than before. But opening her mind palace was an act of give and take, a trade-off for more power at greater risk. Her daughter was putting her everything on the line, so why wouldn¡¯t she? The forest at her feet grew taller, denser, and wider than before until it coated the surrounding landscape, teetering on the border between reality and Mind Palace. She raised her arms, morphing and lengthening the spears into cables that stretched from the Spirit to the Earth. Their ends became anchors that speared the ground with a will of their own before contracting, pulling the Spirit from its heavenly disposition. Colte lit the ropes ablaze to make sure the Spirit was pulled all the way to hell. The silent scream that drilled into her head was deafening. Sensory overloads her body desperately interpreted as sonic despite there being no sound. Some primordial sensation her mind could not comprehend. Her ropes weakened even as she continued her barrage; the well-defined shapes degrading into a desperate assortment of mass, given kinetic energy. Even the flames were growing weaker despite Colte¡¯s efforts to hold on. There was more Aether than ever, but her enemy had its hands around her throat, throttling her intake, strangling her of energy. Even then, she had to keep on going until her breath gave out and her armour was nothing but faint lines in the air. Physical attacks, that was all she could ever muster. Bigger weapons with sharper edges, shapes that could cleave a building in half would strike its skin and run deep through its flesh, but never enough for it to even flinch¡ªif it could flinch. Over and over, until half its body was burning and the other half was butchered and bruised. Yet the screaming refused to cease, the throttle around her throat tightened and tightened until she could feel it around her throat, clawing away at her as her armour faded along with her consciousness. She stood upright and severed her spire into segments, sending one discus at a time from her vantage point towards the living god. Their speed and strength were everything she could muster, and they shattered on impact, leaving nary a scratch. She fell through the sky, plummeting towards the ground only for a golden maple tree to catch her and break her fall. It was the last one standing in her forest¡ªthe last bastion that cast a small, shielding shadow over her. The god looked down on her, not even unimpressed by her performance. No emotion to its concept, no consciousness to its existence. A force of nature that the modern world had never seen. Evalyn felt her eyes slowly closing, unable to feel the heat or see the flames of Colte¡¯s lake of fire. The first line of defence had failed, leaving little hope for the ones that came next. Evalyn raised a fist, unarmoured and trembling, and swung it at the thing. An explosion. A bright flash of light that erupted into a blistering shockwave. Then another, directly into the base of a limb and threatening to tear it from the body. Evalyn looked to her right as another explosion burst from the Spirit¡¯s flesh, and found a thousand cannons pointed at it. The full brunt of the Steel Whale¡¯s broadside, half its armaments trained on the single enemy. A sight not seen since the war of Aether and Diesel resurrected in an equally dire moment. The Aether engines roared with vigour as though they were operating for the first time again, mocking the god with all the hubris the mortal humans and Spirits could muster. A spit in the face in the form of thousands of tonnes of firepower. Evalyn watched the barrage unfold above her like a grotesquely misshapen fireworks display, each impact rumbling the earth and her very core. Fighter jets took off from the bow¡¯s runways and peppered the Spirit with gunfire enough to tear any human to pieces. The eruptions beat like drums, the smoke they expelled from each shell formulating its own weather event. Drums of war that either rang in a welcome end or signalled to all a dire beginning. ¡°A horrible way for a Thursday to unfold,¡± a cold, regal voice observed from beside her. Evalyn turned around, already guessing that a set of flowing blue robes and a pair of magnificent antlers would be there to greet her. ¡°Your Majesty.¡± ¡°Once again, I find myself indebted to you and your mentor, Wishbearer,¡± she said, offering a hand. Evalyn took it and felt herself being hauled upwards with the grace of a feather, landing on her own two feet as her body stabilised. ¡°You¡¯ve held out long enough. But when it comes to my capital, my forces and I bear the responsibility.¡± Evalyn only then realised that the snow had stopped, and in the place of brooding grey clouds had come black ones, rumbling with the might of nature itself. ¡°Soon the Army and the Air Force will descend on the enemy. Thanks to you both, their attacks will be unhindered by fear of collateral damage.¡± In its rage, the Spirit of Spirits whipped one of its limbs across the landscape, thrashing out against the physical assaults with one of its own. It came hurtling towards her, but a shimmering blue barrier prevented it from crushing anything further. Evalyn watched as the limb retreated mere metres away from her face. ¡°I have stabilised the city, but I must ask you to deliver the final blow.¡± ¡°Do you know where Iris is?¡± Evalyn asked, the leaking adrenaline unclouding her mind. ¡°Is she safe?¡± ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± the Queen admitted, ¡°but considering how powerful she is, I hesitate to say she is dead. That Spirit wouldn¡¯t stand for her being harmed.¡± ¡°Then you know what she is?¡± Evalyn asked desperately, ¡°do you?¡± ¡°No. But considering the circumstances, I wouldn¡¯t be surprised if she has already found out.¡± A lightning strike cracked through the cannon fire, striking the Spirit in an ear-splitting show of might. The cacophony reached further heights of sound and light, with the Spirit at its centre retaliating through macabre screams and primitive thrashing, but the Queen¡¯s voice was clear. ¡°I must be getting old,¡± she chuckled. ¡°Everything will change again, and I couldn¡¯t help it until it was too late.¡± The unchanging monarch uttered those words of defeat and turned to Evalyn, a forlorn look in her eyes. An apology wrapped in a doubtful promise to do better. ¡°Your daughter deserves better than this.¡± Another bang as the sky lit up with fizzling electricity. The Queen herself disappeared in that flash of light, and a godly pair of antlers took its place. Chapter 21 Part 4: A Desperate Need for Hope It didn¡¯t try to refute it. The other side of her that had so liberally borrowed her voice and limbs chose the one time Iris truly wanted answers to stay silent. It had killed Caynes, done more than kill him, before shrinking back into whatever wretched corner of her mind it had crawled out from. It had left her with a truth; one that made too much sense to Iris¡¯s spiralling mind. She took a step forward, the armour hanging off her body like rotted flesh weighing heavily on her joints, already tired from a lifetime¡¯s worth of abuse. The gas around her was nauseating, the purple acting on its own accord like a life support system to keep the wretched joke going for another second longer. Destruction. What a joke. After she¡¯d lamented for months over her part in destroying the FSA. Every time she hadn¡¯t gone as far, giving in to her base instincts and letting herself loose had been the abnormality. Even now, as she stepped from the hole in the library wall and dropped to the courtyard in a still-unharmed heap, she was merely pretending. Pretending she wanted to solve the situation instead of destroying every belligerent and ending it altogether. How simple it was for her. And who could blame her? It was her nature, after all. She clutched her stomach, unsure of when she¡¯d vomit in her mask but preparing for it. She couldn¡¯t help but look back at every moment she¡¯d wanted to defeat someone, spare someone, bring them to justice or let them rot. Her feeling of wanting to help Alis had felt so genuine. Her infatuation with Crestana had felt so sincere. There was a consistent pulse of Aether coming from somewhere distant. It drew on her attention like morbid curiosity to a car crash, yet it had blended in with gas before. Suddenly, it felt clear, so clear she questioned if her senses had ever worked until that moment. She moved towards it like a corpse twitching on muscle reflexes. Her body followed whatever felt most stimulating while the gas kept her alive. Her brain was elsewhere, entirely elsewhere, still reeling from Caynes¡¯s parting gift. Her legs took her under the court¡¯s gates and along the stone pathways towards the Great Hall. The Aether was concentrated there, and Iris recalled what Caynes had said, what Crestana had been made to endure. A conduit, whatever that fate entailed. A conduit for all the Aether the hundreds of humans had collected. It needed no explanation, no proof. The fact that Iris could believe such a story only proved Wesper¡¯s ramblings. The world was rotten, twisted, and unjust, where fathers sacrificed their daughters for a utopian daydream. Maybe Caynes was right, maybe she was late in burning it all. Maybe she could start now. She swung open the doors with her finger and stepped inside, where the cool embrace of untainted air was waiting to greet her. She shed her protective layer of gas as red light streamed in from the stained-glass windows, casting blood-red interpretations of their art onto the procession below. Beaks on their knees, entranced in some sort of prayer. Their Aether was weak, barely enough to sustain them. The surplus was all being pulled towards the girl on the stage, the nexus that serves as the root of the problem. Whether she liked it or not, it was right there, the stem ready to be snipped. Iris wasn¡¯t even conscious of herself moving forward, stepping past the half-dead bodies lined up like the headstones of a cemetery. All she could think about was what would come once she got there and stood over Crestana, the power to end the ritual in her hands. The power but not the strength. The strength to force onto someone the ultimate sacrifice or leave potential thousands to die for the sake of one. Ethics and morals dictated different things. Even her mother¡¯s advice¡ªto live selfishly¡ªwas failing her. Crestana was as far gone as those who had subjected her to the morbid fate, only from a traumatic influx rather than a debilitating absence. The invasive stream of Aether had petrified her. Iris wasn¡¯t an Aetherologist, so that was all she could say. If there was life, it was so resolutely buried Iris had no confidence in finding it, at least while Crestana still lived. The innocently spry girl who had hidden it all underneath her mask, the device made to ease communication had served as her prison. It had robbed her of her humanity. As ironic as that sounded, it was true. Not knowing who one really was, being afraid of the consequences if the ugly truth was revealed. Iris wanted to say she understood it, but shared situations weren¡¯t shared experiences, experiences her client had endured for her whole life. If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement. Iris crouched beside her, watching how her hair splayed around her head like a flower and how every fingernail had grown out of place by a few days. All curses, no matter how inconsequential they were. She could almost say it was peaceful if not for the situation and the debilitating current of Aether running through her. ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± Iris managed to whisper through a throat drier than she thought possible. She leaned closer out of instinct, checking for vitals that weren¡¯t there even if she were alive. Her signature, the small beat of Aether that defined her as her was smothered, unsalvageable. She could feel it all flowing through space like a nauseating odour, nothing more. Nothing she could command her beast to destroy. ¡°I¡¯m sorry that I can¡¯t do anything.¡± Crippling indecision. Iris had failed at protecting her client, and now she couldn¡¯t even kill her to stop it. There was nothing more to say. There was nothing more to an overdue apology for something she could no longer make up for. Her lips trembled. She wanted to speak, say something worth saying while she still could before her indecision gave way to her nature, while she still had a semblance of herself. ¡°I¡­I want to spar with you again. Like last time. I know¡­it was serious. But it was fun. I had fun, and I want to have more fun with you. I want to eat lunch with¡­while you¡¯re next to me again in the courtyard by the stairs. I want you to come to my house, my real house. It¡¯s nicer, and there¡¯s so much space outside, nothing like the city.¡± She was crying under her mask. She couldn¡¯t even tell she was crying anymore. ¡°The Aether I felt from you when you hugged Dad and I¡­I want to feel that again. You seemed so happy.¡± Her head fell onto Crestana¡¯s chest as she spent her last moments of humanity crying. Her beast circled around her, waiting for the inevitable moment to arrive. ¡°I want to see you happy. It made me happy.¡± Iris heard the snap of her beast¡¯s jaw. She squinted, waiting for the chest she had rested her head on to disappear. But it was still there, still and cold, but there. Iris looked up at her beast, a limp Sigil hanging in its mouth the same size as the ones she¡¯d purged from Crestana¡¯s body. The Sigil shattered, and Iris realised her mistake. She jumped on Crestana, grabbing her by the shoulders and shouting. ¡°Crestana? Can you hear me?¡± No response. Iris tried again, desperate now that there was a small semblance of hope. ¡°Crestana! I¡¯m here. I¡¯m here so follow my voice!¡± She lifted Crestana upright and held her between her arms, rocking her back and forth. ¡°Please don¡¯t go. Stay here.¡± She squeezed as the flow of Aether died. Strand by strand, the torrent disassembled, leaving a single, small beat in the centre. It was alone; it was fading. ¡°I don¡¯t care if you never want to see me again, as long as you live.¡± She broke down, unsure of how to hold onto the small pulse of Aether and preserve it. She couldn¡¯t do such a thing, she knew that all too well now. ¡°I don¡¯t want you to die. Please.¡± Through her tears, she could barely feel it, the small fluttering thing that felt like a raindrop through her fingers. Feeble, but that¡¯s what she was. A feeble thing like anyone else trying to live up to an impossible ask. That¡¯s all her life had been. That was just too cruel. ¡°I¡¯ve never seen you cry before.¡± Iris heard it, but she refused to believe it. She couldn¡¯t open her eyes. The thought of the voice being a trick of her mind was worse than anything else... ¡°Don¡¯t forget how to cry, Iris. Whatever you are¡­as long as you can cry, you¡¯ll be a girl. You¡¯ll be my friend.¡± The antlers caught the lightning as the Queen galloped headfirst into the Spirit of Spirits, piercing it with hundreds of tonnes and millions of volts. Uncaring of the rain of fire from her troops, she dug the ends of her thorny horns into the deity¡¯s flesh and swung it towards the barrage, displacing the air and creating another great gust of wind. A cloud of smoke sped towards Evalyn, materialising into her mentor as it dropped to the ground. ¡°How are you,¡± he asked, refusing to break eye contact with the battle. ¡°Never better,¡± Evalyn said, observing as the barrage beat down on the trapped Spirit. She looked closer, noticing something between the explosions. Ripples across the skin, both from the puncture wounds and the shelling. The pearlescent skin was wavering as though desperately trying to hold on to its colour. ¡°Something¡¯s happening,¡± Evalyn surmised. ¡°I don¡¯t know what, but it¡¯s weakened.¡± ¡°I¡¯ll take it that now¡¯s our change then,¡± Colte said, inhaling until his ribs creaked like ageing wood, ready to snap at any moment. Fireballs flew from his mouth upon his exhale and curved like meteors towards each flailing limb, setting them ablaze like city fires spreading through a wooden town. He controlled the flames, keeping them away from the Queen as each appendage thrashed and shrivelled. Evalyn felt the Spirit¡¯s chokehold on her weaken as the flames grew brighter and the Queen¡¯s spears dug deeper. She took her stand, compiling the levels of her power one after another. Cascading warmth, the heat of a thousand furnaces built up inside her chest and radiated outwards. ¡°For the desires your summoners could not fulfil or the wishes no one could grant them, I am sorry.¡± Her armour sprang into being, interlocking across her body, feverish for battle. ¡°For the desires your destruction will fulfil and the wishes your demise will grant, I am sorry.¡± Her markings grew hot, and her feet left the ground as her golden glow outshone the sun. ¡°In this world without gods or divinity, the one closest to such titles has taken your opposite side. That is all there is, and all there ever will be.¡± The Queen retreated, and her colossal form faded with the wind, leaving the weakened Spirits of Spirits with little time to react. Her Mind Palace spread across the world for a few moments before retreating into her armour, collapsing onto itself in a cataclysmic concentration of energy. There was no sound besides its choral hum, no light besides its golden aura. The world was nothing but her. ¡°Act VI: Resolution.¡± Darminjung floated across the sky. The Steel Whale¡¯s muse and the embodiment of its cause. Hope, for a city that would desperately need it, a family that would rely on it more than ever. Everything was about to change, and Evalyn would carry that sorrow with her as her patron Spirit crashed into the hopes and wishes of her enemy. Chapter 22: Unspoken Bonds Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author''s preferred platform and support their work! Chapter 23 Part 1: Blue and Green Two coloured squares took their places above the subway carriage doors, and, despite their material existence being nothing more than what met the eye, they loomed over the passengers like armed guards with fingers on the trigger. Surveyors of the populous. Two painted squares disguised as simple markings standing shoulder to shoulder with the exit sign. A blue square, and a green square. Above the nearest pair of doors, the next ones down, the ones after that. Blue and green lines ran down the centre aisle, accented the doors, coloured the seat fabric and even stained the grab handles. The cabin was a blue and green world: a mix of two colours that occasionally mingled with each other, but never with red or grey. Never with red or grey. Those worlds were separate, entirely alien. Red doors, grey-accented footpaths, red and grey amenities¡ªto a resident of the blue and green, red and grey was unsettling, distressing, even. Dangerous. Two coloured eyes watched the squares as they always did when riding the subway. Out of morbid interest or perhaps unhealthy fixation, the reason those eyes took a keen interest in such an ordinary part of everyday life was unclear, contrary to the dull jade irises themselves. Razor sharp, needle-thin, predatorial. Alis¡¯s eyes were consistently extraordinary, but one had less chance of spotting them amongst the scrambling bodies of his blue and green world than stumbling upon the Emperor himself. And that was why he was good at what he did. Rats weren¡¯t singled out in sewers, nor were locusts in a swarm. He blinked the smoke from the hundred or so tobacco pipes out of his eyes, wishing the ¡®no smoking¡¯ sign held as much weight as the two colours above the door. But like rats in a sewer or locusts in a storm, the majority of green passengers all shared one mind. A smoke to reward themselves for another day¡¯s work. Sewing machines, leather tanning, bricklaying, welding. Manual, menial labour all culminated in the same stretched faces: stubble-ridden meat hanging loosely from the cheekbones, squinting through bloodshot eyes and blinking away the fatigue for another few minutes. Not much more waited for him if he turned his attention towards the stifled yawns and tepid grumbles that, even as part of the listless chorus, never cleared the sound of the carriage¡¯s wheels running along the track. He¡¯d grown tired of such faces long ago. There were only so many combinations of worn features one could register before every single face began to look the same. The two squares at least stood for something more than a crushing workday and a strained marriage. The carriage engaged its brakes, and dull sparks pounced from the wheels, dancing to the melody of metal against metal and giving light to the decaying tunnel brickwork. The cattle movers of the subway worked around the clock to keep industry moving; there was no time to stop the flow of labourers to maintain the infrastructure. If, or rather when it collapsed, routes would simply be diverted, and in a sickening two-for-one deal, the rubble would be death¡¯s eager gravedigger. Every hour lost in the army¡¯s great war machine could mean a battle lost on its front. A front that crawled and retreated like a living organism, changing shape before its cartographers could finish their previous rough sketch. The final jerk before the train came to a halt roused Alis from his death stare and knocked his briefcase into the dozing passenger in front of him. He meant to apologise, but didn¡¯t find the chance to as they stumbled towards the doors, opened them, and with an almost drunken instability, stepped onto the platform. It was as though he¡¯d kicked a wind-up toy back to life. As vulgar as that line of thought was, he couldn¡¯t help himself from following it. Picturing the city¡¯s green denizens as metal trinkets running on elastic bands felt morbidly fitting. Many other automatons filtered past him and onto the already busy platform, the tide favouring arrivals over departures. With them went much of the smoke, and Alis felt his soul begin to heal. Grimy train station air wasn¡¯t exactly a perfume he¡¯d encountered quite yet, but perfume wasn¡¯t something he¡¯d encountered much of at all. The same couldn¡¯t be said of the two officers who parted the flow of disembarking commuters and took their places beside Alis. Their button-up blue uniforms and mocking chuckles were a sordid sight for already fatigued eyes. At least the uniformed ones were easier to deal with. It was the draping trench coats Alis had learned to look out for over the patently ranked shoulders. Officers of such a calibre were often blue rather than green. While it did make sense for them to board the carriage irrespective of their profession, men and women of the law were above subways in every way. Nothing forced them underground besides the few boxes they were required to check by the end of the day. A quota of sorts in the form of a checklist, handed down to Alis''s ULEF branch by a sympathetic officer in the city¡¯s metropolitan police department. What was to the officers a boorish to-do list to maintain accountability had become to ULEF a holy grail in black and white writing. What officers were looking for on a daily basis, which tasks were easiest to complete and hence best to steer clear of, and what kind of person was most often targeted. Sidestepping the beast¡¯s path had become ULEF¡¯s new obsession since then, and chases through the city street had become a long-dead nightmare. Even so, not every situation was avoidable. Packages were a crucial vessel of information: one of ULEF¡¯s arteries. To those who knew where to press their ear, telephone lines were tappable, and telegrams were as secretive as public service announcements. Even through hand-delivered letters, little separated fact from fiction when the evidence wasn¡¯t resting in one''s hands. In such a loose organisation of sub-factions, trust was a luxury. So packages were sought after. Physical tokens of intelligence served also as tokens of respect, with the sender being equally at risk as the receiver. Hence why green citizens with baggage were a target for regular checks, written there with printed black ink in ULEF¡¯s holy grail. Alis gripped the leather handle of his briefcase tighter and looked out the window, feigning ignorance as the train left the subway and entered the open air. A short stretch of the journey that passed across a river, never failing to brand his eyes with too much light on a sunny day. The brightness disguised the grime of the city¡¯s periphery, only making visible the ever-growing skyline of thousand-eyed towers, each a repository of more stone than a cliffside. He heard the particular city he was forced to call home held neither the height of Vesmos¡¯s capital nor humanity¡¯s more modern designs. His city had apparently once been one of great castles and commerce, brick slate layered on by history¡¯s greatest forgotten masons and furnished by some of its most talented unnamed artists. Stripped of heraldry, the slums survived. Lightning only hit the tallest tree, and so from under Vesmos¡¯s thumb, the backwaters had begun to build their buildings taller under its Emperor¡¯s watchful eye. Overgrown slums. Now their sloppy, heavy-handed gardeners turned to Alis, intent on pruning the overgrown weeds. ¡°Morning,¡± one of the officers said, cracking a small smile. ¡°How are you today?¡± Alis kept the sigh inside his chest, flipping a switch in his brain and meeting the officers with an uncharacteristic smile. ¡°Fine, officer, yourself?¡± ¡°Not too bad. Not too bad at all, now¡­,¡± he said, pausing to scratch his second chin as though unwilling to do what was coming next. ¡°That briefcase. My colleague and I were wondering what that¡¯s exactly for. We don¡¯t see too many of those¡­you know¡­among these carriages.¡± He delivered the last sentence with an avoidant frown, insinuating with his dull brown eyes as they darted from sunken face to sunken face. The first officer¡¯s colleague eyed Alis with an obdurate persistence, silently filling in for the other half of the good cop routine. Maybe it was a lack of experience; officers who spent time with the greens eventually knew how to speak their language and drive a bargain. Not that it was ever fair. ¡°Oh,¡± Alis chimed, maintaining his smile. ¡°I came from a job interview. Had a shift the hour before and had no time to go home, so I had to bring a change of clothes.¡± The good cop pouted and raised his eyebrows, acknowledging Alis¡¯s excuse as a sound one but refusing to believe it. A ¡®nice try¡¯ sort of smirk that got on his nerves. ¡°Well if you don¡¯t mind, we need to do a bag check.¡± This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere. ¡°Certainly,¡± Alis said, almost too quickly. He handed the briefcase over to the unprepared officer, who stumbled to react and receive. Both officers now watched him with much the same expression. One raised eyebrow answering another seemed to cancel out, so they continued. The scowling officer cleared a space while the other walked over to an unoccupied chair and used it as a makeshift desk. He unclipped both buckles and lifted the lid, finding, as promised, an extra set of clothes not much nicer than the unironed shirt and fraying pants he was already wearing. If pressed for a comment, ¡®better preserved¡¯ would be all they could warrant. The officer began to rummage through the folds, feeling them for any unusual bumps before moving on to the briefcase¡¯s lining itself. ¡°Bit too small for a bomb, I¡¯d think,¡± Alis added with a courteous smile. ¡°And how¡¯d you know how big a bomb is?¡± the bad cop snarled. ¡°Oh, seen a few demolitions myself, what with all the old buildings making way for the nicer ones. Out with the green in with the blue and all that.¡± The first officer, reluctantly satisfied with his search, closed the briefcase and handed it back to Alis as he had received it. ¡°Keep vigilant,¡± he concluded as the brakes once again engaged on the carriage wheels, ¡°there¡¯s been talk of insurgents in our small neck of the woods. You¡¯ve got to think what the world has come to!¡± They turned away, and the train came to another halt, this time Alis¡¯s stop. He moved past, keeping his eyes on the ground and refusing to acknowledge them until he cleared the doors. There was no point in building rapport now as long as he left the station smoothly. His was a small one, with only one platform and a staircase leading to an open street. Unhelpful if he was blocked in, but an easy exit made for an easy escape otherwise. Or, an easy ambush. That was at least the ideology of the two men Alis brushed past, both pulling handguns from underneath their coats. Alis kept his head down. His brass knuckles had little to work with where there was no magic. He was a courier, nothing more. Besides, he¡¯d never seen those two men in his life. That¡¯s how it worked. Four gunshots split the air into quarters, the echo of the concrete tile chamber doing little favours for his eardrums. The doors were already halfway through closing by the time he heard the two officers¡¯ remains fall to the floor. The train, as though oblivious, began to pull out of the station. ¡°By authority of the Leheg group of the ULEF, any officer found in this station will be shot on sight! Spread the word! They should be scared!¡± Alis kept walking, dedicating an hour or two on the agenda to finding a new train station. Flander¡¯s Street Fish and Chip Shop, the self-proclaimed ¡®best chips this side of the city¡¯, was sandwiched between two conjoined apartment buildings that in turn linked up with a complex spanning the entire street. Inelegant, but easy to build. Cheap too. Green doors the entire street down, although the state of the area itself made any colour indicators entirely redundant. Built-up trash, rough roads, polluted creeks. Civil services rarely reached out so far from the city centre, no matter how rich the area got. The people made ends meet, and the gangs and ULEF outposts kept order. An uneasy state of self-sufficiency, enough to not put a target on anyone¡¯s back. Alis climbed the gutter sloppily outlined in white before reaching the counter. The chalk on the menu board was beginning to fade, and he remembered it being one of his long line of duties as a part-timer. He dinged the service bell with his thumb as he peered over into the glass cabinet, eyeing the day¡¯s pre-made batch for anything better than the usual crumbling fish and thin batter. Unfortunately, nothing caught his eye. Being a foodie had poisoned him, elevating his taste beyond the colour green entirely. A decent meal to him now not only cost his salary but potentially his neck. Reds, greys and even blues could sniff out greens by table manners alone. He wasn¡¯t thankful for his time in the army, but being taught how to carry himself was, by far, the thing he most appreciated. A balding man, mid-sixties, emerged from the kitchen, a thin layer of oil coating his face and steam clouding his glasses. Good news, considering that meant he was getting work. ¡°Hiya lad. Back early,¡± the man said. ¡°Yes, Mr. Rockshall. Just a jaunt into town.¡± ¡°Took the subway from Leheg?¡± ¡°Yes, Mr Rockshall. Not anymore, it seems. Is Ryan in?¡± ¡°Yes, he¡¯s just upstairs. Why? Did something happen?¡± ¡°Leheg boys, Mr. Rockshall. The crew from down the road shot two police officers dead.¡± ¡°By gods,¡± Mr. Rockshall sighed. ¡°They chose their time wisely, didn¡¯t they? This business is finally taking off too.¡± ¡°Certainly a lot of nerve for a single-outpost branch, Mr. Rockshall¡ª¡± ¡°Rockshall this, Rockshall that, go see Ryan. Go on, I¡¯ve got customers.¡± ¡°Yes sir,¡± Alis said, giving a courteous smile before stepping past the counter and into the back. He passed the kitchen¡¯s oil baths and steel counters, his body not exactly eager to get back to work growing sick from the smell. There was a small stairwell on the other end of the kitchen, with tall steps ascending over a broom cabinet, and to the second floor. Barely any light got to the second storey, even on blinding afternoons. Ryan had made sure the fabric was as thick as possible before folding it, stitching it and hanging them as curtains. Alis couldn¡¯t fault the man¡¯s sewing skills. A set of bright green eyes stared at him as his head poked above the floorboards. Curly hair neatly combed back with hair wax, and stubble shaved within an inch of its life, leaving a moustache above his upper lip. By all accounts, he was a businessman. Well-groomed, smartly dressed in a three-piece suit, easily mistaken for a blue or even a grey in the correct circumstances. ¡°Alis,¡± Ryan said, sitting upright in his red leather chair. ¡°You¡¯ve got something for me?¡± ¡°Yes,¡± Alis replied. ¡°Met with the man you mentioned. Gave me these.¡± Alis placed down the briefcase by the stairs and walked up to Ryan¡¯s almost empty desktop. He rummaged a hand through his jacket, finding one of the many crudely cut pockets and taking from it a small envelope. ¡°Coppers didn¡¯t give you trouble?¡± ¡°They did sir, only checked the briefcase, though.¡± ¡°Did they now?¡± Ryan asked, taking the unmarked brown envelope and passing his eye over it. ¡°Glad to know we can trust our boys in blue to take their jobs seriously. Can¡¯t think of what would happen if they didn¡¯t.¡± ¡°They¡¯d get shot sir, evidently,¡± Alis said. Ryan glanced his eyes upwards and raised his eyebrows in quiet astonishment. ¡°Really now?¡± he said, reaching for his desk drawer. ¡°Who shot them?¡± ¡°Leheg men, sir¡± Alis said, keeping his eyes forward in an old military habit. ¡°Local boys that started out last month a few blocks down.¡± ¡°Bastards,¡± Ryan muttered as he grabbed a letter opener and closed the drawer. Alis had seen it before; a knife welded into a slit in an unfired bullet. ¡°Probably thought they needed to prove themselves on the onset. They¡¯re going to get themselves killed.¡± ¡°Does the Leheg group have any presence on the Board of Leaders, sir?¡± ¡°Course not. Headquarters have us as their main branch in this region.¡± Ryan shook his head as he sliced the paper open. ¡°I was planning on bringing them into our sphere, lend them a few guns and some funding. There goes that idea.¡± Ryan reached into the letter and pulled out its contents; a set of six printed photographs that he examined for only a moment before throwing them onto the table. ¡°What are they, sir?¡± ¡°Photographs,¡± Ryan said, listlessly. ¡°What do they prove, sir?¡± Alis corrected himself. ¡°That there¡¯s a Vesmos spy plane flying over northern Sidos. Don¡¯t know but my best guess is they know of something hidden in Sidos¡¯s neck of the Northern Chain.¡± ¡°Spy plane?¡± Alis asked. ¡°How has it not been detected? Ryan raised his eyebrows, pulling Alis back into line. ¡°Sir,¡± Alis said, correcting himself again. ¡°Not much you need to know besides it¡¯s the start of a new partnership with an inside informant, and possibly an opportunity to bargain with the Sidosian government.¡± ¡°Weapons, sir?¡± ¡°Why else would we want anything to do with Sidos?¡± Alis nodded. ¡°Very good, sir. Will that be all?¡± ¡°Yes, Alis. You¡¯re dismissed.¡± Ryan gave the final nod, and Alis turned, once again heading for the stairs. Two colours spread themselves across the upper end of Alis¡¯s neighbourhood, stringing along greens towards their doors while the blues were escorted to theirs. The lines on the footpath, street signs, and taxi doors, all an extension of the cattle movers that ran under his very feet. ¡®Hidden in plain sight¡¯ weren¡¯t the right words. They weren¡¯t hidden, but no one seemed to care. Just signs and markings, universal glyphs like an exit sign made to guide people, help people, and assist them when they were unsure of where to go or what to do or what to think. The four colours ruled Alis¡¯s life in a different light. They were directly responsible for nothing, more like a nail in the coffin. They just proved that no one ever considered escape as a possibility, or change as an option. They were a sign to Alis that Vesmos had already won long ago. Just as obvious, just as visible. He opened the green accented door to the local post office and stepped inside, beelining for the front counter while he took out another envelope from his jacket. ¡°I¡¯d like to post a letter,¡± he said, placing the envelope on the counter. The middle-aged woman behind it, already familiar to him after over thirty visits over the last few years, quoted him a price without even needing to calculate. Every letter he sent was the same; express postage to an address in Excala city. ¡°Same as always," she said in a tired drone. ¡°Yes, ma¡¯am,¡± Alis nodded, getting a familiar scoff out of the woman. ¡°Do you call everyone ma¡¯am, or just me?¡± ¡°Sorry to disappoint you, ma¡¯am.¡± ¡°Ah. You¡¯re an odd one, you are, as always. Speaking of¡­.¡± The postal workerturned around and addressed the wall of leftover packages from the morning¡¯s deliveries. She plucked a letter from between a set of packages and handed it to him. Every letter he got was the same: express postage from an address in Excala city. He received the letter and immediately began to open it. ¡°Ah!¡± the post worker cautioned, tapping a form attached to a cork clipboard. ¡°Sign.¡± Alis rolled his eyes. ¡°You know who I am, ma¡¯am.¡± ¡°And if you know who I am, you know I don¡¯t like the idea of losing my job.¡± Alis was cornered, and he surrendered fair and square, tearing the letter open the moment his name was on the form. The familiar shoddy handwriting on flimsy notebook paper¡ªit was low effort, but the words on the page always managed to make up for it. Dear Alis, I¡¯m sorry I was so late in writing to you. A lot happened, but I think you heard about it through the radio. I was busy with that. Sorry. I can¡¯t really remember what you wrote in your last letter, but the food sounded tasty. Sorry, I don¡¯t remember. How are you? How is work? I wish we could talk more, maybe on the phone. I know we¡¯re not supposed to, but I want to try anyway. The things you write in your letters make me wish I spent more time talking with you. It¡¯s almost three years. I found out who what I am. I think. There¡¯s no evidence, but someone told me, and I can¡¯t help but think it¡¯s true. They said I was the Spirit of Destruction, and then I killed them. I couldn¡¯t control myself. I wasn¡¯t angry but I was. I don¡¯t know. It makes too much sense. Mum is taking it well, but she¡¯s secretly stressed about it. Marie is trying her best to protect me and says the Queen is trying to do the same. Dad is okay but he has to be, or else no one would. But people don¡¯t like who I am, and I¡¯m scared. The city is getting worse. The rubble is clearing, but no one knows how to get rid of the trees. It¡¯ll take years. People who have no homes are living in the Great Library or moving away. A lot of the school kids whose parents were doing the things are having a hard time. Sorry. Too much bad news. I¡¯m going to school now. I had to because my client was going who I was supposed to protect. Her name is Crestana. She¡¯s my other friend. Don¡¯t be jealous, please. She¡¯s really nice but she¡¯s having a hard time too. She was in the middle of it all and doesn¡¯t have parents right now. I don¡¯t know if she ever will again. More bad news I¡¯m sorry. I¡¯ll do my best to think of some better things for next time. I hope I hear back from you soon. Sincerely, Iris Alis folded the letter and pocketed it, storming out of the post office. ¡°What¡¯s gotten you in a rush?!¡± the post worker asked. ¡°I need to ask about my leave," he said, feeling the brass knuckles in his jacket drawing closer to their counterpart. Chapter 23 Part 2: A Sham in Every Sense This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience. Chapter 23 Part 3: They Take Getting Used To ¡°I think that Vanessa girl stares at you weirdly.¡± ¡°Does she? I¡¯ve never noticed.¡± ¡°You haven¡¯t?! She glares at you from the corner of her eye, and then every time you turn your head or snort, she looks away.¡± ¡°Oh, I see¡­I snort?¡± ¡°¡­yes? It¡¯s a tad concerning. It¡¯s as though your nose is blocked all the time.¡± ¡°Snorting or snoring?¡± ¡°Snorting. Being in the same class as you teaches everyone the difference.¡± Iris took the harsh dose of reality with a bite of her sandwich: Evalyn¡¯s favourite concoction when armed with a hodgepodge of past dinners, a loaf of bread, and an unfounded desire to spend less money at the school canteen. Not that Iris was complaining; it was just that Elliot¡¯s touch in the food faded after three days, and the roast had been in the fridge for four. ¡°Plenty of people stare at me,¡± Iris said. ¡°What¡¯s the difference with¡­uh¡­.¡± ¡°Vanessa.¡± ¡°Vanessa, right.¡± ¡°There isn¡¯t really a difference,¡± Crestana shrugged as she reclined in the windowsill¡¯s triangle, one foot dangling out of Tyrren Court¡¯s attic. ¡°But she was one of the girls that loitered around my desk during lunch. You know, the clique-y type.¡± ¡°Hm¡­,¡± Iris pondered, pretending she knew what the word ¡®clique¡¯ meant as she spun a dusty globe. The small corner in Tyrren Court¡¯s attic, sandwiched between two mediocre portraits draped in once-white cloth, had become their refuge¡ªa small sanctuary they retreated to whenever they weren¡¯t studying or sparring. ¡°I think,¡± Crestana said, her mechanical shutters closing over her mask¡¯s eyeholes as a breeze found its way to them. ¡°I think she¡¯s jealous we always run off when the bell rings. Maybe she thinks you stole me from their group.¡± Iris swallowed her last bite and immediately took another as she hopped onto an abandoned table that creaked for mercy. ¡°I thought they didn¡¯t care about you. That¡¯s what you said.¡± ¡°There¡¯s a difference between not caring about me and wanting me in their group for social status. Even if they''re yet to realise, they don''t want me, they want a Mallorine. For what reason they want that sullied name, I can''t say.¡± Iris nodded. Maybe a clique was like a political organisation, those she could understand, especially the ones with guns. Excala Academy taught them young. She scoffed. ¡°Sounds like I scored big then,¡± Iris said. ¡°Friends in high places, that¡¯s something Dad tells me to treasure.¡± Crestana sighed, turning her body inwards to face her. ¡°Your father is a very nice man, yet he says some very disingenuous things. I hope he didn¡¯t marry your mother for status.¡± ¡°No,¡± Iris said, kicking dust, ¡°he made a lot of enemies by doing that, at least I think.¡± Crestana chuckled, but then it faded. She sighed again, pushing herself off the windowsill and towards Iris. She watched as Crestana passed through shadow, her bare arms and legs disappearing into the absences of light, melting much easier than before the incident. Crestana could dip into shadows if she wanted to. So far, only part of her body at a time. The Aetherologist had pinned it on the Spirit of Spirits passing through her, reverting part of her body to a state even modern Beaks couldn¡¯t replicate. But her hair still wafted in the wind, and even now, there were scatterings of her clipped nails if Iris looked hard enough. ¡°I think I get it, Iris, why you don¡¯t take people seriously. I mean, how can I? They¡¯re bickering about who likes who and who said this about that while I¡­you know, I know how dire things can really get.¡± Iris smiled faintly, bending her knees and sitting down on the table. She¡¯d gotten used to skirts eventually, even though they never quite seemed to move how she wanted them to. ¡°Another thing my dad told me¡ª¡± ¡°Again?¡± ¡°Promise!¡± Iris pleaded, clapping her hands together. ¡°I promise this is important!¡± Crestana crossed her arms, side-eyeing Iris out of an understandable fatigue for Elliot¡¯s quotes, no matter how wise. ¡°Fine,¡± she said, and Iris grinned, thankful she sat squarely in Crestana¡¯s soft spot. ¡°Once, we were on one of those big seaplanes, flying from Excala to Fadaak.¡± ¡°Oh yes, I¡¯ve been on one of those before.¡± ¡°Have you been to the ballroom?¡± Crestana thought for a moment. ¡°Yes, but I was very young. I don¡¯t remember anything about it.¡± ¡°Well, being on that ballroom floor is like being one of your friends in class. All you really know is that there¡¯s dancing and drinks and pretty people you can¡¯t take your eyes off.¡± ¡°Certainly the third one,¡± Crestana said. ¡°If I need to listen to another lovesick¡ª¡± ¡°But those people don¡¯t see the kitchen where the food and drink comes from, or the people in the ceiling controlling the lights, or¡­the people who fly the plane and run the engines keeping it going.¡± Crestana walked over and sat beside Iris, her slender shoulders rubbing against Iris¡¯s puffy, oversized bomber jacket. ¡°I guess not. You¡¯re saying¡­your father is saying that we¡¯re one of the people on the outside?¡± Iris nodded. ¡°We can see the world for what it is. We can see what happens behind the curtains¡­and what makes it almost fall apart, I guess.¡± Crestana threw her head back, and the rest of her body followed the movement. ¡°It feels a little exclusive.¡± Iris sighed, wishing she could still feel the same. She¡¯d taken pride in it once, but soon realised why the majority didn¡¯t live in the same realm as her. It drove one crazy. It made one wish the world was different. It made one realise that there was nothing anyone could do to change it. She¡¯d never experienced that ballroom floor; expulsion from it was permanent, irreversible. The bell rang, barely reaching them through the attic window, riding the wind that often acted as their moral compass, egging them on to get to class. They''d recently been arriving late, only realising the time once they looked at the dusty grandfather clock still miraculously in sync with the outside world. ¡°What do we have next?¡± Crestana muttered, unmoving. ¡°Physical education, I think. Why?¡± Crestana hauled herself upright and slid off the table. ¡°I feel like skipping,¡± she said, brushing dust from the seat of her skirt. Iris raised an eyebrow, hearing something she thought she¡¯d never hear from the unofficial class representative. Crestana watched herself disappear as the tram passed under a building¡¯s shadow. Mutant. Ironically, she had never felt so mutated until her body started functioning like a Beak body was supposed to. She couldn¡¯t control it; she¡¯d found herself drowning in shadows on nights with no moon. Crestana hadn¡¯t slept with a night light in years. Back then it was to keep the monsters at bay, now it was her lighthouse to guide her back when she became one. Monster. That wasn¡¯t what the Aetherologist had told her. Iris¡¯s one, different to the one that had called her defective. He was nicer, but Crestana could see him for what he was; a scientist, not a doctor, interested in her as a test subject rather than a person. She looked out of the window and raised her palm to the air, watching the mid-afternoon sun pass through it. She could see the buildings and the pedestrians through it, the sky slowly turning purple against the silhouettes of burned electrical mills, barely standing upright. Iris stirred, unconsciously protesting Crestana¡¯s movements as she rested her head on Crestana¡¯s shoulder. Crestana paused and relaxed, letting her hand fall into the shadow behind the seat in front, and reminding herself that it was still there. Iris returned to an unabated slumber, letting the carriage rock her deeper into unconsciousness. ¡°You¡¯re a handful, you know that?¡± Handful. Crestana didn¡¯t feel that way anymore. Her aunt cared for her, so did her aunt¡¯s husband as far as he could manage. But too much worry in and of itself felt alien, like her aunt was overcompensating for what she lost from her parents. Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site. But at least she didn¡¯t feel like a burden, a handful. The tram slowed as bright traffic cones and yellow warnings signalled it to turn right for a detour. The tram followed, wheels clattering onto makeshift lines, and Crestana watched where the tumorous roots of an overgrown Spirit tree had burst through the concrete and turned the cobblestone road into rubble. Its branches had jutted into nearby buildings, piercing their faces and leaving them in ruin. The street was unsalvageable, its residents moved elsewhere. And that was a small one; Crestana dreaded that particular corner in their route not because of the disaster in arm¡¯s reach but because of the one beyond the immediate skyline. The Spirit trees of the Royal Gardens had felt the brunt of the Spirit of Spirit¡¯s influence, and had moulded together, each one¡¯s growth spurring on the growth of several others. What was once the Royal Gardens was now a gargantuan tree that blotted out the sun from several districts, rising high above Excala¡¯s already modest buildings. Its branches were becoming an ecosystem in itself, one the Council had concluded the city had to live with. Some saw it as a new frontier of exploration right in their own suburb, Crestana saw it as a monument to her family¡¯s sins for the entire city to see. The city had seen it, and some had decided to take up arms, sparking protests. Crestana began to recognise the buildings in her periphery and tugged the small rope hanging above her seat. The motion travelled to the front of the tram, where a set of letters glowed reddish orange. ¡®Stop¡¯. ¡°Iris,¡± Crestana said, nudging Iris¡¯s shoulder. ¡°We¡¯re there.¡± Iris¡¯s head barely rose from her shoulder, but she seemed to understand the assignment. There was hair in her mouth she didn¡¯t seem to register, but Crestana wasn¡¯t going to mother her enough to pull it from her face. She tolerated her friend¡¯s tardiness, it was nothing more than a quirk, and Iris had no need for Crestana to follow her up on it. She¡¯d been showing off to the world just how little she cared for its standards long before Crestana had begun to care. Crestana couldn¡¯t say she wasn¡¯t at least a little jealous. Perhaps skipping class was a little too much, even for Iris. Or, well, Iris¡¯s mother. They stepped off the tram and began to walk down the sleepy street, retracing the steps the tram had rolled past in the pre-rush hour silence. Iris lagged behind a few paces, but both knew where they were going. A few repeats of heels clacking against pavement later, they came across the dilapidated building, not any less rotten than it had been since last time, and according to Iris¡¯s mother, any less rotten than it had been twelve years ago. ¡°Do you suppose a passerby seeing two schoolgirls entering this place would call the police?¡± ¡°Cops?¡± Iris asked through a yawn. ¡°It¡¯s the East Excala Library, everyone knows what it is.¡± ¡°I certainly didn¡¯t. I only ever went to the Academy¡¯s or the Central library.¡± ¡°Then you were missing out, weren¡¯t you?¡± Iris smiled, taking Crestana by the shoulders and pushing her forward. ¡°Let¡¯s go.¡± They skipped up the steps and through the unlocked door, rust burning straight through the hinges. More light trickled in from the holes in the ceiling than the boarded-up windows. But unfazed, they continued walking along the moss-ridden, hollow floorboards until Crestana began to feel that familiar buzz. It was a buzz that shot through her fingertips before mellowing across her body, a buzz that came with the changing floorboards and repolished glass. The taste of euphoria as nature¡¯s skylights were boarded up with sturdy timber, and small flames in candles and lanterns took over. The little joy as the smell of damp wood morphed into the scent of fir and pine, and timeless furniture from couches to chandeliers appeared where her eyes weren¡¯t looking. A bottom floor, a grand fireplace, two spiralling staircases that led to an infinite forest of bookshelves. And a mannequin travelling on a rail. Stuck on a singular spoke confined to a winding divot was a wooden torso, dressed in the appropriate garments, yet still faceless. It travelled down the staircase railings, then glided between the furniture towards them, the whir of its gears rousing nearby readers from their immersion, yet none seemed to bother complaining. ¡°Here it comes,¡± Iris muttered. ¡°It¡¯s brought something with it this time.¡± A Spacehopper dragon; Excalan public services were almost never complete without one. From the Council Building to the driving test centre, being first class at morphing reality was a lucrative profession. The Spacehopper hanging from the mannequin¡¯s fingers was a brilliant gold, its snubbed nose dilating with each breath. It took Crestana an extra moment to remember Spirits didn¡¯t breathe. ¡°Al,¡± Iris muttered. Just standing in the library itself tended to make one whisper. ¡°Al. Hi. Customers.¡± Al stirred in response to Iris¡¯s last word, the entire library softly vibrating as they shook their head from left to right. The small, beady eyes blinked, and they finally registered their surroundings. ¡°You two again?¡± they said in such a thick, colloquial twang that Crestana never knew if she was meant to take them seriously. ¡°What¡¯s the time¡­hey! You two should still be at school! Not that I care, but a public servant has duties.¡± ¡°And friends don¡¯t rat each other out?¡± Iris suggested. ¡°Come on, please?¡± Al¡¯s face scrunched up for a moment before they gave in with a sigh. ¡°Fine. As co-director and interior manager of the East Excala Library, I pardon your early leave from school.¡± ¡°If only the Academy recognised your word,¡± Crestana chuckled. ¡°I¡¯d be skipping class more often.¡± Al pouted, their small brows crossing as they climbed the mannequin¡¯s fingers. ¡°Skipping sometimes is fine, Ms Mallorine, but don¡¯t make a habit of it.¡± Crestana nodded, thankful Al had the courtesy to whisper her family name. ¡°Go on,¡± Al encouraged. ¡°We took another intake of homeless today, so I need to check if the pathfinding is affected at all. Ask it.¡± Iris looked over at Crestana with eyes that seemed to ask for permission. Crestana agreed, acknowledging it was Iris¡¯s turn at the research that day. They¡¯d spent yesterday afternoon holed up in a nook, researching Beak anatomy and the Spirit of Spirits, or at least the mythology behind it. Today, the topics were¡­. ¡°Karaxian mountains. Crystal city. Old Spirit Country. Spirit of Destruction.¡± The last one was familiar, but the first three weren¡¯t. ¡°A dream?¡± Crestana asked as the mannequin bowed and began to lead them into the bookcase labyrinth. ¡°Yep. Last night. I think¡­.¡± Iris paused. ¡°I don¡¯t know for sure besides what I saw, but I saw the Spirit of Spirits.¡± ¡°Really?¡± Crestana said, jumping on the morsel of information as they hopped onto the first step, accidentally breaking the sacred atmosphere of silence. ¡°What did you see?¡± she asked, this time whispering. ¡°I saw it over a big crystal city,¡± Iris said. ¡°It looked like the one from the last door I opened, the crystals, that is. It was doing the same thing there as it had over Excala. Then¡­I killed it.¡± ¡°Were you lucid dreaming?¡± ¡°No. I watched myself kill it. This big dome of gas went up around the city protecting it,¡± Iris explained, waving her hands about as demonstration. ¡°Then liquid trapped the Spirit of Spirits, right?¡± Mouthed out sound effects for more dramatic effect. ¡°And then the liquid turned into gas, then the gas started glowing, then it turned into lightning.¡± ¡°Lightning?¡± ¡°I don¡¯t know either, but that¡¯s what happened.¡± ¡°I see¡­characteristically vague for your dreams.¡± Iris grunted in reluctant agreement, but they wouldn¡¯t visit the library every afternoon if her dreams were any clearer. Crestana had watched Iris research every second day when it was her turn; the pain and disappointment whenever she put down another useless book. They were both hurting as much as each other. Iris remembered nothing of her past life and wanted to recall it, Crestana remembered nothing of the faces she¡¯d loathed, and she wanted to forget them all. All except one. There was a photo of her mother in her wallet, the woman who had been strong enough to save her, but not enough to see it through¡ªa present from her aunt for her thirteenth birthday. Iris was turning thirteen soon. Crestana had come with the end of Winter, Iris when summer began to wane. It was what Crestana and Iris¡¯s parents liked to believe, but Iris was no longer so convinced of her own birthday, or rather was growing reluctant to acknowledge it as anything more than a number. Crestana kept those worries to herself, unwilling to ruin any newfound hope Iris had woken up with for the day¡¯s research. Four terms; the recommended number was six at a minimum. Al and their partner in crime¡ªthe revered Tony¡ªpredicted six or more terms would whittle down the bookshelves to one, any less, and they¡¯d face an exponential increase with each missing term. Crestana¡¯s draw never exceeded a single bookshelf worth of material, if reaching that at all. Iris would pull several bookshelves at a time, or in the worst cases, nothing at all. That was what asking for the sole term ¡®Spirit of Destruction¡¯ had garnered them. As they followed the mannequin¡¯s lead, the bookshelves around them gently scraped along the floorboards, repositioning from one place to another and never travelling more than a few metres at a time, or at least that was what it looked like. Crestana had never spotted the same bookshelf twice, losing them the moment they disappeared behind one another. Sometimes, there¡¯d be glimpses of reading corners, Aetherology labs, tinkerer¡¯s workshops, but never for more than a second. Recently, those small havens of research had been outnumbered by camps. Individuals, families, sometimes even neighbours living with each other between bookshelves, populating the space with whatever they could salvage. The temporary residences in the Great Library were a far cry from the photographs she''d seen of war-torn countries. Considering Spirit trees were often planted in affluent areas, many were middle class, some even higher, waiting out their limbo while insurance claims were filed or a new residence was found elsewhere, permanent or temporary. Children sitting around gas burners waiting for their meal to cook, taken care of but clearly shaken. ¡°Ma¡¯am,¡± Al called as they widened a gap between two shelves, revealing a small room bordered by books and partitioned further by cloth on metal stands. There stood a housewife and two children in a scene that wouldn¡¯t look out of place in an ordinary Excalan apartment. ¡°Ma¡¯am, I¡¯m going to need you to cut the burner for a moment. The fumes are dangerous.¡± The woman apologised, closing the book she was reading and following Al¡¯s orders. The Interior Manager thanked her and closed the gap, restarting the mannequin¡¯s journey. Around a final corner, they found a space that didn¡¯t run away¡ªtwo armchairs, a bookshelf behind each, and a quaint lantern with a deep green lampshade. ¡°Two,¡± Crestana wondered aloud. ¡°That¡¯s not very many.¡± ¡°Well, very little appears when you want to know about old Spirit country,¡± Al explained, scratching himself. ¡°It¡¯s a vow of silence for the Spirits who still make the pilgrimage. If it¡¯s broken, it becomes the moral obligation for all subservient Spirits to dispose of them and their writing.¡± ¡°That¡¯s reassuring,¡± Iris mumbled as she walked forward, placing her bag at the feet of the left armchair. ¡°How do we know anything, then?¡± ¡°Most of these books aren¡¯t published. They were written in the library and have restricted access.¡± Iris sat up from her chair as Crestana joined her. ¡°Then why are we allowed to read them?¡± ¡°Because Her Majesty said so,¡± Al explained, the idea twisting Iris¡¯s face as though she¡¯d bitten down on something rotten. ¡°How come?¡± Iris asked. ¡°I didn¡¯t know she was so generous.¡± ¡°You¡¯d be surprised,¡± Al chuckled. ¡°I¡¯m sure she¡¯d tell you herself, but keeping any truth hidden from you would do no one any good, especially when the possibilities make many nervous.¡± Iris sank back into her chair, an uncharacteristic scowl marring her face. ¡°She¡¯s buying your trust,¡± Al reiterated. ¡°That¡¯s how she would say it.¡± Iris clearly didn¡¯t want it, the sincerity of her face making Crestana chuckle, but also making her concerned about where such vehement animosity had risen from. It was the Queen, after all. After several hundred years of relative prosperity, no one could think ill of the Queen. ¡°Well,¡± Al said as the mannequin turned around, its duty finished, ¡°I have a meeting to attend with a Minister. Poor man wants to lease space in the Great Library as social housing.¡± ¡°That sounds awfully tough, sir,¡± Crestana replied, her shoulders sagging. ¡°I hope people can be allowed to stay.¡± ¡°They¡¯re more than welcome for free, but this is a library Ms Mallorine!¡± Al chimed, holding no contempt for the name it now rightfully deserved. ¡°But who knows? A lot¡¯s changing around here!¡± The mannequin and its passenger disappeared into the forest again, and Crestana watched them go, unable to ignore the guilt that she knew no one wanted, let alone expected from her. Changing, that was certainly one way to put it. She sank into her armchair, taking a deep breath as half her body dipped into shadow. Iris was already reading, quiet and in concentration. Crestana could at least hope their new routine could last, even when the diligent research was no longer needed, when they could afford to waste time like everyone else their age, and at least pretend their heels were tapping the ballroom floor. Chapter 23 Part 4: The Greatest Gift It had been a board game the first year, one she¡¯d get fired up over every weekend when Elliot came home to rest his wings. She¡¯d told Iris to let him relax, but it had to be with Elliot or no one at all. Through his whinging and pleading, he¡¯d always agreed in the end, unable to stop himself from pampering her. The second year, it had been a set of three dresses, something else to wear besides singlets, shirts, cargo pants and her bomber jacket. The few outings they managed to fit into their schedule, she¡¯d worn them every time¡ªthin white that tied around her waist, lilac that hugged her neck with thicker fabric, ending at her knees, and sky that held some life and adorned her with frills. Evalyn wasn¡¯t sure if she wore them because she liked them or because she refused any other decent clothing. No matter how hard Evalyn tried to convince Iris it wasn¡¯t a life or death matter, the bomber jacket never left arms reach. Those had been the two birthday presents Evalyn and Elliot had decided on for Iris¡¯s two birthdays past, and after two years, she had already begun to tie the height of summer sun as a signal to begin pondering. But annual events were a strange concept. Evalyn was almost thirty-one, Elliot thirty-three. A year¡¯s difference was no longer enough time for their lives to change, and if it did, it was almost certainly nothing welcome. But one year for someone who only knew two, half their waking life by in a flash. Things changed, and by the time that annual event returned, it landed in an entirely different world. A world where Evalyn sat in her office, listening to the wind-chime pinned to her window frame lazily rock back and forth while reading a proposal to the Prime Minister for her daughter¡¯s execution. Marie had blacked out the names of all members recorded, trusting Evalyn but not enough to disclose the names of those responsible. A security meeting of the Prime Minister¡¯s inner circle and top military brass. Evalyn could sniff out the names underneath the black ink if she were to act on her vendetta; Marie wanting to keep her career until retirement was just about the only thing holding her back from giving in to her urges. The Hansard had recorded an uncomfortable back and forth between members, the solemn discussion lasting a mere seven minutes and thirty-three seconds from start to finish. Not once did they admit Iris¡¯s age. Not once did they say on record that they were considering putting a twelve-year-old to death. The Queen had shut the discussion down resolutely six minutes and fifty-five seconds in, condemning the proposal and silently urging others to do the same. Evalyn¡¯s new routine was one she hoped would be temporary; she hoped it would not ruin another birthday once another twelve months passed. All Evalyn wanted to think about was what would make her daughter¡¯s face light up the most once she tore the wrapping paper open. All Evalyn could do was sit in her office chair, paralysed as the words rang louder than the wind chimes in her ears. But despite their deafening presence, some things always seemed to cut through the haze around her head and snap her back into urgent reality¡ªthe shrill shriek of her telephone. ¡°Hello, Excala Internation Private Detectives,¡± she breathed into the receiver, exacerbated and letting slip a scowl through the wire. ¡°Evalyn?¡± Marie¡¯s voice said. ¡°I would¡¯ve hung up if I was a customer.¡± ¡°Uh¡­yeah. Sorry,¡± Evalyn said, shaking her eyesight free of the document and closing it before it could ensnare her again. ¡°Everything all right?¡± ¡°Yes¡­.¡± ¡°Evalyn?¡± ¡°¡­no. Sorry, I was passing an eye through the document you gave me yesterday.¡± ¡°Read it once, then burn it. That¡¯s what I told you.¡± ¡°I¡¯m sorry, I can¡¯t help myself¡ª¡± ¡°Reading it a thousand times won¡¯t kill whoever was responsible. Besides, the worst has passed for now. It¡¯s a pit in their stomach, but they¡¯re no longer choking on it. That goes for the council, too.¡± ¡°What about the international summit?¡± ¡°No. It¡¯s unnecessary to disclose which magic is infused into whom. Being the sly bastards they are, they wanted their cards close to their chest.¡± ¡°I see¡­so Iris is?¡± ¡°Iris is in the clear for now, at least in Geverde. In Sidos, it¡¯s a matter of renouncing her citizenship, which I doubt they¡¯d consider. She¡¯s¡ª¡± ¡°Too valuable an asset,¡± Evalyn interrupted, glancing at the document still needling her from the corner of her eye. She would have to burn it before it won. Marie sighed through the phone, and Evalyn could hear the words whirring through her head. She regretted what she said, but her pride wouldn¡¯t let her take it back either. ¡°Yes, Evalyn. She is an asset no matter how much we love her.¡± ¡°I know¡­I¡¯m sorry.¡± A stretch of anxious silence lazily trailed their words until Marie was brave enough to break it. ¡°Iris. How is she doing now?¡± ¡°Better,¡± Evalyn sighed, the markings along her arm lighting up as two spindly vines protruded from her fingertips. ¡°She¡¯s decided that resting won¡¯t do her any good.¡± ¡°What did you say to that?¡± Marie asked as Evalyn tore the Hansard in two, then in fourths. She sounded like a therapist. ¡°That it was up to her whether she went to school or not,¡± Evalyn explained. ¡°That we could begin homeschooling again if that made her more comfortable.¡± Evalyn paused, but Marie didn¡¯t speak. Whether she knew Evalyn had more to say, or whether she didn¡¯t feel a need to speak, they¡¯d known each other long enough for it to be either. Talking felt easier with her; over her life, she¡¯d grown too accustomed to conversations with adults. ¡°But now I¡¯m getting phone calls from the Academy, lecturing me about how I ought to discipline her for showing up late to class every day. You know, just before you called, they said they had no clue where she was! She just¡­up and left! During break!¡± Evalyn¡¯s backside left the seat without her even realising. She¡¯d picked up the phone box and began pacing across her office. ¡°Every day, she comes home six o¡¯clock or later, scowling at me whenever I tell her off!¡± ¡°Evalyn, darling¡ª¡± ¡°And you know the worst part? I know she¡¯s going to the East Library! I know because every single time I call, Al or Tony picks up, and they pretend they have ''no clue whatsoever'' or they ''haven¡¯t seen her all day''. I can hear them lying through their teeth¡­beak¡­whatever!¡± ¡°Evalyn¡ª¡± ¡°No! Let me speak! I am fighting a war on two fronts here!¡± She kicked the cabinet behind her desk, and the decorative glasses shook nervously. ¡°I have to sit still and pretend I¡¯m okay with my daughter being put down like a dog by the people I get hired to protect, while said daughter is giving me the coldest shoulder I¡¯ve ever gotten, and that¡¯s including my father!¡± Evalyn slammed the telephone into her desk, the knuckles gripping the receiver growing white as tears welled in her eyes. Her markings glowed, trying to conceal them even while no one was there to notice. She exhaled, although her breath was shaking, almost on the brink of falling to raspy pieces. ¡°Does Elliot know about this?¡± Marie asked. ¡°Yes,¡± Evalyn muttered, finally noticing herself and sitting down. ¡°Yes, he does.¡± ¡°Then you¡¯ll be okay,¡± Marie said. ¡°What makes you so sure?¡± ¡°Because both he and I once had to deal with a girl whose rebellious phase was so bad she betrayed her country, tried shooting herself, and then became the most powerful thing on the planet.¡± Evalyn sighed, making her displeasure known. ¡°This isn¡¯t a rebellious phase¡ª¡± ¡°As far as you¡¯re concerned, Evalyn, as a mother¡­as her mother, you worry about your daughter first. The Queen and I will do something about the Spirit of Destruction.¡± Evalyn pursed her lips, in no way satisfied with what Marie was proposing, but her sense of frustration was stronger. She had blown her top off like a child for the first time in years, and all she had gotten was a lukewarm and level-headed reaction. This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it. Being a mother. Almost three years in was nowhere near enough time to prepare for shouting matches and punishments, and without the first ten years for reference too. Never having a mother or a decent father gave her a different perspective. The validity of Elliot¡¯s words grew thinner by the day. ¡°But that isn¡¯t why I called you,¡± Marie clarified, bringing Evalyn back into the conversation. ¡°Could you do me a favour?¡± ¡°I guess. I¡¯m not particularly busy right now.¡± ¡°It won¡¯t take long. That ring you had forged a year and a half ago, do you still have it?¡± ¡°The one that follows Alis Harbourman¡¯s knuckle dusters? Yes, they¡¯re in my cabinet,¡± Evalyn said, standing from her chair and passing an eye over her office¡¯s backdrop, now recovered from her earlier assault. Her eyes fell onto the ring, nestled as one of several along a finger-width velvet cylinder. ¡°What about it? Marie?¡± She stared at the shimmering crystal, playing with the sunlight from her window. Having to compete with sunlight, the line protruding from it was faint, almost like dust suspended in the air. She wished it was just that¡ªjust dust swirling in the air, then she could explain why the ring¡¯s beam moved ever so slightly. ¡°Marie?¡± ¡°Yes, Evalyn?¡± ¡°Could you care to keep me out of the loop next time?¡± ¡°Just so you know where Iris is going to be this evening,¡± Marie said. ¡°Don¡¯t tell her I snitched.¡± She¡¯d kept a brave face. Listening to Evalyn so distraught was something she thought she¡¯d seen the last of over a decade ago. Marie kept a brave face those days she¡¯d visited Evalyn, sitting at the kitchen table, passing sparse words over cooling tea. Iris had only begun to greet her four days in, once she managed to fall asleep without Evalyn. They had seen it as an improvement, but neither was thrilled at the thought of leaving her alone with her thoughts. Too much for her age. Too many missing years. Witches and Wizards were a hardline bunch. They had to be, else they were useless, and being useless was not a benefit enticing enough to offset the risk. So, when no one knew the risk, no one could gauge the worth. Least of all Iris herself. Who could fight for a country like that? Given a kennel but tied down by the leg, their promise of safety simply being that their trigger finger wasn¡¯t as impulsive as their neighbours, but holding the gun to one¡¯s head all the same. A blood raw deal, but well done compared to the rest of them. That¡¯s what Geverde offered, no more than it was obligated to, but enough to run an enticing deal. That¡¯s all it could risk until the public one day turned on them. The Lieutenant-General watched from her office¡¯s glass wall as a small convoy of three cars¡ªa black convertible sandwiched between two military escorts¡ªapproached the Steel Whale¡¯s final checkpoint. She sat down at her desk, straightening her back and listening to the weariness crackle and pop out of it. Being so close to the Witch in question, she¡¯d received inquest after inquest, some more abrasive in their suggestions than the files she had allowed Evalyn to read. She regretted that decision. Being honest did not always pay. Besides, Evalyn and Elliot knew what was going on amongst the council: there was no point worrying them further. She¡¯d watched the cheeky grin fade from the pilot¡¯s face little by little. His annoying quips had wilted into sheepish smiles and awkward laughs, aimed at those who did not know him well enough to understand something was wrong. Those who asked did not get much of an answer, or so she had heard. The razor-sharp eyes of dulled emotions had returned in a way Elvera hadn¡¯t seen since the last leg of the Aether and Diesel war. No venom, a snake who had run out of it and was now resigned to his fate. His wife was the type to gnash her teeth and put on a brave face until her feet were aimlessly walking a dead body. Elliot would see that same distance and never begin in the first place, his pride determining where his limits were for him. Both failed spectacularly, but both could recover. Both needed to recover. The Lieutenant-General¡¯s phone began to chime, and she answered it, already knowing what it was about. ¡°An escort has arrived with an informant for you, ma¡¯am.¡± ¡°Direct them to my office,¡± she ordered, placing the phone down and standing to her full height. The window wall behind her¡ªas pleasant as it was¡ªgave an outsider the perfect opportunity to gauge the Steel Whale¡¯s whereabouts. Moving the Whale was costly: having to do it twice in a single month would eat away at their contingency, all for a simple mistake. She cranked the lever built into the window¡¯s frame, and watched as steel shutters crawled over the glass, replacing her favourite view with soulless grey. The hollow knock of knuckles against metal ran circles around the room. ¡°Enter,¡± she announced, and shortly after, the door opened with a painstaking creak. Maintenance crews were not scheduled to oil hinges for another three weeks. She resolved she would have to take matters into her own hands sooner rather than later. The boy she¡¯d recruited two years prior stumbled into the room, head cluelessly facing forward while his eyes tried to follow the brightest light seeping through the blindfold like a moth. He was taller than she remembered, half a head at least. Elvera still gauged him on the shorter side of the spectrum, but he looked halfway to being a man. Perhaps he would¡¯ve been taken a little more seriously had he showed up on Geverde¡¯s doorstep now. ¡°Take the blindfold off, Alis,¡± she permitted. ¡°How was your journey?¡± ¡°Bumpy, ma¡¯am¡± Alis complained, peeling off the black cloth and stuffing it into his pocket. ¡°And the blindfolds aren¡¯t the best show of hospitality I¡¯ve ever seen.¡± His movements had relaxed a fair way from what she remembered, but just as she wondered where the old Alis had gone, he clicked his worn heels and straightened his back, saluting her all the same. ¡°At ease,¡± Elvera smiled. ¡°As far as secret services go, I¡¯d say we get a good four stars out of five.¡± ¡°Cannot argue with that, ma¡¯am,¡± Alis sighed. ¡°At least there isn¡¯t a dent in the back of my head.¡± ¡°Speaking from experience?¡± Elvera asked, raising an eyebrow. ¡°No ma¡¯am, second-hand,¡± he said, holding in a quiet scoff. ¡°Empire spooks don¡¯t go after couriers.¡± ¡°Even though I heard you were a very good one,¡± Elvera said, resting her chin on her interlaced fingers. ¡°Your handlers all had very good things to say about you.¡± ¡°Thank you, ma¡¯am, but I doubt the one that brought me here had anything positive to report,¡± Alis guessed, placing his briefcase on the ground and taking off his coat. Underneath hung a common worker¡¯s livery from top to bottom. She had heard he mostly worked in services, but there were still patches of soot on his once-white shirt. ¡°They were complaining all the way,¡± Elvera admitted. ¡°Said you picked a hell of a time to back out.¡± ¡°Had to take my leave when I could, ma¡¯am.¡± He remained stiff, clasping his hands behind his back until Elvera offered him to take a seat across from her. He gave a smile and took it, shuffling closer once he sat. The way he held himself, the way his eyes moved, and his fingers fidgeted. The streets had eroded away the mannerisms training had stamped into him. His mannerisms were rusty and unmaintained, coming across as the ticks of a strange boy rather than the habits of an ex-military. ¡°So, why did you choose now?¡± Alis bent over, reached for his briefcase, and began to rummage through several layers of neatly stacked clothes. Either he had found the patience to fold his laundry, or he hadn¡¯t found the time to change since leaving Vesmos. ¡°Here,¡± he said, handing a manila folder to Elvera, who opened it and caught the photographs before they fell onto her desk. ¡°What am I looking at?¡± she asked, spreading the photographs before herself. ¡°A letter from a mole in the Vesmos intelligence circuit. Those photographs are proof of the claims written in it.¡± The Lieutenant-General passed her eye through the letter. Half of it was patriotic fluff and expressions of loyalty that she doubted ULEF even cared for. The few words that did stand out did so spectacularly. It was inconsequential to ULEF or the person penning the letter, judging by its status as a simple proof of willingness to parlay. ¡°A spy plane?¡± Elvera muttered. ¡°How does an entire plane go unnoticed?¡± ¡°I don¡¯t know ma¡¯am,¡± Alis said, still the type to answer rhetorical questions. ¡°My guess was that it either flies very, very high, or it¡¯s invisible. Your fighters do that, do they not?¡± ¡°Some of them, yes, but not even Sidos knows about their designs.¡± ¡°Convergent evolution, ma¡¯am,¡± Alis said, scratching the back of his neck. ¡°What?¡± Elvera asked, peering over the top of the manila folder. ¡°I read about it in a book, ma¡¯am. How two unrelated animals can evolve in the same way. Sidos and Geverde¡¯s alliance is causing trouble for ULEF, ma¡¯am. It¡¯s spurring weapons development in Vesmos like nothing else since they first expanded the borders.¡± ¡°So it¡¯s different technology, but the same outcome.¡± ¡°There¡¯s a chance,¡± Alis said. ¡°But besides that, exactly what it''s taking photographs of concerns me more.¡± Elvera passed her eyes over the photographs again. Where she¡¯d typically expect clear views of weapons depots and military bases, it was nothing but forest. Forest, and a deep mist. ¡°The letter states they were taken over the Northern Chain Ridge,¡± Alis reminded her. ¡°Is there anything that goes on there?¡± ¡°The Colossus, the first Higher Order Armour is there, yes. But entry is possible, and its capabilities aren¡¯t exactly a secret. Not enough reason to send a spy plane over it.¡± ¡°Something else then,¡± Elvera muttered. ¡°It has to be Higher Order Armour development. Sidos doesn¡¯t put much strength into weapons development outside that sector.¡± ¡°Vesmos is much the opposite,¡± Alis said. ¡°There¡¯s been little out of their intelligence leaks concerning a homegrown H.O.A. program.¡± ¡°Doesn¡¯t mean they could be starting now. Either way, it isn¡¯t something you have to worry about, nor I have to bother following up on. We pay people for that sort of thing, and that¡¯s if we have reason to doubt Sidos.¡± She bundled the photos neatly into the folder and fastened it shut with a paperclip. Putting it to the side, she returned to her original line of questioning. ¡°So, why did you choose now?¡± ¡°¡­ma¡¯am?¡± Alis asked, his eyes pointing at the folder. Elvera pursed her lips, raising an eyebrow. The intelligence was indeed sensitive, but so was anything else that wasn¡¯t a copy of the daily newspaper. He¡¯d passed it through to his handler all the same. Alis bit his lower lip, keeping his eyes on his lap. ¡°Personal reasons,¡± he finally admitted. ¡°Broke up with your girlfriend?¡± ¡°No, ma¡¯am.¡± ¡°Falling out with the group?¡± ¡°No, ma¡¯am.¡± ¡°Then why?¡± Alis still seemed reluctant, scratching his cheek as though he were in hot water with the school principal. He was feeling too casual around Elvera. ¡°Spill it. That¡¯s an order.¡± ¡°I hit a ceiling, ma¡¯am,¡± he sighed. ¡°Being a courier. It¡¯s a¡­cog in a machine, I guess. But I don¡¯t know if the machine still moves half the time.¡± ¡°ULEF activities are consistently disrupting, or are our reports wrong?¡± ¡°The inner cities, yes. ULEF can¡¯t fight a war of attrition, so severing the head is their strategy. But some outer branches don¡¯t feel like they¡¯re making a difference.¡± ¡°Not all branches measure their worth with the blood on their hands, Alis. Being a courier¡ª¡± ¡°But you know what I can do, ma¡¯am,¡± Alis insisted. ¡°You know the only thing I can really do is get my hands dirty.¡± Ah. He¡¯d gone down a totally different path to Iris. ¡°Then what are you going to do when you get back?¡± Elvera asked. ¡°Find a job closer to the capital,¡± he said. ¡°Do what I do best.¡± ¡°That¡¯ll cost you your deal with us,¡± Elvera warned. ¡°You¡¯d be on your own, then.¡± The boy¡¯s fists tightened. It was her way to tell him not to make that decision. Vigilante work was admirable but hardly advisable, and Special Operations had little reason to fund such a character. ¡°You don¡¯t want to burn two bridges, Alis. We can find you another branch, but you¡¯ll have to continue your work regardless. Whatever you do outside of that is up to you.¡± He couldn¡¯t answer, and Elvera couldn¡¯t expect him to. ¡°Until then,¡± Elvera said, pushing her chair away from the desk. ¡°You¡¯re free to do what you like. We¡¯ll take your passport, so don¡¯t think of leaving the country.¡± She stood, and Alis took it as a cue to do the same. ¡°If you decide on taking our deal, knock on our door. Or Excala International P.I. if you forget where to find us.¡± ¡°How¡¯s Iris?¡± It seemed her off-hand remark had permitted Alis to ask about her. Elvera figured it was awkward in one way or another. She decided to be honest. ¡°The worst she¡¯s ever been.¡± ¡°I read her letter,¡± Alis mumbled, and Elvera nodded. ¡°She still wears that ring every day. She¡¯ll want to find you the moment she notices it¡¯s moving.¡± Elvera faced Alis as Iris¡¯s family rather than as his superior. Even with the intelligence, the formal speak, and the superior-subordinate dynamic, the conversation they had fallen into felt more pressing than anything else they had discussed to that point. ¡°We¡¯d better give you your knuckle dusters back then.¡± ¡°I¡¯d like that ma¡¯am.¡± To Elvera, that was the greatest thing Iris had ever given to Alis, another reason to keep his brass knuckles close to him at all times. Chapter 23 Part 5: The Perks of Being Oblivious His students were no longer the age to ask questions like ¡®Sir, why are you so gloomy?¡¯ and expect an answer. Children would, out of pure curiosity and lack of real concern, teenagers would if they felt like needling their closest authority figure. Being in entirely different ranks didn¡¯t help encourage discourse between teacher and student either. Elliot was stuck between relief at never having to experience that awkward tiptoeing interaction again, and saddened that such an opportunity would never arise. Even if the answer would inevitably be a simple ¡®yes, just tired¡¯, it was an interaction he felt lonely in the absence of. ''The metal walls of the Steel Whale sometimes felt colder than usual'' was that day''s line of woeful poetry he''d shamefully expelled from his thoughts. ¡°I am growing soft,¡± Elliot whispered as his students caught up on their notetaking, jotting down points of interest and crudely imitating his perfect diagrams. He gave them a moment, instead staring out the glass panes into the Steel Whale¡¯s inner chasm. When his mind froze over, his ears often replaced his eyes. The muted sounds of conveyor belts grinding their gears as moving platforms traded vehicles and supplies between the lower and upper floors fell underneath pencils and pens scratching against paper notebooks. It felt like he was in a fighter¡¯s cockpit, the rustle of his sleeves overpowering the roaring engine outside. Elliot thought too much when he began to listen. For some years, he¡¯d run out of pressing things to think about, and his mind would circulate between dinner over the weekend, his bed, his marriage to his wife, and his marriage to the stack of test papers on his desk. He no longer had such a luxury. Life had well and truly caught up to him, reminding him he wasn¡¯t out of the woods until his entire family one day threw in the towel. The creak of an unoiled metal hinge snapped him back to his senses, and he turned around to face the door. He had counted an open desk that morning, one whose seat had remained consistently cold for the first fifteen minutes of every lesson. He had chewed the kid out like a wad of gum and spat her onto the sidewalk last week; perhaps he needed to nail the memo into her head. ¡°I am going to make you sleep in the damn engine room¡ª¡± The entire class jumped out of their seat and stood at attention, scraping metal and clicking heels as they made their obedience known. Elliot scrunched his nose as his godmother-in-law stared back at him through the door, raising her eyebrows as though wondering why the hand scratching his chin hadn¡¯t morphed into a salute yet. Keep up the airs around subordinates. That was their promise. ¡°Ma¡¯am,¡± Elliot acknowledged as he brought himself in line with his students. ¡°At ease,¡± she said, addressing the entire room, which responded by clasping their hands behind their backs. ¡°Apologies for interrupting.¡± She walked over to him, the sound of her bulky heels against the metal sheets was, to Elliot, as good as the thumping war drums of impending doom. Being shipped out to the desert to pretend he was a spy wasn¡¯t going to happen again unless they dragged him, kicking and screaming. ¡°I need you to come with me,¡± she muttered under her breath. ¡°I am going to throw a tantrum,¡± Elliot warned. ¡°Let¡¯s see what you do then.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t know, court-martial you?¡± ¡°Abuse of power. I¡¯m going to report this to my union.¡± Marie rolled her eyes. ¡°Like they¡¯d get me this time,¡± she sneered, turning around and walking back towards the door, leaving Elliot frozen and wondering where his worker¡¯s rights had disappeared to. Brought out to the back of the house and shot dead, most likely. ¡°Look I get I¡¯m too good at my job, but if you keep giving me these tasks, someone will accuse you of nepotism.¡± ¡°There is a very small contingent of Spec Ops pilots skilled enough to perform this kind of work while on part-time duty.¡± Elliot followed Marie as she strode along section eighty-four¡¯s sixteenth transit catwalk, bobbing and weaving between sweat-drenched personnel and the occasional discharge of steam from loose washers and bolts. The Academy was smack bang in the centre of the Whale¡¯s starboard flank, sandwiched between the second and third main guns. Marie¡¯s office was under the helm, networked closer to the port side, making the walk a nightmare for someone who could phone the PA operator. ¡°Sure, we can take people off the fighting force, but I¡¯d like to avoid as much as possible.¡± Elliot sighed through his teeth. His heyday was over, and Marie knew that better than anyone. What happened on land had long since taken priority from the sky. Chasing victory had long been replaced with a desire to protect, replaced again by the simple goal of making it to the weekend and seeing his family. ¡°And so now I need to shoot down a spy plane while working with people who hate me.¡± Marie swivelled on her heels, her brow furrowing. ¡°Sidos has been keeping S.H.I.A. under pressure for a while now. I doubt the Air Force would risk sympathising with them.¡± ¡°Yes, but it''s not just S.H.I.A. who''s bitter. It¡¯d take one pilot about my age to tattle to the entire task force that I was a traitor, and then I¡¯d be coming home with half my teeth missing, for God¡¯s sake.¡± ¡°Evalyn taught you self-defence for a reason,¡± Marie frowned, elbowing him. ¡°Besides, if someone knew who you were, they¡¯d know they¡¯d be at a loss without you. Elliot Maxwell, a former White Devil. I hear it still holds a lot of prestige for a decommissioned Wing.¡± They reached section eighty-four¡¯s elevator and waited out of courtesy for the small compartment to grow cramped with bodies until someone shut the doors and began to crank the lever. ¡°It¡¯d be a small task force, twenty personnel maximum, backed up by an intelligence team,¡± Marie began to whisper as though Elliot had already taken the job. ¡°Ten of ours, ten of theirs.¡± ¡°And why us?¡± Elliot asked. ¡°Ask the damn Air Force for pilots, it¡¯s their whole thing.¡± ¡°They have. The Air Force is supplying seven, we¡¯re contributing three. It¡¯s a broader range of opinions; two heads are better than one. Besides¡ª¡± The elevator jerked violently as Elliot and Marie came to their stop: starboard¡¯s main transit catwalk. A town¡¯s main street was the closest comparison, where morale was made and maintained. Personnel-run shops, street performances, restaurants and the like¡ªall closed in the event of an operation, but they came alive during regular patrols. The neighbouring floor on the port side mirrored its sister, with a sweeping arched bridge connecting them. It wasn¡¯t much of a heritage sight, the boorish grey just as soul-sucking as the rest of the Steel Whale¡¯s machined interior. But as far as being a hangout spot and the occasional sight for love confessions, it served its purpose well. They trotted onto the bridge, speaking as they went and watching the Steel Whale¡¯s cells move from task to task underneath them. ¡°Excala¡¯s in bad shape, Sidos is sending a lot of aid our way. We need to give them an ¡®I love you too¡¯ to show it isn¡¯t a one-sided deal, and if Vesmos has found a way to use magic in their fighters, then who better to take it down than us?¡± She leaned on the bridge¡¯s railings as the small pocket kingdom¡¯s Queen. ¡°These are the moments this sort of alliance sets in stone or crumbles like a cookie.¡± Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website. Elliot also found himself a spot, watching the off-duty soldiers stumble by in loose formation, smiling and spouting nonsense. It was a respite that could only exist on either that particular floor, or in whichever small nook of the ship they called home. ¡°It feels like we¡¯re always at war with someone,¡± Elliot muttered, trying his hardest to find in the people around him that same plight he knew followed war like an obedient mutt. ¡°We¡¯re watching the stagehand stumble over the wiring,¡± Marie sighed. ¡°We¡¯re watching them trip over the cable that brings the entire stage down.¡± ¡°I started asking around about the name Tetrica,¡± Colte sighed, his telephone receiver picking up every pop and crack from his spine to the springs in his chair. ¡°Remind me exactly what it is again?¡± ¡°It¡¯s my name,¡± Iris said as the small bulb illuminating the telephone box flickered on and off. ¡°One of them.¡± ¡°I thought your name was already too much of a mouthful. Anyhow, our quest was not for nought.¡± ¡°Really?¡± Iris muttered, trying to keep her nerves contained in her voice, let alone the bright blue phone box standing in the corner of their reading space. ¡°Yes, really,¡± he continued. ¡°Multiple Spirits and scholars came back to me, many calling from different regions. They all mentioned folklore of some sort. Let me see¡­.¡± Iris heard him rustling through several pages of paper, grumbling subheadings under his breath as he searched. ¡°Uh¡­yes. Lots of stories, some roughly the same but under different titles. The main character of every single one has some variation of the name ¡®Tetrica¡¯. Interestingly, the names became less varied the further east I went. Seems like the origin is behind the Karaxians.¡± ¡°And that¡¯s out of reach for us,¡± Iris muttered, recalling Al¡¯s frankly disheartening explanation. A mountain range that walled off even knowledge from passing: she couldn¡¯t blame herself for meeting her end in such a place. ¡°You¡¯re not wrong,¡± Colte said, sounding as though he was pursing his lips. ¡°But there¡¯s still leads we can follow. I haven¡¯t quite gotten to the end of this one either.¡± So don¡¯t despair. That¡¯s what Iris heard Colte saying, but despite being the investigation¡¯s benefactor, she wasn¡¯t sure what she¡¯d do with herself when it reached an answer. Sometimes, knowing things hurt just as much as being in the dark about them. Crestana had muttered that under her breath once as she stared out the attic windowsill like always. That passing sentiment had held onto her psyche like a scar, sometimes panging with pain to remind her exactly what she was afraid of. ¡°Thank you,¡± Iris said, trying to weakly smile through the phone, hoping Colte would somehow sense the gesture. She placed the receiver back onto the hook and sat in silence as the flickering light above her head finally died once and for all, the small congregation of bugs dispersing as she opened the glass door. ¡°All done?¡± Crestana asked, never being one to ask too many questions straight away. Despite the barrier of formality between them all but eroded, she was still careful with her words, knowing what to say and when to say it. The finer points of interpersonal interaction were second nature to Crestana, and Iris sometimes wished she could offer the same. But the girl in question had expressly told her not to do so. ¡°Yep,¡± Iris said. ¡°I¡¯m the stuff of legend, apparently.¡± ¡°Oh,¡± Crestana said, her shutters raising. ¡°I guess you are old.¡± ¡°I guess I am,¡± Iris exhaled, sinking into her armchair, a stack of books stacked high at her feet. ¡°Makes me wonder what the point of choosing my age was.¡± ¡°You still need an age,¡± Crestana said. ¡°You don¡¯t look thousands of years old to me.¡± Iris¡¯s eyes wandered across the infinite ceiling¡¯s rich wooden planks. She frowned, and turned her head sideways, looking at Crestana through a furrowed brow. ¡°You take this well, speaking about being thousands of years old like it¡¯s¡­tomorrow¡¯s shopping.¡± Crestana¡¯s shutters raised, this time in surprise. ¡°Is that bad?¡± ¡°No,¡± Iris blurted. ¡°No. I¡¯m just wondering why.¡± ¡°It looks to me like the last thing you need now is your friend to lose her composure at every new discovery,¡± Crestana explained, sinking into her own chair. ¡°Besides, Spirits have reached wilder heights than immortality.¡± They watched each other from their armchairs, both mentally drained from having trawled through piles of books and still coming short. Tranquil moments, where it felt like processing a street sign would be the death of them, were what often signalled them to end the day. It was hard to tell with Beaks what it was exactly that they were looking at. Like someone wearing tinted glasses, Crestana would look at her sometimes, and Iris would freeze, unsure of what she was being scrutinised for. ¡°Your ring,¡± Crestana asked. ¡°I¡¯ve never seen the beam move.¡± Refusing Crestana the courtesy of an explanation was another example of her shortcomings in peer-to-peer communication, but Iris didn¡¯t have the time to reflect on her conduct for the same reasons she didn¡¯t have time to answer Crestana¡¯s questions. ¡°Iris! Stop!¡± ¡°Can¡¯t!¡± Iris protested with a grin so wide it hurt the sides of her face, using muscles that had stayed dormant for what felt like months. They were flying over rooftops, Iris¡¯s reflexes so tuned to the environment that the balancing act of traversing the thin shadow between streetlamps and sky lanterns was second nature. Like summoning the armour that held Crestana in a princess carry, the movements had become instinct. ¡°Where¡¯s the ring pointing!¡± Iris shouted over the wind before it carried her words away from the pedestrians below. Crestana sheepishly opened her shutters and glanced at the small beam, more defined now that there was no sun to overpower. She raised her index finger, pointing it fifty degrees off course. The Royal Gardens. How nostalgic. Iris adjusted accordingly, leaping across an entire main street, the nightlife in its infancy and still mingling with returning workers. It was loud, it was crowded, it was risky, but Iris couldn¡¯t be bothered to care. Before he slipped through her fingers, she¡¯d latch onto him no matter what. She¡¯d make him stay, at least for a while. Those same blinding thoughts carried her to the Royal Garden¡¯s new perimeter, one the trees, or rather, tree, had carved out itself from the surrounding city. The fence, the surrounding road, and the nearest buildings had been at least partially swallowed. Looking up, she was reminded how lucky the city had been that trees grew upwards more than they did sideways. Iris skidded to a halt and placed Crestana backside-first onto a nearby tiled roof, the roots coming dangerously close to its orange-brick walls. She brought her ring to her face and confirmed Alis was somewhere inside the branches. ¡°Your friend is somewhere inside, right?¡± Crestana asked, getting up and struggling to find her footing on the unstable tiles. ¡°How did he get up there in the first place?¡± The tree tapered to the east on a steep angle, the consequential structural integrity the council''s biggest headache. Climbing up was possible; surveyors were doing it consistently. But doing so required magic or mountaineer training. The latter, Iris hadn¡¯t heard of in Alis¡¯s letters, and the former, plausible, but what magic he had used¡­. ¡°If I could better use Beak magic, I might¡¯ve been able to ride the shadows to the top,¡± Crestana muttered as she gazed up at the sky lanterns, now trapped between the tree¡¯s leaves. ¡°I¡¯m guessing that¡¯s what he did,¡± Iris muttered. ¡°Your friend¡¯s a Beak too?¡± ¡°Nope. But, he can use our magic better than we can ourselves. It¡¯s frustrating.¡± Iris grabbed Crestana by her waist as her friend anxiously gripped the straps of her school bag tighter. A thin layer of armour spread across her right arm, securing her grip as she raised the other to the sky. ¡°Don¡¯t look down,¡± Iris grinned, recalling her first job with Evalyn. ¡°And try not to scream either.¡± Iris was unfortunately unable to give Crestana points for the second criterion. They landed, feet firmly planted on a branch as wide as the narrower alleys she regularly leapt across with the strength of her bare legs. ¡°Does ¡®don¡¯t look down¡¯ still apply?¡± Crestana asked, her knees quivering as she collapsed onto the concrete solid bark. Iris peered over the ledge, the streets below barely a haze of orange light through the first layers of foliage. ¡°If you¡¯re brave,¡± Iris said, a shiver crawling up her spine as she kept her cool. Looking at her ring again, she repositioned herself. ¡°That way,¡± she pointed. Elevation was the same, but there was still a way to walk. Once the trunk broke down, Excala¡¯s landmark Spirit tree showed off exactly why it deserved the title of ¡®unmapped¡¯. A side-effect of the Aether, the natural evolution of the species, whatever it was, the regular growth pattern had deteriorated into abstract art, each new branch a pathway in the maze, the leaves the hedges that made sure the foolhardy adventurer went missing for all eternity. She looked back at Crestana, guilt catching up to her as she watched her friend''s legs turn into stilts. ¡°You okay?¡± Iris asked. ¡°Sorry, should I bring you back down?¡± ¡°No, I¡¯m fine,¡± Crestana said, shaking her head either as a gesture or a way to readjust her brain. ¡°It¡¯s preferable to climbing, and¡­fun.¡± She scoffed at herself, shoes sinking into the foliage¡¯s shadow slightly. ¡°Your feet.¡± ¡°A safety net, so I don¡¯t fall off,¡± she said, looking up to spot the specks of lanternlight that managed to reach them through the multiple canopies. ¡°But I¡¯m not so sure what happens when everywhere is shadow.¡± They began the journey¡¯s final leg, hacking and boring a path through multiple dead ends. Despite Crestana¡¯s grumbling protests, Iris continued her destructive roadworks, only pausing when Crestana noticed a small camp of explorers pitching their tent on a wide branch. A government party, or at least an academic one, although neither of the girls was too interested in giving their greetings. ¡°I think it¡¯s another camp,¡± Crestana whispered as the beam became so directional it was replicating each subtle shift in Alis¡¯s body ¡°No, it¡¯s him,¡± Iris said, trying to press on before Crestana grabbed her shoulder and forced her to her knees. ¡°Then who is he talking to?¡± ¡°Are there two voices?¡± Crestana didn¡¯t answer, instead keeping quiet and inviting the sound from the far side of the leaves. Two voices: a conversation back and forth. Crestana took the lead, craning her head towards the edge of the leaves. Iris could hear the soft creak of her shutters as she squinted through the amber lighting. ¡°Black-haired boy; looks a good head taller than us.¡± ¡°Was Alis always that tall?¡± Iris muttered. ¡°And¡­.¡± Crestana snorted softly. ¡°And what?¡± ¡°Oh no,¡± she chuckled. ¡°What?¡± ¡°A private detective with red hair and markings.¡± ¡°Tch.¡± Interlude: You Have (Not) Changed take a date. So, same thing." "This can''t be good." It was a pattern she recognised. "A formal event. Senior Officers only on the Steel Whale." Bingo, but only half. The event made sense, but the why and where didn''t. Evalyn pulled away, keeping her hands on his shoulders. "What occasion?" Elliot pouted, shaking his head and shrugging. His button-up shirt''s shoulders were beginning to crease; she''d have to iron them out before he left next Monday. "Big wig? Something, something? I don''t know." Evalyn sighed, patting his shoulders and leaving for the kitchen. "If you''re looking to get promoted, it''s time to start paying attention to what''s going on above your head." "And suck up to people?" Elliot protested, resting his head on a fist. "You know how terrible I am at that." "You obey me pretty well." "Because you hit hard." Evalyn chuckled. The threat still lingered with him despite it being years since she''d last enacted on it. At least in earnest. "I''m not certain what it''s for, but it''s certainly a celebration." A stretch of silence followed as Evalyn poured water into the iron-cast kettle and ignited the burner. "And a real celebration," Elliot clarified. "Not some excuse to network with investors and nobles." They flashed a knowing glance at each other. They''d been to events before, but nothing so formal. He knew how much she hated them, how she hoped her career as a high-class plus one would be buried with the last of her bloodline. Elliot sank onto the table, stuffing his face into his forearms as though trying to run away from the answer he already expected. "I can take Iris," he said. "But it''s a booze thing, not much for her to get excited over." Iris didn''t have a dress, and as much as Evalyn could fawn over the idea of picking something out for her, the thought of the bomber jacket making a return appearance over the top made her blood run cold. "No, I''ll go," Evalyn conceded as steam rose from the kettle. She broke a sheepish smile. "I can pretend to be a lady of the house, as long as it''s only pretending." Elliot smiled, nothing of the mischievous grin that had put her on edge. He stood and strutted closer, a proper stride that held none of the sarcasm that word implied in her head, the type of strut that looked perfect when done in a three-piece suit. Elliot paused and met her eyes with his. Even after a decade, sometimes looking directly into his razor-sharp gaze stung. Sometimes, enough for her to look away. And that moment of weakness was when he took his chance. He was a fighter pilot¡ªexploiting weakness was his thing. She felt her calloused hand raised by a gentle touch, and a pair of soft lips kiss her tallest knuckle. "When did you ever stop being a lady of the house?" Elliot asked. Evalyn glanced back at him but couldn''t bear it for much longer than a glance. "Yep. You''ve still got it." That morning and afternoon she spent holed up in their bedroom, Elliot only fluttering in and out to get dressed and do his hair. It was long and unruly for a military man, with layers building on layers like a helmet if he neglected a haircut. Somehow, he''d always tame it, and without any help from her either. Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more.Evalyn took care of her hair if only to please her husband. He didn''t care much about how she carried herself, but he would always complain the moment her ends began to fray. As a result, it was easy to wrangle. Even if she was to leave it out, Evalyn was particular about how she went about it. Old habits died hard, especially the ones hammered into her for half her life. Her makeup cabinet was sparse. She knew what she liked, and she saw no reason to experiment. Even a surprise event wasn''t reason enough to call Oswald to send a servant for her ancient stash. She wasn''t desperate enough to powder herself with products ten years out of fashion. Dress. Her least favourite part. She''d grown too comfortable in her trousers and trench coat. Besides, they were warm. Her gaze passed over her closet; most of the civilian clothing were holdovers from Kestrel Manor, things she''d taken with her when she inherited the place. Rummaging through it, she wondered if the added muscle mass around her waist was enough to change her figure. No point going if the dress wouldn''t fit. But then again, that one had to. Not for some logical reasoning, or because the alterations would only take an afternoon. Something more irrational than that. One of the few things she knew for sure belonged to her mother, the dress she''d first stolen Elliot''s eyes with. In the back of her closet, as it always was whenever she needed it. The way its red fabric still so boldly declared its existence and the way the sequins so brilliantly reflected the light, the dress wanted to tell her that, for as long as she needed it, it would remain immortal. Sleeveless, with a generous neckline¡ªthe fabric was loose enough to shift with her movements, came together at her waist before billowing out again and ending just below her knees. It was flashy, and perhaps she was getting too old for it. But she smiled at herself when she looked in the mirror, allowing herself a small joy as her dangling silver earrings seemed to greet her cheerfully. She heard the door open without any prior warning, whatever announcement Elliot had made must have flown over her head. She turned, conscious of how her hair fluttered around her shoulders and, how she was still barefoot. Even that, it seemed, was still enough to stun him. Wide-eyed, missing his jacket, his manners seemed to leave him as he simply stared at her. First, it was the dress, but that soon shifted to her face. It was a pleasant feeling, one that Elliot never let his guard down enough to reward her with. She decided to play into it, popping a shoulder and flashing a wide smile. "What do you think?" Evalyn asked. "Woah," was the answer, but it didn''t come from the intended person. Despite no blood relation, father and daughter were in perfect sync, the same gobsmacked expression beaming her from two directions. "What? Stop." Iris stepped forward, her small hands still lost in the bomber jacket''s sleeve. She''d already messed up her hair, or rather, hadn''t brushed it that morning at all. Evalyn crouched, meeting Iris at her level. The little girl outstretched her hand and traced Evalyn''s arms. "What?" she smiled. "Am I too muscular for this dress?" Iris shook her head. "No. It suits you," she muttered, her finger tracing the markings along Evalyn''s arm. Interlude: You Have (Not) Changed II The fancy dress and enveloped invitations didn''t disguise the fact that entering a military base was still entering a military base. All the regular checks still applied, but their brevity startled her, reminding her she was short a rifle and a handgun. Between the sleeveless dress and lack of firepower, she tried to recall the last time she felt so exposed. "Brilliant makeup, ma''am," a female checkpoint officer commented, shining with genuine admiration. "Thank--oh, this is...." Evalyn''s eyes caught the markings on her arm. She had no real reason to cover them nor the marking on her cheek. The amount of concealer she was comfortable with wasn''t enough to cover it, only enough to make it appear as a blemish or, in the worst of cases, a bruise. Elliot didn''t need that reputation. The man in question thanked the two checkpoint officers, shifted the gears of his standard-issue rental, and joined a long line of more of the same. It was night outside the Steel Whale, but the beast''s innards seemed to take on its own sense of time. Somewhere between day and night, but again wholly removed from dusk and twilight. A different possibility, as if there was no light left in the world besides the persistent burning of oil lamps and electrical buzzing. The entire ship was unwinding, every floor in celebration like a subterranean city during a festival. Different tiers of lights and streamers, drink and chatter, thunderous cacophony just from talking as the celebration painted on the soulless steel the colour of its crew. Every single dot a person, and every single light a life. Even with the bow allowing for full ventilation, letting in the chill spring breeze through shutters the size of small alleyways, life seemed to dominate nature in that single, small pocket dimension. It was what Evalyn noticed every time she made the visit to Marie''s office, but she''d never seen it in full force before. Speaking of noticing. "People are staring at me," Evalyn asked as she and Elliot walked side-by-side, guided along a catwalk to a nearby elevator. "You forget how beautiful you are," Elliot suggested, grinning proudly. "Flaunt it more; it''s a special occasion." The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.She doubted anyone would know exactly what the occasion was even if she asked. "No. This is way too much. Even with the markings." Elliot pondered for a moment, scratching his freshly shaved chin. "Well...you are a bit of an urban legend." "A what?" "The really beautiful woman who also dresses really manly. Everyone''s seen you, and rumours started to spread." "Huh?" She could feel her temperature rising. "Oh yeah. I only mentioned to my class that you were my wife recently. Word probably hasn''t gotten around yet." She shook him. Violently. Enough to get the attention of nearby onlookers the moment she was about to push him over the legde. Evalyn hadn''t managed to find herself a post in all the time she''d spent on the party floor. The usual venues in the market square¡ªa mixture of cheap restaurants, general stores and speciality merchants¡ªwere superseded by finer catering. Senior Officers only, after all. And Evalyn had never seen a thicker concentration of their likes in one place. Although they weren''t as sleazy as her eighteen-year-old self remembered them being. Then again, they were older as well. Senior officer. That bratty Flight Lieutenant had made it all the way to a Group Captain. She watched him as he conversed, halfway between cheap airs and genuine conversation. It wasn''t banter between friends, nor was it networking. Simple co-worker speak. Then, it would be her turn. She''d say a few words, get an almost obligatory ''oh!'' in response to her occupation, and continue on until they ran into the next acquaintance like it was switching partners at a ballroom dance. The music certainly seemed to fit. "How are you holding up?" Elliot asked, trying to maintain a proper smile. "Fine," Evalyn said. "Pray your opinion of me hasn''t degraded to the point you think a mere decade is enough to make me forget my training." "Ah. There it is. Pompous rich girl speak." "And you find issue?" "No," Elliot smiled. "A part of me missed it." Her heart fluttered a little, and she would''ve punched him if she hadn''t boasted about her training only a few moments prior. She hooked her arm around his, and they continued on. Interlude: You Have (Not) Changed III Until he lost her. Worthless man. Nothing she could do but stay put. Too many people with black hair and not enough room to notice his eyes. Her hair and her dress against the steel wall behind her were enough of a beacon for him. It wouldn''t be long; it was a matter of entertaining herself in the meantime. But it was like being a street removed from the party district, how the light and sound reached her, but only ever enough to prove its existence. Beyond that, it was a murky other, some parallel life that ran along its own timeline unbeknownst to her. So it was ironic for Special Operations to throw such a thing. How easy was it to just waltz back onto the ballroom floor, knowing how much of it was a cheap sham thrown together over a few days? Maybe she was in deeper than anyone else, but being on the outside felt...right. Like at least she wasn''t forcing herself to be ignorant of the streets on either side of the pleasure district, where death seemed to follow like a rabid dog, and only the sights and sound kept it at bay, if only barely. "Hello, ma''am." And here was a man who seemed the least knowledgeable on such a topic. Brown hair slicked backwards to show off his admittedly decent forehead. Teeth were in line, only just, but the freckles on his face and the way his jaw kicked a little too far forward gave Evalyn leeway to suspect him as shallow as the layer of wax in his hair. That type of man, the type to compensate for his shortcomings with things he could handle. Money, women...she took back the second one. "Are you here for the festivities?" Master of deduction. Add that to the resume. Her silence didn''t seem to deter him. "I hear one of the Major Generals is transferring to the Army. This is his farewell party." The man took a place beside Evalyn, inching a little too close. "I don''t remember you among our cohort," he said. "Are you new, perhaps? I could show you around if you''d like." He shuffled even closer, each centimetre gained a millimetre her mental gauge ticked from "punch in the gut," to "punch in the gut but reinforce my arm with magic." A thin line between life and death, but hey, that was part of the Pilot''s job description. One last look at the man''s eyes, the ones that seemed to see the prize beyond the person, beyond even the flesh. Yep. She felt eighteen again. "Oi." A voice she recognised, but thought she''d never hear again. A stare she knew intimately, the one she''d appealed to in her time of need, the one she''d ultimately fallen in love with. A man who seemed eighteen again too. A rotten stare that shared the cold cruelty of rusted nails, and a voice that seemed to appeal to an animalistic instinct, to the very soul, that its master was far superior in every which way. Someone not to be trifled with, and it wasn''t clear if he was a gang boss or a war criminal; as long as it wasn''t a good character, it was a good first guess as to who he was. "Knowing your type, I don''t know if you''d rather lose the use of your legs or lose your rank. So pick. Do I demote you, or do I throw you over the nearest barrister?" Evalyn had never seen a more terrified salute in her life. She watched the man go, amazed more than anything else. Out of the corner of her eye, she watched Elliot approach her, that same gaze still plastered on his face. He bent closer, slipped an arm under her''s and behind her back, and another under her knees. She felt herself part with the floor and cling to his neck, still partly in shock. You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.She savoured the face, the unpleasant, unfriendly face she barely got to savour anymore. "I always wanted to do that," her husband snorted. "What?" Evalyn asked, the grin infectious. "I always wanted to do something like that," Elliot said, smiling, and returning her husband to her. Evalyn broke into a smile, and couldn''t help but laugh at the buffoon she''d signed that contract with. He''d gotten them access to the runway viewing platform, the place she''d spent many afternoons gazing at him drawing loops in the sky. Instead of contrails, it was stars. An awful lot of them, too. "Marie refused any lanterns to travel with the Steel Whale for this reason exactly," Elliot said. "Although her office is one of the few places you can see it without breaking the rules and coming here." Stars. A jacket over her shoulders. All of it was too cliche for it to be her life. Maybe that''s what it was leading up to, the line she had drawn for herself if she never insisted on being a soldier¡ªthe lucky one where she ended up with a half-decent man who could keep the lights on for her next five generations. Thinking too much made her head hurt, so she decided not to. Stargazing was a rare opportunity, wasting it with hypotheticals was bad manners. "There''s someone down there," Elliot muttered, leaning over the railings and squinting. "Oh! It''s two of my students." Two Beaks, barely visible besides their masks and their uniforms. How Elliot could recognise them from such a distance was utterly beyond her. "Oi!" Elliot bellowed, ruining the young couple''s moment. "Terris! Graler!" The two figures turned around in shock, saluting their teacher out of pure habit. Elliot chuckled before inhaling again, his chest expanding with another smart line. "You owe me a round next week, so keep it short!" Evalyn stifled a laugh with her hand as the two cadets stumbled over their words, unsure what to make of Elliot''s generosity. Her husband relaxed, a grin on his face as he watched them for another moment. "You''ve changed," Evalyn said. "Compared to when?" "When we first met." Elliot scoffed, leaning on the rail and facing her. "I hope so! Can''t live like that forever." "It wouldn''t have mattered to me," Evalyn said with confidence. "You''ve changed, but not like that." "How have I changed, then?" he asked, stepping forward and wrapping his arms around her waist. "Before, you were such a grump, now you share my husband with the rest of the world," she explained, wrapping her arms around his neck. "You haven''t changed," Elliot muttered. "Not everything. I only kept the parts I liked." "And got rid of the ones that kept you from liking them in the first place." They both smiled, admitting a draw. She kissed him first. She definitely did. The way she had to lift herself up the last few centimetres to meet his lips confirmed that it was her that started it. She could be proud of that. But it was he who kept on kissing. What she anticipated as just another welcome home peck, he turned into something that made her heart race, something she couldn''t get out of even if she tried. But she didn''t mind it. Feeling like a princess every once in a while was just what she needed. Elliot pulled away first, leaving Evalyn confused, almost dissatisfied. "I''ll call the East Excala Library, ask if they can babysit Iris for the night." Worthless man. And unfortunately, she was a worthless woman as well. Iris would understand one day. Chapter 24 Part 1: Schools of Thought ¡°And what kept you out so late?¡± ¡°The library! Same as always!¡± ¡°Yet you didn¡¯t have the decency to let me know before you left.¡± ¡°I didn¡¯t realise I needed to! You know by now! I won¡¯t go anywhere else!¡± ¡°And what if you do? I can¡¯t trust what you say! You skipped school this afternoon!¡± The Beak girl beside Alis sounded as though she were inhaling sharply through her teeth. Alis knew how voice boxes worked, but she had never heard one capable of being so expressive. ¡°That was my fault,¡± she whispered, keeping the truth out of earshot from Mrs Hardridge. Friends were friends, but even Alis would be hard-pressed to enter that fray as someone to blame. Iris and her mother had been going back and forth, the latter reinstating her reasonable expectations and the former refuting them with reasonable arguments. He struggled to side with either, and so did Iris¡¯s friend. ¡°You must be Crestana,¡± Alis began, the argument the unfortunate backdrop to his introduction. ¡°Yes,¡± the girl replied, facing him as her shutters raised at a gentle angle. ¡°Crestana Mallorine, nice to meet you.¡± She extended a delicate hand, and Alis took it accordingly. He¡¯d gotten too accustomed to his civilian life; in that world, handshakes were to take one¡¯s entire body for a ride, else it wasn¡¯t a good handshake. ¡°Have they been like this for a while?¡± Alis asked, not recalling anything of the sort from her letters. ¡°No. Only recent. I¡¯m afraid I¡¯m quite the cause myself. I should be admonishing the behaviour, especially now I understand the repercussions¡­but it¡¯s been therapeutic. Perhaps I¡¯ve had my fun.¡± Alis nodded along, unable to match her words. He could talk stiff, or stiffer¡ªthere wasn¡¯t much else in his repertoire. An awkward silence befell the two as mother and daughter continued at it; neither felt it was their place to break up the fighting, and neither particularly felt like doing so. ¡°I heard you can use Beak magic,¡± Crestana said. ¡°What else have you heard?¡± ¡°That you can use Iris¡¯s? She only implied as much.¡± ¡°Oh, it¡¯s nothing. I have these weapons that replicate magic for a short time.¡± ¡°Interesting.¡± ¡°Yes. Kicked up a storm when I brought them here a few years ago.¡± ¡°Did it now? I didn¡¯t hear about it.¡± ¡°Good.¡± ¡°Want to know what storm I kicked up?¡± Alis raised an eyebrow as Crestana pointed to the wood under their feet. He surmised as much from Iris¡¯s letter, although the finer details were something for another day. Still, gloating was certainly one way to accept one¡¯s misfortunes, even if it wasn¡¯t serious. ¡°What is she doing here anyway?!¡± Iris asked, pointing at Mrs Hardridge but staring squarely at Alis. He flashed a glance at her, then at her mother, both as ticked off as each other. Iris, now somewhat taller, looked closer to a teenager than she did a child. At least the almost clueless stare she had worn for most of their memories together were replaced with a slew of expressions. He had never seen her eyebrows so furrowed before. ¡°We¡­uh¡­Ms Hardridge met me this afternoon. She treated me to an afternoon tea, and I ordered a biscuit-base cheesecake with¡ª¡± ¡°Skip!¡± ¡°Yes ma¡¯am. She asked what my plans were, I said I wasn¡¯t sure, she brought me here, and we discussed them, and then I began to talk about why I was here.¡± Iris seemed to deflate¡ªthe accusatory finger sagged along with the rest of her arm, and both shoulders drooped. ¡°And why are you here?¡± Alis looked over to Mrs Hardridge, who shrugged her shoulders, arms crossed, and frowned dismissively. ¡°There¡¯s a possible spy plane flying over Northern Sidos,¡± Alis said. ¡°One from the Empire. I came here to deliver the proof.¡± ¡°And in doing so,¡± Evalyn said, picking up where he left off. ¡°He''s blown his cover at his ULEF branch.¡± ¡°I mean no offence, but you don¡¯t seem the type to overlook something like that,¡± Crestana interjected. ¡°I¡¯m not,¡± Alis admitted. ¡°That was¡­basically my resignation.¡± It was the face he didn¡¯t want to see out of Iris, the confused look of disappointment he had imagined but never pinpointed. Now that it was real, it hurt ten times more. ¡°But now every branch thinks you¡¯re a traitor.¡± ¡°I know.¡± ¡°So, how are you going to fight?¡± ¡°I¡­don¡¯t know.¡± He knew he had chosen the worst time to shatter her image of him; perhaps his impulsive decision to make sure she was all right had only made things worse. She watched him in silence, a stare pregnant with unsaid words, not the blank spectator it had once been. ¡°Do you want to fight?¡± Evalyn finally stepped in, the aggravated tone of her voice having left through a few prior deep breaths. ¡°I¡¯m going to let Alis stay in the other flat while he¡¯s here, seeing as he¡¯d be homeless otherwise. Crestana, feel free to move in if you¡¯d be so obliged.¡± The speech almost sounded like a military sitrep. ¡°I¡¯m going to follow up on the intelligence Alis gave me, see what¡¯s really going on there.¡± ¡°But Special Operations has that under control,¡± Alis said. ¡°If they haven¡¯t asked for your help¡ª¡± ¡°I¡¯m going on my own accord,¡± Evalyn said. ¡°See what Vesmos is so interested in that even Geverde doesn¡¯t know about.¡± The other three had nothing to add, or rather Iris looked as though she was doing her best not to. Evalyn turned to her, but she didn¡¯t reciprocate the gesture. ¡°Are you coming? You¡¯d be a lot of help.¡± Iris didn¡¯t answer, and Ms Hardridge took her silence the only way she could. ¡°Suit yourself,¡± she said, stepping over and embracing her daughter in a hug that felt like there was still some missing, dislodged piece wedged in the gap between them, forcing them apart. She looked over at Alis and Crestana, giving them a light smile. ¡°Don¡¯t stay out too late,¡± she said before her markings began to glow. She walked to the edge of the branch and stepped off. Iris wasn¡¯t concerned by her mother¡¯s freefall, and Alis found that reason enough to trust that Mrs Hardridge hadn¡¯t fallen without a plan. Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings. That left the three of them there, but with her reunion derailed, it seemed like Iris didn¡¯t have much of a plan moving forward. The girl stomped over, the sound of her school shoes not much louder than the wind playing with the leaves or the hum of life below them. She rammed into his chest, forcing him to take a step back. Arms latched themselves around him with the single-mindedness he remembered fondly, and not a hint that two and a half years had passed since the last time they¡¯d embraced him. His hands were in the air, unsure of where they were supposed to go, but like the pressure around his waist was pulling strings on his joints, they slowly came down atop her shoulders. Crestana looked as though she were smiling at them, the mask betraying a remarkable expression with its precious few implements. He felt like he had gained some sort of permission he didn¡¯t know he needed. ¡°Welcome back,¡± Iris said, her voice muffled by his clothes. ¡°Good to be back,¡± Alis answered. ¡°You got taller.¡± ¡°Not as much as you,¡± she mumbled, almost annoyed. Iris stifled a sniffle, hiding it under his coat. ¡°You took too long.¡± ¡°You made it sound like it was wrong of me to come back.¡± ¡°No,¡± Iris protested. ¡°Never.¡± Remarkably few words for a reunion, less than he was expecting. But the tighter she held him, the more he felt like words would only get in the way. He felt the last two and a half years grow colder, more distant than ever before. The thin half-truth that had kept the blurry mass of days at least worthwhile seemed to lose its veracity, like Iris''s arms were squeezing them from his bloodstream. Like it had been a poison. No, nothing so aggressive. Like a dilutant. ¡°Iris?¡± Crestana¡¯s voice called, now from a new direction. Alis looked up first, finding her at the edge of the branch where Mrs Hardridge had stood. His heart skipped a beat, even if the girl showed no signs of following the Witch. She turned around, and with the city to her back, Alis finally noticed how human her hair was. ¡°Let¡¯s listen to your mother for once and retire early,¡± she said. ¡°My Aunt is out of town at the moment, she won¡¯t notice if I stay with you for a night or two.¡± Alis felt Iris¡¯s head nod against his shirt, and he raised a thumb¡¯s up at his new acquaintance, who sighed and hung her head in response. ¡°You¡¯re acting awfully childish, Iris!¡± ¡°Am not.¡± ¡°Are to.¡± ¡°Am not!¡± ¡°Yes, you certainly are!¡± The back and forth continued longer than it had any right to, but with each pass, Iris¡¯s smile seemed to grow wider. Friends. What Alis had associated with the word after observing the world around him¡ªthe type of interactions, the kinds of faces, they weren¡¯t something he shared with Iris. The distance between them was delicate, forged of silk rather than steel. And yet she held on so tightly. He couldn¡¯t understand it, but even the act of trying to, felt as though it was enough to see it crumble. Iris¡¯s cluelessness never ceased to amaze Crestana. Even when she already knew her dear friend understood cliques better if she called them ¡®belligerents¡¯, it amazed her how effortlessly proposed to him something that would make an ordinary girl their age squeal. ¡°No, I¡¯m fine!¡± Alis insisted, protesting against filling the open space Iris had saved him in the spare apartment¡¯s master bed. Crestana watched the scene unfold, at least thankful he had to have some semblance of normalcy about him. The brief snippets of him that she had managed to gather only painted a picture remarkably similar to Iris¡¯s, and wrangling two such characters had quickly become a, thankfully mistaken, nightmare. He bid them goodnight, heading for the door with one stolen pillow, but paused as his hand began to twist for the doorknob. ¡°Iris,¡± Alis said. ¡°What?¡± she asked, further dipping under the covers. Alis fully turned to face her, a sullen look about him. ¡°I was going to leave this until tomorrow morning, but I thought it might eat me alive while I try to sleep.¡± ¡°What¡¯s going to eat you alive?¡± she asked as Crestana tried to determine if Iris had understood the metaphor. ¡°Why didn¡¯t you say you¡¯d go with Mrs Hardridge?¡± Iris¡¯s expression soured, and she rolled over, away from his gaze and away from Crestana. Letting the question marinate, she took her time. ¡°You know what I am,¡± she said. ¡°I can only solve problems one way. If the world wants to rot, I¡¯m not helping it.¡± Crestana was familiar with the sentiment. The attic had fallen quiet many times after she had uttered such things. The world was rotting. Let it all burn. As uncomfortable as those phrases made her, Crestana was reluctant to admit such to Iris directly. She knew little of Iris¡¯s world, less than Alis, certainly less than Evalyn. There was nothing to suggest those sentiments weren¡¯t true besides Crestana¡¯s ill feelings towards them. So Crestana felt no place to speak in the exchange that soon fell silent between the two friends. Iris was steadfast, and stubbornly refusing to speak despite all the warm words and stories they had shared over a lazy dinner. Alis was unwilling, perhaps unable to dispute it, despite the way he¡¯d so easily scolded them for skimping on school. Iris had imagined they really were friends. Sharing letters for two years would build some sort of familiarity. But in the end, words on paper were just that. The door closed, and the aching gap severed, leaving Crestana able to breathe again. Iris hadn¡¯t taken a job with her mother in weeks. The more difficult ones, Crestana could understand, but even the ordinary pickpocket search or missing cat, she¡¯d staunchly refused. She had explained it was in her right; Excala wouldn¡¯t penalise her unless it was an order from their Council. Still, none of it sat right with her, and it looked like she and Alis were of one mind. She reached over, and brushed a finger against Iris¡¯s neck, giggling as the girl¡¯s spine crawled. ¡°What?¡± Iris mumbled. ¡°You¡¯re a strange girl,¡± Crestana whispered, looking beyond the headboard and through the master bedroom¡¯s window. The half-hearted moonlight trickled through from a moon nowhere in sight. Her night would be dark, and she would soon begin to sink. ¡°Iris?¡± ¡°Hm?¡± ¡°Can you hold my hand?¡± ¡°Is this what girls do when they sleep together?¡± She chuckled at the nonsensical question, each point she¡¯d have to clarify fluttering through her head and stopping at her voice box. ¡°Yes,¡± she finally answered, and without a word, like a faithful knight, Iris obliged. Provenance gazed up at the giant tree from under its shadow. Attempts were made to bring light back to the blocks unfortunate enough to land underneath its canopy, but nothing in Excala¡¯s magical arsenal seemed to rival the sun. He wasn''t disappointed in their capabilities; being observable didn¡¯t make it understandable, and understanding was the foundation of an actionable concept, one that could turn into a Spirit. Anyone could understand destruction, the concept of something ceasing to exist. The sun, ignoring the various scientific explanations, was simply a source of light more powerful than those on land. No one knew how or why, and neither did the Aether. Or perhaps that theory of Aetherology was mistaken. The evolution of Spirits was more omnipotent than humans could fathom, and Spirits mimicking those celestial bodies were either undiscovered or dead. Perhaps the sun was itself a Spirit, mimicking the stars it saw in the night sky. Theory. Provenance liked theory but understood its limitations. The people living underneath the shade of the colossal tree would see the value of their properties decrease, the disappearance of their neighbours, and the slow replacement of their communities. Theory wouldn¡¯t fell the tree nor restore their neighbourhood. From where Provenance stood, he could spot almost ten instances of white smiles and polished masks plastered on advertising signs, the handsome men and women advertising the buildings¡¯ vacancies. ¡°I hope you like your statue, Caynes,¡± he muttered under his breath as he continued his walk down the city street, his destination already in sight¡ªa diner, tucked into the bottom floor of a regular city block. He imagined it suffering the same hard decisions as much of the local populous, but doing business in an establishment already on its last legs struck him as oddly convenient. The traces would turn to ash along with their business records. Provenance purged the thoughts from his mind, not wanting to wish ill on a business with an already precarious future. He entered with a chime and was thankfully greeted by three or four patrons, none of which he was familiar with, all of which would mask his presence. He crossed the ageing wood floor¡ªthe saloon-style counter to his left, the booths and windows to his right¡ªand made a straight line for the bathrooms at the other end of the establishment. Before the amenity entrance stood a payphone nailed to the wall. An older model, with the receiver split into a separate earpiece and mouthpiece. He dropped a coin into the slot, and a set of gears softly ground past each other inside until a lever beside the dial flipped from ¡®locked¡¯ to ¡®unlocked¡¯. He dialled the number he had scribbled onto a napkin during breakfast, and waited for the operator to pass the wire through to international. ¡°Hello sir, this is Yerrick from last week. Yes. No, it seems he crossed the border only last night. With your permission, sir, certainly. It can all be arranged on my end, yes. Of course. Goodbye.¡± He put the phone back together and began to walk for the nearest booth, flashing a small smile at the disinterested teenager buffing the counter. The cushion was worn, and admittedly, he would¡¯ve felt no difference between it and a single blanket over hardwood. He ran his shoe along the bottom edge of the opposite seat as though looking for something, until his foot hit an obstacle he could not see. He tapped it a few times, then looked out of the window. ¡°I heard you worked with Wesper on a job two and a half years ago in this very city. Though a lot has changed, I¡¯d assume you know your way around decently well.¡± There was no response, but he kept on talking. ¡°The asset I hired you to deliver to my contact in Sidos has recently fled his accommodation. I tracked him here, somewhere in this district. He¡¯s on alert, but I know you¡¯re good at finding people.¡± A waitress interrupted his conversation with a friendly greeting. Being college-age, it seemed she could at least pretend to care about her job, unlike her younger coworker, although Provenance could blame neither. Working for crumbs in any industry was taxing. He returned the smile, giving her the order he had already decided on the day prior as she scribbled it into her notepad. With a final show of courtesy, she left his table. Provenance returned to his company. ¡°I want you to kill him. Three hundred thousand Ixa now, three hundred thousand afterwards.¡± He felt two taps against his shoe, their predetermined sign for ¡®yes¡¯. Without a sound, without a word, and without a hint of movement, he felt the presence disappear, and his foot ran across the entire length of the couch. First was lunch, then he had errands to run. Friendly chats with the last people who went against the Spirit of Destruction, those who could shed more light where Caynes had stubbornly refused to cast a shadow. Chapter 24 Part 2: It Follows Her like a Rabid Dog She¡¯d seen a painting like it before. Ignoring the protrusions she had clumsily labelled a city, the scene was remarkably similar to the fields painters had replicated countless times through history, filtered through fantastical lenses. Some were rose-tinted, some in the pursuit of aesthetic perfection. But the way the grass swayed in unison as though a blurred mass in an endless sea made her feel it was already perfect in its simplicity and vastness¡ªno need for a painter''s creative intervention. An incomprehensible beauty, coupled with the unfathomable height of the clouds and depth of the blue sky. There was nothing vaster, nothing bluer, nothing taller than the scene before her. She knew she was dreaming; she just had no idea why it all looked so perfect. Which lens was she looking through? That self that still remembered, the self not named Iris. She continued to speed above the vast green paint stroke, playing with the idle thoughts like gum in her molars as the city got closer and closer. Her memories wouldn''t let her pick up from where she left off, instead forcing her to start from square one each time. Whatever the city held, it wasn¡¯t something she was eager to remember, but it was there, in the back of her mind, ready to oblige if she ever felt like going a step too far, learning something she¡¯d never be able to forget. Flying overhead was a flock of white birds, their wingspans much wider than what she saw in Excala. They soared, gracefully riding the wind¡¯s coattails, oblivious to how they¡¯d never reach the world¡¯s ceiling no matter how high they flew. Iris slowed as she reached the city, noticing sudden imperfections in the grass. Rabbits, their bodies carving small, soft chasms in the otherwise untouched landscape, never bothered to stray too far from their burrows despite how much there was to explore. But looking out from above the grass, she knew that was an inconsequential endeavour. What difference was there between the grass around the burrow and the grass a thousand kilometres away? The scenery disappeared as the first of the city¡¯s spires choked her view, and something choked her nostrils. Or rather, the human side of her brain translated the sensation into something it could understand. An overpowering smell, or a swell in the throat, acute Aether influx was what it was. Nothing as suffocating as she¡¯d experienced on her last visit, just the stuffiness of walking through a crowd of Beaks. Like odour, it was the presence of life. The city¡¯s outskirts were peppered with signs of habitation, and Iris felt it stronger here. Spirits. The vast array that had rushed through the city in her last dream was now settled, milling about the city leisurely. Iris slowed her mount and disembarked it, the sweat on the underside of her bare feet sticking to the crystal floor. Spirits of all makes and any manner of concept meandered left and right, some crawling from one spire to the next, others weaving their way through in graceful flight. The variation in shape to the spread of hues made Iris reexamine the value of imagination. Evalyn had drilled it into her, how imagination was limitless, but needed time and source material. Combat limited the former while life experience the latter, making the principle of ¡®sticking to what you know¡¯ so important. Iris understood that. Trying to guess what the Spirit around the corner would look, sound and move like was akin to guessing how a grain of sand would fall in an hourglass. It was less a city, more a congregation of ideas and phenomena¡ªa microcosm of the world itself, many facets of it if only a tiny fraction. She stepped through it, admittedly struck by awe, until something stole her attention and forced her ear to the ground, or whichever organ of hers dealt with Aether. ¡°Gr¡ª¡± A fraction of a word cut off by what sounded like struggling. She knew it was only her interpretation of an Aether signal, but so far, nothing had registered as anything more sophisticated than a vague emotion. ¡°Greet¡ª¡± Iris picked up the pace, jogging around the corner of a spire and coming across a scene she would¡¯ve expected from a fairytale book sitting in her bedroom¡¯s bookshelf. She imagined the princess there, gracefully poised on a mossy rock as tepid deer lapped at her gloved hands, while butterflies and robins perched on her shoulders and hair. ¡°Greetings,¡± a tall Spirit spluttered, this time through the air rather than the Aether. With brown fur coating its webbed wings and body long and bony, the regal Spirit was one of many crowded around a single figure¡ªa human. Black hair streaking with silver despite his young body, and a golden gleam in the one eye said hair didn¡¯t obscure. He wore simple, white robes that ended above his ankles, exposing his worn feet and strained straw sandals. The only thing of value on his person was a straw basket with two loops Iris presumed were backpack straps. ¡°Good,¡± he said as his smile broadened, Iris somewhat able to understand him. ¡°I could hear you.¡± The Spirit continued to recite the word over and over as if not to forget the sensation. The man¡¯s attention slowly wafted to her, like the smell of freshly baked bread. ¡°Greetings,¡± he repeated, and the small oasis of infatuated Spirits turned to her. Those with eyes seemed to widen, as though to say ¡®there¡¯s another one¡¯. ¡°Gr¡ªhello,¡± Iris managed. The man stood to his full height, retrieved his basket with one swaying hand and walked over, crouching in front of her. ¡°What brings you so far East?¡± he asked, as though talking to a child. Perhaps it was the Aether¡¯s acute chokehold on her throat, but her words seemed to get bottlenecked in her throat. ¡°You look like a human, but¡­,¡± he said, trailing off as he examined her, frowning. ¡°Excuse me, he said as he reached around Iris¡¯s ear and used his index finger to put pressure on a particular point. She felt a slight jolt of shivers, and her hair began disintegrating into purple dust. A smile stretched across his face. ¡°Spirits have pressure points like humans. It seems as though you are, somehow, a mix of both. I must document this.¡± Iris had never heard of such a phenomenon in Aetherology, and from what the science had taught her, she found the thought hard to believe. But it was a fool¡¯s errand to deny a practical demonstration. Even as the man produced a poorly bound set of pages from his basket and furiously jotted down words she could not read, Iris found it hard to imagine he was an Aetherologist. At least, not by the modern definition. The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident. The man stood and readjusted the straw basket on his shoulders, watching the purple swirl around Iris before it coalesced into strands of silver hair. One final note, and he shut the book. ¡°That colour reminds me of this city¡¯s patron,¡± he said. ¡°I wish I could have met them. The admiration each purple spark in the sky draws from the Spirits here; it''s almost like the Gods the people of the frontier still worship.¡± ''Frontier''. Of all the frontiers in history, the human advancement across the continent was the most famous, and a matter fiercely studied and documented in scrolls thousands of years old. Perhaps the repeated delving into her schooling triggered the memory, but the man¡¯s appearance was too distinct to forget. Although embellished slightly, the resemblance to the stained-glass artwork in her school¡¯s courts was uncanny. Each was a retelling of Excala¡¯s founding, the man appearing as the human¡¯s representative and counterpart to Queen Amestris. A man who could freely control Spirits like a physician. A Witch Doctor. ¡°Humans will arrive at the mountains yonder before my lifetime is over. I can only hope the patron Spirit is equipped to handle what might come with them.¡± His face changed, as though the wind itself was adjusting his eyebrows ever so slightly upwards. Sympathy: how a parent looks at an orphaned child, concerned for a future that they could have no hand in controlling. ¡°The way it protects this place,¡± he whispered, ¡°makes me feel as though they have failed many a time before.¡± ¡°Why do you dress so poor?¡± Iris¡¯s tongue was still seeping with venom, and she flicked it without much intention or care. But at the same time, the quizzical face she gave him as she pulled on her shoes wasn¡¯t one he could blame wholeheartedly. He sighed, fluffing his jacket and readjusting his flat cap to the exact same position. ¡°I am poor, Iris,¡± Alis explained. ¡°Why do you think Mrs Hardridge let me stay here.¡± ¡°Oh,¡± she sighed, brushing off the backside of her school skirt and making way in the hallway for Crestana to pull her shoes on. ¡°Pity, then. Makes sense. She doesn¡¯t like you very much.¡± ¡°Does she not?¡± Alis asked, mood souring. He had clocked some unfamiliarity during their conversation, but never any outright hostility. ¡°No,¡± Iris said, holding back no punches. But a small smirk crawled across her lips. ¡°But she respects you. You didn¡¯t hesitate to do something she couldn¡¯t bring herself to do for years. Or at least that¡¯s what she tells me.¡± Iris¡¯s manner of speaking was an acquired taste; her inability to tell white lies was a boon in and of itself, and he suspected Crestana shared a similar sentiment. ¡°Shall we go?¡± Crestana said, mimicking how Iris had patted down the seat of her trousers and rode the straps of her school bag further up her shoulders. In return for allowing Iris to stay in Excala, Evalyn had saddled her with maintaining their headquarters, the small office fashioned over the years from a regular old apartment. It was a task meant only for her, but according to Crestana, the stopover on the way to the Academy was brief, and Alis had little else to do either. ¡°What exactly are we doing?¡± Crestana asked, walking with Iris side by side. ¡°Cleaning, mostly. Changing the air and checking the mail. I can pay bills too, but as far as I remember, there aren¡¯t any due soon.¡± ¡°What is your position in the business, anyway?¡± Alis asked from three steps ahead, hands in his pockets and passing his eyes over the street¡¯s every nook and corner. Old habits died hard, and considering how he¡¯d parted with ULEF, he wasn¡¯t too keen on forgetting them just yet. ¡°Apprentice,¡± Iris replied. ¡°It¡¯s less suspicious, like how blacksmiths and butchers start early.¡± ¡°And is the apprentice ever going to take over the business?¡± Alis kept his eyes forward, but the lack of any answer from behind him was enough plaster to fill in the gaps. ¡°What career was your cover?¡± he heard Crestana ask, filling in the void. ¡°Me? I moved from job to job quite frequently. The factories employ most green residents, and consequentially, service jobs were understaffed and easy to come by. Eventually, I landed on a local fish and chip shop run by a Mr Rockshall.¡± Crestana seemed satisfied with the explanation, even though it lacked the significant detail that rested right above the said restaurant. ¡°Green¡­as in na?ve?¡± Crestana asked. ¡°Green as in non-Vesmosian commoners.¡± ¡°Non-Vesmosian? As in not a citizen?¡± ¡°Not exactly,¡± Alis explained. ¡°Vesmos is an Empire, and the title of Emperor means ¡®king of kings¡¯.¡± ¡°Ah,¡± Crestana exclaimed, catching on. ¡°So, where you were was originally a different country?¡± ¡°Yes, although its nobles and derelict castles are the only real sign it still exists.¡± ¡°They still have their nobles?¡± Crestana asked, fascinated by the concept and making Alis realise how foreign it sounded to a Geverdian. Palace life and politics may as well have been a thing of fairytales. ¡°Yes, they do. Foreign-born nobles, reds, and Vesmosian nobles, greys. Then black signifies the Royal family.¡± ¡°It sounds like a fantasy novel,¡± was Crestana¡¯s almost dreamy response. ¡°But in the end, it¡¯s a hierarchy, isn¡¯t it?¡± Iris interjected. ¡°A concentration of power.¡± ¡°Sure is,¡± Alis sighed, giving his eyes a rest. ¡°But they make you forget, what with how many greens gain wealth and how many reds become imperial consorts.¡± He scratched his chin, trying to recall a news broadcast. ¡°If I remember correctly, I think the current Empress was originally a red.¡± ¡°What¡¯s an imperial consort?¡± Iris asked. ¡°Imagine your father had other wives besides your mother he hugged and kissed,¡± Crestana explained so delicately. ¡°Ew.¡± "So," Crestana said, turning back to him. "What are you?" Alis craned his neck upwards, feeling the morning sun begin to singe his brow. His parents had fled the country, abandoning their titles rather than becoming reds themselves. Alis hoped they were doing well, but the urge to find them and reconnect was never something he''d suffered from. The only confirmation he ever had parents were second-hand accounts and the fact that he had to have come from someone''s womb. "Green," he said. "At least that''s what it said on my identification." Alis propped the wooden broom against the hallway¡¯s far wall before doing the same with himself. Mornings moved fast no matter where he was, and by the time he had worked up a sweat, the air was too humid to take the burden off his skin. ¡°Objective completed,¡± Alis said, wiping his brow as Iris undid a brass latch and forced open a second window. It was like draining a dam, how the air rushed through the gap and swirled up the loose debris in the room. Crestana leaned out the window and hit the feather duster against the outside wall. The heat was beginning to rise, and Excala was on its way to work. ¡°Is there anything else we should tend to before we go?¡± ¡°No,¡± Iris answered. ¡°That¡¯s all I normally do. Thank you; six hands really make a difference.¡± ¡°Weren¡¯t you using four hands this entire time?¡± Crestana reminded her, leaning against the window. ¡°Must be nice. I wish I had four hands.¡± ¡°We can swap for a day if you¡¯d like,¡± Iris said, stretching her back and rolling her shoulders. ¡°Actually, Alis, can you check the mail? It slipped my mind.¡± ¡°Rodger,¡± Alis replied, picking up his broom and trotting down the hall. At some point, the pair had crudely drilled a mailbox into the apartment door in hopes of not having to return to a week''s worth of piled-up mail. He lifted the lid and found four envelopes stacked neatly on each other. Two were white and stamped with Royal crests, one was blue and addressed with handwritten letters, and one was brown, its paper full of blemishes and imperfections. ¡°There¡¯s four,¡± he said, wandering into the office and leaning on his broomstick. He handed them to Iris, who passed her eyes over each one. ¡°Business survey¡­electorate change¡­Harvey¡­her cat must have gone missing again.¡± Iris unceremoniously tossed the request above the other two letters, but held onto the brown one, her eyes furrowing. She flipped it in her hand, then back to its front. ¡°No stamp. Not even an address.¡± ¡°Must have been hand-delivered. Does that happen a lot?¡± Crestana asked. ¡°No, not at all. If they come all the way here, it¡¯s easier to knock on the door and come in.¡± ¡°Anonymous request, maybe?¡± Alis suggested. ¡°No point in being anonymous if we catch you slipping a letter under our door,¡± Iris explained, opening the letter with her thumb. ¡°It¡¯s easier to be anonymous through the mail.¡± Inside was a standard piece of writing paper folded into thirds. Handwritten, and in rushed scrawl as well. ¡°It¡¯s almost as bad as your handwriting,¡± Crestana chimed. ¡°Shut up,¡± Iris replied, deciphering the glyphs into language. ¡°Is it the type of thing you can read aloud?¡± Alis asked. ¡°Hm?¡± ¡°Is it private?¡± ¡°Oh. No, I guess not.¡± ¡°Then what does it say?¡± ¡°Uh¡­dear Excala International Private Investigations. What I am going to say is hard to believe, but I urge you to take this seriously. I am a scientist who has created the technology to destroy Aether.¡± Iris choked on her words, and Crestana leaned on her shoulder, trying to read it for herself. ¡°I originally intended for it to be an emergency cure to dangerous Aether influx, but my country sought after it for military purposes. I sought refuge in Sidos, but after sharing my information, I caught wind of a plan to kill me.¡± Iris crushed the letter in her fist and pegged it into the nearest waste basket. ¡°In exchange for your protection, I will cooperate in destroying my creation. Find me during the protest scheduled for July fifteenth.¡± Chapter 24 Part 3: Violent Demonstration Iris wanted to skip the day, but Crestana¡ªseeing as the protest only started after school¡ªsaw no point. Drumming up ire with the school administration would only impede their operations. They were in schooling; a simple detention would be enough to ruin their operations. ¡°Many of the protestors are school-age,¡± Crestana explained. ¡°To hold it after school hours only makes it more appealing to people still on the fence. Besides¡ª¡± She had stopped in front of their classroom, their cursed morning homeroom now on their third teacher. ¡°I have something I want to collect.¡± Even if waiting out the day made sense, that did nothing to calm her nerves. Her feet were drumming against the floorboards, much to her teachers¡¯ irritation, and that echoing rhythm of war drums barred any lessons from making it past her ear. She had her priorities straight. That was her justification. But after her second straight period of repeating those words to herself, they began to sound weird. First, they devolved into a collection of sounds, simple movements of her mouth that made her wonder exactly why they meant what they meant. Then she began to wonder who had given those words that meaning in the first place. Not their dictionary definition, but rather their importance to her. What priorities? Who¡¯s priorities? She certainly didn¡¯t remember setting them. Crestana had told her school was a societal requirement¡ªone didn¡¯t just decide not to attend outside of extreme circumstances. A Witch didn¡¯t simply choose not to kill people and burn cities. Her feet drummed the floorboards even faster. She turned her eyes to her aviation watch. Big and bulky, a reminder that Elliot¡¯s wings were somewhere in the sky when he wasn¡¯t roosting with her. He knew he was going somewhere and wouldn¡¯t be home for the weekend, but not much else besides that. Spy plane, Sidos, she could make an educated guess. On her other hand was her ring. She watched as Alis milled about somewhere in the city, his movements in the light beam dulled by distance. Like flowers following the sun or clouds floating through the sky, she¡¯d find it had changed while she wasn''t paying attention. Working through her thoughts stopped her from grinding her teeth, at least, and took her through to the final school bell of the day. Iris stood from her class the second she was dismissed, having already packed away her books and stationery, and headed for the door. Crestana was close behind as she checked her watch. The protest wasn¡¯t far away, beginning at the Royal Gardens and marching through the city until the congregation reached the Capitol Building. She had asked a trio of politically enlightened seniors for the location moments before they had their protest signs confiscated. Something about¡­keeping politics off school grounds. It sounded like bollocks. ¡°Let¡¯s stop by our hiding spot,¡± Crestana muttered as they marched down Tyrren Court¡¯s tallest balcony. She had mentioned she wanted to ¡®pick up something¡¯, and the leather drawing tube slung across her shoulder gave Iris an inkling. ¡°It¡¯s been sheathed properly, so it¡¯s not in terrible shape, but going home to collect my own will waste us too much time,¡± Crestana said, wading through the menagerie of forgotten things until she reached a dusty weapons rack, three swords decorating its tiers. They were technically out of bounds, deep in the annals of Academy history. Iris couldn¡¯t blame the staff for neglecting one or two stray weapons. ¡°What are you using that for?¡± Iris asked, looking the longsword¡¯s blade up and down. Despite the generous afternoon glow, the blade didn''t gleam like she expected. Even if it could still cut, it was far from taken care of. ¡°Well,¡± she shrugged, ¡°Mr Harbourman has his brass knuckles, and you are¡­you, so why should I be the only one unarmed?¡± ¡°Because it¡¯s a sword,¡± Iris said. ¡°It¡¯s a bit harder to conceal.¡± ¡°And one or two strings pulled meant I had my Melee Arms License early.¡± She took the sword and slid it into the drawing tube, fastening the leather flap over the hilt in such a way the cross guard jutted out from the seams. ¡®Good enough,¡¯ she thought she heard Crestana say before she slung it over her shoulder. All she could do was trust that Crestana had already weighed the blade in her hands before deciding to wield it on the battlefield. Terror Dealers! Not Our Leaders! We don¡¯t ask! Take off the mask! Even if the perpetrators were Beaks, the chant felt oddly targeted, dry humour leaving an equally wry smile across her face. Iris noticed many Beaks in the crowd had turned to simply waving their signs instead of joining in on the chorus. It almost felt like a Spirit in itself, the large mass of shifting bodies that swelled until it met the brick walls of the flanking buildings or the police barricades redirecting traffic. It waved wood and cardboard signs above its bobbing back, each painted by hand with slogans and emblems united under a common message. Reveal the perpetrators to the public, put them to trial, and let the public boycott their businesses. From the little Iris heard from Marie, she knew the metropolitan police were willing to negotiate the first and second demands¡ªsheltering those who had messed with their home turf wasn¡¯t the intention in the first place. The third, her god-grandmother had put it best. ¡®Good luck boycotting your electricity provider, grocery chain, and Magic appliance dealer all at once.¡¯ Nonetheless, they chanted, and their voices echoed off the tall brick walls and up to Iris¡¯s perch atop the clay tiles. She was lookout, her ground unit¡¯s guiding light through the beast¡¯s belly. With little to go off, the three had no choice but to assume their mystery contact would be distinct enough for them to spot amongst the sea of bodies. It wasn¡¯t ideal, Alis had pointed out the possibility of their target¡¯s conspicuousness appealing to the wrong hunters. Hence, come armed. It wasn¡¯t a bad idea, but Iris wanted to avoid sparking a scene in such a place. Too many eyes blinded by political ire meant any event was an opportunity to spark controversy. She didn¡¯t want to be responsible for creating another S.H.I.A. This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere. By the looks of things, the protestors kept peace at the forefront, knowing how ineffective their campaign against terrorism would be if they stooped to that level. But she had been in the business long enough to know such movements never walked in unison, hands daisy-chained and frolicking. A protest. Of all places. Of all places indeed. They might as well have been chanting for her father¡¯s execution. An armed individual with a plausible motive to cause harm: Crestana had to be careful, else they began to chant for hers as well. ¡°See anyone?¡± Crestana asked, slowly stepping with the crowd. ¡°No,¡± Alis replied, using his superior height to see between peoples¡¯ shoulders. ¡°It¡¯s hard to make out much of anything.¡± ¡°Then, it¡¯s up to Iris.¡± ¡°Correct.¡± ¡°¡­why weren¡¯t they more explicit in their letter?¡± she complained. ¡°Don¡¯t know, but they¡¯re a scientist, not a spy. They probably didn¡¯t know better.¡± ¡°Hm.¡± The crowd was up in arms, but Crestana didn¡¯t feel herself swept up in the anger at all, and neither did Alis. Without their intermediary present, all they had was their mission to distract themselves from each other. He was quite tall. Crestana preferred that, although she knew it was childish. If he just dressed better, he¡¯d end up quite handsome. ¡°Same as Iris, then,¡± she muttered under her voice box. ¡°Sorry?¡± Alis asked, his hearing keen enough to pick up the gripe amongst the hubbub. ¡°You should dress better!¡± Crestana shouted this time. ¡°You and Iris both!¡± ¡°I¡¯d like to,¡± Alis said, still craning his neck for a clue, ¡°at least I have a justified reason.¡± Crestana snorted. ¡°I guess so,¡± she said, conceding and returning her attention forward. ¡°Your family,¡± Alis started as he grabbed Crestana¡¯s shoulder and pulled her out of the way of a clump of over-eager protestors forcing their way through the crowd. ¡°¡­Thank you¡­,¡± she managed to say, the gesture leaving her more than startled. ¡°Anytime. Anyway, your family,¡± he said, not missing a beat, ¡°I understand they were involved in this?¡± She looked up to her saviour, still peering through the crowd. He seemed almost disinterested in his own line of questioning. But he was a spy; lying was what he did. ¡°Yes, my father was a ringleader of sorts,¡± she said, playing along. ¡°They must have been wealthy.¡± ¡°Very. Too much money for anyone to ever spend.¡± ¡°Certainly one way to put it,¡± he scoffed. ¡°What was it like?¡± Crestana found the chance to return said scoff. Perhaps his payment for saving her was an answer to an impossible question. She wasn¡¯t willing to give him the response he sought for such a simple question. There was plenty he didn¡¯t need to know. That¡¯s one thing that Iris only understood instinctually rather than consciously: secrets weren¡¯t something for enemies only. ¡°Cold,¡± she said. Frustratingly simple, like trying to explain a book one loved in as few words as possible. But Alis nodded, seemingly satisfied. ¡°Childhood in the army doesn¡¯t seem so different when you use that word. Maybe I didn¡¯t miss out on much.¡± It was almost flattering to hear that from him. Of course, she had Iris, but hearing that from someone standing behind the curtain felt like an induction of sorts. She noticed the dome roof of the Capitol Building peer over the surrounding brick apartments, sheepishly sizing up its invaders as they made their final approach. ¡°Now or never,¡± Alis rightly assessed as the procession began to pour into Capitol Square, bodies compressing and stretching to fit their new containers. ¡°Come on Iris,¡± Crestana whispered. The chanting continued, intermingling with jeering as the procession laid eyes on police presence blocking access to the council stairs. Lightly armed, from what Crestana could make out¡ªmagic shields that caught projectiles and suspended their motion, with nausea mines and acute Aether influx inducers planted at the base of the steps. She knew it wasn¡¯t the police she was there to focus on but, at her height, she was out of options. A sea of people, the perfect place for a get-together with a stranger. ¡°Get on my shoulders,¡± Alis said out of the blue. ¡°Sure¡ªI mean, excuse me?¡± ¡°We don¡¯t have time,¡± he hissed, crouching. ¡°I need your head above the crowd.¡± The jeers fell silent as Crestana saw through the thread holes in the crowd, a megaphone-wielding figure taking centre stage. Crestana thoroughly swallowed her protest and climbed onto the near stranger¡¯s shoulders, holding in a small scream as he lifted her above the waves. She was with the signs now, bobbing precariously with a near-perfect view of the world around her. She started scanning, searching for the one keeping a low profile in an ocean of brash voices: a hood, a coat, something that in any other situation would go unnoticed. Movement. Not exactly what she was looking for, but an anomaly nonetheless. But something was missing. People, one after another were being pushed to one side, their shoulders yielding to a force they weren¡¯t aware of. Beaks seemed to catch on faster, turning as though expecting someone to barge through, but only meeting empty air. The evidence was there, but the perpetrator was nowhere to be seen. Crestana felt a tap on her shoulder and turned, expecting to meet someone exceptionally tall. ¡°Oh thank gods,¡± she muttered, finding a clump of Iris fashioned into a crudely shaped arrow. She tapped Alis¡¯s head, cueing him to let her down. ¡°Iris caught something,¡± she said the moment her feet hit the floor. ¡°But there¡¯s something moving in the crowd. I think it¡¯s invisible.¡± I think I know where this is going,¡± Alis grumbled, eyeing Iris¡¯s arrow and starting in the same direction. He used his own body like an icebreaker¡¯s bow, forcing himself through the crowd with a one-two of polite words and not-so-polite shouldering. The speech was ramping up into a crescendo and, between all the cheers, it was hard to make out much of anything. The crowd was closing in, not so forgiving of Alis¡¯s advances as though it had a hive mind of its own. The Spirit she couldn¡¯t see was gliding through the crowd thanks to the illusion. Coupled with a small profile, they were nothing more than a trick of the imagination, something of little significance at the very most. Iris¡¯s arrow was quivering, probably noticing for herself the warp in reality closing in on their target. It was a lost cause if things didn''t speed up, their efforts only to be rewarded with whatever remnants of their client were left. Sink. That was the only option available. The summer sun was beginning to angle which, by itself, would¡¯ve been insufficient. But the crowd was thick, their shadows overlapped to create a second sea only Crestana was wary of. Move through the crowd like something of no consequence. She had to sink. The world around her inverted; shadows grew longer where there was no space, projecting themselves arrogantly onto the sky and almost shrouding the sunlight. People were ghastly, their now pale white skin unable to hide any flaws or impurities. She could see the dirt, the secrets, the way forward. Crestana began to step ahead, with no choice but to pace herself and keep a rhythm lest she ran right back into the real world. She walked past people, jumping from one shadow to another and riding them through the narrow chasms between strangers¡¯ shoulders. Her feet were gliding across cobblestones she couldn¡¯t trust, unable to shake the feeling that the only thing keeping them from degrading into quicksand was her discipline. It felt unnatural, her heightened, defective sense of fear clashing with what was supposedly her nature. The muffled speech cut through the veil, and the cheers drummed against the gates. Then a scream finally pierced it, the very sound stringing her along like a lasso back into the real world. She began to run, her right hand instinctively finding the hilt of her sword in anticipation as she burst out into a small enclave, sunlight finally reaching the ground. The colour flashed back into her world, and the pool of liquid seeping into the cobblestone¡¯s seams glowed a ghastly blue. Crestana tried to calm herself. She¡¯d seen a dead body before. No. This one was still dying. She ran over and kneeled beside the Spirit, their trailing coat torn open by a single vertical cut. Something heavy had come down hard, cleaving apart their wooden skin and shattering the bark into splinters. The liquid Aether spilling from them was their lifeblood, like sap from a tree, draining away their strength faster than a doctor could ever hope to reach them. She frantically searched the clearing for a detached voice box and found it at the foot of a distressed girl not much older than her. ¡°Give it here!¡± Crestana shouted. ¡°Voicebox!¡± The shouting seemed to go nowhere, only sending the girl spiralling further. A stranger nearby managed to hold onto their senses, kicking the voice box towards her. Crestana picked it off the floor and pressed it against the Spirit¡¯s arm. ¡°Who did this to you?¡± she hissed. ¡°Why did they kill you?¡± Static was all the voice box could interpret, interrupted by soft spluttering that dashed her hopes as fast as they restored them. ¡°It¡­hurts¡­.¡± Crestana had the honour of pronouncing him dead, the last whisps of Aether parting from his body. She felt them circulate into her, and that disgusted her more than anything else. Chapter 25 Part 1: Gauging Crisis ¡°Feel like home yet?¡± ¡°I¡¯m a bumpkin, remember? All this is Evalyn¡¯s turf.¡± Elvera watched the pilot listlessly stare out the window, a hint of disdain in the way his eyebrows crossed. ¡°That is true. I guess your turf is a little higher, isn¡¯t it?¡± He snorted; at least he didn¡¯t outright deny it. But such contempt for the city he had once risked his life to protect was a quality she could only imagine in him. Personal validation and pride were the only things giving him self-value. The younger Flight Lieutenant that had stumbled onto her doorstep flew for nothing outside his cockpit and, in a way, that had made him fiercer than any other pilot she had ever witnessed. The desire to fight for others, fight to protect something. For the select few, it was an inexhaustible fuel more valuable than the Aether that ran through their aircraft. But for others, self-preservation kicked in before they could put it all on the line, and rightly so. But for Elliot, putting it all on the line had been his self-preservation. No allegiance besides to himself, let alone his state. It had convinced Evalyn that she could trust him with her defection, and it had convinced Elvera she could trust him with Evalyn. And although never in a million years would she call the current Elliot a paper tiger, the paper tiger no longer tended to pack its claws full of gunpower like a firecracker and light it, if only for a chance to call the fight his victory. His calloused fingers tapped against their tablecloth beside a half-drunk glass of whiskey. He wasn¡¯t much of a drinker, as far as Elvera knew. Perhaps it was the scenery. ¡°Never mind how the city is doing,¡± he said, suddenly turning away from the window. ¡°I¡¯m frankly still in awe that a carriage like this exists on the Excala Express. ¡°It did something to earn its golden trim,¡± Elvera suggested, raising an eyebrow and a wine glass simultaneously. Even though the entourage consisted of a contingent of pilots and reconnaissance experts rather than bureaucrats, the mission was still, in a way, diplomatic. Their¡­invitation had come from the mouths of the Sidosian government, and the money from their hosts'' wallets. Elvera wasn¡¯t complaining, and her travel buddies had a lot more than her in the way of positive reception if alcohol consumption was the metric. They were a hardy bunch, keeping their alcohol down as the glasses piled up. Permission to drink in front of the Lieutenant-General wasn¡¯t also permission to treat the place like a pub. ¡°Are you feeling better about it?¡± she asked the one person she couldn¡¯t say the same for as he took a swig from his glass, the grey buildings reflecting in his eyes as he returned his attention to them. ¡°No, and if I did, it¡¯d be the alcohol talking.¡± ¡°Then why¡¯d you come?¡± ¡°Orders.¡± ¡°It¡¯s you, you could¡¯ve ignored them.¡± ¡°Ah,¡± Elliot sighed. ¡°Those days are behind me. I¡¯m too lazy to disobey orders.¡± ¡°Don¡¯t tell your union that. They might think something is up.¡± His face only seemed to sour further at the mention of a union. Elvera wasn¡¯t letting them get her. Not this time. As if to get the sour taste out of his mouth, he washed down the conversation with his last swig of whiskey, downing the rest in one go and letting out a guttural sigh, no doubt fancying himself a fire-breathing Spirit as the warmth spread in his chest. ¡°You¡¯re a good commander, ma¡¯am. No complaints. But as a mother-in-law?¡± Mother-in-law? The wording spurred on by a buzzed pair of lips almost made her blush. Almost. ¡°What about me as a godmother-in-law?¡± ¡°As a godmother-in-law, learn to cook.¡± ¡°Ouch. Noted.¡± ¡°Liar,¡± he said, slightly pouting. ¡°If I get the crap kicked out of me, you¡¯ve got to take responsibility and cook for the Maxwell-Hard...Hard¡ª¡± "Hardridge-Maxwell." "¡ªthe Hardridge-Maxwell household." Elvera sighed, the exasperation curling the sides of her mouth into a light smirk. ¡°You¡¯ll be fine, Elliot. We¡¯re all professionals, and court-martialling exists for a reason. Besides, I¡¯m too old to learn new tricks like cooking; teach Iris instead.¡± Elliot chuckled. ¡°Not a bad idea¡ªno, no more, please. I¡¯ve had too much.¡± Elvera greeted the waitress herself, agreeing to another glass of wine. Her wages weren¡¯t anything to scoff at, but free booze was still free booze no matter how rich one got. Their greeting party at Sidos Station had been substantial, as their on-board liaison had warned. Federal Police, their pitch-black cloaks trailing in the soft summer breeze passing through the station a reminder of the scars dealt by S.H.I.A. on the Metropolitan Police¡¯s integrity. They disembarked the train and followed their security detail, passing through a fire exit away from the main foot traffic and onto the edges of a brick-hewn square. ¡°They finished it,¡± Elliot said quietly in disbelief. ¡°Wow.¡± ¡°That hard to believe?¡± Elvera asked, singling out a small collection of market stalls surrounding an ornamental fountain, faceless knights wielding poleaxes and greatswords petrified in stone. ¡°Y-yes,¡± Elliot stifled. ¡°Yes. I don¡¯t think you understand how insane a town square in Sidos City is.¡± They continued their trek, reaching the bordering street and passing between bulky concrete barricades too narrow for cars to pass through. Waiting for them was a small, unmarked coach, the door already open. The engine started as she heard a nearby pilot grumble about the lack of public waste bins. Scars, ones too recent to ignore or rebuild like the ones left in the wake of the Civil War. Two stops, one to Sidos¡¯s capitol building, and another to a nearby hotel. The first stop was her¡¯s only, and she bid Elliot a brisk farewell before siphoning her luggage off to his care. She stood before the steps of a grey monument, its terraced concrete walls still managing to impose without the advantage of height. Even in the summer sun, the lower layers rolled over her like a front of storm clouds, and the inverse-arched atrium roof of concrete and glass like a ship''s sails swallowed by a storm. Elvera followed her escorts through the front entrance and into a gallery of monuments, concrete pillars rising from a deep scarlet carpet. They ignored the display cabinets and painting exhibitions, keeping a brisk pace as the entourage glanced past the Lower House¡¯s chamber and through a staff-only doorway. She¡¯d heard about it from Evalyn, the winding hallways bustling with silent staffers. The backstage of Sidosian Parliament, she¡¯d called it. Almost dingy in its presentation, anyone who walked in with a ''strongly armed agenda'' would struggle to find their message¡¯s recipient. All by design. All healed scars. The claustrophobic design refused to let up no matter how deep into the maze they went. Everything was compartmentalised, with no hubs or central workspaces. Her guides seemed to know their way around as though they were getting directions whispered into their ears, which Elvera was eternally grateful for. She felt like a tourist in a train station. This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it. At yet another nondescript door, the suited men and women covering her flanks paused in their tracks, keeping their eyes forward save one, who opened the door and directed her inside. Elvera gave a small thank you, her voice subconsciously matching the volume around her. She stepped inside, where a whirring ceiling fan waited to greet her. The Prime Minister underneath was a nice surprise, but not exactly her first choice. ¡°Thank you for coming, Lieutenant-General,¡± Prime Minister Dalena Fault said, not a hint of a smile spreading across her face as she stood from her desk, hand outstretched. ¡°Pleasure is all mine,¡± Elvera replied, taking the hand and shaking it. Formalities dictated a salute was to be rendered, but after a handshake, it seemed unnecessary. ¡°I hope so,¡± Fault said, waving Elvera to a seat across from her bureau, the rich red wood sorely out of place against the porous concrete walls. ¡°We took extra care in making your commute comfortable.¡± ¡°Yes, my pilots certainly made the most of it,¡± Elvera admitted. ¡°To the point, I¡¯d refrain from putting them in a cockpit until tomorrow morning.¡± Prime Minister Fault smiled, clasping her hands together on the table. There were bags under her eyes obscured by the frames of her glasses, and the sculpted hair bun was falling apart, its strands hastily tucked behind her ears. ¡°No, that isn¡¯t my intention. But, I will have to ask for a swift start to these operations.¡± ¡°Certainly ma¡¯am,¡± Elvera said. ¡°Needless to say, we share a mind on that fact.¡± ¡°Good,¡± Fault nodded. ¡°As of today, your pilots will be under the command of the Air Marshal at Ashton Airbase, our Chief of Joint Operations. But, being Geverde¡¯s military representative, you hold final say over what goes, what doesn¡¯t.¡± ¡°Yes ma¡¯am. I was told my standing orders were to stay near the cabinet instead of on base.¡± ¡°Your responsibilities lie here. Considering the¡­delicacy of the situation, and its proximity to the election cycle, I requested to be kept in the loop. Keeping you close means I can guarantee you a proper flow of information, and whatever you decide, I hear about first.¡± Elvera leaned forward in her chair, almost taken aback by the strangely unique situation. ¡°Forgive me if I¡¯m stepping out of line, but for the sake of guaranteeing the safety of my pilots...your wording implies you do not trust your high command.¡± A disheartening sigh seeped through the Prime Minister¡¯s teeth, and she took her glasses off as if to surrender. ¡°Trust? Yes. With my life, let alone the country. It took me most of my time in office just to make sure of that. But¡­they¡¯re prideful, the Air Force. White Devils, Spirit Hunters. They were the frontline during the Civil War, and the older generation like to hang on to that. It wouldn''t be outside the realm of possibility to expect a cold shoulder from them on information handling and cooperation.¡± Elvera¡¯s chair creaked as she sank into it, regretting every word of encouragement she¡¯d paid Elliot beforehand. Knowing him, he¡¯d never let her live it down. ¡°We¡¯ve got a team of reconnaissance targeteers in tow, they¡¯ll be keeping eyes their eyes open during good weather,¡± Elvera said, moving the conversation along. ¡°Good. I thank you once again for your help.¡± ¡°Certainly, ma¡¯am. Was there anything else you required of me today?¡± ¡°Not in particular but¡­.¡± ¡°Yes, ma¡¯am?¡± The Prime Minister shifted in her seat and rested her chin on a palm. ¡°Did you happen to bring with you an Evalyn Hardridge? The Witch Excala¡¯s so fond of.¡± Elvera straightened herself, unsure of what to make of the question. ¡°No, ma¡¯am. Unfortunately, I¡¯m not authorised to speak on such matters at the moment.¡± Fault pouted, if only for a second. ¡°She was an interesting woman. I was hoping to thank her for her work a few years ago.¡± Elvera did not have much of a mind for politicians. She did as their half-hearted desires instructed, changing courses as soon as they were booted from office and replaced with someone equally as self-centred. But perhaps Evalyn was a weak spot of hers, as she found herself smiling around the corners of her mouth. ¡°Rest assured, Prime Minister. I¡¯m sure your rewards got the message across.¡± It took an unremarkable string of trains to arrive at her destination, and considering her intentions, renting a car for any leg of the journey would leave behind valuable evidence to use against her. Evalyn wanted to avoid receipts wherever possible. But she wasn¡¯t in the headspace to think about logistics. To Evalyn, those were base brain-stem functions, actions she¡¯d automated, with the only variable being the particular lines she travelled. The Private Investigator didn¡¯t hold much love for small towns. Word got around quickly, and she didn¡¯t have many options to conceal the markings on her cheek. In the city, she was another run-of-the-mill peculiarity, one of the many and far from the most notable. Provided it was small enough, she¡¯d be the most interesting thing to happen in a country town in months, maybe years. Evalyn rolled up the sleeves of her shirt, folding the excess over her garters. Summer was unforgiving when it came to staying inconspicuous¡ªall her coats were off the table, and depending on where her travels took her, the flimsiest shirt she owned was hard to bear. The small steam train rumbled towards the mountains, spear tips lacking their snow-white edge, and fog almost non-existent. In its place, a steady congregation of clouds rolled down the slopes as water rose along the mountainsides and condensed. The first signs of life were re-entering the view outside of her meagre cabin as she leaned against the window. Fences hammered into the soil, sheep leisurely grazing, the idea of getting snapped up in a Spirit¡¯s jaws never even occurring to them. Evalyn wanted to keep things that way. It was a selfish thought. She knew it was. Selfish thoughts for a peaceful Sidos, but selfish desires for a peaceful home had felt more pressing as of late. It wasn¡¯t violent per se, but compared to the bliss that was the past few years, it was more than a stark reality check. ¡®You used to be so cute!¡¯ She could imagine any parent saying to their rebelling child. But Iris was still cute, and to her, she hadn¡¯t changed one bit. Nothing was Iris¡¯s fault, but for some reason, Evalyn found herself shouting at her. Ruminating over semantics and hoping the tides of life would sweep away their problems wasn¡¯t one of the few cards in her hand. It was a watershed experience, one that every Wizard and Witch confronted at some point, hopefully, sooner rather than later. Some handed it better than others. Between a rock and a hard place, the best of them found that reasoning with the rock was easier than being crushed. Some gave up and resigned themselves to their fate, others pushed against it only to end up in the same place. She rolled her arm over in her lap, tracing the creases in her trousers with her fingers. Rarely was there ever a Witch or Wizard strong enough to budge the rock with sheer force. There wasn¡¯t a doubt in Evalyn¡¯s mind that Iris could smash the stone and the hard place along with it. The nation-states would lose their crushing power quickly, and the world would crumble under her force if Evalyn didn''t quickly clip the young Witch''s nails. A quaint station pulled into view, the surrounding village a charming collection of grey-brick buildings, perfect for a postcard to send home to the family. She saved her few coins, unsure if the gesture would even be appreciated. As picturesque as it was, towns bordering entrances to the Northern Chain Ridge often harboured dregs of a military presence. The young and green, old and withered, last line of border defence responsible for calling the backup. Getting something in her stomach was in order first. Missions on an empty stomach was a practice she¡¯d heavily indulged in her younger years as an apprentice. Colte fed her, sure, but opportunities for a meal weren¡¯t always guaranteed. As much as she hated to admit it, life with a cook in the house had spoilt her rotten. First order of business, check. The nearest restaurant was fast, and the food certainly explained the speed. The presence in her stomach was about all she needed, and in such a small town, a local inn could hand over the keys to a room in seconds, a fact which had held up once again. Sidearm holstered to her shoulder, nothing was tethering her to the penultimate stop in her journey, but she found it frustratingly hard to take the first step. Hesitation, procrastination, whatever she called it, The road out of town and towards the mountains¡ªbarely more than a pair of parallel tyre tracks¡ªwas heavily guarded. A toll booth with a rotting barricade and an officer¡ªwhose thinning hair was more telling of his service than any medal¡ªstood in the way. She sidestepped the obstacle altogether, figuring that security lay closer to the site itself. Breaking into a jog, she followed the path from a slight distance, looking over her shoulder for vehicles following it. Once the town was but a collection of blips on the horizon, she armoured herself and began to surf on a small golden wave. Evalyn raised its height as she approached the mountain face, bypassing the jagged rocks and boulders altogether. Crossing the transition zone between farmed and wild, her senses hit a metaphorical wall. Trees filled her vision, cutting off the azure skies like a sword to a throat. Moisture invaded her armour, and the sound of concentrated life¡ªbirds, frogs, crickets¡ªcoloured the world around her. With the fog gone, one kind of the forest¡¯s mysticism had gone with it. Its cards were no longer as close to its chest, willing to play bluffs with her. She could see between the trees, but only for a few metres until another filled the gaps. Brush and moss coated the ground, foliage the canopy. It wasn¡¯t impossible to navigate, but straying from the path was something she still wanted to avoid at all costs. As the forest thickened further, she changed elevation, grappling towards exposed branches and at times swinging, at times launching off them. Simple in theory, but the thousands of variables life blossomed into in such a place was a heavy sensory overload. Finding the next branch was a chore in itself, let alone following the path at speed. But watching as stray military transports passed underneath reassured her that she¡¯d made the right choice. A break in the forest, of density but also colour. Thick grey, unmistakably concrete jutted at unnatural angles from the surrounding verdure. A bunker, trees climbing over its walls and onto the roof. Vines and moss grew up its face, almost passing for a cliffside. It looked unmaintained, but considering the traffic, she knew that to be untrue. Evalyn paused on a tree branch and balanced, keeping as silent as possible. If she was in the base¡¯s line of sight, security measures would have begun already. No checkpoints along the main road, no auxiliary gates or fences. Mines, maybe. Mines planted in the surroundings were a possibility, if only for certain sectors. Minimal security was another possibility; a low footprint was ideal to keep something under wraps from even the Sidosian Government. The type of security and its abundance would be a telling indicator of how deep the rabbit hole went: the more costly, the deeper the tumour had spread into the parliament¡¯s ranks. Falling on such a revelation made the following sight all the worse when she looked down and saw a pair of wide, white visors wading through the forest floor. She closed her eyes and shook her head, wishing desperately to be wrong. But the gas masks tucked underneath helmets, the plates of armour that stretched from head to toe, and the battered rifle holstered on their breastplate was a signal screaming at her to panic, and do so quickly. The Sidosian 42nd Heavy Infantry Division¡ªas far as the rabbit hole could possibly go. Chapter 25 Part 2: Handicapped Arguing with Evalyn had given him a nasty feeling in the past. Knowing she didn¡¯t have anything to retreat to besides her work, the few times she¡¯d been angry enough to leave his shoulders bruised both from her punches and sleeping on the couch had led him down another avenue into ¡®high G¡¯s¡¯. Or, that¡¯s what he referred to the feeling as. The feeling of every internal organ forcing its way downwards while his tissue tried to keep intact. But, from personal experience, the same breathing exercises never seemed to work when he felt that feeling on land. The death of a co-pilot, the failure of a mission, Elliot was one to refuse to get better when things inevitably didn¡¯t go his way. He was confident behind a joystick, able to sense the wind and feel like he could punch a hole through a plate of reinforced steel. Besides, the ace didn¡¯t care much for much outside the cockpit, but one day, the person suddenly did. There was a gap in his resume for emotional development, and the lessons that filled it were few and far between¡ªlife seemed to prefer slinging inadequacies at him instead. Walking into his old sleeping quarters that evening was life¡¯s latest lecture. Even if it was only superficial, the possibility of starting back at square one, losing all progress, made his stomach churn in a way only nine G¡¯s could. Preserved after the end of the War of Aether and Diesel, according to one of the airbase staff. For the Sidosians to preserve anything in the name of sentimental value instead of recycling and reusing, something had to replace reason. Elliot assumed it had been rage. Metal, almost like the walls of a prison. He likened it to the hollowed-out quarters of cannon-fodder seamen on a Navy vessel: not as cramped or full of bodies, but not homely enough for an officer afforded the equivalent space. His personal effects, as expected, had been long since thrown away. A meagre set of clothes in a boring cupboard¡ªsomething he hadn¡¯t particularly improved on since¡ªa cheap gramophone, and a semi-permanent lineup of novels were all he remembered keeping. All burnable. The engineers must¡¯ve held a nice bonfire. Being placed back into the same quarters when the rest of his entourage, human and Spirit, had been afforded a barrack room and bunk beds meant something about it was deliberate. Perhaps he was still listed as the occupant, or old comrades-in-arms wanted him to reflect on his life choices. He¡¯d already done so in that room almost thirteen years prior, and those thirteen years since had been the best of his life. That was about all the self-reflection he was willing to indulge in. He sat down on the bed, the mattress spotless and lively. Something about it made him grimace. It was his room, yes, but besides the four walls he had once slept between, nothing connected him to it. He could rejoice in that, even if he was still stuck in a room with thoughts he didn¡¯t want to confront. At least it was only thoughts; there were possibly fists outside. From the muster to the menu, the mess hall hadn¡¯t changed, depressingly. He had never disliked the food, but now¡ªconsidering he could cook better himself¡ªfound it more of a chore to get through than his younger self had. The unfortunate reality was that everything was cooked in large vats, and that was harder to disguise with some foods than it was with others. A silent compliment to the chef. An ¡®A¡¯ for effort he¡¯d keep to himself, lest he was kicked out of line the next day. After the meal was another meeting, a formal introduction to the full joint task force. He could expect harassment to begin there if it did at all. His rank placed him above most pilots, but those most inclined to speak their minds would match his rank by now. Or perhaps he was reading into things too much, looking for meaning in shallow coincidences like he dug through his helping of rice. ¡°Not used to it?¡± an unfamiliar voice called from the thick veil of a hundred echoing conversations. Elliot looked up from his food, greeted by someone he didn¡¯t recognise. Orange hair sprang up in curls from his scalp, stubble at least kept in check by airbase regulations. He wore the uniform loose while he could, one button was undone, and sleeves rolled up to his elbows. Either daft and overconfident, or he possessed a rank to back it up. Elliot had long since forgotten which epaulette constituted which rank. ¡°I get it,¡± the passerby said, empty plate a sign he was trying for seconds. ¡°But it¡¯s not bad enough to get me to defect.¡± A curt smile spread across his lips, giving Elliot a small ember of hope that maybe it was just the stranger¡¯s unlucky day¡ªan ember he had no qualms about crushing under his boot. Defect. It was a hunch, but Elliot would¡¯ve naturally gravitated towards the word ¡®desert¡¯ rather than one that suggested outright betrayal. He swore on his own life to never let Marie live it down if he managed to escape with it. The night moved fast, and it continued to chug along as his table moved to a briefing room detached from the main hives of activity. Talk of spy planes and rogue facilities was unlikely to make it out of the airbase, but troops could smell instability, and being part of a unit, part of a uniform, made hysteria harder to keep under control. Twenty-five personnel took their seats in rows of five, the darkened room not far removed from his average class. A ceiling fan lazily spun cartwheels above their heads, pushing warm air around the room while Elliot noted the important points on a clipboard. Spy plane, deity division support, charting courses, figuring out how it evades detection; nothing he hadn¡¯t heard from the horse¡¯s mouth directly. Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings. ¡°I¡¯m sure this goes without saying, gentlemen,¡± the Joint Operations Chief continued, heading the task force¡¯s inaugural briefing while his sagging cheeks slowly swayed with every word. ¡°Unless the spooks over there in Vesmos are braindead, they won¡¯t be sending over a second plane after we try to shoot the first one down. Even then, if we can¡¯t force a surrender, kill and capture is our primary objective.¡± The closing notes of his speech deserved a light applause. Not the best briefing from a commanding officer he¡¯d had, but far from the worst. Six points out of ten. Copies of Alis¡¯s photographs had made it to their corkboard, photographed, blown up to medium format, and pinned to it with metal thumbtacks. The next speaker, an Excalan analyst and one of the twenty-five personnel, began to break them down. She placed them in geographical order on a much larger map of the Sidosian mountains. ¡°Our teams were unable to find perfect matches, but based on the clues available from the original photographs procured by Special Operations, we¡¯ve marked six points with a five-kilometre margin for error.¡± The areas marked out an arching line, and considering Vesmos¡¯s position to Sidos, the aircraft moved on an easterly heading. The points were grouped together, but not so tight as to suggest Vesmos had already whittled down a location, almost like a gun run along the whole Northern Chain, shooting a camera at whatever they could afford to aim it at. Meaning that much to Sidos¡¯s frustration, no one had any clue as to exactly what they were looking for, nor if Vesmos had already found it. Not Sidos, not Geverde, possibly not even Vesmos themselves. ¡°We¡¯ve only managed to acquire six photographs, with no guarantee as to how many there are total, or how many each flight might be taking. Analysis of the prints suggests the film being used is commercially available, and likely so is the camera.¡± Elliot was tempted to peg it as a wild goose chase, but the fact of the matter was that a spy plane had free reign of Sidos¡¯s skies. His job, his orders, and, most of all, his curiosity were not to surpass that simple fact. Elliot had learnt to obey orders as he aged, but something about the air in a Sidosian airbase made his old habits itch at his ankles and the nape of his neck. For now, there wasn¡¯t much the front line could do without actionable intelligence. On that sour note, the briefing was adjourned. Elliot folded the notes he¡¯d jotted down and stuffed them into his pocket. He had no particular place for them. On his person, or at least in his vicinity until the op was over, that was about the best he ever did. Evalyn had told him repeatedly to keep a scrapbook or filing cabinet. He¡¯d seen her collection; the woman kept a record of her every movement as a Private Detective. He¡¯d assumed it was for covering her backside in a legal case or to prove more tax returns, but soon he¡¯d found her archiving his notes for him. He wanted to go home. The telephone wire tenuously bridged the gap between its wall socket in the living space and the front door, the curls in the dull green wire stretched out until they were only slight waves. She¡¯d left the door open¡ªsomething Evalyn would¡¯ve blown her top off about if she were there¡ªso she could keep Alis close by. Iris didn¡¯t know who or where to call for either of her parents or Elvera. Evalyn had promised to call from her accommodation by sunset, and Elliot had said roughly the same, although he was expecting there to be two girls on the other side of the line instead of just the one. Either one was fine, whoever called first. As long as she told someone: raise the alarm, but not too loudly. Alis had asked what difference it¡¯d make what was being kept in the mystery facility. If anything, the information could add another layer of panic to an already delicate situation. ¡®I can see the accusations flying like a food fight already,¡¯ he¡¯d warned as he sat on the other side of the doorway. It was tense, yes, and S.H.I.A. was still fresh in everyone¡¯s minds. But she¡¯d decided to anyway, at least Evalyn or Marie, someone she could trust to be smart with it. ¡°Someone that can smooth it out, I guess. So, when they get around to destroying it, they¡¯ll¡ª¡± ¡°They won¡¯t destroy it.¡± Alis played with a fraying piece of string he¡¯d plucked out of the lobby¡¯s carpet, turning it over between his fingertips as though he were analysing it. ¡°They won¡¯t¡­no, they will. They have to.¡± ¡°They can¡¯t,¡± Alis rebutted, not even bothering to look up from his feet as he flicked his plaything away. ¡°Technology like that, the fact that it exists is inevitable. The best you can do is capitalise on it first.¡± ¡°Capitalise¡­Alis, this isn¡¯t Vesmos¡ª¡± ¡°It doesn¡¯t have to be,¡± he said, pursing his lips. ¡°I know this is your home, and what you think of your country is fine¡­but we¡¯re talking about the people who wanted to execute you here.¡± He finally looked at her, and the concern in his eyes made them no gentler. It was like looking into Elliot¡¯s but worse. She could find the courage to look into them, or else hers would begin to water. ¡°You really think¡ª¡± ¡°Yes, Iris. Sidos and Geverde can¡¯t trust that Vesmos hasn¡¯t already found the technology, they can¡¯t trust that no other country already has or will ever discover it.¡± He tried to sound apologetic, she could hear it in his voice. Alis¡¯s voice was easier to understand, his mannerisms more straightforward than Crestana¡¯s, or anyone else¡¯s for that matter. She knew he was telling the truth as far as he knew it, a truth that she almost felt better off being oblivious to. The same people that had tried to put her to death. Paranoid and scared; dispose of a weapon they couldn¡¯t control, and scramble for one they didn¡¯t have yet. She understood it, and yet it didn¡¯t sit right with her. Geverde wasn¡¯t like that, she wanted to believe it wasn¡¯t. More than its people, more than Evalyn, Marie, and the Queen combined. She knew her thinking would mean the shrinking of its borders one day. ¡°People don¡¯t survive because of their ethics and morals, Iris. We live by them to gloat that we can afford to, like some sort of handicap. And even then¡­.¡± Even then. Even when they could afford to, it was all too easy to forgo ethics and morals. Iris felt like she was doing something similar, lying to herself in some way, at the very least. ¡°When you said you¡­killed that guy. The guy who, you know, sprouted that massive tree above the city. Are you okay now?¡± Iris tightened her arms around her knees, pulling them closer to her chest as she eyed the telephone. ¡°I think. I don¡¯t want to think about it¡­even though there¡¯s nothing to think about. One second, he was there, and then¡­not. He probably didn¡¯t even feel anything.¡± All she could remember definitively was the patch of carpet where he had sat before she¡¯d blinked. It was empty, not even an imprint was left over. That was all he was afforded in the end, an empty space he used to occupy. ¡°I saw¡­well, didn¡¯t see¡­but two Police Officers got shot in the train station I frequented. I saw the men pull out their guns and¡­pop. Four times. I counted.¡± ¡°Does it happen a lot?¡± ¡°So much you get used to it. People on the brink of death, people already passed. Sometimes quick, sometimes slow¡­sometimes you can only imagine what had happened before they passed.¡± Her right index twitched, unsure what to reply with to fill the dead air. It was that mood, where she couldn¡¯t help but feel like she was beginning to fail the conversation. ¡°And¡­I don¡¯t even know¡­where I was going with that, to be honest,¡± he said, chuckling to himself. Iris guessed her feelings were mutual. They relished the silence a bit, taking it down her throat like the sip of beer Elliot had let her try. Sour, fuzzy, but something she¡¯d understand one day. Until the moment was snapped in half by a shrill ring. ¡°Hello?¡± Iris asked, ripping the receiver from its body. ¡°Iris? It¡¯s Evalyn. You okay?¡± ¡°Mum, did you find the site today?¡± ¡°What? Oh, yes. I did, it¡¯s in the forests near¡ª¡± ¡°There¡¯s a weapon there, mum. It can destroy Aether.¡± ¡°¡­what do you mean it can destroy Aether?¡± ¡°I don¡¯t know! Someone was going to explain it to us, but he was killed. But you have to destroy it mum, you have to¡ª¡± ¡°We can¡¯t, Iris. Destroying it is too risky.¡± Chapter 25 Part 3: Threads That Slip Provenance thought that leaving the sinner to reap what they sowed was a form of justice, no matter how cruel or primitive the punishment was. After all, once the mob took over, the punishment rarely matched the crime, if one could be decided on in the first place. No one was above the law, but no one was beneath it. That was the ideal, but once the country moved, whoever lost the tug of war¡ªbe it government or monarchy¡ªhad to move with it. Lucky for his case, police had, in a way, cut the line before the tug of war ever started, hiding away the perpetrators in a way that left it ambiguous who exactly was responsible for the arrest. They were at a tie with the public, combatting numbers and volume with resources and secrecy. Little got out to the masses, so the beast circled, searching in a fog for something to direct its fire at and harassing everything equally with a rationed fury. Even Provenance could only discern a fun fact list¡¯s worth of information: all casualties, an overload of Aether had culled the oldest and left the rest incapacitated. Various distances from death''s door, that¡¯s all his sources could say for certain. Hush hush on the whereabouts as well. Any leak and there¡¯d be protests at their doorstep. Rumours had circulated they were being kept en masse somewhere in the Royal Excalan Hospital, but upwards of fifty victims¡ªall of extremely high class¡ªbeing admitted to the same hospital for the same ailment would kick up more than just rumours. He wrote shapes into his coffee art with the thin end of a spoon as he scribbled his thoughts on a napkin, a habitual tick of his that he couldn¡¯t shake no matter how hard he tried. It was never coherent, but nonetheless needed to be burnt, an occurrence so common he¡¯d invested in a quality lighter, depriving a much more deserving cigar enthusiast. He could sympathise with the public: a drive without a goal, blindly accelerating in every direction, hoping they wouldn''t run out of fuel before they found the right one. Provenance tried to keep his calm as he went through the same struggle, striving to regard Caynes''s death with respect but feeling it slip away every time he dialled the dead man''s number. The recording could switch on a certain day, and play the answers to his myriad questions if he dialled a certain number of times. No. It would¡¯ve been more likely that Caynes was still alive, getting a chuckle out of every ring of the phone. ¡°You look terrible.¡± Provenance looked up from his coffee, assuming it was one of the diner waitresses finally snapping, their daily mundanity driving them over the edge. But it wasn¡¯t the uniform, and instead, a drab overcoat framing a white blouse, the hem of a dull green skirt fluttering about the knees. He looked the woman up and down as though trying to recall her. That wasn¡¯t his intention, but her albino eyes nonetheless continued to scrutinize him with a vacant glare. ¡°What? Surprised I had a body?¡± ¡°No, more so I¡¯m surprised you don¡¯t have a brain.¡± ¡°I¡¯m more than just a brain, which is more than I can say for you. I didn¡¯t feel like being a disembodied foot-tapping Spirit, so I wasn¡¯t.¡± She sat across from him, shedding her overcoat and folding it over her lap. ¡°What does it matter to you anyway? As long as I do my part.¡± ¡°As long as you do your part, yes, but you can''t do that from a prison cell, or worse." ¡°Then you start being invisible if it¡¯s so important,¡± she said, waving a waitress over and ordering a coffee. ¡°Being a mutant is bad enough, I don¡¯t want to go around flaunting it. Makes me forget I¡¯m human.¡± Provenance watched her settle in, the poised demeanour and perfect posture exactly how Wesper had described it when recommending her. Trysha Kepila, a Witch tethered to a far west human nation in name only, whose true calling was whoever offered the most cash. So he found it strange when she landed at his doorstep, asking to see the new era so many Wizards and Witches preached about. Bloodshot eyes, hair damaged, and teeth in perpetual chatter. It had taken five months for her to recover, although Provenance had nothing to do with the process. He had simply given her work, that was all he could reliably do. ¡°I¡¯d like a progress report,¡± he said as the waitress left Trysha with her milky, light-brown coffee. Already a bastardised version of the pure-blackish brown of his cup, she then added sugar to the mix and began to stir. ¡°Progress is that your target is in the ground,¡± she mumbled before taking a sip. ¡°Tool¡¯s at the bottom of a canal, and if the radio is anything to go by, no one has any clue about what happened.¡± ¡°What about his research?¡± ¡°I took what he had on him: just a manila folder¡¯s worth of blueprints, nothing special. Not much use without him in the room to explain them.¡± ¡°And his hotel room?¡± ¡°One of the others searched it before I left that morning. Said they couldn¡¯t find anything in the way of research on his personal effects, nor any of the notes from you suggesting he escape to Sidos. He was travelling light.¡± ¡°Perhaps he thought he could keep his secrets in his own head.¡± ¡°Which means his knowledge dies with him,¡± Trysha said, finishing his line of thought. She took another sip, her eyes regaining a small sliver of life every time she did so. ¡°Our contact says there¡¯s also been some movement in Prime Minister Fault¡¯s inner circle,¡± she continued. ¡°And I¡¯m guessing it isn¡¯t about housing prices?¡± ¡°How did you guess?¡± she said without a hint of a smile. ¡°A National Security Council, although if it has to do with your Vesmos contacts, he said he couldn¡¯t say for certain. It''s Sidos, they call enough meetings about domestic terrorism.¡± Provenance nodded along, thankful the developments were entertaining enough to pique his interest. ¡°Are you going to warn them?¡± she asked. ¡°Vesmos, I mean.¡± ¡°No,¡± he replied, honestly. ¡°I have no obligation to, and none of their movements were my idea in the first place.¡± ¡°You just connect the dots to make sure we arrive at the worst possible outcome, huh?¡± ¡°You may think of it as meddling, if it makes things easier to understand,¡± Provenance suggested, wrapping his calloused hands around his mug. ¡°In reality, it¡¯s more pathetic than that.¡± ¡°How so?¡± ¡°¡­because all it is, is trying to do over countless lifetimes what real power could accomplish in a heartbeat.¡± Trysha watched him, confliction in her widening eyes as she scraped away the sleep from her tear ducts. ¡°You mentioned it was a long game, but I didn¡¯t imagine the extent.¡± ¡°Well I¡¯m hopeful we¡¯ll see the edge of that extent soon,¡± he said, reassuring himself as much as he was reassuring her. ¡°All of us, from all over the continent, regardless of how long we¡¯ve been waiting.¡± Trysha placed her cup on its saucer, half empty and coated in brown froth. ¡°If you listened to a request, I¡¯d help you find what you¡¯re looking for.¡± He turned his gaze to her while she turned it away from him. ¡°What is it?¡± he asked, making his subconscious assumptions do the work of filling in the gaps. Another cheque, a fatter payout. Instead, she pursed her lips as though embarrassed to ask, circling her finger around the rim of her mug. Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings. ¡°Make sure I get what I lost when we make the world again,¡± she said. It was a gross misinterpretation of the Tetrica Resonances Provenance had spent years pouring over; a misguided hope sprouted by someone who had read the book, understood the gist, and then used it to justify their own desires. Provenance didn¡¯t pretend to care. No one could warp his own mission, and he was perfectly positioned to play off their overstimulated imaginations. None of it would matter, as long as the final goal was achieved. So he lied. ¡°Yes, I believe I can do that for you,¡± he said, unable to be completely confident in his lie. The sole moral his silver tongue couldn¡¯t compromise on entirely. At this, Trysha seemed to smile a tired smile, and for the first time, Provenance truly understood how desperate she really was. ¡°I¡¯ve been seeing someone,¡± she said, savouring Provenance¡¯s hollow promise and her sugary coffee. ¡°He¡¯s younger, a sweetheart but terrible in bed. Gullible, unfortunately.¡± ¡°How did you figure that out?¡± ¡°Intuitively. But he knows I have him nailed down as the type to look up at the ceiling looking for the bloody word. He got self-conscious, started second-guessing everything his coworkers told him.¡± She shifted her backside forward and leaned over her cup while Provenance observed the performance. Her voice had risen in volume, and a small smile had grown across her lips. ¡°One time¡ªquite recently actually¡ªa coworker of his told him that the old, unused wing was going back into service to accommodate an influx of patients with Aether Circuit Damage. He thought the guy was pulling his leg until his boss scolded him for not showing up the next day.¡± ¡°Really? Your poor boyfriend. Must be having a hard enough time already.¡± ¡°Yeah, but he chose it after all. Studying years to be an Aetherologist in the country¡¯s top mental institution isn¡¯t something that happens by accident.¡± ¡°I guess not,¡± Provenance shrugged, barely able to contain his relief. Trysha pulled up her sleeve and checked her watch, eyes¡ªnow reborn thanks to the caffeine¡ªwidening as she gave Provenance and an uncanny smile. ¡°Speaking of the devil,¡± she said. ¡°I¡¯m supposed to meet him soon.¡± ¡°Sorry for keeping you so long,¡± Provenance said, forcing a smile, and Trysha returned a wave that wouldn¡¯t look out of character for any normal woman her age. For someone desperate to retain her humanity, she was awfully adept at changing hers at the drop of a hat. As for which one was real, that was none of Provenance¡¯s business. Elvera watched the Prime Minister address her National Security Council from afar, seated on the fringes of the room as Fault headed the centre table. She¡¯d heard the mere action in itself had been a sort of announcement to the rest of Parliament. Something was going on; that much at least was now public knowledge in the cabinet. Blood was in the water, and the small congregation of twenty weren¡¯t to let a single morsel slip past the flimsy grey doors at the end of the chamber. It was the second meeting, one called out of urgency when Elvera had come knocking on the Prime Minister¡¯s office with new information. She had seen Fault¡¯s eyes widen and tire all at once, and the strength drain from her shoulders as she read the report. ¡°Excalan intelligence has separately confirmed two pieces of new information that increase the severity of our situation twofold.¡± Fault flicked her eyes around the table as though running a final gut check on each member¡¯s trustworthiness. To thrive in such a cutthroat environment, the instantaneous manoeuvre was undoubtedly the stuff of legend. ¡°Lieutenant-General, if you¡¯d be so kind.¡± Elvera took the stage involuntarily. Rubbing shoulder-to-shoulder with her Sidosian counterparts was low on the list of ways to start her morning. The room seemed to glare at her collectively, a plain outsider in the NSC, from the shine of her shoes to the antlers sewn into her epaulettes. She cleared her throat, finding it unnerving how similar the sensation was to when she addressed the council. ¡°Troops from the 42nd Heavy Infantry Division have been spotted guarding what the Prime Minster has informed me was understood to be a small mountain outpost on the fringes of the Northern Chain Ridge. Depending on how this line of inquiry develops, we could be looking at large-scale insubordination or corruption.¡± Different faces, or rather, absent ones compared to the list of names she¡¯d been handed moments before entering the room. The short, cropped beard of the middle-aged Minister of Defence was notably missing. It made sense, considering the circumstances. There was a risk of further splitting in the party, but letting the potential perpetrator in on their every movement would only send them further on the back foot. Elvera could only guess as to the animosity already present. ¡°Secondly, a foreign researcher was assassinated in Excala after organising a meeting with a local journalist. According to an anonymous letter they addressed to the contact, they had developed technology capable of destroying Aether. That information had, at some point, been handed to Sidosian Authorities, before he supposedly caught wind of a plan to dispose of him. Thankfully we managed to catch the story before publication.¡± Elvera watched Fault as she gave pause in her speech, her eyes flicking around the room again, gauging reactions and reading faces. ¡°Considering timings and commonalities, a possible narrative is that this weapon, whatever shape and form, is being held at this outpost by domestic authorities of¡­significantly high status. This information has since leaked to Vesmos, and culminated in their ongoing espionage attempts.¡± She turned to the Prime Minister, giving a faint nod. ¡°Ma¡¯am,¡± she uttered, before reclaiming her seat and closing her mouth. She wasn¡¯t at liberty to say who her sources were, but the only person who understood that was the last person she was worrying about. Say your piece, be passive, and things will sort itself out. Evalyn had learnt in person that no one would shoot the messenger if they stood in Fault¡¯s good graces, a theory that Elvera wasn¡¯t all too happy testing. Pride. Perhaps the Sidosian humans had fought Spirits for so long that their pride had rubbed off on them. Watching one¡¯s leader rely on information from a former enemy without even the presence of the Minister of Defence: even if they held no will to the woman herself, she could see the gears turning in many of their heads, unwilling to admit just how divided their government still was. Scars. Scars of Sidos¡¯s history, even with S.H.I.A.¡¯s rule in their rear-view mirrors. ¡°So, because of the circumstances, the senior members of the National Security Council congregation of July 1941 have voted against the attendance of current Minister of Defence, Jared Campbell. All information must be kept strictly confidential to the people in this room, orders and correspondence with auxiliary bodies regarding the matters discussed, including the Military branches, will be vetted beforehand. To not do so will be considered an act of treason, and relevant punishments will apply.¡± She stretched her shoulders, lining her spine with the back of her chair as she regained a silent command over the room. ¡°Are we clear?¡± The Prime Minister hadn''t made it ten paces from the meeting''s conclusion before the cropped beard made its long-awaited appearance. "Was that what I think it was?" he asked, Elvera noticing the subtle differences between his photos and the real thing. The cropped beard was patchier around the cheeks, and the face wider than she remembered them looking. She followed Fault from outside their security perimeter as the Prime Minister blanked on his question entirely. Her mouth barely twitched, and not in response to his presence. He gave chase, following them down the empty corridor and out into a reading space, the books and furniture more for show than function. Not that it contributed much. "That was an NSC meeting," he said, although to Elvera it sounded as though he was stating the obvious. "You can''t just kick me¡ª" "Perhaps surprisingly to your narrow perception of my leadership, the decision was not one I made myself. Every member I disclosed the information to prior to the meeting came to the same conclusion." "You can''t¡ª" "Tell me what I can and can''t do when you figure out how to tell your subordinates that they can''t deploy military divisions in our borders without an NSC cabinet or Home Affairs''s permission." she seethed, the words slipping through her teeth like a cat''s hiss. "Get that right and we might not be in this mess in the first place." The Defense Minister''s face curled into a grotesque shape, halfway between a sneer and weep. "You bloody tyrant," he said, tearing his eyes away and storming in the opposite direction, picking up enough speed to flip the hems of his suit jacket. Elvera watched him turn a corner and disappear from sight, wondering if he knew where he was going. "What did you think?" Fault asked, catching the Lieutenant-General while her attention was still wrapped in the corner the Defense Minister had disappeared behind. "I get the impression that you''ve already made up your mind, ma''am," she said, finally turning back to Fault, who shifted a chin in a way that could be considered a nod. "I think it goes without saying," she said. "Then what about the situation?" "The situation?" "I value your expertise," she said. "The woman I mentioned, Evalyn Hardridge, she gave me a...stern talking to when I first met her." ''That sounds like her'', is what she wanted to say, but she kept her pride for her god-daughter contained as their security urged them to continue their journey. "Where to start," Elvera mumbled under her breath as Fault waited for an answer, her face as expressive as a blank slate. From the beginning, a sense of doubt had nagged at her, the sort of feeling she reserved for when she was led to believe unbelievable things. Her line of work had come with a fair share of unbelievable things to believe, a rough split down the middle between false alarms and new realities she was forced to consider. Sidos''s government, the researcher''s assassination, the Vesmosian spy plane¡ªa natural course of events, all things considered. Variables colliding in such a way to create the worst possible scenario was plausible. But between S.H.I.A.''s magnum opus, their deals with the F.S.A., the Vesmos crisis and Caynes''s coopting of the Temple, the hand of God was cropping up more and more as the years went by. Perhaps it was a retrospective bias, but like in the past, those same perfect circumstances had collided to exacerbate three already separate storms into one giant tempest. "Tetrica," she said, the word dancing on her lips as images of Colte fluttered through her mind. There were words they could apply to the phenomenon now: ''Tetrica Resonances'', ''Until Utopia Begins''. With shape, with words, it was now impossible for her to ignore. And if her instincts, her ''gut check'', so to speak, were correct, they had to snag the threat tying the entire operation together before they lost sight of it again. Fast. "Prime Minister!" a shrill voice called from behind them. Their security reacted first, placing themselves between the messenger and the recipient. Out of breath, clutching her knees, she began to speak between panting breaths. "Geverdian Deity Division has spotted a fast-moving unidentified aircraft over the Northern Chain. The Lieutenant-General is needed back at her office immediately." Chapter 25 Part 4: Summer Skies ¡°Tally on bandit heading bullseye two-seven-three at three hundred knots, altitude angels thirty-five. Heavy cloud cover, unsteady visual.¡± Three hundred, angels thirty-five. Their pens hurried to etch in the information as more flooded in by the second. ¡°Unclear Aether signal. Ghost is fluctuating at irregular intervals. Visual dropping.¡± Fluctuating Aether signal¡ªthose words amounted to a death sentence in a Geverdian fighter. Maintaining the statistics Deity Division were reporting under such conditions ruled out Aether as the main fuel source. ¡°Lost visual. Tracking ghost.¡± Elliot racked his brain, keeping an ear to the air while he pieced together the situation brick by brick. The weaker-willed pilots had taken to taking drags of cigarettes, suffusing the already tenebrous room with white smoke as their faces curled in a colourful range of ugly emotions. He checked his watch, noting down the time underneath a growing list of similar notes. ¡®Oh-nine-three-four: visual lost ¨C magic stable¡¯. In tandem came a running tally from the analysts, aligning coordinates to timestamps on long receipts and drawing the flight path on the enlarged map. ¡°Visual! Tally on bandit.¡± Elliot noted down the time again, labelling it appropriately. ¡°Cannot confirm any turbines!¡± the Deity¡¯s Eye reported as static cut into the tail-end of his sentence. ¡°Ghost is fluctuating!¡± ¡®Unsteady Aether¡¯. The pattern was practically spelt out on his page. His foot was tapping, jostling the clipboard on his thigh up and down as the stretch of silence between calls distended, testing his patience. The connection was faulty, fleeting at best. Repeats of the same report weren¡¯t uncommon, each one wasting precious time. More intel, but the extent of what the Deity could glean left Elliot wanting. The information was sparse, too scattered to reliably deploy on. The clock was ticking, and any theories would take more observation to endorse or rebut. Too much birdwatching and the chance that Vesmos found what they were looking for grew by the day, too little and the plane cruising at three hundred knots might very well outpace any half-arsed attempt at an interception. An excess of variables even for Elliot. The spy plane reached the border, and the Deity ceased tracking, terminating its connection with their radio. The pilots erupted into hushed discussion like the end of a theatre play, trading cautious expletives for scribbles on paper. A shared disquiet hung with the cigarette smoke above the congregation, and Elliot couldn¡¯t help but wrap his fingers against the clipboard, watching the analysts plot out the final movements of the spy plane with red string wrapped around thumbtacks. There were gaps where Deity had lost tally on the bandit''s ghost. Seemingly random, the easiest explanation was a faulty or incomplete Aether circuit, but such an explanation still left the question of supply. An irregular ghost¡ªthe fluctuating Aether signal¡ªsuggested an inconsistent source rather than a fuel tank filled with liquid Aether. He scratched the abridged thought process into his notes, circulating the words ¡®fuel source¡¯ for emphasis. ¡°So it¡¯s magic, is it?¡± A soft voice, tame enough to filter under even the library mutters of the rest of the room. Elliot turned his head, looking up to find the same man he¡¯d had the displeasure of interacting with the night before. Curled hair springing up like weeds, a curt smile barely hanging onto his face with a single thread of stubble. ¡°If we were listening to the same report, then sure,¡± Elliot answered, shrugging his shoulders. His eyes lingered on the face, wanting to say something with more edge to it despite his professionalism¡¯s objections. ¡°Aircraft with magic. Doesn¡¯t that sound familiar?¡± The sides of Elliot¡¯s face twitched, his foot finding more fuel to continue its indefatigable tapping. He glanced down at the man¡¯s clipboard, attempting to glimpse at the notes he guessed were more biased than the average politician. ¡°Your point being?¡± Elliot asked, forgoing the option to disengage and half regretting it instantly. The pilot leaned in closer as though to whisper a secret. ¡°Magic kills people. S¡¯all it¡¯s good for. All it ever will be, at least in this country.¡± Somehow the gesture brought Elliot¡¯s attention upward. Behind the pilot was a scattering of Sidosian ones sitting in twos and threes, all of which had, at some point, fallen silent. They watched him, eyeing him cautiously like a felon behind bars. ¡°But I don¡¯t have to tell you that. Seen it for yourself, just as much as we have.¡± The man stood and paced over, swinging from one foot to the next. ¡°And you saw our mothers and fathers, sisters and brothers and cousins and friends die to magic, from your back row seat and thought ¡®oh¡­they¡¯re the dumb ones. All they got to do is stop shooting and pray they don¡¯t shoot back.¡¯¡± He came to a stop, craning over Elliot¡¯s seat. ¡°And thanks to your little impulse, we had to wait six months after the war, watching them kick us while we were down.¡± Then he smiled, affording Elliot a toothy grin. ¡°But of course, you were right, weren¡¯t you? Elliot Maxwell, 67th Wing. Tell my sister how right you were while you pour one out over her grave.¡± An individual of lesser character may have observed her two friends: one tall, slightly older, ruggedly handsome, and the other petite, fragile, adorable, and come to an aptly ignoble conclusion¡ªa judgement so base it put a bad taste in Crestana¡¯s voice box even thinking about it. You two suit each other! Iris was tamed at the best of times, feral at the worst. Petite in the way a rabbit was, she even had the hair to match the white fur. A rabbit prone to biting, defecating with no consideration because consideration wasn¡¯t a concept comprehendible to her. She loved her friend dearly, but there were moments she felt like Iris¡¯s second mother, or rather owner. Wouldn¡¯t you two be such a wonderful couple? Alis was similarly abnormal¡ªa tough nut to crack on the surface, but one soon realised that the nut was made of nothing but shell to the very core. The polite speech was the only speech, the military mind the only thought pattern. Besides his proficient tastebuds, the boy knew as much about himself as one could glean in a single sitting. Shallow, no, but the vessel was nowhere near full. You two should¡ª The thought would¡¯ve never even crossed their minds. Crestana had to admit, it had for a split second. Their ¡®two oddballs in a pod¡¯ relationship had, for a moment, come across as affection. But Iris acted like that with everyone she was comfortable with, and on second thought, Alis demurred more often than not. Not to the extent of outright rejecting her, but certainly not reciprocating either. ¡°Crestana?¡± Iris asked, pulling on a pair of white socks by the door. ¡°What are you looking at?¡± ¡°You¡¯ve been staring,¡± came Alis¡¯s voice from the kitchen, closing a largely hollow Frost Box after taking a swig of milk like it was whiskey. ¡°Your shutters are in a knot.¡± Crestana, the middle woman, the ¡®third wheel¡¯¡ªalthough she never felt left out¡ªsat at the table, head resting on a bed of intertwined fingers like a kingpin. ¡°Nothing,¡± she said. ¡°Just thinking about how today¡¯s going to go.¡± ¡°Nervous?¡± Iris asked, standing up and trotting closer. ¡°About the mission, or about using your power?¡± If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement. ¡°I never said I was nervous,¡± Crestana argued, grabbing her drawing tube off the table and slinging it across her shoulders. ¡°I¡¯m just not convinced we¡¯ll find anything useful.¡± ¡°Why not?¡± Alis asked, for some reason taking another swig of milk. ¡°A Spirit was murdered!¡± Crestana cried, throwing her hands in the air. ¡°If that doesn¡¯t cause at least a little hubbub, then what has the world come to? We¡¯re going to stumble onto a crime scene, and get questioned why three children are asking questions about a Spirit who got axed the day before.¡± ¡°I doubt it,¡± Alis argued, closing the Frost Box for the final time and waltzing over to the door to find his shoes. ¡°He didn¡¯t have any ID on him when I checked. Just the hotel keys.¡± ¡°Which you shouldn¡¯t have taken,¡± Crestana rebutted. ¡°That was evidence; the police should have that.¡± ¡°And they will have it after today,¡± Iris said, her tone asking what about the plan Crestana had misunderstood. ¡°After we¡¯ve had a look first.¡± She mulled over it further if only to delay their departure. The plan was sound, provided nothing went awry¡ªand even if things did trend south, Crestana was there to sneak in undetected. ¡°All right,¡± she sighed, succumbing. ¡°All right. Fine. Get me out the door before I change my mind.¡± The identity of the room key Crestana held in her hand had been the culmination of all three¡¯s efforts. Through trawling the contents of every travel guide and phone book they could find in both Aunty Mallorine¡¯s mansion and the Hardridge-Maxwell household, the three had pinpointed its origins to a small establishment far to the city¡¯s west. An older part of town¡ªif municipal boundaries constituted what was and wasn¡¯t ¡®town¡¯¡ªand not necessarily as well-maintained, the infrastructure only standing to serve the farms they were nestled amongst. Crestana never had much reason to visit, and besides the few hazy memories she held onto for dear life, where a family of three had leisured on grassy hills in the summer sun, the west never crossed her mind either. That was how she imagined many in Excala thought of the city¡¯s western quadrant. The recently arrived scientist had either been aware or made a lucky guess¡ªit was one way to stay hidden. She turned the nameless key over in her palm: in the end, it hadn¡¯t helped his fate for the better. Is there always that much blood when a human dies? The Aether was certainly comparable, although the second time around, Crestana hadn''t even managed to crack a frown. Her friend was passed out on her shoulder, the tram¡¯s rocking had long since lulled her to sleep. ¡°She really can sleep anywhere,¡± Alis muttered from past Iris¡¯s other shoulder. ¡°Even though we¡¯re about to go on a mission.¡± Crestana could feel her shutters turning upwards. Iris had expended all her nerves the night before, pacing around their room and deliberating on her next course of action. Crestana had told her she¡¯d follow no matter what path Iris chose, which, in hindsight, must have made things harder. Little rabbit exploded at Evalyn over the phone, insisting the weapon be destroyed along with its plans. Breaking her vow of complacency hadn¡¯t been easy for her. With none of the documents her mother hid behind either. ¡°Transit is just about the only downtime she¡¯s been afforded,¡± Crestana said, watching the silver hair frizz against their seat¡¯s coarse cushioning. ¡°She¡¯s had hard choices thrown at her since the day we met.¡± ¡°I see,¡± Alis muttered. ¡°But for you to be sitting here with us, surely you¡¯ve experienced similar?¡± Hard? Yes. But hard choices? She felt her voice box loosen, just a tad, curious as to what the reciprocation would be. ¡°No,¡± Crestana admitted. ¡°My life has always been in the hands of others. Hard, perhaps, but they¡¯ve simply happened to me if that makes sense.¡± She shifted her shoulders, letting Iris¡¯s head drop neatly onto it. ¡°She was the one that decided to risk her life to save me.¡± Agonised over it, even. Daresay Crestana could blame her; with her own life on the line, she was rather dubious that she could¡¯ve made the same sacrifices for someone else, let alone a mere client. ¡°Then she must¡¯ve seen you as worthy of it,¡± Alis said, allowing a thin smile to form around the edge of his lips. ¡°Worthy.¡± The word tasted sour the way it sat on the wires in her voice box, like an allergic reaction. Watching a friend jump to his death, hot on the heels of her own mother: she could only hope they were both in a better place. Together, if God or the gods allowed such a thing. She knew what sympathies such a plaintive story would illicit¡ªtold to an almost divine paragon of altruism, it wasn¡¯t such a stretch to assume they would go out of their way for her. So, if Iris had admitted it was simply pity that had driven her to do what she did, Crestana would welcome it. She would welcome it, and feel lonely. Such a possibility she¡¯d long since prepared for. ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± Crestana half-truthed as she shrugged her free shoulder. ¡°What about you then? What¡¯s your sob story?¡± ¡°Sob story¡­.¡± ¡°You know what I mean.¡± ¡°Well¡­injustice, I guess.¡± ¡°Injustice¡­against what?¡± ¡°The colours I mentioned.¡± ¡°Oh.¡± ¡°Yeah.¡± ¡°How is that quest fairing?¡± ¡°I¡¯d imagine you¡¯ve gathered by now.¡± ¡°I see¡­.¡± ¡°Yes¡­.¡± ¡°¡­you seem awfully unsure of yourself,¡± Crestana blurted, biting the bullet and forcing the reciprocation out of him. He had to be more than that¡ªshe had faith in her friend¡¯s choice of character. ¡°Unsure¡­you could phrase it like that,¡± he said. ¡°But I think since I came back to this city, unsure is the last thing I¡¯d describe myself as.¡± ¡°Meaning?¡± His face stiffened, eyebrows tripping over themselves as his brain thought of an answer. One thing at a time. ¡°I haven¡¯t quite figured that out yet.¡± Well. At least he was straightforward. The path got narrower once they transferred, demoting from a paved¡ªalbeit in disrepair¡ªroad, to a beaten track, maintained only by the tyres that ran along it. Their transport had been similarly humbled, a charming coach arrived to pick up where the city bus had left off. Very few passengers. Those who were on it were committed, carrying with them suitcases and souvenirs of wine and chocolate. Going home to visit family, Crestana guessed. Again: why else would anyone travel so far west? The final stopover before Excala, back when people travelled on foot and horseback. She¡¯d heard about such places once from a guest her father was entertaining; a politician, who insisted on the importance of rural seats on the council. The sun was teasing its zenith, bearing down on them through an arrant blue sky. The clouds had long since shied away, birds too tired to cry, the edges of their beaks dry and cracking like Iris¡¯s lips. Crestana held no envy for that aspect of being human. She felt no envy for how the human body reacted to heat, for she simply felt it, and it would needle her. Beaming, cooking every millimetre of her skin as though it were personal. She swore never to take the shade tall buildings and Spirit trees offered for granted ever again. Their coach stopped, and the passengers began to disembark while the driver leaned back in his chair, unscrewing a bottle of soft drink and tipping his hat over his head. This was their stop, whether they liked it or not. Crestana got off first, her shoes crunching against the dry earth at the base of a set of stairs, thirsty wood creaking with every small swing of the wind. Besides the people, the breeze was the only thing that seemed to move; that seemed to change. Everything else was simply a response. The crops, the reeds on their banks, the wind chimes, the glass panes. All in one, sleepy motion, as though the town were hibernating, waiting for the sun to set. The trio could follow some semblance of a grid layout to the town, although there were barely enough buildings to fill out the nine squares of a naughts and cross¡¯s game. A town where the most notable piece of history would be the murder and disappearance of a young girl clawing its way to the honourable mentions of a true crime magazine, fifty years after the case went cold. And yet, it made her all the more nervous. This wasn¡¯t one of the five-star hotels where one could waltz into the lobby, chest bared, eyes brimming with daft confidence, walk into the elevator and up to a stranger¡¯s room. It was an inn. Everyone knew each other here, intimately. Iris knew that, her father had explained as much to them in idle conversation. The drama, the gossip, who was new in town. The adjacent lot was being demolished, the half of the house still standing in disrepair, with no promise of anything else to take its place. Crestana didn¡¯t understand why she was fixating on such details, but it stood out. She followed her two accomplices into the squat, two-storey building. The inn was unique: where every other store, service, and vendor operated out of their front doors, the Greyskir House enjoyed a reversal of rolls. Inn first, family home second. ¡°Ready?¡± Iris asked, clutching a bulging purse Crestana had never seen before. They nodded, and Iris put on the widest smile she could manage. The door¡¯s hinges moaned as they opened it, and the wood gave Alis a splinter in retaliation. Crestana shooed him along, bringing up the rear as she took the handle and closed it. The hard soles of her boots sank a half-centimetre into the wooden planks as she rested her weight on them, a mere glance in the wrong direction enough to snap one of the ramshackle pillars in half. Carpets draped over the wooden rafters above, adding colour where there¡¯d otherwise be none. They were in the restaurant, a hall with its own roof where the second flood guests could look down from their catwalk, sipping on whatever people who stayed in such a place entertained themselves with. Perhaps it made them feel wealthy, perhaps Crestana was letting her prejudices take over. ¡°Hello!¡± Iris¡¯s grinned, bursting out of the gates like a greyhound, it not occurring to her that the rabbit she was chasing was never there. ¡°We¡¯re here to book a room!¡± ¡°The counter¡¯s empty,¡± Crestana whispered, scanning her vision across the second-floor catwalk. Untenanted at first glance, although high noon was about as empty as an inn could be on any given day. ¡°What do I do then?¡± Iris asked, puzzled. ¡°The bell,¡± Crestana hissed. ¡°Ding the bell.¡± And so the little rabbit did as she was told, stepping back as though waiting for a spell to conjure. Which, perhaps prophetically, was the most appropriate move she could¡¯ve made. It was the abrupt surge of Aether first, but the fruits of that influx only revealed themselves when she blinked her shutters. ¡°Three rooms?¡± A Spirit of Hospitality. She couldn¡¯t imagine what one was doing so far from the city. ¡°One please,¡± Iris clarified. ¡°Two.¡± The objection floated from its forever oval mouth, carrying with it not a single note of aggression. ¡°One please,¡± Iris reiterated. ¡°And your servants in the stables?¡± ¡°Yes please.¡± ¡°I can¡¯t allow that.¡± It ruffled the feathers jutting from its putty-ish head. ¡°Then what do you recommend?¡± ¡°One room. Professional opinion.¡± ¡°Okay.¡± ¡°Breakfasts?¡± ¡°None please.¡± ¡°Will that be with the unlimited beverage bar or not?¡± Its beak hands wrapped against the table, as though agitated. ¡°None please,¡± Iris smiled, handling the situation like a seasoned veteran. ¡°Salt and Pepper is included in your rooms. That¡¯ll be three thousand Ixa for the night.¡± Remarkably inexpensive, considering the staff alone would ordinarily fetch ten times the price anywhere closer to the country¡¯s heart. The shanty-town aesthetic, far from intentional, began to make sense. The heart of the problem lay in the entity standing before her. Washed up, or never experienced to begin with¡ªthe malaise had spread its tendrils across what might¡¯ve once been a fine establishment. The innkeeper¡¯s sunken, beady eyes caught hers, a mutually foul Aether radiating between them like spilt, soured milk. ¡°Here are your keys,¡± the innkeeper finally said, the words unlocking a flood of relief. ¡°Enjoy your stay.¡± Chapter 25 Part 5: For the Greater Good Iris¡¯s eyes obsessed over room number 107¡ªbold, silver numbers, yearning for their counterparts engraved into the scientist¡¯s keys. They passed the first floor¡¯s ten rooms and made for the senescent stairs, Iris, perhaps recklessly, testing its structural integrity with a few bounces of her right foot. Dust, splinters, she got the gist. She led the way, running the grooves of the key''s engravings against her thumb. 203, and quite a walk away from their target. She looked over the catwalk railings, one half wondering exactly what safety codes they lived up to, and the other half inwardly repining at how open the inn was. Two sets of chambers stacked atop each other, doors facing a large hall like children in a choir or the face of a cuckoo clock. No privacy, no discretion¡ªthe innkeeper had a hold on the rooms like a warden to their cells. 203. They arrived, and Iris unlocked the door. Single bed, nightstand, dresser, and bathroom. The layout was so basic it felt axiomatic, it made her forget she ever expected anything different. The patterned wallpaper was preserved, if not yellowing, shifting hues from red to brown. She held little confidence in the door¡¯s integrity, the hollow moan it whimpered as the edge kissed the doorframe reminiscent of a slab of cork. ¡°The layout¡¯s a problem,¡± Iris whispered, back pressed against the door. ¡°Not to mention they can¡­I don¡¯t know. What was that?¡± ¡°Teleport?¡± Alis added. ¡°I blinked and they were there.¡± ¡°I can keep them occupied,¡± Crestana said. ¡°Move them away from the dining hall, correct?¡± ¡°Can you manage that?¡± Iris asked, unintentionally glancing at the longsword strapped across her friend¡¯s back. ¡°Without using it, I mean.¡± Crestana nodded, although with plentiful sideways bobbing. Translation: probably. ¡°Alis?¡± ¡°I¡¯ll stay in the hall, keep a lookout.¡± ¡°Right. Let me know if it isn¡¯t safe.¡± ¡°Rodger.¡± ¡°Okay¡­.¡± Delaying, if only to buy her another second or two. She beheld their faces; comrades before a frontline push, although none of their bodies had realised. Nodding her chin up and down, each movement getting longer and longer, she prepared her nerves. Getting caught. It wasn¡¯t quite getting shot, but having to come home to red locks of hair standing on their ends like a demon¡¯s horns¡­. She swallowed the inimical thought, at least using it as fuel to fan the fire. ¡°Let¡¯s go.¡± She opened the door and Crestana slipped out, figure synchronising with the sombre hall. High noon meant no direct sunlight to speak of. The windows were bright, doing the already dim interior no favours. Without the aid of artificial incandescence, the inn was now her domain. Iris followed after, holding the door for Alis before locking it shut. They stood, feigning hushed chatter all while stealing glances at the first floor. The reception desk remained occupied, innkeeper fiddling with the register while ardently counting Iris¡¯s cash. A beat, and the Spirit¡¯s head perked up like a rabbit¡¯s nose. Beak hands frozen on a five hundred Ixa bill, they gawked at the far-right corner as though they¡¯d seen a spectre. The frame of a painting swung on its mountings, and Iris imagined the tips of a nebulous finger emerging from the wall. The two watched Crestana continue, holding their breaths as the ghostly disturbances crept away, goading the innkeeper to follow. The innkeeper bit, and the moment they did, Iris started. Keeping her feet light, she rounded the barrister and started down the stairs, keeping her weight where wood joined wood. Using magic would¡¯ve been faster, quieter, superior in every way if their victim had been human. Iris had no gauge of her magic¡¯s obtrusiveness, but even a flash of an Aether pull in the wrong direction could cause an undesirable distraction. First floor. The plank she treaded on gave a wrenching squeal, grabbing her heart and twisting it as she stood breathless. No reaction. Crestana surely had the innkeeper enthralled. Refusing to waste the opportunity, Iris rushed past the reception desk, taking the innkeeper''s place like a scene swap in a stage play, before bolting towards the three bold numbers she had eyed. Rusty candy that worked her saliva glands overtime, or rather something less innocent. The object of her obsession that had her itching the nape of her neck. Iris grabbed the handle, jamming her other key into the lock and breathing a small sigh of relief as it politely yielded. She opened it and stepped inside, fastening the obedient latch before turning to the rest of the room. Pristine. At least the room service worked. Potentially too well, considering there was no sign of habitation whatsoever. He had nothing large on his person upon his death. Unless he had lost it on the way to Excala, unless he had chosen to travel extra-lean, Iris could have expected a briefcase, a bag at the very least. Pristine. Blinking didn¡¯t help this time. Iris began searching, if not for hard evidence then traces of it¡ªa finger pointing down the correct dirt road. The mattress sat snugly, gift-wrapped in the brown duvet tucked at the corners. Room service had been in, done the bed, restocked the small bowl of morsels on the nightstand. The dresser, maybe, under the bed, obtuse bricks of luggage tucked away somewhere discreet. She checked and checked, nooks and crannies, possibilities and impossibilities, but gave up halfway through. Forcing guests through an ordeal to find their own luggage was plain bad service, against the very nature of a Spirit of hospitality. It hadn''t been the innkeeper''s doing. Iris breathed, focus darting from one end of the room to another¡ªalmost identical to her own, the arrangement altered into another expression of the axiomatic hotel room. A simple spin on a tried-and-true formula. The nightstand was busier: a peeved-looking alarm clock shared space with the bowl of paper-wrapped dainties and a proud, decorative beaker. Nothing helpful. Spirit of Gardens. Unsuited to espionage, but Iris could imagine one writing something out with a hedge maze or creating code out of a bouquet of flowers. The wheat fields outside weren¡¯t flattened, and the room lacked a floral service. She stood in the room¡¯s centre, bouncing from the end of her right foot to the end of her left. Back and forth, back and forth. Eyes wandering like junkies aching for stimuli, synapses pining for a shot of good news. Spirit of Gardens. Something more discreet that could fit into a single room. Pot plants, a clue hidden in the dirt. But the room had little colour outside of its narrow hue, and even leaning her entire body out of the window, she found no garden, potted or otherwise. Just untilled, grassy ground uninterrupted until the next paddock. Iris turned back, and a flash of green caught her eye. She swivelled her head back around, searching for the spectre and praying it wasn¡¯t a figment of her desperation. Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere. Spirit of Gardens. Unsuited to espionage although their creations often held secrets, indiscreet in size, but delicate in their cultivated detail. One of their great achievements¡ªcapturing that essence in a bottle. Iris crouched by the nightstand, closing the blinds beside her to lessen the glare on the beaker¡¯s surface. Through the clear glass, she watched a living microcosm blossom and breathe. Sheered cliffsides built up by the delicate touch of magic held steady against the glass by roots of Rabbit¡¯s Foot fern and Sheet moss. The leafy flow spilt down the crevices like a waterfall, beckoning her eyes to follow the direction of their leaves. At its base was a house immersed in nature, vines invading porous, grey brick on all four sides, where only its roof, a yet darker shade of grey, remained untouched. The fa?ade hid coyly behind sprouts of Syngonium, at first glance just another base for roots to take hold. But Iris could hear the glass panes rattle with miniature winds, she could feel the door¡¯s steady wood against the wrap of a knocking hand. The faint trace of Aether made her waver, but something about the small world was distinctly real. It was a Sidosian building, the more she stared the surer she was. A Sidosian building simply in a different context¡ªnebulous, of little value aside from its beauty and potential meaning as juxtapositional art. Discreet, but delicate in detail. As clear as day, the house¡¯s tether to reality and value existed as a small road sign, the house''s address written into its wood. Crestana dropped a frying pan from its hook, letting the steel clang to the floor and the innkeeper¡¯s attention snap her way. She¡¯d drawn them to the kitchen, bypassing the rooms and exiting the dining hall entirely. Her target¡¯s eyes were always an uncomfortable few degrees off from where she stood, masked by dull shadows. Light fell through a far window behind her back, illuminating a hazy patch of blinding white that burnt her fingers the closer she ventured. Any part of her that crossed the threshold would become visible; it made for a tense game of the floor is lava. The centre bench restricted her movements, splitting the narrow rectangular room in two. One end was blocked by the haze of prickling light, the other by the encroaching innkeeper. Like near-sightedness, Aether pulls became clearer the closer they were. Shadow magic was a practised skill: some had an affinity for it, and others didn¡¯t. Few may have slipped past the innkeeper, quite literally right under their nose, but Crestana had to improvise. Although, it felt more like brute forcing. She grabbed the hilt of her sword and twisted the drawing tube horizontally, unsheathing the weapon and holding it in one hand. Carefully, as though not to startle a frightened animal, she reached across the bench¡¯s steel surface and crashed the flat of her blade against the far edge. The innkeeper started, their attention flashed towards the other side of the bench. Two equal stimuli, two opposing directions. It wasn¡¯t foolproof, but the moment¡¯s hesitation would keep them distracted. She used the tip of her blade to nudge a stack of plates over the edge, shattering it against the tile. This got the innkeeper to choose a side, Crestana hoping she¡¯d mistaken her sword¡¯s tip for a small rodent. She rounded the table, taking the innkeeper¡¯s place by the door and most importantly regaining control of the lights. She rested her hand on them, fingers shaking against the switch. The sword in her offhand rested a centimetre above the floorboards¡ªanother sound now, and she¡¯d be combining the ghostly disturbances and Aetheric presence into one. A dead giveaway, and the tight walk she treaded was already fraying. But another beckon called upon the innkeeper. Like the ding of a bell, they perked up from their task on the kitchen floor, and as though staring right through it, needled the wall directly next to her, looking past it and at one of the many rooms beyond. Crestana cursed Iris in her head. She hadn¡¯t heard or felt anything, but it didn¡¯t matter. The innkeeper stood slowly, and Crestana felt a terrible throb of Aether grab her shoulders and shake her. It was still subtle, but arresting in the way talking normally in a library was. Crestana covered her voice box, the grip on her sword¡¯s hilt tightening like a muscle spasm¡ªwhatever magic the innkeeper had used to close the distance before, she was about to set it off again. A lunge and a tackle? A strike with her pommel? To where? Spirits didn¡¯t have organs; they couldn¡¯t be concussed. Never mind revealing herself, the charge would be taken from damage to property to outright assault. The split-second build-up played out at its agonising leisure. The Aether pull toyed with her senses, the prickling at her fingers like fishhooks in her skin. What was the opposite of that feeling? That was what she needed. No Aether. No Aether pull. That choking void so salient in her memory. The nothingness, the pain that came with it. Whatever that was, whatever the Spirit of Spirits¡ªthat awful, ghastly thing she could call the fruits of her suffering¡ªhad channelled. That was what she needed. And so she felt it with her own body, through her throat, in her chest, coursing through her arms that sensation of violent nothing, lurching for something lest it drown, suffocate, starve. And she selfishly wished it upon another. The lurch took hold, so strong Crestana could watch it cripple the innkeeper. Convulsing, staggering, the sensation of inescapable, insatiable need. Lethal need that shocked a Spirit''s core, for no Spirit was ever short of Aether. The innkeeper collapsed against the kitchen bench and Crestana, paralysed herself, managed to break free of the self-inflicted mix of awe and trepidation. She remained in the shadows as the innkeeper¡¯s body calmed, their beak-like hands clattering against the steel benchtop. She¡¯d taken it too far, Crestana was a novice to the bone, but even she could discern that much. She watched her hands, quaking like the innkeeper¡¯s, the thought of another facet of her body entirely disobedient was terrifying. The grip on her sword loosened; she sheathed it before it could escape her grasp and fall to the floor. The front door swung open, and a sliver of light grew into a swathe. Two silhouettes stood in the doorway, their shadows protruding forward like ill-defined cardboard cutouts. Coats that draped to their knees, two-piece work suits underneath. No matter where they hailed from, to what flag they saluted, Alis could sniff a copper out with his eyes closed. One a Beak, noticeably stouter than the lanky human behind them, hollowed-out eyes hidden underneath the shade of a fedora. They strolled to the front desk, indulging in a silent survey, much like Alis had only a few minutes prior. Alis sank into his shoulders keeping his profile low in the hall''s corner as he heard the polite but weary ding of the service bell. A rustle came from the room where the innkeeper had retreated, and soon, their struggling figure limped back the way it came, desperately masking its pain. The officers rushed to the innkeeper''s aid, who promptly brushed them off. Alis couldn¡¯t hear the specifics but could only assume the worst once the pair produced their police badges. He¡¯d planned on knocking on Iris¡¯s door as warning should the need have arisen, but the officers likely had the same target in mind. Watching someone wrap their knuckles against it before quietly retreating upstairs was beyond suspicious. Even now, he¡¯d likely been marked as some sort of suspect. Wrapped up in questioning, he pretended to check his watch before standing up from his table and making for the staircase. ¡°Excuse me, sir.¡± Alis feigned ignorance for a beat before raising his head, one foot on the first step. It had been the lanky human who¡¯d called on him, face a notch friendlier now that the light on his face was more even. ¡°Are you a guest here today?¡± Alis smiled widely, the skill he so despised. ¡°Yes. Just up there,¡± he said, pointing. ¡°Room two oh three. I¡¯m here with a few friends for the night visiting family." The officer nodded, that small, unctuous nod of surface understanding. Alis knew it, that officer knew it, but Alis decided it was good enough. He made it up the rest of the stairs while questioning continued. As soon as his feet hit the catwalk, he upped his pace, the gap between each step shorter and shorter until he reached two oh three. There he bolted, dashing across the room and unlocking the latch that fastened the window. It was a tight fit, but he just about managed to vault over the ledge, the seat of his pants straining its fibres as he did so. He let himself hang from the second floor, gauging his distance from the ground before letting go. He plummeted, holding his breath for the moment the shock of impact coursed through his shin. Alis''s heels made impact with the soft ground, and he bent his knees, tumbling onto his back and lessening the strain on his legs. Refusing to waste a beat, he picked himself up, brushing the grass off the back of his shirt before making a break for Iris¡¯s room. One after another, he peered through the glare of the glass. Each room was the same, each one with no sign of the white hair. ¡°Alis!¡± A hiss. He whipped his attention to a masked face leaning out of a window. Crestana was at the other end of the building, halfway through vaulting over the windowsill herself. She pointed at the room two down from her, and Alis made a break for it, throwing open the glass and startling the girl inside. ¡°Let¡¯s go!¡± he hissed through the curtains. Iris nodded, and made a break for the opening, vaulting over the sill and landing feet first onto the grass. Crestana shut the window, and the three of them pressed their backs against the wall, shoulder to shoulder, as they listened to the far door open to the sound of heavy footsteps. Alis felt his heart pounding. Racing, even. He thought he had long since numbed it. Thrill seeker, maybe that¡¯s all he was. He detested the thought, that excitement was all he had been looking for. ¡°Did you find something out?¡± he whispered. ¡°They left us a clue,¡± Iris reported between pants. ¡°I think we can get to the bottom of this.¡± That rush, whatever ¡®getting to the bottom of it¡¯ was, that made his heart beat even faster. Chapter 26 Part 1: A One Day Sort of Thing ¡°What do we do with it then?¡± ¡°I don¡¯t know. It shouldn''t be up to us.¡± ¡°Why not?¡± ¡°Well¡­we¡¯re just kids! I mean, I understand if that makes me cowardly but we have no¡­authority, no¡­credibility¡ª¡± ¡°But there¡¯s plenty of people who believe us. Mrs Hardridge for starters, the Lieutenant-General too.¡± ¡°We can¡¯t tell them.¡± A resounding silence. Their hushed whispers had sounded, no, felt thunderous until a moment ago, the words¡¯ magnitude spurring their nerves like rousing war drums. Implications of crime, treachery, and all for what? Two meagre beds, and between it a gaping ravine. So far away; the other side was so far away. ¡°We can¡¯t tell them.¡± For something greater than them; at least that was what Iris wanted to believe. Imbued into words, that belief born of pure moral instinct seemed to silence the beating drums in Alis¡¯s ears and Crestana¡¯s voice box. ¡°We can¡¯t tell them,¡± Iris repeated. ¡°You remember what my mum said.¡± They won¡¯t destroy it. I won¡¯t destroy it. Too great of an advantage, one that could shatter the Aether''s infallibility, just about the world¡¯s only certainty left. If Sidos, if Geverde could control it, imagine that. Imagine that. ¡°I don¡¯t even want to think it,¡± Iris spat, mind sinking into quicksand, ignoring her eyes and ears. She saw her mother, heard her speak in that scratchy, muffled telephone voice. ¡°Just because it¡¯s possible¡­why can¡¯t we even try to kill it?¡± she asked, and no answer came. Not from Elvera, not from Elliot, least of all from Evalyn. You¡¯ll understand one day. It was one of those things, wasn¡¯t it? A one day thing, with no further reasoning or explanation. One day. One day, when that progress you denied them comes back to haunt you. When it¡ªpacked in a bomb, dropped from a plane, sent to every mailbox on your street¡ªtears your world asunder. Can you take responsibility for that? Add another load onto your shoulders and declare yourself patron saint, protector of the realm. Silly titles. You¡¯re not immortal.
  1. Already. Tried. That.
A purple beam. Flashing, blinding light. Its shadow so black it turns day into night. Thunder. Lightning. Dancing like a fool in the palm of your hand. That is responsibility. Use it to take responsibility until the day you die. Then you can croak peacefully, knowing the world burns the moment you do, and you¡¯re all to blame. ¡®Stuff of legend¡¯. The title seemed all the more fitting the more she tried to escape it. Being a weapon was written into every molecule of her amalgamated body, spelt out by her anatomy in a way not even those closest to her, those most like her could truly understand. They weren¡¯t treated like humans; she wasn¡¯t one to begin with. What was there to her besides that purple clap of lightning? ¡°Let¡¯s go to Sidos.¡± It was Alis¡¯s voice. ¡°Let¡¯s just¡­go to Sidos and find this house, see what we can glean from it. Maybe it¡¯s our ticket to the research, maybe not.¡± ¡°Then what, Alis?¡± Crestana this time. ¡°What do you suggest we do if we find it? That¡¯s the question here, not if we can or if we can¡¯t, it¡¯s what we do if we end up finding it.¡± She stood at her full height, pacing around the room. ¡°We would be left with a ticking time bomb in our hands. Either Mrs Hardridge asks us to hand it over or we get murdered by someone less than friendly. Just like the scientist!¡± Their voices fell into silence, the small spur of adrenaline petering out as they exhausted their worries again. Over and over, with no conclusion. So then they turned to her. Their eyes traced her face, their spotlight gazes singing and stinging her skin. But they were her friends, not ones to demand from her an answer they couldn¡¯t come up with themselves. A next course of action, perhaps. That was about all Iris could stomach. ¡°Let¡¯s visit,¡± she said. ¡°If there¡¯s¡­anything we can do¡­.¡± Her voice faltered, a small Evalyn on her shoulder silently yelling into her ear, paralysing her tongue. ¡°If there¡¯s anything we can do¡­we¡¯ll do it.¡± Her arm was numb. A static sensation from her calloused fingertips to her dry elbow. She¡¯d grown aware of the sensation hours ago only to ignore it, figuring a little experiment would pass the time. Stuck in a tree above a minefield, albeit voluntarily, hadn¡¯t exactly kept her rapt in the moment. The final results were unfortunate, the prickling sting of a thousand harmless bees grew no greater with time beyond say¡­half an hour. Evalyn figured she at least deserved a philosopher¡¯s degree for such a discovery, but being the fruits of such a simple study, her results may have already been common knowledge. Oh yes, any doctor worth their salt knows that. The pain derived from Pins and Needles does not increase in any meaningful fashion beyond half an hour¡ª Evalyn stopped herself; the train of thought, specifically its frivolity left a bad taste in her mouth. Colte had foretold the sensation years ago, coining it Trench Brain. Desensitisation to wartime dangers so complete that boredom would loom its benign head in even the most extreme situations. Say, entrenched under artillery fire, camping above an active minefield. Trench Brain. The very word felt maggoty. It became more deprecating the older she got. She¡¯d first noticed it when she was twenty-one, three years into her career and the first in her armour. A slow decline in danger made her sympathise with her mentor in a way she¡¯d never understood before. Smoking his pipe while bullets zipped over their cover; she had all of a sudden found herself taking lunch alongside him. The night before, like underestimating the size of a rupturing pimple, she¡¯d realised how deep Trench Brain had festered. Her outlook on herself, in its entirety, consumed by Trench Brain. Her outlook on being a Witch, also consumed by Trench Brain. That identity, and all its checks and shackles; bullets whizzing over her head while she ate her sandwich. Laughing was easier than wanting children, waiting for her husband to come home for the weekend felt better than ruminating over the things she had done the week gone by. This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it. Complacency, although she loathed to call it such. An adult thing. A ¡®you¡¯ll understand one day¡¯ thing. A thing that those older might have congratulated her for, clapping, telling her she¡¯s finally shed her naivety, like a snail without its shell. A thing a little girl like Iris couldn¡¯t understand, and so could fight. It was a dangerous thing to fight, but so was rolling with the punches. So was any outlook of their uniquely reprobate situation. Going against the world or simply flowing with it. One had to choose: one or the other, or somewhere in between. One to one hundred. The little men in the concrete bunker fifty metres from Evalyn¡¯s tree had chosen the former and stuck to their guns, and in doing so had kicked up a storm. The backlash of an entire country; Evalyn shuddered just considering the response she''d evoke from a coalition of Middling Nations if one foot of hers strayed out of line. And yet her daughter¡¯s voice needled at her, the small, static, muffled voice shouting silently into her ear, tempting her with another way. Another way to deal with the crisis, another way to be a Witch entirely. Harsh rattling, a thousand tiny explosions tearing apart the scatheless landscape. Rude and immature, the sound of an engine whinier than the lumbering trucks that had come before. The runt of the pack, a four-seater. She watched it pass underneath her, catching a glimpse of the lone driver¡ªcivilian clothes from top to bottom. Suit too, and a nice one at that. Someone she could glean information from, better yet with minimal effort if her stereotyping hadn¡¯t yet failed her. She gave chase, regrowing her armour. The thoughts were for later. Any weaknesses, the technology¡¯s true scale, for what purpose and against whom. One at a time, Evalyn whispered to herself as she collected her luggage from the station¡¯s locker wall, a ticket sandwiched between her lips. The train¡¯s whistle blared behind her, faint whisps of burning diesel tugged on her nose hairs. She turned around while her hands continued to work the latches on her briefcase, spotting her target step onto the third passenger car. Everything in order, she crossed the meagre platform and boarded, rubbing the diesel out of her nose while working her way down the aisle. Booth by booth, she passed a fleeting yet measured eye across them, each livelier than the last. Country folk in worn tweed suits and flat caps filtered past her, women with billowing skirts and chequered frocks squeezed their fabrics down the narrow corridors. Dressed to the nines and then some, sporting drinks in one grip and poker hands in the other. All for such a dull city. A dull city full of dull people dressed in dull clothing. Dull, but sharp from collar to hem. Succinct like a business report, pressed and ironed with mathematical equations. Country clothes, Evalyn could spot the tailor¡¯s hand in the seams, for better or for worse. Handcrafted, and the artisans were proud of it, whereas city suits held none of the personality. Handcrafted in the sense they were simply too perfect to be machined. Evalyn spotted a pair of cuffs resting on a small, cedar table, the sleeves of the dress shirt underneath so perfectly aligned they seemed stitched into the suit. She scouted the adjacent booth. Empty¡ªthe party hadn¡¯t spread so far up the carriage yet, and she doubted it would. A late morning train was for outings and day trips, nothing to do with the rush-hour bustle if such a thing existed so far into the boondocks. She took a seat, indulging in the spot beside her to open her luggage, all the while stealing glances at her target. Up close, fewer years weighed down his face than she expected, perhaps even less than her. Short, spiked brown hair and purple pocket square echoed current trends verbatim. Not someone she¡¯d find calling the shots. Maybe an investor, someone who only knew as much as was needed to sell. He would be a dud in that case, but the second blare of the train¡¯s whistle told her it was too late to back out. She slid a novel out of her briefcase and opened it, flipping to her bookmark and putting on her best show of reading. Sidos Central station. As high-strung as ever. The injection of country folk into the city¡¯s largest artery was like oil flowing into water. Evalyn slipped through the seams, eyes leashed to her target. Everything was dull in colour yet sharp in its corners, moving in numbers and speaking in angles. Her suited target had lost his novelty, but she kept on him like a hawk through the station¡¯s platform bridge. Fifteen paces behind, speeding up in corners and slowing down in the straightaways. Evalyn liked cities: nobody remembered even a peculiar face. Perhaps the most notable feature, but even then, a thousand other things in one¡¯s day-to-day life took precedence. Nobody remembered, let alone talked. The target led her into the shopping strip where his feet came to a halt outside a flower stand. The flora themselves or the young florist behind the stall, for whichever reason, Evalyn was made to watch him purchase two wreath bouquets before continuing on. They exited the station at its main entrance, sunlight too eager to kiss her face and cook her skin. She shielded her eyes, tracking the subject as he continued his march forward. No fences, no mud. No trucks or excavators or commuters shuffling through narrow walkways. Just paved, grey cobblestone, and pop-up stalls surrounding a fountain station. ¡°They actually finished it,¡± Evalyn whispered under her breath, feet almost faltering. An open space in the middle of Sidos City, people gathered under coloured canvas, buying food and dumb trinkets, trading time for smiles and laughter. Wasting five minutes on nurturing sentiments, spending time knowing that the place wouldn¡¯t be back under construction in under a week. It had taken more than a decade of toe-dipping and procrastinating, fussing over what colour to paint the storefront and stressing over what a ¡®local market¡¯ was supposed to be. More than a decade before someone had bit the bullet and pushed everyone into the deep end. The water was warm, enough to bring a smile to Evalyn¡¯s face. The scar was still healing by the day. Suck it, dad. ¡°Better keep it that way then,¡± she muttered, resuming the chase. The target veered east, through the concrete barricades before crossing the street, ignoring the taxis and buses lining the town square¡¯s periphery. Fifteen paces down a narrow straightaway. Evalyn kept close to the left gutter, directly behind his line of sight. He turned a corner; ten paces. The streets could no longer fit vehicles much larger than a bicycle¡ªthe fringes of a budding nightlife district. Bars, clubs, and restaurants carved their place in the world out of old businesses and office buildings. Not a place where someone would live, especially considering the suit. Another appointment was a likely answer, although she dreaded the idea of a stakeout. But her target had been considerate, robbing her of the opportunity for one entirely. Ten paces wasn¡¯t enough. The target had scrammed. Evalyn began to run, following the empty straightaway. The place was a maze, perfect for a cat-and-mouse game. Safe to say she''d been led by the nose. Where she¡¯d been marked, she couldn¡¯t be sure. Didn¡¯t matter. All the more reason to find him and shut him up. She took the first left, boots glancing past two discarded flower bouquets. Disappearing in ten paces meant he¡¯d taken the nearest turn. The buildings climbed, swelling until the streets were barely two shoulders¡¯ width wide and steeped in shadow. Massage parlours, cocktail bars down dingy staircases, all nocturnal. No ears, no eyes. Evalyn¡¯s markings showered the shade with golden light. She ripped around the next right, propelling herself up to a wall pipe with a stream of gold from her soles, grabbed it, and angled the Jetstream against the wall. Twice, three times she hopped from one building to the other, emerging onto the rooftops. Flat in these parts. Easy to traverse. She kept an eye on the alleyway¡ªnothing, and the next junction presented three choices. Forward, left, right. She leapt over the branch veering left and glanced both ways as though crossing a road. Bingo, down to the right was a man sprinting for dear life. She wished he¡¯d slow down, his suit would tear. Trench Brain. Again. She shut herself up. Evalyn crossed the junction, keeping to the buildings¡¯ edges as her target¡¯s back got wider and wider. No turn this time, cutting across their original straightaway and into the next block over. Evalyn followed, bending her knees as an explosion of gold launched her into the air. Three seconds of airtime, four, five. Enough to give her a prophetic view of the path up ahead. Greenery, albeit small. Two or three blocks reserved for parkland. Open and well-travelled, the definition of ¡®plain sight¡¯. Terrible for losing a chasing cat, great for keeping that cat from sinking its claws into you. He was smarter than she¡¯d pegged him for¡ªa rare compliment. If only he could be happy about it. Evalyn bound across the final few buildings, leaping off the rooftops with a golden rope trailing behind her, fastened around her waist. Taut immediately, brusque in the way it made her stomach lurch as it caught her fall, but it worked. Evalyn massaged the new bruise as she ran onto the street, sidestepping a startled businessman. Left, right, nothing of note. Park it was. She crossed the road, fiddling with the latches on her briefcase until the gap widened, barely enough to fit her hand through. Feeling around unfolded clothes and toiletries, her fingers found the handgun stowed away at its base. Empty, but a gun pressed into one¡¯s back didn¡¯t feel all too different loaded or not. She entered the park, glancing past joggers and dog walkers, parents with children and stretching retirees. Pigeons scattered, cooing in protest as she stormed on, trampling their breadcrumbs. Flat from one end to the other, small outcrops of boscage dotted the green canvas like spatters of paint. She wasn¡¯t in the mood for rummaging through leaves and branches, nor would it be very effective. Iron fences barred the verdure oasis from the encircling concrete, four exits all in view of where she stood. She turned to one, then the other, north, east, south, west, north. East, and not very far, masking himself amongst a slow, disjointed procession filtering out of the parklands. His eyes moved over each shoulder like he was seizing¡ªhe hadn¡¯t caught sight of her just yet. Evalyn followed, hiding herself between anyone who¡¯d hide her profile, skipping from shelter to shelter until she¡¯d regained her precious fifteen paces. Her target was still looking, the long shadows and orange sky seemed to sap out the saturation, washing everything in a muted orange. Her markings whispered their golden glow, and a spindle of entwined maple leaves fell from the hem of her pants. It crawled along the dirt, evading feet and ducking under footsteps. Snatch. Digging attenuated claws into his heels, she toppled him like a house of cards. Thump, and the sound echoed through his chest. Fifteen paces, down to ten in half a second and down to five in less. ¡°Oh my god, sir!¡± she said, the hero amongst a growing pack of bystanders. ¡°Are you all right?¡± Evalyn helped him to his feet, wrapping a hand under his arm and over his shoulder, placing the other over his heart. The nub of a spike sprung from her palm, kissing the man¡¯s chest like a thorn. ¡°You feel that?¡± she whispered, getting out of him a meek nod. ¡°Mm. You get the gist. Get a move on.¡± Chapter 26 Part 2: A Solutions Type of Guy Wizards and Witches didn¡¯t have a union. That came as no surprise to anyone who, for one reason or another, was forced into pursuing the life. It was the same story¡ªnewbies either found themselves wrapped up in the action or thinking too far ahead. Overconfident or overthinking. There wasn¡¯t much difference apart from who was holding the shotgun to your chin: your enemy or yourself. Among the survivors who found themselves making a job out of it, they¡¯d eventually find a loose coalition of mouths and opinions. ¡®Work with these people¡¯, ¡®avoid contracts from them¡¯, ¡®I know a guy who knows a gal who can help you with that¡¯. The network fulfilled mercenary matters but worked just as well if one needed their taxes filed, a gun serviced, an injury dressed. In the corners of the world that didn¡¯t see the light of the world-famous ¡®Geverdian Privilege¡¯, other magic users were some of the last few reliables. They were all Wizards and Witches but were once bankers, mechanics, nurses, and teachers. Skills attained ¡®on the outside¡¯ as it were, like conscripted soldiers, like convicts. Not Colte. Liam Colte, a Firestarter, an Arsonist from a long line of Devil¡¯s Mutts. Being a Wizard was a family trade to the small cult of bloodlines nestled in the heart of Aerilia. One generation after another, slitting their wrists, dancing over hot coals before the avatar of Hell. Those who woke up to crying mothers and¡ªafter many gruelling years¡ªproud fathers were Wizards and Witches by trade. That was their attained life skill, their one-and-only value in life. Outside the world of Wizards and Witches, they were nothing. On the inside, however, they made for good branches from which that loose, yet strong network could launch. People knew him because he knew what he was doing. People knew him because he knew who to call and what to ask. People knew him, and more importantly, owed favours to him. He¡¯d scratched many a back in his career, favours piled up to his gills. For the time being, all his contacts existed in a little black book¡ªa name, and a phone number, repeated endlessly across tens of pages. Notes and reminders were written in the empty spaces beside them, the number of characters directionally proportional to how useful Colte found them. Down the list he had gone, turning page after page, etching a blue tick into the paper with every phone call he sent out. People would talk, then the news would travel like a dew drop from the branch down the spider silk, farther than his black book would ever take him. Or that was the intention. Almost a month down the line, his investigation was coming up short. Either nobody else could speak on his latest inquiry, or nobody wanted to. Hearsay, urban legends and quite literally fairytales were all he had to show for it. The lapping waves brushed against Colte¡¯s window too eagerly, spraying the sill with cold, murky water. He looked up from his desk¡ªa storm on the way. Grey clouds greeted him through the stained glass still an hour or so removed from Aerilia. He stood up, feeling the ache in his side flair in protest. Combat in an aching body was fine, Trench Brain hadn¡¯t gone so far as to deprive him of adrenaline to numb the pain. He closed the window, doing up the latch with a tired, all-too-relatable click. Aerilia Lake bid him farewell with another playful splash of water, and he took a moment to pause, arch his back, roll his shoulders, scratch his neck. His ink pot was leaking onto the desk. Another stain he¡¯d brood over in three months, asking his past self why he didn¡¯t clean it up when he could''ve. It wasn¡¯t a pigsty of a room. In all fairness, for a middle-aged travel-for-work bachelor, the place was held down well. But, over many years, mistakes here and there built up. The few visits he made to Evalyn¡¯s home had put into perspective the difference an extra pair of hands made. Then again, the few times he¡¯d been to Marie¡¯s had never ceased to amaze him. Prim and clean, ends, edges and all manner of loose pieces tucked under and stapled like it was open for house inspection. He liked it at Marie¡¯s flat, even if it got lonely drinking between the two of them. Four had been a party; that put a company of two into perspective. Extra pair of hands. He¡¯d tried it. Many had. Evalyn was about the only person he¡¯d ever seen pin another unlucky soul down with her for more than a year. ¡®Good for her,¡¯ he¡¯d always say to himself. Shame there hadn¡¯t been a ceremony. Double shame he¡¯d been the first face to greet her once the honeymoon was over. Daydreaming again, off to another place the moment things got quiet. Colte trudged towards his seat, all but collapsing into it as the moonlight faded from the room. Each small stain, cobweb, or drop of hardened wax called out to him like needy children. Colte sunk his head into his arms, mentally flicking through his black book, searching for a number to call for house cleaning services when... The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation. Phone ring. Shrill, like an infants beckoning. Another thing to add to the list of needy children. His inquests. Black book. He couldn¡¯t think of any other reason for anyone to call, especially at such an hour. ¡°Hello?¡± he grunted, forcing the voice out of his throat when it refused to pronounce the H correctly. ¡°Hi, Colte?¡± ¡°Hi Iris,¡± he said, sitting upright. ¡°Why¡¯d you call?¡± ¡°¡­nothing,¡± she said after a pause. ¡°Nothing. I just wanted to ask you something.¡± ¡°Sure,¡± he replied. ¡°If it¡¯s about my little investigation, I haven¡¯t really found anything more.¡± ¡°Oh¡­that¡¯s okay. That¡¯s not what I want to talk about.¡± ¡°Oh?¡± He heard the little girl on the other end shift through the wire. ¡°Do you remember, years ago when you first met me? You said something I didn¡¯t really get at the time. I want you to explain it again.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t think I can remember that far but I can try my best¡ª¡± ¡°You can do anything, but not everything¡­you said that, and I think I understand. But I want you to tell me again.¡± Colte let out a low hum as he pondered it. ¡°I did say that didn¡¯t I?¡± It wasn¡¯t as though he¡¯d forgotten the phrase itself. He¡¯d parroted it a million times to his mentee over the years, but she¡¯d eventually proved him wrong in a sense. Restrictions abound; Evalyn still lived her life tied down like a convict. But holding a family while she worked was all she had ever asked for. In a sense, she¡¯d proven him wrong, but the point still stood. ¡°You can do anything, Iris. Anything you want to. But that doesn¡¯t mean you¡¯ll be able to do everything.¡± ¡°So what does that mean?¡± the little girl asked. ¡°It means exactly what it sounds like. Say you¡­want to settle down and live a happy life, but at the same time use your powers like a God, you know? Pick out good and evil like you¡¯re weeding a garden.¡± ¡°I can¡¯t do both.¡± ¡°Exactly. Seems obvious, but when you¡¯re like us, it¡¯s hard to see why that isn¡¯t possible.¡± ¡°Why not?¡± ¡°Why¡­because the world doesn¡¯t work like that.¡± ¡°Why not?¡± ¡°Because that wouldn¡¯t make sense.¡± ¡°But I¡¯m asking why¡ª¡± ¡°Iris.¡± He put an end to it, resetting the conversation back to zero. ¡°Iris? To act like a God, you can¡¯t be human. To live like a human, you can¡¯t be a God. People have made sure that we can¡¯t live like humans, and they¡¯ve made damn sure we don¡¯t act like Gods. At least¡­not ones they can use.¡± ¡°But¡­never mind.¡± ¡°Sorry, Iris. Being out in the world for as long as your parents or I have taught us these things. In the end, we¡¯re living things, with weird weaknesses and vices we can¡¯t help but fold to. Maybe you¡¯re different, but I¡¯d like to think not.¡± ¡°¡­why not?¡± ¡°Because you deserve to be a little girl for as long as you want to. Then, you deserve to be a woman for as long as you¡¯d like. It¡¯s a privilege you see.¡± ¡°Okay,¡± she said in that candid way her younger self always had. Wide-eyed, never quite sure if what you¡¯d said had gotten through to her. ¡°It¡¯s a conversation better had with your parents, or at least in person. Got it?¡± ¡°Yes.¡± ¡°Jolly,¡± he chimed, glancing at the clock hanging over the doorway. ¡°It¡¯s late, you¡¯re going to sleep soon?¡± ¡°Yes. I¡¯ll try to.¡± ¡°Good girl. Sorry if I startled you. Feel free to call anytime, all right?¡± ¡°Okay. Goodnight.¡± ¡°Night.¡± He heard the line cut before three beeps trailed, softly into his ear. Another rustle. ¡°This is the operator. Would you like to make another call?¡± ¡°Ah! No, no thank¡­hang on. Hang on, why is there an operator on this line?¡± ¡°¡­this is a state-run tele company?¡± the operator answered, the words sounding like a question. It wasn¡¯t. Calls from Evalyn¡¯s house were normally redirected to her alibi apartment, but Colte had been careful to set up a specific Aether Line connection from his house to hers. ¡°Where did this call come from?¡± ¡°West of Excala, sir, the neighbouring region. I¡¯m not at liberty to disclose an exact address.¡± ¡°For god¡¯s sake.¡± The receiver connected with the body too eagerly. A clunk and a startled chime from behind the dial shouted in protest as Colte stood, forgetting about the pain in his side entirely. Another ring, begging for his attention as he moved to put on his coat. His eyes flashed between the dial and the door, two, three times. He sighed. ¡°Hello?¡± ¡°Hiya, Colte? Liam? I got the right number, right?¡± ¡°Yeah, you did but¡­sorry I don¡¯t recognise your voice.¡± ¡°No, no, don¡¯t mention it. I¡¯m a guy you helped out when I was in a tough spot. Thinkin¡¯ of taking the barrel to me own head ¡®n¡¯ all that.¡± ¡°I see¡­I hope you¡¯re doing better now. How can I help you?¡± ¡°I¡¯m fine! Getting by now. Pay¡¯s great, better than I could¡¯ve¡ªnever mind. I heard on the grapevine you were lookin¡¯ for something peculiar.¡± ¡°Anything related to a few key phrases, yes. They were Tetrica, Spirit of Destruction and¡ª¡± ¡°Until utopia begins. Yeah. No Colte. No, you might¡¯ve screwed up Colte. Screwed up big time.¡± ¡°Screwed up¡­the hell are you talking about?¡± ¡°Now¡­listen close mate. I¡¯m telling you this to return a favour all right? You scratched my back now I scratch yours. No one wants to tell you this because they¡¯re too bloody scared but I¡¯m not. I¡¯m not so I¡¯m going to tell you.¡± ¡°Please just¡­if you have any information¡ª¡± ¡°Get off their tail, mate. Get off their tail because people know you, right? They know you. Back when you helped me outta my tough spot, there was these fellas that tried to get me off me feet first. But I didn¡¯t like ¡®em too much because of what they were offering, aye? I¡¯m a solutions guy I like it when people, come to me, with solutions.¡± Colte nodded along out of courtesy. ¡°But these people, right? They were like¡­they talked to me like the people who¡¯d tell me off when I said I¡¯d go straight. You know, ¡®The world doesn¡¯t work like that!¡¯ or ¡®It¡¯s the world that¡¯s screwed up not us!¡¯, and they kept promising me a ways to fix it but I just pinned them as a bunch of anarchists, yeah?¡± ¡°Who were those people?¡± ¡°¡­now I don¡¯t wanna go spouting anything for your sake. Curiosity kills the cat you know, you don¡¯t know if they¡¯d treat you the same they treated me.¡± ¡°Just tell me, please!¡± ¡°All right! All right¡­I don¡¯t know his name, but don¡¯t go spouting this stuff like you been doing in fact, don¡¯t spout anythin¡¯ else you can¡¯t account for all right? This ain¡¯t a call for someone who knows how to tune a piano.¡± The caller breathed. ¡°It was a random dude, all right? Some¡­Wizard it was that I passed ways on a contract with¡­he told me all this crap, then told me to ¡®find the Provenance¡¯. I don¡¯t know if that¡¯s their boss or their company address, but they left off with that damn slogan.¡± ¡°Until utopia begins.¡± ¡°That one. Chapter 26 Part 3: Round Two Until utopia begins. Until utopia begins. Until utopia begins. Until¡ª ¡°Lieutenant-General,¡± Fault¡¯s frigid words sounded, jolting Elvera from a contemplative torpor like a cold can against her neck. She turned in the Prime Minister¡¯s direction. ¡°Yes, ma¡¯am.¡± ¡°You never did end up telling me what your opinions were on the situation.¡± Only one degree removed from the Prime Minister¡¯s desk itself, the Lieutenant-General had been invited to take up temporary residence in Fault¡¯s office. It was an impractically vast space, sufficient enough for an entire team but built undeniably with a single person in mind. The walls simultaneously amplified the Prime Minister''s presence and drew Marie''s eyes back to her. ¡°No ma¡¯am, I don¡¯t believe I did.¡± Yesterday''s interruption had carried on overwriting the rest of the day¡¯s schedule. If that was reason enough for Fault to place Elvera by her side, she could only be flattered her advice was so valued. ¡°So?¡± the Prime Minister asked, resting her chin in her palm, looking rather evil when seated before the grand Sidosian coat of arms. ¡°So indeed,¡± Elvera continued. ¡°Could I ask you a question first, ma¡¯am?¡± ¡°My thoughts on the matter?¡± ¡°Not in their entirety, ma¡¯am. Just¡­what do you think the enemy¡¯s goal is?¡± ¡°Vesmos or this rogue faction?¡± ¡°Our rogue faction, ma¡¯am, I daresay Vesmos is being led by its nose as much as we are.¡± ¡°Oh?¡± Fault said, raising an eyebrow and her posture. ¡°How so?¡± ¡°If you¡¯d answer my question first, ma¡¯am.¡± Fault crossed her arms, failing to hesitate when the moment arose. ¡°The NSC is united in its thinking: we''re seeing yet more dregs of the Hardridge-era government. They¡¯ve taken an opportunity and, with the military¡¯s help, are attempting to develop a technology that can wipe out Spirits in our borders.¡± ¡°I agree,¡± Elvera said, truthfully. ¡°But my question is if that¡¯s the¡­entire picture.¡± ¡°How come?¡± Elvera suppressed a deranged chuckle escaping from the side of her mouth. ¡°I find it hard to believe myself, ma¡¯am, but there¡¯s been instances like this before. Several groups of interest come together less in alliances and more in perfect storms. They''ll strike deals like corporations when trust is usually the biggest factor to these people.¡± ¡°You think something else has a hand in all of this?¡± Fault asked, leaning forward into her desk. Elvera watched the eagerness steep from Fault¡¯s posture, the slight hints of urgency, curiosity in her tone of voice. The support Marie could glean from such a person, such an authority, was tempting. Cementing what was still yet baseless hearsay and rumour into words, not just thought but spoken¡­was too dangerous. Not yet. Not while she couldn¡¯t hear it from the horse¡¯s mouth. ¡°It¡¯s convenient, is what I was theorising,¡± Elvera said, ¡°and that a shadow pulling the strings would explain away a¡­phenomenon, that¡¯s otherwise too cruel to be true.¡± ¡°It certainly would,¡± Fault said, deflating a little as she sank back into her chair. ¡°But we can only deal headlong with what is in front of us.¡± A very apt sentence for her character. Elvera feared it was exactly what the enemy was counting on. The shrill shriek of a telephone bell ran through the room¡¯s quietude, pleading with Fault to release it from its suffering, which she did in record time. ¡°Hello¡­.¡± Her eyes flicked to Elvera. ¡°It¡¯s for you.¡± A redirected call, likely from her other temporary office. She bridged the distance and leaned over the Prime Minister¡¯s desk, taking the receiver and pressing her ear against it. ¡°Hello?¡± ¡°Marie? God was it a hassle getting to you,¡± Evalyn complained, already exacerbated. ¡°What the hell changed between today and yesterday?¡± ¡°Nothing drastic, what¡¯s this about?¡± A wrap of knuckles against the door. Fault stood up to answer. ¡°Things¡­Marie. Several.¡± ¡°Let¡¯s start with number one.¡± ¡°Alright. I tailed and bagged someone from the facility.¡± ¡°Evalyn!¡± Elvera hissed. ¡°I wish you¡¯d at least tell me before you pulled a stunt like that¡ª¡± ¡°I know, I know. The trail led back to Sidos City. Got him to speak in his apartment. The guy is a political staffer for the Minister of Defence.¡± ¡°The minister of¡­not exactly surprised there.¡± ¡°Me neither. Says that the Minister began scheduling more and more appointments to the facility months ago, eventually pressuring him to visit the site in his stead and report back with progress.¡± ¡°Does he know what they¡¯re building?¡± ¡°Anti-Aether technology, that¡¯s the name he uses.¡± ¡°Anything about the scientist?¡± ¡°I asked, and no. Says that he doesn¡¯t know where the designs came from or who gave them to the MOD.¡± ¡°Well, he wouldn¡¯t, would he¡­.¡± Elvera turned to the Prime Minister as the door closed, the attendant behind it shrinking back into the hallway. ¡°What was the second thing?¡± ¡°When I tried to call home last night, Colte picked up instead. Says Iris called him the night before from somewhere West of Excala. I don¡¯t know where she is right now.¡± Elvera lowered her voice to a whisper. ¡°Give that hostage to me, I¡¯ll handle it while you go find Iris. She¡¯s with her friends, I¡¯m sure of it. Try not to worry.¡± ¡°I¡¯m not worried,¡± Evalyn replied. ¡°I¡¯m fuming.¡± The phone hung up, and Elvera dropped the receiver as the Prime Minister walked over, a brown envelope in hand. ¡°He said it was left at the reception desk this morning. Blank address, no information on who it¡¯s from or who it¡¯s addressed to.¡± ¡°Then why are we the ones dealing with it?¡± Elvera asked. The Prime Minister removed the paper inside the envelope as she rounded the desk, throwing them down so they splayed outwards. The first file was a personnel profile, complete with a headshot clipped to a set of documents. Personal details, employment history, current positions. A familiar face: pudgy around the cheeks and wispy hair that reminisced of a long-gone full widow¡¯s peak. You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story. ¡°Jason Norris, Director of the Interior and second to the Minister of Home Affairs. It¡¯s everything the government has filed on him.¡± Underneath was a map crudely cut from a travel magazine, the overly blocky streets still littered with fun facts and attractions. In red marker, a line was drawn across it, beginning at one dot and ending at another. Times marked out each end, an X cut the route in two. ¡°The line ends at Parliament House¡­.¡± ¡°Eight forty-five¡­so the start must be his address. Is it correct?¡± ¡°Yes, it is.¡± The Prime Minister checked her watch. ¡°It¡¯s only been an hour since we opened for business, so no one batted an eye. Now the entire city is out looking for him.¡± The Prime Minister, clasped her hands behind her head, exhaling through her teeth as her eyes flashed around the room. A route marked out in red. ¡°It¡¯s a threat. For all we know he¡¯s going to turn up dead at any moment.¡± Trysha often hitched rides on car boots for free. One of the few upsides to her life since the day a Spirit forced onto her something she never asked for¡ªa selfish legacy that overwrote any she might¡¯ve looked forward to. Now, when she gazed at her fingertips, it wasn¡¯t her prints she saw, but the asphalt flying underneath the tyres. She closed her eyes, recalling the red line a colleague had drawn down a colourful map. The second turn before the car slowed to a stop at a red light. The city centre in peak traffic. If the sun wasn¡¯t bad enough, the fumes from the engines around her did the trick. She unbuttoned her shirt, knowing no one would notice either way. It had excited her the first few times, dressing and or undressing however she wanted before the eyes of many, but that rare novelty had long since worn off. She swung her legs, the grip on her handgun barely holding by a finger. Conservative compared to the axe she¡¯d been given on her last job, although considering her target it had simply been the most efficient tool. ¡®Forget how similar the M.O.¡¯s are¡¯, her colleague had insisted. ¡®Just worry about getting the job done, it¡¯ll work out for us either way¡¯. With such an obtuse goal, she couldn¡¯t see how the pursuers of Utopia could fail in reaching it. But Trysha had come to see that was a positive of theirs. Their final destination was unfathomable, unreasonable even, but Trysha couldn¡¯t picture the world going in any other direction. Even if it isn¡¯t in the exact way they picture it, it¡¯ll ¡®work out for us either way¡¯. The car started again, wheels slowly rolling through narrow, congested roads where cars were an afterthought fitted to streets designed for pedestrians. The grey and black lapped up the heat, turning into the walls of a kiln Trysha begged to be free of as soon as possible. She turned her head, past the three men comfortably seated in the car, and out to the stout building that still dominated from several blocks away. Terraced roof, arching atrium, greyer than grey could ever be. The car slowed as Trysha¡¯s grip on her handgun tightened. Another traffic light. The mission admittedly wasn¡¯t her forte. She¡¯d once fancied herself an expert thief, robbing valuables from under rich and powerful noses. But apathy was easier to maintain and simply pointing a gun at someone before walking off had proven to be an easier payday. She didn¡¯t have any nobility to prove to anyone, at least not anymore. The brakes squealed as Trysha¡¯s grip around her handgun tightened. Hopping off the boot, she waltzed around the car, levelling her sights with the rear wheel. Silenced, chambered with a competition-shooting calibre. With engines idling, she might as well have made a pop with her mouth as she depressed the trigger and punctured a hole through the rubber. The bang of the tyres replaced what sound the gun should¡¯ve made, and air began to whistle from the hole, sending the car¡¯s rear half into a gentle, lopsided decline. Soon, the shotgun door opened, and a suited man stepped out. Young, perhaps her age. Kids at home, a wife if the marriage was good. She¡¯d give him a hell of a story to tell her that night. Trysha stepped aside as the man slammed his door closed and beelined for the flat tyre, eyes passing through her as he did so. She watched the man for a second, thoroughly occupied in working out the issue. Satisfied, she rounded the corner, coming to the roadside door. Trysha hadn¡¯t watched him enter the car as she¡¯d only hitched the boot halfway through the journey, but the cheeks, the hair, or rather lack thereof, matched the photo sitting on her fold-out desk like a glove. Jason¡­Norrick? She couldn¡¯t remember. At such a rate, she could start a coup. Parliament house was a few blocks away, and no human would be privy to her movements in the slightest. But one thing saved Sidos¡¯s government, a small difference in objective that kept Trysha from pulling the trigger on the Prime Minister¡¯s head and instead on the Director of the Interior¡¯s. A small detail in the end result. Instead of a coup, which, if even successful, would only restart a long-dead civil war the masses had already forgotten, she was to spur a new conflict with new belligerents, new stakes, and new toys. Or, well, she was only paid to do the latter. They had people already working on the former. She grabbed the handle and politely opened the door, the car obliging with a hollow thunk. The Director of the Interior turned towards her, eyes only coming up to her chest. She forgave him for looking at, or rather through, such a place; he didn¡¯t have long to reflect on his actions anyway. The second time around was no less nerve-wracking than the first. From the constant radio chatter to pencils etching lead onto paper notepads, the needling sounds like cutlery against porcelain kept his eyes open out of sheer spite. A mid-morning call had interrupted their latest briefing, cutting short news reports around a ¡®developing situation¡¯. The unexplainable assassination of a high-ranking official. Broad daylight, peak traffic, zero witnesses. The circumstances were so concordant with a previous murder it didn¡¯t take more than a coin¡¯s worth of brain matter to put two and two together. The feud with the unconfirmed enemy had grown another set of legs to scurry away, out of Sidos¡¯s control like an oversized cockroach. And, like it were a god¡¯s will, the early bird had come down from the sky to snag its early meal. Alarm bells, red lights, scramble, scramble. Two fighters had taken off twenty minutes before the current moment; both Geverdian, both piloted by Amestris¡¯s Children with shape-shifter magic. Their novelty was long since lost on him, but the same couldn¡¯t be said for their usefulness. Marking a Spirit on visual or radar was reason enough for a spy plane to turn tail and run, if they were spying over Geverde. Over Sidos, Elliot hoped they would only be taken as minor nuisances like a curious crow was to a sniper. Disjointed, static-ridden reports funnelled into one another, growing like a snowball with every new word. Much of it was the same, to Elliot¡¯s dismay and confusion. Clarity of their ghosts was inversely proportional to their visual¡ªthe two undercover fighters only confirmed this with their own eyes and instruments. On and off, flashing like a dying ember before burning once again, often for no more than half a minute at a time. Elliot etched the spans down in his notebook once again, chronicling the half-hour run as faithfully as he could. Fifteen minutes and thirty-seven seconds on the clock: an abnormally long visual drop-off, and as the pattern dictated, an intensely fierce ghost. Elliot jotted down the times and flicked between his current notes and the previous. Back and forth, back and forth. Slight differences, a second or two at most. Considering the changes in weather and mismatching angles of attack it was to be expected. But only a second or two difference between the previous day and the present. He abandoned his notetaking, turning his attention to archiving instead. It wasn¡¯t a conclusion that the analysts couldn¡¯t come up with in two minutes flat, if anything they¡¯d have better proof for it. But it was nagging him, and that nagging bore fruit. Complete visual drop-off first recorded at four minutes and fifty-six seconds, repeated again albeit five seconds later. Visual later reconfirmed thirty-three seconds later, extended to thirty-nine seconds the second time around. An abnormally long period of ghost fluctuation between seven minutes and fifteen seconds to seven minutes and forty-four seconds. Repeated again, with slightly varied time stamps but for the same length of time. Airspeed was unchanged¡ªperhaps it had something to do with the camera shutter¡¯s limitations. ¡°The target is carrying a payload underneath the fuselage.¡± The report snagged Elliot by the snout, dragging his ears back into the present. ¡°It looks like¡­some sort of vent? Or an intake?¡± Vent. Intake. He couldn¡¯t make nose nor rudder of it for the moment. Elliot closed his notebook, raising his head to get a read on the room as the radio reports slowly fizzled out. The analysts would have all the data he needed to confirm his theory, what he needed to worry about was the steps that came next; the people he¡¯d be working with. Lukewarm enthusiasm, if he measured the mean of every person in the room. Elliot himself sat somewhere between fierce notetaking and auscultating the radio. A few were doing so silently; arms crossed, eyes closed. Others had their focus elsewhere. The radio, the analyst¡¯s telegraph stations, the last pin for the day digging into the cork, many men in the room found the back of his head infinitely more interesting. And they drilled his scalp until cigarette burns were smouldering through his hair. Elliot got up to leave prematurely¡ªhis theory would have to wait. ¡°Oi Sir!¡± a voice called through grinning teeth. ¡°Heard some rumours that you bailed on us back in the day for some chick. Was she worth it?¡± Elliot stowed his pen in his pocket, standing up and making for the door. ¡°What use would it be explaining to you, Lieutenant? The last time you felt a woman¡¯s touch was probably when she gave birth to you, prick.¡± ¡°Better watch your damn back,¡± the Lieutenant grumbled to his mate as Elliot walked past, making him stop in his tracks. ¡°What was that, Lieutenant?¡± ¡°Said you should be cautious, Sir. People grumble about new officers. Hazed them a couple of times, too.¡± ¡°Well, if they know who I am they¡¯d better hope I don¡¯t find them first.¡± Elliot turned around to face the pilot. ¡°Or would you be a good little wind-up soldier and tattle on them for me? Since your loyalty knows no bounds.¡± The pilot remained silent, a scowl marring his face as he drilled his pen into his notepad. ¡°Thought not,¡± Elliot concluded, turning again for the door. Chapter 26 Part 4: And a Rapturous Clap Followed In a flash, light showers gave way to sunshine, and Iris watched the coy pitter-patter tickling the glass stamped out under a torrent of heat and blue. Over the border, halfway there in a sense. Crestana had barely woken up that morning, using her two caretakers as makeshift crutches from their room to the bus stop, and had held onto Iris¡¯s hand the entire journey through Excala station. Still lethargic, her friend had found temporary perch on Iris¡¯s shoulder as the Excala Express rocked the trio back and forth. Her shutters were tight, but she seemed more at peace than in the morning. They had shaken her as though she were under a curse until Alis confessed he felt too guilty to continue. Iris couldn¡¯t disagree, but kept it a secret that her eagerness to get to their address had overwritten the concern for her friend. Still, Crestana wasn¡¯t a light sleeper, considering not all Spirits required it, yet even then¡­. ¡°It¡¯s like her shutters are glued shut,¡± Alis commented. ¡°Maybe we can put a little sign that says ¡®closed for business¡¯ on her forehead. ¡°That¡¯s¡­a horrible idea,¡± he managed, holding in a smirk, eyes considering the possibility. ¡°Do you think she¡¯d get mad?¡± ¡°If she noticed? Probably. She¡¯d act all disappointed in ¡®my character¡¯ and get revenge a day later.¡± ¡°Sounds like you¡¯re taking from experience.¡± ¡°No¡­those times were all accidents. She said she''d get mad at repeat offences." She reminisced on all she could remember, watching her fingers intertwine with Crestana¡¯s milky black. ¡°You found a good friend, even if she talks like a cop.¡± She found Alis observing her from the seat beside them, eyes blissfully observant. She scrunched her face as the train rolled over a bump in the tracks. ¡°I thought you¡¯d be jealous.¡± ¡°Why would I be jealous? People can have more than one friend.¡± There was something unsatisfying about that answer, but Iris couldn¡¯t figure out what. She had an inkling it was the sort of thing Crestana had a knack for. ¡°But¡­.¡± ¡°But what?¡± Iris asked, too eager to pounce. ¡°¡­no. It¡¯s stupid.¡± Another bump. The drawing tube lying across their laps dislodged itself from its comfortable position. Alis lunged for it, but Iris¡¯s end fell past her knees before she could react. The metal clattered against the floor. Silent judgement and a few weary eyes flicked their ways. She gave a wry smile, something Elliot had pointed out was a hand-me-down from her mother, and that seemed to do the trick of deterring the attention. ¡°Why is it stupid?¡± Iris asked, repositioning the hilt of the sword against her waist. ¡°Why?¡± he asked, reluctantly. ¡°I don¡¯t know. It feels like it would only make sense to me.¡± ¡°If it makes sense, it makes sense. If it doesn¡¯t¡­we can laugh at it.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t exactly like the idea of you laughing at it,¡± he chuckled, fiddling with his end of the sword. ¡°All right. I won¡¯t laugh. Deal?¡± She held out a hand across their sleeping princess. Alis looked her expression up and down, before taking the hand. ¡°I thought you¡¯d give a smile or something while playing a joke like that.¡± ¡°What joke?¡± ¡°¡­I¡ª¡± ¡°We made a deal.¡± ¡°Uh¡­okay. I just thought that¡­I was missing out on something when I read your last letter. Like¡­almost three years we¡¯d been going back and forth about ourselves, topic after topic, and I thought I knew you well enough.¡± ¡°I think you do,¡± she said. ¡°There isn¡¯t much to me.¡± Alis¡¯s line faltered, and Iris, for some reason, regretted her words. She pursed her lips and turned it back towards the floor. ¡°The things that make you tick, Iris. I don¡¯t know what it is, but I see it in people. No one I knew from my barracks had that. If they did, they got beaten out pretty early.¡± She saw from the corner of her eye his fingers curling into round shapes, crushing invisible insects between each one. ¡°But I know that there¡¯s small things you do¡­or¡­ways you act without realising, that other people know about. I know you¡­through your letters, through you, but I don¡¯t know you through me.¡± ¡°I see,¡± Iris muttered, finding herself smiling at the sentiment. ¡°I¡­sort of get it. I think.¡± ¡°Well I don''t,¡± Alis admitted. He turned his attention to the windows, exhaling the small frustration through his nostrils. They flared like a dog¡¯s as his shoulders relaxed, slumping into the Express¡¯s ancient cushioning. His eyes found hers again. ¡°What?¡± ¡°Hm?¡± ¡°You¡¯re staring.¡± ¡°Oh. Okay.¡± His eyes flicked away again, this time hesitating, more conscious of their surroundings. Thunder. The green and blue landscape that sprawled out before her flashed purple to a rapturous clap. Wrath of God: to Iris, that was the only thing in her vocabulary that she could consider mighty enough to block out the sun. Wrath. That certainly fit the situation like a glove. She sped across the frantic green plains, blades of grass all whipping about in a hysterical dance, trying to run away from the crystal city only to find they were rooted to the ground. The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation. Through her hair¡¯s furious flurry, Iris watched the vermin scatter and the birds evacuate in disorderly clusters. Heat. Light. Rapturous clap. Purple tore past the city limits and streaked the endless green carpet with an ugly, flaming, black scar. More came, rupturing her ears each time. She sped towards it all the same, unsure of what else she was supposed to do. Heat. Light. She could feel the tingling of the air close by, hear the air burn once the sensation delivered on its promise, and watch as her hair followed the air rushing to take the place of its fallen brethren. The Spirit City closed in around her as she took the familiar route through its vague streets, now clogged with rubble as monuments to its once greatness toppled one after another. The pieces shattered like glass, each expelling its ricocheting shrapnel until it saturated the air, biting at Iris¡¯s armour. She reached its centre where a man had once stood, dressed in white, teaching Spirits of spoken language. No sign of him remained, nor of the era of peace he inhabited. It was deserted, sparing her from even seeing the bodies. The sound dispersed between the remaining towers, and Iris felt she¡¯d reached the eye of the storm. Muffled, deceptively quiet chaos lay outwards¡ªshe stood where destruction had already passed, under the perpetrator itself. Iris dismounted, struggling to find the point of origin. She doubted if there had been one to begin with, seeing as none of her previous visits had allowed her even a glimpse. The thunder continued as the air grew thick with invisible shards that hurt to breathe. She released more of her hair, fuelling it with energy and dismantling it into gas. Ventilating her armour, she kept the air in her mask clear. Breathing. Her own respiration and the blood circulating through the cartilage in her ear were, for a brief moment in history, the only sounds in the world. Paradoxical calm, permeated by an intense atmosphere of Aether buzzing like ants underneath her skin. Purple. Her purple. The Spirit of Destruction¡¯s purple. Yet that man had called her the patron Spirit; his tongue implied some due approbation. Reverence she could understand, but admiration? Another flash of lightning, several more toppling monuments. No bodies, no cries, but her blind servitude to her nature only brought one answer¡ªshe had ruined that glass city long ago, toppled it to rubble. The city in Iris¡¯s dreams was no longer so grand. Flattened and forgotten before it could reach the written word. ¡°How long was I out for?¡± ¡°Half hour. Crestana, you were gone for several half hours.¡± ¡°Sorry sarge.¡± ¡°Head in the game Private, we¡¯re at Sidos station.¡± The whistle blared, and the three swayed together as the train came to a stop. Steam rose, and Sidos City¡¯s epicentre peered through the veil of white. Bustle, footsteps, and a signature undercurrent of tension that, in her mind, defined the city. Perhaps the people were just high-strung because even without S.H.I.A., everyone walked like a terrorist cell was on the loose. Well, close enough. They disembarked, keeping single file, weaving out of the station. Alis, Crestana, Iris. Her eyes wouldn¡¯t stop flicking from face to face, measuring the height of their nose and reading the depth of their eyes, each mundane face only served to sour her hunches. She felt herself take a gasp of fresh air as they exited the current of people. But the space was wide where she could only remember further funnelling¡ªbodies pressed into the allotted space between parallel iron railings, builders waving them along with signs and gestures. No. The town square was done. ¡°Iris? What¡¯s wrong?¡± Crestana called. ¡°Nothing,¡± she lied, tearing her eyes off the fountain¡¯s statues. ¡°Found a map yet?¡± ¡°Here!¡± Alis called from behind her. Standing at a kiosk, he held a sprawling map up to his chest. ¡°It¡¯s probably the simplest layout to a city I¡¯ve ever seen,¡± he muttered as Iris and Crestana closed the distance. ¡°Straight grid lines the whole way through.¡± He followed the index, opening to a later page marked ¡®Rodana¡¯ and traced his finger along the streets like a maze in the morning newspaper. A double tap. ¡°Here, roughly.¡± ¡°How far is it?¡± Crestana asked. ¡°Not long, why?¡± ¡°No reason, I just wanted to ask¡ª¡± ¡°You were passed out cold, Crestana,¡± Alis pressed. ¡°Are you okay?¡± ¡°Excuse me? No, I just needed rest I¡¯m¡ª¡± ¡°Crestana,¡± Iris said, and they found each other¡¯s eyes. ¡°I¡¯m. Fine,¡± Crestana insisted. ¡°Fine now, anyway. I got my sleep.¡± Iris saw her hand reach for the end of her drawing tube, grasping at it like they would confiscate it. ¡°Let¡¯s be careful,¡± Iris commanded, ¡°and stay behind me. Don¡¯t argue.¡± She could feel the population density rise the more steps she took into Rodana district. The atmosphere, saturated with sweat, ate away at the fringes of her consciousness. Open windows carried out into the narrow corridors whispers of personal lives. They listened like voyeurs to the chatter, shouting, laughing, crying, and watched shirts and underwear flutter along laundry strings roped between opposite balconies. Alis held the map in his off-hand, refusing to even take a peek at it once the streets became claustrophobic, and the invisible eyes from above overwhelming. Crestana followed behind him, keeping her eyes over his shoulders as Iris brought up the rear, tuning one ear towards the world behind them. Alis turned left, and the two followed. Much of the same, more of the sweat. The sun was struggling to find them so low to the ground. ¡°This is the street,¡± Alis muttered under his breath. ¡°It¡¯s unfortunate, but we couldn¡¯t look more like tourists if we tried. Best behaviour from here on out.¡± ¡°Yes sir,¡± Iris replied. ¡°Yes sarge,¡± Crestana echoed, and the disappointment seemed to wind Alis¡¯s retaliation. Alis approached the alcohol-stained door and opened it, feigning the mindless certitude of a local resident as they stepped through. Iris on the other hand couldn¡¯t tell where the building it belonged to began and ended. A damp, dimply lit hallway, four doors to either side of them, and a staircase by the end of the walkway. ¡°Room five oh two, it said. I hope you two were itching for some cardio.¡± They started up the stairs, the sole of Alis¡¯s boots producing such a creak she could¡¯ve sworn she saw a shoe-shaped dent imparted on the wood. Crestana came next and to much the same ruckus. Thin walls, almost as paper-thin as the ones in her Mind Palace. The stairs¡¯ arthritic groaning acted like a warning alarm. Her hair stood on its ends, her way of getting her weapons ready. Two. Three. Four. All much of the same, but devoid of the same life they had glimpsed out on the street as though straying from the stairs¡¯ warning calls. Fifth floor saw no change in scenery either besides a nagging hunch that the lights had lost their strength. Five oh two, to their left. ¡°Crestana?¡± ¡°I can try, but there''s not enough shadow.¡± She positioned herself beside the door, pressing her back to the wall as Iris took the lead. Avoiding a compromising position, she cosied up to the other wall¡ªalbeit just as paper-thin¡ªand pressed a hand against the keyhole. She nodded. Alis raised a hand to the door and knocked. No response. He knocked again. ¡°Excuse me! Raymond electrical! The landlord hired me to check your switchboard.¡± Another knock to no response. He nodded to Iris, and the thimbles already in place applied the faintest amount of pressure to the lock''s pins. It clicked, and Alis pushed the door open a sliver. Crestana ventured first, disappearing into the ample shadow as the two waited outside. One second turned into two, then a quiet three as tiny footsteps scrambled in the walls. The door creaked ajar, and they took their cue, slipping through the gap. Alis closed and locked the door behind them as Iris¡¯s eyes fell upon the room itself. Empty besides the bare necessities required to pass as a home. A dining table, four chairs, and a fireplace still fresh with smouldering ash. Sullied dishes and paper bags took up residence in the sinks and atop counters, and a fan encased in wire mesh rested lazily by the windowsill. The view only afforded them a sliver of sunlight, and the glow of the light above dribbled a sickening yellow. ¡°It¡¯s a safe house,¡± Alis whispered. ¡°Someone¡¯s been using it, though.¡± ¡°The scientist?¡± Crestana wondered out loud. ¡°Maybe,¡± he replied, walking into the kitchen. ¡°The stuff on the plates is still fresh.¡± ¡°What are we supposed to find here?¡± Iris asked, crouching before the fireplace. ¡°They¡¯re probably burning evidence anyway.¡± ¡°I doubt he was all too concerned about making it easy for us,¡± Crestana sighed, opening the door to an adjacent room. ¡°As long as he left something behind.¡± ¡°I can still complain,¡± Iris muttered, standing back up. ¡°It¡¯s who lives here that we¡¯re after then.¡± ¡°Seems to be the case. They¡¯re out for the moment, though.¡± ¡°Is there a floor above us, Alis?¡± ¡°No. Checked the mailboxes. Must be roof access.¡± ¡°Then what do we do, do we wait here?¡± Crestana asked, emerging from the far room. ¡°I guess so, except¡ª¡± Crestana muffled Iris¡¯s mouth and raised a finger to her mask. ¡°Aether. Behind the door.¡± Iris strained her ears as Crestana undid her drawing tube¡¯s strap and Alis slid on his knuckle dusters. Hair on its ends. Blood about to boil over. The lock clicked ajar. Inch by inch. Wood gave way to dim corridor. Nothing¡­ ¡°It¡¯s running,¡± Crestana hissed. ¡°Downstairs, now!¡± Chapter 26 Part 5: Bad Omens Iris sprouted her armour as Alis¡¯s knuckles flared purple. ¡°Keep your face covered,¡± Iris said as, through gritted teeth, his hair disintegrated. Alis bolted for the window, jumping out of the opening and catching onto the roof with ropey limbs. Iris made her own break, running out of the room only for her eyes to miss the suspect¡¯s coattails dashing down the next flight. A flash of silver shone in the dull staircase lighting, a steel blade chomping at the bit as she caught a glimpse of Crestana¡¯s attack. Then no shadow at all. Floating on a plane above the street below, everything from the walls around her to the first floor far below her exploded into nothingness. Daylight streamed through from the eager sun, kissing the building¡¯s foundations that hadn¡¯t seen its rays in decades. Invisibility, projecting that onto a manner of objects at will. A rematch of sorts for her and Alis. She looked down, angling her vision to where she assumed the fourth-floor landing to be; no one, no Crestana, dead or alive. Calm down. She¡¯s still kicking. The walls were alight with Aether, but three pinpoints still moved in her vicinity. Calm down. Think. Three on one, safe house, spy. Fighting was disadvantageous. Running away. Stalling tactic. With this, she¡¯d have no choice but to stumble through the stairs, feel around for the window or physically blow through the building. Two and three weren¡¯t an option, one would take too long. Eyes, gone. Hear, no. Taste, obviously not. Smell, she wasn¡¯t a dog. Feel. Feeling. Stretch yourself out. Catch onto something. Iris whipped her arms forward, morphing everything from her gauntlets to her pauldrons into stringy roots moving at breakneck. Coating the walls, they raced down the staircase, mapping out the wood and plaster in a thin, purple veneer. Iris followed, mounting the forward surge while her boots morphed into the new surface, dismembering moulds past for sections yet to come. Four, three, two, the roots kept travelling, and Iris found herself remapping the building like a torchlight in a cave, eyes deprived of stimulus as fast as they were granted it. Closer and closer, coming down to the final floor to see Alis burst through the front doorway, purple matter crawling up his forearms to his vitals and head in a shifting, primitive coat. A shape appeared between them, one person, yet grasped from behind by another. Crestana clawed at an arm holding her by the neck, head straining away from a gun barrel pressed into her temple. Her sword had parted with her hand, and a gash in her blouse¡¯s shoulder lay bare, putting on show a grisly deformation of her flesh. ¡°Let. Me. Go,¡± the voice demanded. Woman, relatively young. Evalyn¡¯s peer. ¡°Let me walk out the door, and I¡¯ll let her go.¡± Alis raised his hands, and Iris followed suit. She couldn¡¯t trust an attack of her own to reach her target before the trigger depressed. Against a human, it may have worked, but even in such a mess of Aether, movements were easy to differentiate from the atmosphere, even to a Witch, never mind a Spirit. And though Spirits didn¡¯t have brains, Iris wasn¡¯t up to test just how human Crestana really was. ¡°Weapons down,¡± she barked at Alis, ¡°and you behind me, stand down. I don¡¯t want a peep of Aether coming off you.¡± They did as they were told, Alis peeling off his brass knuckles one by one, and Iris dismembering her armour. They both stood bare, faces to match the powers. The figure started moving towards the door, trailing a struggling Crestana with her. ¡°For god¡¯s sake stop moving,¡± the voice muttered as an arm raised the butt of their pistol into the air, heading for a collision course for the back of Crestana¡¯s head. Then, the air grew cold. An implosion as real space vehemently retook its territory, shrouding the sunlight and reburying the foundations into place. Iris keeled over, chest collapsing as she hacked the air out of her lungs. Chocking, but the air was all there. Supreme absence, a very essence of life exited her and her surroundings; her body could only interpret it as choking. She looked around, vision doubling as she saw someone she vaguely recognised as Alis run towards her, lunging for a centred figure she didn¡¯t recognise. The sound of slicing air whizzed past her ear as that same, dull silver shimmer glinted past her vision, edge pointed towards that same person. Her vision cleared as moment by moment, the scene unfolded towards its still ambiguous conclusion. A gun, a sword, and two sets of knuckle dusters, all colliding in the centre. Until a flash of golden light coated her blurred and battered senses. A handful of moments cocooned in an autumnal glow, the air moving around her like a warm current, a thorough cleansing of the environment that left no one any place to argue with her authority. The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation. Then, it left as fast as it came, and they were chained down by roots sprouting maple leaves. Golden armour stepped through the hallway, and Iris watched on, half in relief half in dread as they pressed the barrel of a pistol up against the suspect¡¯s head. ¡°Do I know you?¡± Evalyn asked. The woman was recovering faster than Iris, yet her words remained breathless. ¡°Not the first time I¡¯ve seen that armour at least, Wishbearer.¡± ¡°What were you doing with them?¡± ¡°Why do you care?¡± the woman spat. ¡°Because your next words are what¡¯s keeping me from putting a bullet through your head, now answer my question, what were you doing with them?¡± ¡°Your brood is it? Beats me, they came here by themselves.¡± She shook her head, drooping her face to the ground as the roots held tight around her body, holding her wrists into the air. ¡°Getting them started early, hey? Easier to teach.¡± ¡°What would you know¡ª¡± ¡°Oh, I know all about it, you half-assed tourist. Same age as you yet I¡¯ve got double your years. You know how that¡¯s possible?¡± The trigger finger got more anxious. ¡°Because people like you just do what they¡¯re told. Get given a kid, train it up, pretend to grow attached, let it loose and see what happens.¡± The woman¡¯s voice broke, croaking at the end of the barrel, despair filtering into her vocals. ¡°You killed the anti-Aether scientist.¡± ¡°Sure?¡± ¡°And the assassination just coming through, I¡¯m guessing you¡¯re on the way back from that?¡± ¡°Check my magazine. Your runts know I¡¯ve only fired once.¡± ¡°At who?¡± ¡°Beak. Oh, come on! Put some skin in the game if you¡¯re going to be in this business.¡± They stared into each other¡¯s eyes, one pair hollow, the other on the edge of sanity. ¡°Why are you doing this¡ª¡± ¡°What kind of question is that?¡± the woman scoffed. ¡°Because we have to! Because I have to make myself useful to someone¡ª¡± ¡°Save me the basics. Why are you doing this commission?¡± ¡°Why are you doing yours?¡± ¡°Because I have people to protect.¡± ¡°And I don¡¯t. Make sense? So don¡¯t feel bad about pulling that trigger, me of all people, oh I know it¡¯s nothing personal.¡± She goaded and goaded, luring the bullet closer as the barrel pressing into her skin started to draw blood. ¡°Just do me a favour, don¡¯t let them turn out like me.¡± Finger quaking, the end of the barrel already seeped in blood. Iris¡¯s vision had returned fully at the worst possible moment. She squinted her eyes tight, hoping it might not happen if she didn¡¯t witness it. A crunch, and the weighty sound of a body hitting the floor. No deafness, no gunpowder. The stinging in her ears was absent, but life wasn¡¯t going to let her off so easily. ¡°What are you three doing here?¡± Iris opened her eyes, and they met Evalyn¡¯s cold pupils. Autumn, but winter was quickly settling in. They then turned to Crestana who averted her gaze to the floor, then to Alis, who seemed to be choking on his words, a battle between loyalty and honesty fighting in his throat. He looked to Iris, and so brought with him those cold eyes again. The suspect was on the floor, unconscious and slowly bleeding from a dent in the side of her head. The doors were blocked with roots, and the staircase was barred in much the same way. Iris was cornered, matched like a cage fight. ¡°We were following clues, trying to find out who killed that scientist.¡± ¡°Why?¡± ¡°Why? Because¡ª¡± ¡°Iris we already discussed this.¡± She felt the roots loosen around her wrists and ankles as Evalyn holstered her handgun. ¡°You aren¡¯t destroying this research even if you find it first.¡± ¡°Why not?¡± Iris backfired, upping the ante against the exasperated Evalyn. ¡°We can¡¯t keep it around or else¡ª¡± ¡°We can¡¯t go back either. Don¡¯t you understand that?¡± Hands gestured through her pockets as her voice struggled to keep at a level pitch. ¡°It¡¯s out there, people know about it, we need to make sure we¡¯re ahead.¡± ¡°Who¡¯s ¡®we¡¯?¡± Another step forward. Another inch closer. ¡°They tried to kill me a few days ago but you still want to help them?¡± ¡°Help? Iris, I do this to keep us alive! I do this so that they don¡¯t throw us out or worse and this is what you do in return? Chase a lead and almost get you and your friends killed?¡± ¡°I¡ª¡± ¡°Shut up!¡± The firestorm turned to the next person in the circle. ¡°Crestana? A sword? Really? I have no clue how far your powers have gotten to your head but you are years behind for this line of work. Your Aunt¡¯s lost so much and you feel the need to do this.¡± ¡°I¡ª¡± ¡°Not right now! You!¡± The next victim swallowed his spit. ¡°You¡¯ve been walking on thin ice buddy from day one and if this had been your idea then it¡¯d have been off with your head. Say no! Say it with me: no Iris, that sounds like a terrible idea!¡± The fury passed back to Iris, centring squarely on her. Iris¡¯s hair stood on end as the scowl across Evalyn¡¯s face flared like a rabid dog¡¯s, eyes now lit ablaze in summer fires. ¡°We, are not, gods, Iris. We don¡¯t get to control who¡¯s who and what¡¯s what. We do what we can, when we can to make sure we don¡¯t end up dead.¡± The woman who had burnt down cities, the girl who had once decimated them into fine mist. And yet, somehow still so scared of stepping out of line. ¡°I¡¯m not playing God,¡± Iris sneered. ¡°I¡¯m doing what I can, when I can, to make sure hundreds don¡¯t end up dead. My life isn¡¯t worth starting the civil war again.¡± Iris watched a pang flutter through Evalyn¡¯s eyes, and they seemed to defuse. ¡°I can¡¯t live selfishly like you. Not after all I did before.¡± She stood breathless as the beast bore down on her with all the authority in the world that mattered, all the opinions of value, all the respect worth paying. ¡°Let¡¯s move. One step out of line I¡¯m chaining you all to me.¡± He¡¯d seen pilots tape photographs of their wives and children to their instrument panel, and Elliot had always thought of it personally as some sort of jinx; an omen of bad luck. A murdered victim¡¯s final act, to clutch to the photograph of their smiling family. Superstition, but if he was going to live in fear of being jumped at any second, what difference would one photograph make? Word of his past had spread; he could tell in the number of eyes trained on him that increased with every passing day. Glances and glares to the point even his coworkers were beginning to notice. They knew themselves, of course, but were more receptive to it considering they worked for the benefactors. Elliot sat ruminating in his room, bed quickly becoming his place of refuge for whenever his presence wasn¡¯t missed in a meeting or briefing. The last such congregation had ended with speculation from the analysts. Standing in front of the corkboard, they¡¯d traced the string from one end of the map to the other, pointing out the same consistencies in timings Elliot had noticed. The flight path had been almost identical, and the times matched up well enough to eliminate mere coincidence. Intake, no turbines, Aether design through and through. It made sense: Aether engines were markedly quieter than turbines over a long distance, but maintaining Aether engines without consistent Aether¡­ Intake. It wasn¡¯t a stretch. Vesmos wands and weapons relied on Aether, yet no one was quite sure how a wooden stick could turn atmospheric Aether into something usable. Assuming that, the only limitation left was the Aether itself, its intensity, its density. There was no way to easily map such a metric across an entire section of the country, but Elliot didn¡¯t need to. Owing to his past as a hunter of them, somewhere in the back of his mind was shelved a piece of the puzzle only a White Devil could memorise. Chapter 27 Part 1: See Me As Human Elvera rubbed her temple, releasing the tension that crossed her eyebrows enough to knit a scarf. Fault¡¯s desk was rampant with phone calls; the moment the receiver hit the box, it¡¯d be back up again in a matter of moments. Threatening to disband seven battalions, nine brigades, and an entire division from service gave people reason to start asking questions, whether well-meaning or not. The more ill-spirited calls had been pawned off to staff, leaving Fault free to try and follow up her decision with ample justification. Elvera looked back to the mountains of files in front of her, only half of which concerned her original reason for her visit. Being Evalyn¡¯s liaison, any lead of Evalyn''s had also fallen into her realm of responsibility, but scrounging up information they already knew wasn¡¯t a great look for her portfolio. She read over the statements from the political staffer again, biting her lip as her eyes traced every word in the transcript, giving them a voice and attitude, adding context and background knowledge. A staffer unable to refuse an order from a superior; if only that incessant nag pulling on her lower intestine would go away, she would¡¯ve believed it. Being forced to commit treason on the regular without being a collaborator seemed too far-fetched. Blackmail? On the flip side, giving the enemy enough to keep them satisfied yet guessing was a sound tactic he very well may have been trained in. Another ring. Elvera tried to flush the ceaseless noise out of her brain but each strike of the bell inside the cheap casing seemed to eat away at her brain louder the more it went on. ¡°Lieutena-General,¡± the Prime Minister hissed, pressing her receiver to her shoulder. Elvera turned, only to find Fault pointing back in the opposite direction, squarely at Elvera¡¯s ringing phone. Elvera reached for it, hoping it was someone other than the analyst team. ¡°Marie?¡± ¡°Evalyn? It¡¯s almost nightfall, what¡¯s happened?¡± ¡°Found Iris and her friends in the city. Seems like they did some tracking work for us.¡± ¡°Tracking work?¡± ¡°Caught your assassin. Get some feds down to seventy-five 13th Street Rodana.¡± ¡°Assassin? Are they okay?¡± ¡°Crestana¡¯s taken an injury to the shoulder but nothing¡¯s localised with Beaks. She¡¯ll be okay, but the adrenaline¡¯s worn off.¡± ¡°I¡¯ll get a medical team down¡ª¡± ¡°No need. Will overcomplicate things considering her condition." "What condition? She''s been shot she should¡ª" "Not that...the Spirit of Spirits passing through her, seems to have left its Aether choking magic with her." "You''re serious?" "Iris is. Crestana isn''t taking it too well, but I''m unsure myself. Any luck with my snag?¡± Elvera emptied her lungs, leaning back into her chair as she let her eyes rest. ¡°Nothing juicy, but I haven¡¯t decided if it¡¯s genuine or not.¡± ¡°See if you have any more luck with this new one. Gut feeling says you will.¡± ¡°Eva,¡± Elvera whispered, leaning over the desk, body moving like her god-daughter was across the table from her. ¡°Just hang tight for the moment, all right? Rest at the manor for when we need you, and I can call Colte for you, tell him to call things off.¡± ¡°¡­all right,¡± Evalyn sighed. ¡°Okay. Ugh...all right. Call me when that happens.¡± ¡°Will do,¡± Elvera said, hanging up. Waking up to handcuffs, Trysha found herself in a familiar situation. The hot or cold¡ªwhichever flavour the current season¡ªintensified in the steel handcuffs bounding her wrists together. A female officer grabbed her by her throbbing head and forced her into the backseat of a police cruiser. She followed along, refusing to struggle when she knew what it felt like to get caught. An adrenaline rush that admittedly made the eventual escape from the handcuffs all the more satisfying, but she wasn¡¯t acting herself. Hadn¡¯t been for a long time before the car door slammed shut on her. The driver a thick grille screen away accelerated onto the main road. The Wishbearer must¡¯ve pinned her as one for the nuthouse by now, or one cowardly enough to beg for sympathy like she was, not even brave enough to grovel honestly. What a first impression, let alone a last one. She rested her head against the window glass, late afternoon sunlight greeting her with much less scorn than it had hours earlier, and a great sense of closure washed over her. She closed her eyes, cycling through the execution methods in her head. She¡¯d forgotten to research which one Sidos was most fond of. Delirium hastened the flow of time, abridging the events between her capture and interrogation into a series of images her mind couldn¡¯t care to recollect. Grey room, raw wrists free to explore the surface of an unbalanced, paper-thin tabletop. The silence grew the more she listened to the overhead light¡¯s buzzing until eventually, the door swung open. Antlers, the two sweeping silhouettes formed a crest on the woman¡¯s right shoulder, epaulettes signifying a rank too high to be an interrogator. Cold eyes, sharp and uncompromising hid behind neatly tied black hair. She was beautifully crafted, carrying herself almost royally from head to toe. Not a hair or shoelace out of order. ¡°Evening,¡± the woman said, soft voice tickling Trysha¡¯s ears and piquing her interest. ¡°The time is eighteen-fifteen,¡± she said, checking her watch, ¡°and with your permission, I¡¯d like to start an off-the-record interview.¡± ¡°Can I say no?¡± Trysha croaked. ¡°Wouldn¡¯t be in your best interest,¡± she shrugged, pulling the opposite chair out from underneath the table and taking a seat. ¡°I can¡¯t find anything on you, so I¡¯m guessing you¡¯re pretty experienced?¡± Trysha nodded. ¡°Since I was a kid. Geverde?¡± ¡°Mhm,¡± she answered absent-mindedly, busy sorting through a stack of folders she¡¯d brought in with her. ¡°I work with your lot, so you don¡¯t have to tip-toe.¡± ¡°Is that why they sent you in first?¡± The woman shook her head. ¡°One of mine caught you, so I got first go. Technically you¡¯re still my prisoner. That¡¯s the deal.¡± One of hers. ¡°Wishbearer or the three kids.¡± ¡°Both. Well, the big Witch and the small Witch.¡± This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it ¡°So they are a pair. Am I allowed to know this much?¡± ¡°No,¡± the woman stated frankly as she finished organising her folders. The cold eyes turned to Trysha, and with no semblance of overconfidence, offered her a straight deal, purely business. ¡°But you¡¯re a Witch I¡¯ve got interest in, so I have no choice but to bargain. You clue me in on what I want to know, and I¡¯ll put in a good word for you, see if I can score you an early retirement someone around Excala. Sound good?¡± Trysha smiled, rubbing her wrists as she came to grips with the end of her line. ¡°I¡¯m expecting a shot to the head any day now. Bargain like that won¡¯t do much to convince me.¡± ¡°Well, that makes things all the more easy then,¡± the woman suggested. ¡°Might as well tell me if you¡¯re going to die soon.¡± At that, Trysha couldn¡¯t help but chuckle, which seemed to put a small smile on her interrogator¡¯s face. ¡°What do you want to know? If it¡¯s the incident this morning then yes, a Witch has to do what a Witch has to do.¡± ¡°I understand that,¡± the woman said, clearing her throat. ¡°Actually, I lied. I do have something on you, but please, forgive me since this is my own conjecture. Wesper, that¡¯s a name you¡¯ve worked with before, am I right?¡± Trysha shook her head out of instinct. ¡°Can¡¯t say I have unless it was anonymous.¡± ¡°Almost three years ago now, your first run-in with my Wishbearer. You slipped past security and abducted an Alistair Harbourman from Geverdian custody on request of a Recres Wesper. Same magic, it¡¯s hard to come by.¡± ¡°And what if that was me?¡± ¡°If that was you, then I¡¯d like to know the meaning behind a unique phrase he seemed quite fond of. ¡®Until utopia begins¡¯, if you¡¯ve ever heard of that?¡± Before Trysha could confirm or deny, the woman took to the pile of files before her, selecting one from the vast array. ¡°If you¡¯ve been in this game for a long time, you must be familiar with Liam Colte. He¡¯s a bit of a figure after all.¡± Trysha shrugged. ¡°Heard of him, but never been in that circle.¡± The woman nodded. ¡°He¡¯s told me that he recently found out this phrase is used by a collection of Aether-infused individuals offering help to other such people in distress. Is that true?¡± Trysha interlaced her fingers and chewed on her cheeks, thinking about the ways she¡¯d end up croaking, each way as dissatisfying as the last. And then her head nodded, closing off several fates and opening up several others. The woman returned the gesture. ¡°Were you someone that could be described as such?¡± Trysha held her tongue. Another habit, one she¡¯d only broken with Providence when his honeyed words finally won her over through her grief. She held her tongue, biting down on it until she tasted blood in her mouth. ¡°It¡¯s in my best interest to offer you a better deal, because¡­I have to admit, I have nothing at the moment.¡± She threw her hands up in defeat, exhaling through her nose as she slouched back into her chair, the cold eyes drooping at the sides, ending in wrinkles Trysha hadn¡¯t noticed beforehand. ¡°This¡­syndicate, organisation, whatever it is, has been running circles around us without us even knowing. For all we know, we¡¯ve got a strong suspicion they¡¯ve an interest in one of ours. The silver-haired girl you met today. Would you happen to know anything about that?¡± Trysha shook her head and frowned, genuine this time. The woman sighed proper, leaning back over the table. ¡°That Wesper fellow seemed to recognise her as someone important, another named her Tetrica. Can you tell me anything about that?¡± ¡°Tetrica?¡± Trysha blurted, letting her tongue slip from between her teeth. ¡°Ring a bell?¡± ¡°Yeah,¡± Trysha admitted, composing herself. ¡°Something about an old wives tale. I just thought they were making things up, didn¡¯t expect it to be real.¡± ¡°Tell me the truth. That girl¡¯s safety is on the line.¡± ¡°You¡¯re risking it in the first place.¡± The woman didn¡¯t seem too amused at the rebuttal, but Trysha kept on pressing. ¡°You could¡¯ve kept her locked up at home, taught her to keep herself under control sent her to school.¡± A dream she was too old for. ¡°But you¡¯re pointing her at people and telling her to go wild, huh? What right do you have to say anything about her safety? You¡¯ll just make another one of me and for what? Magic like her you can say bye-bye to your whole capital if she loses it! If she ends up like me!¡± ¡°But you didn¡¯t lose it,¡± the woman countered, her voice still level while Trysha¡¯s had skyrocketed out of her control. ¡°You could¡¯ve killed the Prime Minister, planted a bomb under Parliament house whenever you wanted to.¡± The woman watched her, something in her eyes telling Trysha that she¡¯d seen it all before. The same conversations with the same people, convincing them they weren¡¯t monsters. ¡°You were just¡­following orders. Like we all have to do. I just want to know who and why.¡± Trysha held her tongue and tried her best to lie. ¡°The people I love most are like you. I see my goddaughter in you, I see her daughter¡¯s future in you. That¡¯s why I need to know, Trysha, and I can only know from you.¡± Her lips quivered, the pain in her wrists thawing over as her own name wrenched her heart out of her chest. ¡°How do you know my name?¡± ¡°Colte told me,¡± the woman said. ¡°He remembered you, back when you were still tied to your mentor.¡± Trysha held in a smirk, fingers curling into a fist. ¡°He must¡¯ve remembered my magic.¡± But the woman pursed her lips and shook her head. ¡°Wasn¡¯t until I described your profile that he finally remembered you.¡± Then the woman smiled, weakly leaping the small, rickety table, grasping Trysha¡¯s hand in hers. ¡°Remembered you when I mentioned your eyes. Said they¡¯d made you look like a ghost when you were younger.¡± The warmth seemed to pull at her frozen hands, searing tungsten light too weak to decry the gaze of the woman before her; a look not of deceptive sympathy, those Trysha knew. It was plain understanding, as well as the emotions that came along with it, recalling a story of someone who had seen her once as human, and had remembered her as human for decades after. ¡°Colte remembered me?¡± The woman nodded. ¡°The first to offer you help the moment I mentioned you. Might be making a plea to Her Majesty as we speak.¡± She gripped Trysha¡¯s hand. ¡°So let¡¯s give her a sob story to get your case over the line, hm?¡± Trysha held her tongue, keeping the tears as far down their ducts as she could manage. She drooped her head, keeping her albino eyes to the floor. She thought, choosing her words carefully, ordering her story, deciding on which details were too painful to remember. ¡°I know I uh¡­said all those things about¡­not bringing children into this but¡­. The beginning of last year, I had a baby.¡± With her free hand, she supported her head by her brow, hiding her eyes. ¡°It was a fling I¡¯d kept while work was slow, but the guy had¡ª¡± ¡°What was his name?¡± ¡°¡­Damian. Damian, he¡¯d¡­taken a liking to me. I just thought I¡¯d play along until I got busy again. But I let it slip that I did this sort of thing, and he stuck by me, kept obsessing over my uh¡­eyes. Yeah, he kept talking about them. And I thought I¡¯d play along for a little longer.¡± ¡°Till he gave you a child?¡± Trysha nodded, trying to smile. ¡°The country that claims me on that board of Middling Nations noticed I hadn¡¯t taken a job in a while. Tracked me down and, you know¡­.¡± ¡°Can you be sure?¡± Trysha nodded, forcing her body to accept it as she had every morning since. ¡°There¡¯s no way they wouldn¡¯t. Maybe did some tests on her first, but they wouldn¡¯t have had the Aetherologists Geverde or Vesmos has.¡± She covered her mouth, unable to blink through the glassy sheen over her eyes. ¡°I just hope it was quick.¡± Another squeeze of the hand. ¡°What about your partner?¡± ¡°He was out when it happened. Business trip. I left him a note and told him I was sorry. I managed to escape, but I couldn''t stay there in case they came back for him.¡± ¡°Have you seen him since?¡± Trysha shook her head, deciding she had said her peace. ¡°I¡¯d heard about them through the grapevine, people dropping words and hints, said I should go to them if I was ever in need¡­. So, I went to the address, and I was greeted by a guy called Providence. That¡¯s all he¡¯d address himself as. He gave me a place to stay and work for a while. All Witch work. Said he was a Wizard himself, but never told me what he was.¡± ¡°Did he tell you about that organisation, then?¡± Trysha shook her head. ¡°It¡¯s not an organisation. I¡­don¡¯t know how to put it. Like a¡­web of people. Just a loose network of people looking to mess things up. Always for something ideological.¡± ¡°What was his agenda?¡± Trysha shook her head, frowning. ¡°Just¡­to watch the world burn, I guess, him and his small cut of the pie. Said that the world wasn¡¯t made right and needed to start over from scratch. Said they can try all their might, but only Tetrica can truly reset everything back and let us build it up again.¡± ¡°And did you believe him?¡± ¡°¡­I wanted to. Because I can¡¯t say I like things how they are either,¡± she said, lifting her face up and pulling a wry grin. ¡°Made me feel like I could¡­do something with myself, other than just waiting to starve myself to death.¡± ¡°Do you remember what this man looked like? Providence?¡± Trysha wiped the tears from her eyes. ¡°Uh¡­yeah. Yeah, he has¡­.¡± ¡°¡­Trysha?¡± ¡°He has¡­.¡± ¡°What¡¯s wrong? Trysha?¡± ¡°¡­I can¡¯t remember,¡± Trysha muttered. ¡°Have you seen him?¡± She nodded. ¡°I only saw him last week at a Caf¨¦¡ª¡± ¡°Where?¡± ¡°I¡­don¡¯t remember. I remember everything around it, everything he said, everything I did for him. But there¡¯s a¡­black hole there. I don¡¯t know who he is.¡± A final squeeze and the woman let go, packing up her folders as she stood from her chairs. ¡°I¡¯ll keep in touch as long as I¡¯m in Sidos. If Colte starts visiting you instead, you¡¯re in luck. He¡¯ll have more questions for you,¡± she explained as she walked for the door. ¡°The boys coming in next will be asking about the job you did this morning and the whereabouts of the Minister of Defence.¡± ¡°The Minister of Defence?¡± Trysha asked. ¡°Why?¡± ¡°He¡¯s¡­on the run at the moment.¡± ¡°Yes¡­I¡¯d imagine he is. But it¡¯s the staffer you want.¡± The woman drew back from the door, turning her body to full attention once again. ¡°Why?¡± ¡°He¡¯s one of us¡­I mean, one of them.¡± Chapter 27 part 2: Hostage Exchange ¡°There¡¯s six safe houses across the city,¡± Elvera said, walking into the Prime Minister¡¯s office during one of Fault¡¯s rare moments of downtime. Guilt was there, but so was a renewed fire under her feet. ¡°If the Minister of Defence is still somewhere in the city, it''ll be somewhere in these six places.¡± Elvera spread a map across the table, one she¡¯d already asked the captured Witch to annotate. Six places, spread evenly across the city, all apartments nestled in densely populated areas. Fault stood, foothold wobbling as she rounded her desk and walked over. Elvera watched the Prime Minister¡¯s half-closed eyes and pulled out a chair. ¡°Take a seat, ma¡¯am. I¡¯d delegate this task to someone else.¡± Fault nodded, unresponsive as she craned her neck over the map. ¡°So he¡¯s bought out these six places? There¡¯ll be financial records we can use as evidence, then.¡± Elvera shook her head. ¡°That convenient theory I mentioned a few days ago, ma¡¯am. It¡¯s starting to hold water. Whoever they are, the Minister of Defence isn¡¯t useful to us outside of getting to them.¡± Fault scrunched her nose at Elvera. ¡°You¡¯re saying he isn¡¯t important.¡± ¡°Seems that way. The Witch we captured, she¡¯s saying the political staffer was their liaison to the M.O.D., who in turn got the cogs moving.¡± ¡°Does she know who?¡± ¡°No, says she¡¯s forgotten. Her contact was a Wizard though; I wouldn¡¯t be surprised if it has something to do with their magic.¡± ¡°Okay¡­then why?¡± ¡°Your guess is as good as mine, ma¡¯am. But the way she was putting it, I¡¯d imagine different people are holding stakes in the situation for different reasons.¡± The Prime Minister rubbed her temples, watching the six marks, eyes moving as though the pen strokes were fluttering across the paper. ¡°Raider teams, simultaneous. Checkpoint the city exits, make sure this bastard doesn¡¯t get out.¡± ¡°I¡¯ll get the phone for you ma¡¯am¡ª¡± ¡°No just¡­tell someone to phone the feds.¡± Elvera kept the sigh internal, promising to keep her military infidelity to the grave. ¡°Yes ma¡¯am,¡± she said, hoping her Majesty would never find out. ¡°And¡­Lieutenant-General?¡± Fault said, halfway between two states of consciousness. ¡°The M.O.D.¡¯s staffer is being moved to a prison tomorrow. Be awake for that.¡± Elvera sighed through her salute, wishing she could say the same without repercussions. Bare feet kicked up on her work desk, Elvera wound the knob on her radio, flicking between six channels at five-second intervals. Silence would be interrupted by a faint call each time, some callout or command as the clock count down second by second. Clock hands met, and Elvera caught the brief sound of a door being kicked off its hinges before the signal cut out. She switched to another channel, waiting for something to flutter onto the airwaves. Nothing, next channel. An all-clear from the bedroom. Next channel, another clear on the laundry. The third channel, a request to switch the lights back on. Fourth channel, if Elvera remembered correctly coming out of northeast Sidos from a flat in a six-storey complex. She waited the customary five seconds, fingers ready to twist the knob and cycle again. ¡°Entry team Yellow to TOC, bagged the suspect. Requesting evac and backup teams. I repeat¡ª¡± As the orders continued over the frequency, Elvera let out a long, exaggerated sigh. Throwing her head back, she closed her eyes. ¡°Well, I hardly needed any convincing. Every person in this country has known someone who¡¯s died to a Spirit, myself being no exception.¡± Elvera watched the Minister of Defence lean into his interrogator from the opposite side of a one-way window. ¡°I joined this party in its early days believing things would change. We¡¯d go from senseless violence to peace however strenuous. Strength meets strength in the middle. And what we got instead was appeasement.¡± The Federal Police investigator scribbled down comments in her notepad, looking utterly unperturbed as the MOD gave his statements away for free. With no escape, she couldn¡¯t blame the man for taking a final chance to preach. ¡°Our oldest, most experienced leaders and most prestigious regiments are turning against us because we can¡¯t part our lips from the Spirits¡¯ shoes.¡± Elvera had to admit, it was a more nuanced take than what she was used to hearing. If only his solution wasn¡¯t so short-sighted. The investigator finished etching down an abridged version of his speech and turned her attention to another topic. ¡°The device in production at the Maraband Northern outpost, how far along is it? Keep in mind that any attempt at obstructing this investigation will have you counting up years in the slammer like a ticking clock.¡± Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more. The Minister grimaced, rubbing his hands together as he looked around the room, a pair of tired eyes passed over the screen Elvera stood behind. ¡°They¡¯re not far from ready.¡± ¡°¡­sorry, ¡®they¡¯re¡¯?¡± The Minister nodded. ¡°The engineers hired to remodel the designs into weapons figured out that a lot of the complexity came from fine-tuning the effect, keeping it non-lethal and down to a certain area. Take it all away, you halve the time, halve the cost, and get an out-of-control reaction.¡± ¡°Right¡­and how many of these are there?¡± ¡°Twenty, last I checked. Made to drop on anything we can¡¯t kill conventionally.¡± Even the investigator struggled to hold in her surprise, the shock leaking out in the form of a raised eyebrow and a furious scribble of notes. ¡°And uh¡­your relationship with your staffer, we¡¯ve gotten a tip-off that he was your liaison to a third party, correct?¡± The M.O.D. nodded. ¡°They gave me the scientist. That was all.¡± Likely untrue. Even subtly, those around the Minister of Defence would¡¯ve had ample influence on his decisions. Either way, it gave them a shield for any investigation to terminate at. Even if the desire to pursue further existed, as it did in Elvera, the pursuer now had to deal with the fact that they had captured the Minister of Defence and were holding him prisoner, something an already aggravated military wouldn¡¯t take sitting down. A rustle behind her as someone burst into the cramped and dim observation room¡ªa suited figure, one she had come to recognise by their neatly combed blond hair. ¡°Ma¡¯am,¡± he said, zeroing in on her the moment he stepped foot in the room. Elvera turned to greet him with a nod before uncrossing her arms. ¡°Jakub Rilmat¡¯s convoy was attacked. The Minister of Defence¡¯s staffer is unaccounted for.¡± ¡°Right¡­well we¡¯ll deal with situations as they arise and nope it just sank in.¡± ¡°Where are they now?¡± Evalyn asked as she pulled on her coat and kept her handgun unholstered. ¡°Police are radioing in sightings in uh¡­Tennerif? Is that how you pronounce it?¡± ¡°Right. Not too far from the manor. I¡¯ll let you know.¡± ¡°Keep a radio on you. Eighty-eight point six. If that¡¯s too hard then¡­I don¡¯t know follow the sirens and look over the rooftops.¡± ¡°Rodger,¡± she replied, slamming the receiver down and heading for her childhood bedroom¡¯s door, finishing with her coat. ¡°Three of you stay behind, don¡¯t give Oswald any trouble.¡± Crestana was passed out on Evalyn¡¯s bed sound asleep with Iris by her side. Neither mother nor daughter had shared a word since their argument, and Alis had stood in the middle, flicking his head back and forth between orange and purple. Discipline took up time she couldn¡¯t afford to lose. The manor wasn¡¯t the best starting point if she wanted to travel by rooftop, but it was better than nothing, even if she wasn''t sure exactly what nothing was. Broad daylight, and rush hour too. Not exactly her first choice, and she doubted it was her enemy¡¯s either, now that they were down their invisibility trick. Evalyn stormed down the hall, taking care to do up the latches on every room on the floor with finger-sized barricades. Her armour spread across her skin and each footstep became heavier on the deep red carpet as she approached a window by the end of the hallway. She undid the latch, opening the two halves outwards. Evalyn stepped back, bouncing on the balls of her feet before kicking off the ground and diving through. Twisting her body, she threw the weighted end of a golden grappling hook up and over the roof¡¯s edge, catching onto a ledge before she pulled the string taut and hoisted herself up. Building momentum, she sacrificed a few tiles off her inheritance to launch herself over the wide road between Kestrel Manor and the closest neighbourhood. She softened her landing with a bed of gold, keeping up the pace as soon as her feet touched the ground. Tennerif wasn¡¯t far, and a decent choice to outrun the police. Upscaled housing development, with roads that existed only to get people home. No through traffic and chock-full of dead ends, and road-bound officers would struggle to tail a Witch or a Wizard taking the rooftops. Follow the sirens. That was the best she could do for the moment. Each bend of the knee from one roof to the other left a small crater in a stranger¡¯s rooftop as Evalyn scanned the horizon. A sprawl of single houses stretched out before her. No landmarks to speak of broke the monotony, not to mention the area¡¯s newest additions being practically alien to Evalyn. She closed her eyes. Follow the sirens. Any noise besides birdsong, wind, and engine rumble would¡¯ve done at that moment. A faint wailing, practically begging for assistance. She altered course making a beeline for the sirens until she was in the midst of them, flying over the top of cop cars. She tensed her muscles, landing on the next rooftop and skidding to a halt. Crouching, she halted, escaping the hurried wind in her ear and trading it for heightened sensitivity to the still, perturbed air. Sirens, and the buzz of heat cooking her inside her clothes and armour like a salt bake. Evalyn tuned out her own Aether and turned her attention outwards. To her sixth sense, nowhere could be as pristine, as desolate as Sidos city. Even a pinprick of an Aether pull in the distance stood out like a lighthouse. She began her chase again, altering her course another few degrees westward. Faster this time, keeping a loose track of the signal as she moved. Soon, that signal translated into sound. An alien, low boom that echoed faintly through the burnt, dry air. Another, and another. And then, sight. A black speck for the moment, like a flea jumping from one hair to the other. Testing the waters, she sent out a tendril, spanning the distance as she kept a close visual lock. Another boom and her tendril involuntarily diverted course. She tried again, the same issue. A sudden change in direction; safe to say she¡¯d blown her cover. More booms, but she was gaining on her target enough to see one figure carrying another over their shoulder. Their airtime was significant and inefficient, with tall, sharp arcs from one building to the next. Each boom they¡¯d rise and fall. Another probing tendril, but Evalyn was still no closer to discerning what was happening each time her advances were denied. The buildings were getting denser. Any further and the chase would devolve into a cat and mouse through streets and back alleys. More noise, more eyes, more opportunities to lose her prey. She moved in for the kill, latching onto a far rooftop between her and the suspect with two arms that morphed into bowstrings. She tightened them, notch by notch until the tension split the air into cracks and splinters. She let herself go, launching her body like an arrow, too fast to process the speeding world outside the small speck directly before her. Another boom and her body was sent in the opposite direction, the whiplash rocking her body in her armour like a brain during a concussion. With no control over her flight, she barely managed to turn herself and face the ground. Picking a wide enough roof from the hundreds escaping her every second, she grappled to it, jerking her around in her armour again. A hard landing, barely cushioned by the layer of gold she was able to manage. A dislocated shoulder at least, and she was reminded how low her pain tolerance had fallen since donning her armour. Gritting through her teeth, she undid it and gave herself a mouthpiece to clamp down on. The sirens got quieter as she got up, vision doubling as the blood in her body panicked, rushing to even itself out. Her ears rang, and the sirens became fainter the louder it got. Chapter 27 Part 3: Enemies in Our Own Borders ¡°What happened?¡± ¡°Tough cookie,¡± Evalyn said, groaning as Kestrel Manor staff attempted to help her walk, only to be shooed away with a grunt and a wave. ¡°Details later if you want them, where¡¯s Oswald?¡± Iris looked around the front lobby but couldn¡¯t find the bearded man. Sparse guests fluttered in and out through the same doors Evalyn had just entered, stealing guilty glances at the injured women and the staff clambering to her side. ¡°He¡¯s overseeing late breakfast, ma¡¯am,¡± a lanky servant said, her hair impossibly tamed as though sculpted into a low ponytail. ¡°Shall I inform him?¡± ¡°Yeah, thank you. Tell him to call the doctor. He can take care of the rest.¡± The staffer nodded, leaving in her wake Iris tending to a groaning Evalyn. ¡°Are you okay?¡± Iris asked as Evalyn¡¯s good arm found the armrest of a nearby lounge chair. ¡°Yep,¡± Evalyn said as she sank into the cushion, groaning as she did so. ¡°You¡¯re hurt.¡± ¡°Yep.¡± ¡°That¡¯s not supposed to happen.¡± ¡°Well,¡± Evalyn chuffed, raising her eyebrows. ¡°I¡¯m only human.¡± ¡°How did it happen?¡± ¡°I was tailing someone,¡± she said, lowering her voice, ¡°they¡¯d broken a suspect out of custody, so I went to catch them.¡± ¡°Witch? Wizard?¡± Evalyn nodded. ¡°Tried to grab them,¡± she explained, moving her arms like tendrils in a fashion only Iris would relate to, ¡°but nothing was working. Moved in for a capture, got blown out of the damn sky so fast I could barely break my fall.¡± ¡°Is it broken?¡± Her mother shook her head. ¡°Dislocated. The armour took most of the shock, but it was a hard landing. My jaw feels funny, and¡­I might¡¯ve had a concussion.¡± ¡°But you¡¯re okay?¡± Evalyn nodded, pressing her lips together. ¡°I¡¯m okay.¡± Iris nodded, unable to help but stare at her toes. She grabbed the ends of her jacket and frowned, mulling over the idea in her head. ¡°Can we¡­call a truce?¡± ¡°Truce?¡± Evalyn said, apparently clueless. ¡°We were enemies, but I don¡¯t think that¡¯s fair now.¡± ¡°¡­enemies? Darling, what made you think we were enemies?¡± Iris felt her face turning red. She pulled on her jacket and turned away, a defiant squeak escaping and reverberating through her throat. ¡°We were fighting.¡± ¡°Iris, that doesn¡¯t make us enemies. What do you¡ª¡± The sentence throttled, choked by what sounded like Evalyn¡¯s tongue. Iris turned back, peering through one half-open eye. She saw her mother, stunned in her seat, staggered and dumbstruck. ¡°What¡¯s wrong? Mum?¡± Evalyn struggled to respond. Her throat bobbed up and down, mouth half open like a fish¡¯s. ¡°Mum?¡± Her mother slowly stood to her feet, regaining her height over her. She stepped back on reaction, only for her head to fall into Evalyn¡¯s palm. The arm wrapped around her scalp and pulled her closer, resting her cheek against Evalyn¡¯s chest. And for a moment, Iris couldn¡¯t help but share the same immobilising astonishment that ensnared her mother. She stood there, hands at her side and fingers wrapped around the hem of her jacket, all tension now gone from them. Then, slowly, she spoke with a tattered voice. ¡°Iris? Listen to me.¡± ¡°What?¡± ¡°Just because you have a fight with someone, it doesn¡¯t mean they¡¯re your enemy.¡± ¡°But I thought¡ª¡± ¡°We¡¯re a special case, but families who grow up together fight all the time,¡± she said, gripping Iris¡¯s head as though her shoulder was in pain. Yet she paid it no attention. ¡°So if I ever shout at you, if I ever get angry at Elly¡­and I mean properly angry, even though I¡¯m¡­I¡¯m usually wrong. Even if that happens, know that I still love both of you. I¡¯ll never be your enemy, okay?¡± ¡°O-okay,¡± Iris managed to say as she sank deeper into Evalyn¡¯s gabardine coat. The sensation against her chin almost distracted her from her confusion. ¡°Life isn¡¯t just friends and enemies and fighting, okay? Things like this happen all the time. So¡­please promise you¡¯ll remember.¡± ¡°Okay¡­,¡± Iris managed. She felt Evalyn kiss her scalp, and her lips stayed as her hand began to stroke her hair. That same warmth she¡¯d taken for granted, and its return made Iris realise just how badly she¡¯d been missing it. Her own arms crawled upwards until they found their place, tightly around Evalyn¡¯s waist. ¡°Don¡¯t think like that, okay? Don¡¯t turn into someone like that.¡± ¡°Okay.¡± ¡°I¡¯m sorry, Iris.¡± ¡°About our argument?¡± Evalyn shook her head. ¡°I¡¯m still against it¡­no. I¡¯m sorry about other things.¡± ¡°Like what?¡± ¡°For¡­for not sending you to school more, letting you have a regular life. Being a hypocrite.¡± ¡°But I¡¯m not angry about that.¡± ¡°I know, darling, but you really ought to be.¡± Iris didn¡¯t quite understand it; the slight trembling in her guardian¡¯s hand or where the sudden outburst had come from. She only knew it mirrored what the invisible Witch had said the day before, and she only knew something shelved in the back of her mind wanted to take the suggestion, and blame Evalyn for all she¡¯d felt since the day Excala changed forever. ¡°Ma¡¯am?¡± a familiar voice called, announcing their entrance. Iris turned away from her moment in Evalyn¡¯s coat to see Oswald arrive in the front lobby in a manner more hurried than his customary beau ideal walk. ¡°Ma¡¯am, the doctor informed me he¡¯s unable to make a home visit right now.¡± ¡°Right,¡± Evalyn said, feigning composure in a way only Iris was privy to. ¡°Hospital visit it is then.¡± ¡°That¡­won¡¯t be possible either, ma¡¯am.¡± ¡°Why not? I can take a taxi if needs be.¡± ¡°No ma¡¯am, it¡¯s nothing to do with transport. The city is¡­occupied.¡± ¡°¡­like a toilet stall?¡± ¡°Like the beginnings of a coup, ma¡¯am.¡± On the same steps the 42nd had once guarded in the city¡¯s last crisis, they found themselves the next aggressors. Bearing weapons of dented, black metal, they stood in defiance. Peaceful, relative to what they were truly capable of. Outside Parliament stood a wall of armoured pawns, the cavalry behind them delivered in the form of two H.O.A. units. Lumbering things, not yet a scratch on their finished surfaces but promising a world of hurt to anyone who dared ruin it. A picture speaks a thousand words; if Elvera had been holding a camera, she¡¯d have spoken a million for the history books with the single flash. Police units had arrived earlier, taking the 42nd¡¯s slow but relentless march through the city to their advantage, scrambling their own banged-up units to cover high-value targets; vital infrastructure, schools, and parliament. Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there. Head-to-head the two boxes of caged death were, painted in shades of navy only barely different from one another while one human pilot stared into the eyes of another equally human pilot, neither able to really see who they were seeing. ¡°Things are progressing fast,¡± Elvera muttered under her breath for fear of drawing Fault¡¯s ire. ¡°To an outsider, it might look that way,¡± Fault explained anyway, having fully regained her composure after a full eight hours. ¡°But the water¡¯s only just tipping over the edge now. Recent events gave them an excuse to blow their top.¡± ¡®Them,¡¯ was a rather nebulous term, but considering the long-standing malaise about the whole of the Sidosian government, a nebulous ¡®them¡¯ was about the best way to describe it. A nebulous enemy: the will of a people rather than the machinations of any singular group or ideology. That was what Trysha had alluded to. That was ultimately what Fault faced. ¡°This was their plan wasn¡¯t it?¡± Elvera sighed. ¡°Geverde halfway crippled, so shoot the medic.¡± ¡°Two birds with one stone,¡± Fault conceded through gritted teeth. ¡°Don¡¯t restart the old civil war, start up a new one that¡¯ll ruin the country for sure.¡± Watch the world burn. A nebulous goal, the margin for error so astronomically wide it was almost impossible to fail. That, compared to its flip side¡ªto prevent them from reaching that goal¡ªeven a fool could pick out the harder of the two. Between the two sides, lined up on the steps to Parliament stood the stability of the nation, Geverde¡¯s only ally, and the town square outside of Sidos station. The headlines filed in one after another, the reporter¡¯s practised, measured voice dampening the reality of the situation. Elliot, over ten years out from the civil war, found his initial disbelief slowly replaced by a piecing together of old memories. Dark clouds, blaring sirens, dots of red in a sea of grey angles. All of a sudden, the scene depicted over the radio no longer sounded so alien, and the town square outside Sidos station gradually became nothing more than a distant reality. The situation wasn¡¯t going to alter the day¡¯s schedule; a meeting was due in two minutes, and all that was changing was the tension in the room. Up again by a few notches, to the point even the Geverdians in the room would have no choice but to straighten their posture and keep at a high alert. Worst case scenario, the Sidosians would begin to bicker between themselves, or worse. ¡°What happens, happens,¡± Elliot said, pretending it was a wiser proverb than it had any right to be as he stood out of his bed and headed for the briefing room. His joints were slipping underneath him, a combination of the heat and the hours of sleep he¡¯d lost in favour of progress, the results of which were tucked under his arm. He kept a brisk pace, furrowing his eyebrows and sharpening his gaze like his brow was the corner edge of a grindstone. Walk fast and look bothered, quickest way to get from A to B. Rounding the corner to the briefing room, he found the door opened, soft chatter emanating from the gap. ¡°We¡¯re all adults here, Elliot,¡± he said, his own words soothing nothing but a nervous urge to speak. His right foot failed to move, so he tried with his left until he came to the door. A final sigh, and a hope that it¡¯d all be over soon. He cursed Elvera under his breath: not only was he right about the Sidosian pilots, but she had been correct. Giving him something to do other than worry about Iris had probably been best for everyone. That was before things started to spiral out of control. Elliot stepped inside, maintaining his don¡¯t-have-the-time look while he weaved through several rows of desks and chairs, keeping eye contact with nothing but the wall until he sat down. Stares seared the back of his scalp, but he paid them no heed as the lights dropped and the projector shone an image over the blank wall. The briefing opened with wearisome formalities as the holes in the back of his skull gaped wider and wider. Soon, it was his turn to speak. Elliot stood, taking a rushed survey of the room as he did so. Walking up to the front, the projector dimmed, and the corkboard was wheeled out with the assistance of a junior analyst. Elliot bowed his head in thanks, a gesture the analyst brushed off without a second glance. He turned to the room, the scowls less obvious than he had expected, but still there, nonetheless. Mixed in were ill-intentioned smirks and lopsided eyebrows, waiting to see what happened next. ¡°Morning,¡± he said, ending in a croak. ¡°This plan, I¡¯ve been told, will be in effect come tomorrow. By today, all necessary personnel will be transported off-site along with their aircraft. Now,¡± he continued, bringing their attention to the corkboard. ¡°Here¡¯s the known flyway that this spy plane is moving along. Although two flights don¡¯t constitute a sample size, the similarities cannot be considered coincidence.¡± His finger traced the two sets of laced strings across the Sidosian mountains. ¡°We could assume that the aircraft uses Aether to power, at the very least, its invisibility magic, however, due to its inconsistency, likely does not use a consistent source. We know that Sidosian wands can conduct small Aether pulls although we do not know how. It can be assumed that this aircraft has taken a middle-ground between the two.¡± At the behest of his hand, an analyst on the far side of the room slid a photograph into the projector and ignited the lamp. The photo shone across the corkboard map, giving the simple topographic lines shadow, shape and texture. ¡°What you¡¯re seeing right now is the known areas of Higher Order territory¡ªthe most common areas where Higher Order Spirits have been seen residing¡ªmarked out in red.¡± He let the room figure out for themselves, that the red areas lined up with the periods of invisibility, and that when the aircraft flew between two zones, it would appear once again. ¡°Higher Order Spirits pull more Aether similarly to how a low-pressure system creates wind. More Spirits are attracted to the area, more Aether pulls, creating a domino effect.¡± To any Aetherologist, to any White Devil, it was common sense. Simply by there being Spirits, atmospheric Aether was never wholly equal. Like an eagle riding thermals, the aircraft had stuck to a path defined by Higher Order Spirit territories. Being over the Northern Chain Ridge, there was wealth to choose from. ¡°Emissaries have been deployed to every Higher Order Spirit zone. Eight of the thirteen marked Spirits have agreed to lessen their Aether presence in the event of a scramble. After today¡¯s briefing, every pilot in this room will be stationed on military and civilian airstrips along this flight path, Geverdians, especially those with camo capabilities towards the mountains, Sidosians towards the plains.¡± He motioned for the projector to be extinguished and the house lights to be turned back on. Returning to the corkboard, he continued his explanation. ¡°Once the Spirits lessen their presence across the board, the aircraft will likely panic and break course over the mountains. Here, the Geverdians will force a dogfight or surrender, the invisible fighters pursuing further into foreign territory if needed. If a retreat attempt is made over the country, Sidosians will pursue with the intention of either forcing a surrender or down the fighter outright.¡± Elliot finally fell silent, little of their outward appearance had changed. ¡°Any questions?¡± No hands rose. Elliot nodded his head. ¡°So¡ª¡± ¡°Over here.¡± The usual suspect. Curled hair, weed-like stubble. Elliot reluctantly gave way for the pilot to speak. ¡°Yes, question.¡± ¡°Sorry if I¡¯m making assumptions here, Sir,¡± he said, injecting the honorific with a healthy dose of unneeded spite. ¡°I want to cut to the chase here and say that, on behalf of my pilots, I¡¯m finding it hard to trust you all.¡± The room snapped, and Elliot felt his eyebrow twitch in response to the forced cordiality. It was a fistfight the Squadron Leader wanted. Elliot would indulge him if only he asked nicely. ¡°Is this relevant, Squadron Leader?¡± ¡°Yes Sir. My men share my concerns, and we have a right to be heard. It¡¯s only right, Senior Captain.¡± The pilot leaned forward in his chair, his Sidosian comrades turning their attention to the front in a sceptic chorus. ¡°You all gave us the problem with photos we weren¡¯t allowed to see, with magic and troops we never agreed to work with, with Lieutenant-Generals in our high command,¡± he continued as the Excalan analysts¡¯ faces soured like off milk. ¡°Then, they hand to us, on a silver platter, the solution to boot. In a nice¡­complete package.¡± Sentence after sentence of sensational assumption. But the sensational was a tantalising drug to the eyes of the frustrated. ¡°Isn¡¯t that a little suspicious?¡± the pilot suggested. ¡°What¡¯s saying that you, sir, a defector of our Air Force, have the best interest of us at heart.¡± Emerging from his quiet scheming, the self-appointed ringleader was out to sic half the force on Elliot, with the other half watching on for his response. For many of whom, the title of defector was but a rumour, yet to be proven. Elliot preferred if it had remained that way. ¡°What¡¯s saying I have your best intentions at heart, you ask?¡± The crowd was silent, wanting eyes eager for an answer. Elliot scowled, some straw of tissue holding the two halves of his breaks together finally snapping. The fatigue, the stares, the unwanted orders and the uncomfortable mattress in a room that brought back to life a period in his time he''d entirely moved on from. It was sickening, especially when he had better things to worry about. ¡°To be completely honest, I have no intentions at heart. I don¡¯t give a damn about if a spy plane flies over this rotted country or not. I¡¯m here because there were people willing to give you bastards an out, and you screwed it up.¡± The analysts hid behind their clipboards, and pilots, friend and foe sat in utter shock. The smug Flight Lieutenant was no longer smiling; Elliot had taken up all the real estate in that department. He wanted to tear the Squadron Leader¡¯s throat out. ¡°You¡¯re all pretty young, elite, best in your class. Am I right? You were ¡®that guy¡¯ in the academy and you¡¯re stuck with some old crones who couldn¡¯t finish the war. ¡®If only I¡¯d been ready by then,¡¯ while your superiors are pissy over the fact that someone else made peace before they could get their fill.¡± Elliot stepped forward, discarding the contents of his hand as he approached the Squadron Leader. ¡°I will pour one out over every grave in this country if I have to. I got no reservations about that. What happened to every single person we couldn¡¯t save is a tragedy.¡± He placed his hands on the Squadron Leader¡¯s deck, leaning over the man¡¯s face as he scowled back. ¡°But I didn¡¯t have that fire in me, and that let me see a different way out. I¡¯m not a God; no one can bring your family back, but by God will I tell your sister over and over again, that what we fought for meant I don¡¯t have to pour one out over any more graves than I have to.¡± Elliot grabbed the Squadron Leader by his collar, hauling the man out of his seat and bringing their faces centimetres away from each other. The room erupted, Sidosian pilots flying out of their chairs to make a grab at Elliot while Geverdian ones put themselves in the way. The surrounding encirclement jostled for power, and Elliot made sure he was heard by all of them. ¡°But I have stakes in the game now: people close to me doing the work to clean up what your hot shots and salty crones couldn¡¯t put behind them. And by God, you won¡¯t be there to pour one out over their graves while you tell them how wrong you were. I¡¯ll make sure, personally, that no one can find your damn headstone. You got that? Where¡¯s my ¡®yes sir¡¯?¡± The Squadron Leader, stubborn, kept his mouth shut. ¡°Where¡¯s my ¡®yes sir¡¯?!¡± Elliot shouted into his ear. ¡°Yes sir,¡± the Squadron Leader hissed. Elliot shoved the man back into his chair, kicking the desk for good measure before he turned to the frozen cabal of soldiers, frozen mid-outrage. ¡°We all lose people. You all were unfortunate enough to be born a few years too early. I can only feel sorry for you. If you think putting a hole into my back is going to bring back your lost ones then be my guest. See how that works out for you. But right now, all I care about is shooting this damn plane out of the sky, so I never have to see any of you ever again. Because it''s not about you anymore. The world keeps turning, and there are new people to save now and new enemies to put in the dirt. Hate me all you want; say I don¡¯t know what I¡¯m talking about. You know I¡¯m right.¡± Chapter 27 Part 4: Two Points, One Line ¡°¡ªreminding all citizens that it is currently quarter past nine, and a city-wide curfew is now under effect. All curfew violators will be arrested and escorted to the nearest police station until morning. It is currently quarter past nine, and no movement has been witnessed by either the metropolitan police or the invading military units. In violation of Sidosian law regarding the deployment of troops on home soil, the government has declared a state of emergency, and the high command of the military belligerents have been charged with treason¡ª¡± ¡°Finally up? Fixing a sleep schedule is a long journey,¡± Evalyn said, turning down the radio by her lap. ¡°The sirens woke me up. What are they for?¡± ¡°You missed a lot while you were passed out. Where do I start... Well, the government¡¯s made moves the military doesn¡¯t like. There¡¯s a standoff in the streets now, H.O.A. to H.O.A.¡± ¡°¡­how¡¯s the arm?¡± Crestana asked, keeping her body close to the corner where her feet had hesitated, startled by Mrs. Hardridge¡¯s figure taking refuge in the moonlight. The detective turned her attention to her shoulder. ¡°Bandaged. Got the doctor to roll it back into place so¡­just waiting on the muscles to heal.¡± Crestana gripped the wallpaper, the words infecting her with a sympathetic pain in joints she''d never had. ¡°Did it hurt?¡± ¡°Sure, but not as much as your wound¡­God how am I going to tell your aunt.¡± ¡°Mrs. Hardridge,¡± Crestana asserted in pure reaction, stepping out from behind her corner. Silence fell as the moonlit-clad silhouette looked her way, soon realising Crestana had stepped forward with nothing meaningful to say. ¡°Mrs. Hardridge,¡± Crestana repeated as she rolled from the heel to the balls of her feet. ¡°It was my choice as well. I can tell my parents myself.¡± ¡°You¡¯re barely a teenager, Ms. Mallorine, one who¡¯s inheriting an entire empire. People ask questions, and Iris and I have to take the blame.¡± ¡°Why? It was my choice, I should be allowed to take¡ª¡± ¡°Responsibility?¡± The detective scoffed and shook her head. ¡°Yeah. I know the feeling.¡± She shuffled, moving left and out of the moonlight¡¯s path. Crestana saw a hand pat down in the space beside her, and wordlessly, she followed the invitation. Crossing the red carpet robbed of its colour in the absence of even candlelight, she came to a cushioned nook. Books lined the windowsill, likely lying there as decoration, never opened. Crestana knew how such places worked. ¡°What do you want to be when you grow up?¡± Mrs Hardridge asked, her eyes gazing out at the garden below, flickering shadows the outlines of a second distorted world. ¡°Has school given you an interest in anything?¡± Crestana shook her head. ¡°Besides fencing, no. Not hard to see why.¡± ¡°Better things to be worried about?¡± Crestana nodded. ¡°And all it feels like is a gauntlet of obstacles sapping your time while you know there¡¯s more important things you need to do.¡± Crestana nodded again, sitting upright as she felt herself melding into the shadow. ¡°Something you think is already set in stone.¡± ¡°But it¡¯s not like I¡¯m helpless anymore,¡± Crestana suggested, meeting the orange hair halfway. ¡°I chose to do this.¡± ¡°And it¡¯ll be the last thing you ever choose, Ms. Mallorine.¡± The glint of silver in her eyes made them shimmer, a sombre intensity that tried to warn Crestana as though they were of the same body and soul. The curt smile disintegrated, leaving the distance between them a thin veil, two points on one line, one further ahead of the other, instead of two entirely different tracks. ¡°What you did yesterday, that¡­magic I guess, that forced the Aether out of everything around you. You do know how valuable of a skill that is, right?¡± ¡°I understand the gist, yes,¡± Crestana replied. ¡°I¡¯d be used like a Witch, right? Get hired to kill Spirits.¡± ¡°No, not Spirits. You¡¯d be a mage hunter. You¡¯d be contracted to kill Wizards and Witches that go rogue.¡± ¡°Kill¡­do they not stand trial?¡± Mrs Hardridge shook her head. ¡°Kill on sight. Can¡¯t risk a trial when you can¡¯t take away their weapon. So...you¡¯d live out that life, one job from another, or else they¡¯d consider putting your head on the chopping block too.¡± A palm came down on Crestana¡¯s head, and slowly, the calloused skin began a back-and-forth motion that swayed her vision left to right, left to right. ¡°That¡¯s why Iris and I need to apologise, say we accidentally dragged you into this. Iris might not get it yet, but she¡¯d want to protect you from all this even more than I do.¡± Crestana curled her arms around her knees, resting her head against the windowsill yet feeling no fatigue. She felt nocturnal, alive in an otherworldly, ancient sense. ¡°It feels right, sometimes,¡± she began, watching the ends of her fingers blend into the shadows. ¡°Reason or not, I met Iris, she saved me, and now I get a chance to do something with myself.¡± Her shutters creaked. ¡°It feels like I can be there with her now, every step of the way.¡± The hand on her head travelled down to her shoulders; Evalyn¡¯s grip around them felt brotherlier than a mother¡¯s touch. Nonetheless, she felt the immense warmth come across in the gesture. ¡°You can do all that without putting yourself in danger, all right? She talks about you nonstop, and I don¡¯t know what she¡¯d be doing half the time without you.¡± Evalyn¡¯s mouth curled into a smile, a gesture as genuine as any other Crestana had seen from her. For a warrior, a detective, an adult, even a human, she wore her emotions proudly on her sleeve. It was an honour; such a person could never afford to do something so careless all the time. ¡°I trust you¡¯ll take care of her as a friend, no need to follow her into battle and sacrifice what you¡¯ve already got.¡± ¡°Money? I don¡¯t need that¡ª¡± ¡°No, no. Couldn¡¯t care less about money. I mean¡­weekends. Friends. A life where your biggest worry is how the bills are getting paid and where your next meal is coming from.¡± Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator. The radio slowly chattered in the silence. ¡°A wedding dress. Children. That sort of thing.¡± ¡°You got a lot of those things, I understand?¡± ¡°I was lucky,¡± the detective admitted. ¡°And never wearing a wedding dress is something you¡¯ll sulk about when you get older¡­if you¡¯re anything like me. But¡­.¡± The detective sighed, and Crestana felt herself sinking closer and closer into her arms. ¡°It¡¯s up to you, I guess, although I¡¯d never recommend it. So, Iris and I will cover for you as long as we can, okay?¡± Radio chatter, each second another metre peeled back, revealing just how dire the situation was. Yet in a small nook in a big house full of strange paintings and terrified people, calling their loved ones while old walls stood bulwark against ambition clashing against ambition, truth against truth, there was a cold peace between acquaintances. Two points on the same line, one a decade ahead of the other. ¡°Forgive me if I¡¯m¡­you know, stepping out of line¡­¡± ¡°None taken, Ms. Mallorine.¡± ¡°Okay, well¡­sometimes you make it sound like you regret becoming a Witch.¡± ¡°Regret it?¡± the detective repeated, ingesting the question. ¡°Yeah¡­on bad days. On good days too.¡± She closed her eyes, surrendering herself to the moonlight. ¡°But when I think about how else things could¡¯ve gone thirteen years ago, I think to myself, without fail, that I don¡¯t mind paying the price.¡± ¡°The occupying military forces, amongst which are the storied 42nd division and yet untested 1st Higher Order battalion, have just today released a set of demands to the Sidosian government and the press. Amongst the many claims made against the government, the military has outlined three principal demands. One, to end all appeasement programs with the many Spirits of Sidos. Two, to roll back the alliance with the Geverdian government to an ¡®acceptable¡¯ level, and three, for the current Prime Minister, Dalena Fault, to secede from office and for her party to elect new leadership ahead of the coming election. The demands have been met with¡ª¡± Radio chatter. Elvera let it fade into the background as she sat alone, to her neck in outdated reports and paperwork. Half past ten, an uncomfortable mid-morning silence set in along with the buzz of the rising sun and its temper. What felt natural at mid-morning had felt alien only a few hours prior, a stagnant stillness as no cars, feet, trams, or trains moved to disturb the air. Curfew weighed heavy, and all in the city held their breath, as the whispers around the parlay room leaked, morsel by morsel into the wider city. Rumours reached the walls of the office Elvera took refuge in, eventually bringing a knock to the door. ¡°You¡¯ve been asked to make an appearance at the parlay,¡± a staffer informed her, bursting through the doorway in a meek but confused flurry. The rumours leaked through the crack in the barrier, and Elvera got up, beckoning the staffer to lead the way without another word. ¡°Perfect. Didn¡¯t feel right without all the stakeholders in one place.¡± Elvera stepped through the narrow doorway to yet another nondescript chamber she would¡¯ve never found herself. Six people sat, three beside three, Fault facing a man whose medalled chest might¡¯ve passed for a breastplate a few hundred years ago. He had been the only person to speak on her arrival, the many creases in his battered and tarnished skin moving like the folds of a bulldog. ¡°You called, ma¡¯am,¡± Elvera announced, but Fault met her with apathy. ¡°No, he did.¡± Six stars adorned his epaulette. Another name and face she¡¯d committed to her long repertoire, the only difference being that she¡¯d committed his to memory years before. ¡°Elvera,¡± the General of the Armed Forces grunted in acknowledgement, nary throwing a nod her way. ¡°Treeman,¡± Elvera replied to Hardridge¡¯s successor, a man which she only remembered for being forever covetous of her once-friend¡¯s promotion, something he¡¯d set his eyes on long before Hardridge had even become a candidate. She turned her attention back to Fault, gauging the Prime Minister for a read on the situation. Her eyes were turned to Treeman, gaze locked in a primal contest of will, but her jaw was grinding, molars shaving off layer after layer. Things weren¡¯t going well. ¡°Treeman has questions for you,¡± Fault declared after painful moments of silence. The archivist¡¯s typewriter began to tick loudly from the corner of the room, shadowing Fault¡¯s words. ¡°The demands of the Armed Forces, I¡¯m sure you¡¯re aware of them?¡± ¡°Yes, I am.¡± ¡°You¡¯re aware of the clauses that concern your nation?¡± ¡°Yes, I am.¡± ¡°And you hold no objections?¡± Elvera held her tongue. A moment of hesitation those across the table would interpret as weakness, a wish to deceive. Elvera was willing to take it if it were only for that extra second of thought. It was a trap, whatever she said would work against Fault. If she held objection, Geverde would be the aggressor, if she didn¡¯t that would only put more pressure on Fault. No statement had come from Geverde, at least nothing of an official capacity. How could it? The demands were fresh, and General Treeman knew it. Her authority as Lieutenant-General of Special Operations; unless she were to go silent, answering from it would have to do. ¡°It would be a great loss for us, General. Our friendship has made enemies with many envious neighbours, some we can only combat together. However, I do understand preserving that friendship itself is also important.¡± ¡°So is that a yes or no, Lieutenant-General?¡± Treeman scowled, talking like he had any standing above her beyond his rank. Choking silence. Bated breath. Fault¡¯s bureaucratic guns had fallen silent in the face of metal barrels and the smell of real gunpowder. ¡°Nothing I say represents Geverde¡¯s official stance,¡± Elvera asserted. ¡°You must know this, Treeman. Just because you''ve gained stars since last I saw you won¡¯t make me fold. That is my stance.¡± Click, click, click, ping. Elvera¡¯s petty words were recorded in the annals of history. Whether they¡¯d see the light of day was another story. Treeman clicked his tongue as though to dismiss her, turning back to Fault, whose small hint of a smile gave thanks for the solidarity. ¡°I will reiterate, Prime Minister, military power and operations lie with us so long as it concerns us and rests in our borders. The Sidosian Military will not tolerate the defence of their homeland being pawned off to outsiders regardless of their qualifications.¡± ¡°Geverde has taken an advisory role¡ª¡± ¡°And yet they formulate plans and participate directly in operations. I wouldn¡¯t call that an advisory role.¡± Fault inhaled, calming herself. ¡°I find it harder to trust your inner circles by the day, General. It is no secret to anyone that your military ruled the country under Hardridge; an illegal, undemocratic consolidation of power that you know yourselves you can only regain through force.¡± ¡°Power is not something you can lecture us about, Fault. You stick to the topic at hand, and we can get on with business.¡± Fault leaned back into her chair, flicking her eyes left and right, gauging each person one after another. ¡°If the Sidosian Government comply, you vow to leave the city.¡± ¡°Yes, that¡¯s correct.¡± ¡°And you agree to fulfil the suspension term currently imposed on you?¡± ¡°Yes,¡± Treeman stated, Elvera knowing full well whoever took office next would have it in their best interest to pardon every soldier. Fault glanced at the typewriter, faithfully shadowing the conversation word for word. ¡°Then the reason for your suspension,¡± Fault started as the typewriter began to fire away. ¡°The unsanctioned weapons research done in the Northern Chain Ridge.¡± Treeman shrugged. ¡°Unsanctioned? We followed orders that came down from the Minister of Defence. Party disunion is not our concern.¡± Except it was, but the typewriter was still travelling one keystroke after another across the page. Treeman was not going to admit to anything unless it was strictly advantageous. ¡°And yet, against your better judgement, they were deployed.¡± Treeman feigned irresponsibility with another shrug. ¡°Your party has been bloated for years, Prime Minister. It¡¯s no surprise some wouldn¡¯t be too keen with your leadership. We protest Geverde¡¯s invasive involvement, Sidos¡¯s appeasement to Spirits and our punishment for simply following orders. That, is, all.¡± Treeman sized up the Prime Minister one final time. ¡°Sidos must stand on its own two feet once more if it can hope to be its own nation. Until you understand that, Prime Minister, none of our units will back down. Not here, not in the Northern Chain.¡± Each failed parlay was days lost in the race against time; the bombs were ready to begin their countdowns. Treeman threatened war, plain and simple to those who could fully grasp the situation. Fail to take action, Civil war against the Spirits, and brute force would see the Armed Forces turn their guns towards a coup d¡¯¨¦tat. Both, the new regime would fall within a week, and with no subtlety to the military¡¯s power, it would lay naked and illegitimate in the eyes of the public. Slowly worming back into power and influence would be in their best interest, yet it also gave Fault¡¯s dream a chance, a sliver of hope at burying the old Sidos once and for all. So the final decision came with little surprise, yet Elvera¡¯s foresight did little to dampen the pain. ¡°In exchange for the withdrawal of all troops from the city and the Northern Chain Ridge facility, as well as the suspension of these troops, I¡­Prime Minister Dalena Fault¡­accept these terms.¡± Chapter 28 Part 1: Rebirth Stillness. Not even the wind dared to blow. What had once coerced the sea of grass into dancing like twine-bound puppets was now timid. Timid, sombre, silent as though paying their respects. A graveyard, not so much of bodies buried six feet under, but of something that once was, something that could have been, provided something had gone differently. There was no point in crying over spilt milk, a shattered pot¡­but what surrounded Iris had once been everything. Life, shelter, love, learning, sanctuary. Rising up from great planes to rival mountains, a miracle of nature or the toil and will of something greater now lay in ruin. Overgrown and buried by the movement of dust and dirt. Small shards, no taller than her shin, were littered across the site, standing in for gravestones. Brilliant azure dulled by coatings of dust, invasive vines and the simple passage of time. That was all there was. Iris looked up, her Beast coiled around her feet. Autumn, and the sun was low in the sky, casting shadows from every headstone like the peaks of a sundial. Besides a profound stillness, the valley was as she remembered. The grass still cushioned the ground, concealing whatever she swore she could feel nibbling at her feet. The sky, still a blue, infinite canvas for the air to draw its favourite pictures¡ªbillowing mounts of blissful white, forever drifting in a magical, innocent stupor. There was nothing left. Nothing to explore, nothing to take in, nothing to extrapolate into a step closer to who she really was. Being the Spirit of Destruction was more than she could bear, but at the same time, it wasn¡¯t enough. Confirmation, if she was lucky then something more. But all she could sense was an overwhelming feeling of finality. In a world that now felt so real, the dream was over, and she¡¯d reached the back cover. Still, silence, an audience waiting for the show to start. Now it¡¯s your turn. Try it if you dare. Iris exhaled, feeling the markings along her arms and back glow, vibrate, and shiver with anticipation while her hair de-atomised, layer-by-layer. Solid. An orb. Not perfectly spherical, but an efficient enough storage of mass, at least it was what came to her mind first. Another exhale, and the markings grew brighter, the hair on her arms stood on its ends as she let another notch of control go, turning closer towards haywire. Liquid. She hadn¡¯t been training recently, and so in the extra second it took for her to readjust, she lost the orb''s form. Lukewarm water gushed to the ground, breaking the surface tension and losing itself amongst the blades of grass. She puckered up, bringing the water back to form and holding it. Five, ten, fifteen seconds. Another deep, long exhale. The sloshing turned to bubbling. A rapid expansion of space and heat threatened the tips of her fingers. A balance between letting go and forcing control, keeping shape yet letting the particles of her devolve, be free. And then there was an impasse, a point of no return. An inhale, then an exhale. She emptied her lungs, testing how far she was willing to tread. Like Evalyn had said, with her, it had never been a matter of reaching higher limits, it had been a matter of cutting back, learning how to handle them. Letting go, one step at a time was how she regressed, bringing things back to control was how she grew. She knew that, but the sparks that flew, the small bolts of heat and light travelling through the ball of gas called for something utterly animal within her. Emotion, subconscious, abandonment of all higher functions. Rage, sadness, whatever concoction of hatred fuelled the thunderous bolts of purple lightning she had once condemned the ruins under her feet to. Whatever that was. Whatever that terrifying, primal feeling was. People who wouldn¡¯t listen to her warnings, prefer to kill each other than risk a chance at peace. People who wouldn¡¯t consider kindness, prefer to kill her rather than place their trust in someone that had only ever worked for them. Perhaps a fraction of that rage, but enough for the sparks to consolidate and spread across the ball of gas. Then, all at once, lightning. Glowing, hot, purple lightning. Thunder. She grits her teeth as the sound cracked her eardrums and echoes through the valley. She armoured herself in the unbearable heat, cooking herself alive on her own plates. ¡°Do something,¡± she groaned through gnashed teeth, and the Beast coiled around her feet rose, opening its maw and, ever so gently, placed the glowing orb between its two jaws. Iris relaxed, gasping for air and releasing the tension in her body. She stepped back, out of the heat¡¯s radius as the glowing orb sustained itself, being kept alive by a different part of her. The Beast¡¯s mouth was locked in place, with perfect tension and perfect angle, controlling the matter and the heat it radiated. Iris controlled her breathing, gasping and choking herself in random, erratic intervals. She coughed, hacking out her lungs until she was left doubled over, once again heaving for air. Slowly, her vision realigned, and her knees regained their strength. She stood and watched the glowing orb spark, the crack of thunder subsiding as the air grew accustomed to the sudden source of heat. She rounded her Beast, coming face to face with the ball in its jaws. The same colour, yet in wildly different states. Her puppet-servant, so dead that she could see the strings attached to it looked like a long-cremated skeleton compared to the new state of matter. Alive by the second, birthing and dying a thousand times every moment. Energy, too much for anything mortal to handle, or anything that made sense for that matter. But creating the matter was only half the equation. She pointed at a distant relic, finding it painfully ironic that the same power would come to haunt it however many centuries later. Iris aimed, not paying the sentimentality any more heed. ¡°Shoot.¡± Thunder. A crack that sent her hearing into a frenzy. The sun dimmed in fear, the grass charred underfoot like a vapour trail behind a bullet. The purple travelled, no, it was too fast for her to make such an assumption. All she knew was that her senses were overwhelmed, and her target no longer existed. She opened her eyes, the afterimage still burning into her retinas as her ears scrambled to put everything back into place. They were taking too long, so she disassembled and reassembled them, hoping a fresh start would avoid any hearing loss. She¡¯d do so with her eyes, but admittedly losing her sight was a lot more terrifying. Even her ears hurt enough to make her bite down on her gums too hard. The smoke from the burning grass was getting in the way. Iris let more of her hair go, calming until it turned liquid she could quench the fire with. Smoke, but what dregs were too stubborn to dissipate quickly moved on, leaving her with something peculiar at the end of the smouldering corridor. Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences. A door. Bottom-of-the-shelf plywood painted over with cheap varnish and probably held up by wooden supports. She could tell from a distance it was fake. A fa?ade, with a stubborn brass door handle that refused to open unless she proved herself in some way first. Iris could only take them as horrid punishments for her efforts, mockeries prepared for whenever she got one step closer. Deterrents¡­but she couldn¡¯t afford to think like that. Knowing what she was had truly become a matter of life and death. So she walked the path, following the deathly corridor of her own design towards the fake door. The grass was still warm, singing the leather of her boots as they brushed past her, their weak attempts at revenge barely registering. She grabbed the brass handle and, once her Beast was in sight, swung the door open. The corridor contorted into a staircase, spiralling down and disappearing below her feet. Recalling the feeling, she took a fingernail¡¯s worth of hair and let it run wild in her palm. A small boom as the air panicked, swirling around her fingers as though to find shelter from the small sun. Light. Quite handy too. Iris breathed, starting down the path. Stairs wound down in a circular dance while she provided the first light the walls had seen in centuries. It sparked unevenly, her fingers retreating away from the heat. Iris released more of her hair, wrapping her arm in its gauntlet and alleviating her pain. Outside of the small radius of light was nothing. Stairs appeared as quickly as they vanished once serving their purpose, nary a farewell as they dipped back into shadow. She grew tired and came to a stop. The space was big; she¡¯d need a lot. Releasing her hair up to her shoulders, she choked her surroundings in gas. It expanded gleefully, pressing the full brunt of its rampant enthusiasm against the walls of its new container. By metres per second, the scope of her nerves expanded, coating the spiral''s walls as they continued, looping endlessly one after another after another. Then the monotony broke; a rough opening in the wall as though blown to pieces. Her Beast rose underneath her, merging with her legs before it began to pick up its speed. Round and round, the trajectory remained perfect, never widening or tightening its circle even as Iris¡¯s head spun and the blood rushing to her brain began to vignette what little she could already see. Until the Beast began to slow, the full stop still enough to send her and the contents in her stomach lurching forward. Time was crucial; she didn¡¯t know how long she could spend in her dreams before fear began to take over, but she was taking things too far. She did her best to recover, regretting the decision as her eyes rose to catch a brilliant blue sparkle. Sheer walls of sky-blue rock and gems closed in on a small barrier, pounding the air with a deep drone of Aether. Behind it, floating scrawls of illegible characters. She''d seen it before, greeted by it after breaking a door down. Silent as it was before, silent as it had been for thousands of years no doubt. She dismounted, stepping closer to the small cutout in the staircase when she heard the clicking of boot heels. She stopped her footsteps, and yet they still kept coming. Slow, approaching the barrier as though in wonder, the figure emerged into her line of sight. A tall someone¡ªragged coat hem caked in mud and long, auburn hair frayed and tangled¡ªapproached the barrier, outstretched hand first. Their fingers made contact with it, the softest touch sending ripples across its surface, five times for every digit, once for their palm. Iris watched as broad shoulders tensed underneath their coat. The figure muttered something, but to Iris, it was nothing more than a garbled string of sounds. The barrier nary glanced at the transgression, and Iris herself wasn¡¯t entirely sure what she was supposed to expect. The figure tried again, louder this time. More strength into the garbled words, yet the venture gained nothing. She watched the figure try and try again, words getting louder and louder each time until... ¡°I am your master. Open to me.¡± The figure¡¯s hand slipped through an opening, and like a fresh wound, the barrier began to leak the floating characters that syphoned into the figure¡¯s ears and eyes. They bared it for a moment, but soon collapsed to their feet, retracting their hand and closing the wound once more. Silence as the man no doubt processed the gushing information. Laboured breathing, ribs creaking, gasping for air. There was nothing else more to see there, and yet the staircase continued. Iris started the process again, mounting her steed and starting the downward spiral. Longer this time, as she went slow enough to avoid losing consciousness while keeping her body close to her Beast. All the light in her hand could do for her now was illuminate the dark blue blur around her. She felt her beast slowing down, coming to a halt outside another cutout in the winding staircase. This time, guarded by another flimsy door. Same varnish, same cheap plywood she could¡¯ve bought herself for the Ixa in her pocket. The only thing of any value was once again, that stubborn brass doorknob. She breathed, unsure if she was making up a sense of finality all on her own or if this really was the end of whatever her dream had to say. Iris turned the doorknob and was greeted with a rushing cold wind. Freezing as though she¡¯d stepped back out onto the pinnacle of the Northern Chain Ridge again. It was the same cold, although she couldn¡¯t make out anything concrete through the blizzard outside the cave¡¯s entrance. Iris stepped through, the soles of her boots scraping untouched land and interrupting an ancient slumber. Between her and the storm beyond the cave boundary, nestled in frozen rock formations and lifeless frost, was a single light, making steam of the moisture in the air and melting the rock beneath it. Barely a spark, the purple light faltered in the face of the cold, clinging to its slowly fading heat. Iris approached it, barely able to feel the intense heat she expected. Her bare hands wrapped themselves around the dying spark, and her Beast coiled again around her. The last semblance of warmth that she could offer it. The Northern Chain Ridge, it was an intuitive guess but she never felt like she had died anywhere else. Her dreams had jumbled things, swapping their placement with the Karaxians, but Iris had watched it. She had died once in that city, taking everything and everything down with her, then fizzled out into nothing the second time, tucked deep somewhere in the Northern Chain. Two deaths; all her mind had done was consolidate those two into one dream. She encircled the spark, finding in herself no particular affection for it. Its feeble state didn¡¯t change her feelings, but even in a dream, she wished she could at least give it a final mercy. The spark shrivelled, silently taking its final breath as the cave went dark. Iris¡¯s arms dropped to her side, and she let out a breath as the chill once again set in. The wind outside howled as the edge of the cave caught it, beckoning it inside to claim another victim. Her Beast curled around her as she sat, opening its jaw and creating another spark of her own as though reading her mind. There was no way out yet unless she was to brave the storm outside. At this rate, she¡¯d have to wait for someone to shake her into reality the next morning. She threw her head back, closing her eyes and slowing her breathing. Her fingers near the ball of light began to roast, and she brought them up to her chest. Where her fingers encountered a head of hair. She looked down. Silver. Her silver. Her long, silver hair sprouted from a small, warm head. She sat up, holding the thing out in front of her. A child, her exact make and model, with extremities still being assembled piece-by-piece, the seams between her skin still glowing a reinvigorated iris purple. The child was unconscious, amid a deathly slumber Iris was too scared to shake her out of. But undoubtedly, it was her. She¡¯d stared into the mirror enough times to recognise that. Considering she grew like any other human child, she was not so far into the past. Then, as though to celebrate her birth, the cave rumbled, vibrating under her feet. An explosion, one that rocked the cold, stagnant air, followed by another. She looked through the cave entrance, squinting her eyes to see past the blizzard¡¯s white veneer. A downed fighter plane, one wing missing in a plume of black smoke fell past the opening. Another explosion, this time blistering her eardrums and rocking her backwards. Her child self, still incomplete, stayed silent. The explosions continued, growing louder by the second until she began to doubt her original hypothesis. Yes, there were explosions, hundreds all coming together in a deathly cacophony, but the ones that shook the earth itself were too regular, booming at measured intervals. She stood, her Beast propping up her back as she held onto her old self. Every few steps, she¡¯d rock back and forth, the vibrations stealing her footing from under her. Iris came to the cave¡¯s edge, and through the falling snow witnessed the distant pops and cracks of artillery fire as planes circled what Iris could only describe as a moving mountain. Another vibration and the mountain moved. Another step. The cannons came into view, the two behemoths she¡¯d seen on either side of the dormant Citadel. The icebreaker bow, the thousands of guns running up its mechanical legs and crowning its pinnacle. The titan moved as the thousands inside worked like the individual cells in a body, attacking the invaders with hundreds of offensives at once. It commanded thunder, and the flies about its crest were nothing compared to its unrelenting march. Iris had known the battle without ever seeing it, and she knew somewhere in that sky, her father was fighting for his life. The war of Aether and Diesel, the Citadel that moved through the Northern Chain, bypassing the border before burning Aerilia. Right underneath its centrepiece, the defining metal God that began a new era of war and technology, she had been born. She knew her birthday now, but Iris had no desire to claim it over the one her mother had gifted her. Chapter 28 Part 2: Never Easy ¡°Aether signal reported. Moving at three hundred and seventy knots, angels twenty¡­same trajectory. It¡¯s no mistake.¡± ¡°Rodger,¡± Elliot reported. ¡°Southern Four, moving to intercept.¡± He flew out of his canvas deck chair, pulling on the rest of his flight suit over his shoulders as he signalled to the skeleton crew to wind it up. They too sprang up like pages of a pop-up book as Elliot crossed the stunted airstrip: blue sky, little wind, perfect conditions for such a take-off. He dropped into the cockpit and flicked the radio switch to a torrent of chatter. Strapping in, he reported his presence and awaited instructions. Take off. Effective immediately. Weapons hot. ¡°Senior Captain Elliot Maxwell, this is Targeteer Lieutenant James Frenniks. I am your eyes, over.¡± ¡°Senior Captain to Targeteer Lieutenant. I am your wings. Confirm target ETA to checkpoint six, over.¡± ¡°Target ETA is seven minutes to checkpoint six. I recommend immediate take-off, over.¡± Elliot grabbed the handle above his head and locked the canopy closed. ¡°One step ahead of you, Lieuenant, over and out.¡± The maintenance crew stepped back as Elliot gave the thumbs up. The shooter waved his hands above his head and Elliot gave his flaps a last check. An index finger circling in the air permitted him to start his engine until a cross above the shooter¡¯s head told him the chocks under his landing gear had been removed. The shooter stepped out of the way, swinging a fist from above his head and releasing it to his right flank; unlock the wings, and Elliot did so with a thunk from outside his canopy. All set, and the shooter stepped out of the way, tapping the tarmac and flinging his other arm forward. Elliot let his engines rip and watched from his peripherals as metal wings reared their arches before pounding the tarmac with wind and Aether. That small moment of airtime was enough to propel him forward, far enough for another great flap of the wings to lift him even higher. He bobbed up and down, each time gaining altitude until he was high enough to clear the tree line. ¡°Wings to eyes, we have lift-off, requesting update on target position, over,¡± Elliot asked, placing his clipboard map on his left thigh. ¡°This is eyes to wings, target is two klicks past point two and is deviating at bearing three-five-five from estimated heading towards point three, over.¡± ¡°Rodger eyes, wings moving to position, over,¡± Elliot replied as he marked the target''s approximate location on his map. Picking up speed he swept his surroundings. At this distance, the spy plane would barely be a dot silhouetted against blue, hard to spot even without its magic. ¡°This is TOC to all units, target is reaching checkpoint three. Ambient Aether cut-off in t-minus ten, nine, eight, seven¡­¡± Elliot clutched the yoke with his right hand and kept his left on the throttle, straining to catch anything in the blue distance. ¡°Three, two, one¡­.¡± Elliot felt nothing change, not even the winds switch directions. The stillness remained as he kept the dials on his instrument panel steady. ¡°Atmospheric Aether drop confirmed¡­visual on target confirmed! Magic is failing!¡± Elliot allowed himself a moment to sigh, grip weakening on his handles. ¡°TOC to all units, target breaking south. All Southern units move to intercept.¡± Elliot groaned. ¡°Eyes to wings, confirm, eyes to wings,¡± the Targeteer Lieutenant called, interrupting the TOC¡¯s radio transmissions. ¡°Wings to eyes, copy, requesting BRAA call.¡± ¡°Bandit at bearing one-nine-two, cold, range six klicks at angels twenty-two and ascending.¡± ¡°Copy, moving to intercept, over and out.¡± Elliot pushed his throttle forward with his left hand and pulled the lever on his right, locking his wings into place as he surged forward, gaining speed and altitude as he flew. The radio chatter continued in the background, tactical operations centre doling intel and orders by the second. Southern two and three were closest before him. He checked his watch, expecting a call soon. ¡°Southern Three to TOC, eyes on bandit, moving to engage, over.¡± ¡°TOC to Southern Three, copy. Reminder, weapons free, over.¡± ¡°Copy, over and out.¡± ¡°Wings to eyes, confirm,¡± Elliot called. ¡°Copy, eyes to wings, over.¡± ¡°Update on Southern Three, over.¡± ¡°Copy¡­Southern Three is five hundred metres out on target¡¯s six. Target pulling evasive manoeuvres, over.¡± ¡°Copy eyes, keep ¡®em coming, over and out.¡± ¡°Rodger.¡± Elliot kept an eye on his map, tracing his flight path with his imagination. He raised his head, working the angles over in his mind until he spotted something in the distance. ¡°Southern Two to TOC, visual on bandit.¡± ¡°Southern Four to TOC, visual on bandit,¡± Elliot repeated as he watched two specs dancing in the distance. Never mind evasive manoeuvres; the chase had evolved into a dogfight, with the two spinning their wings into a two circle. ¡°Wings to eyes, confirm, is it just me or are they merging?¡± ¡°Eyes to wings¡­it seems that way. Shit,¡± the Lieutenant hissed through his teeth. ¡°Targeteer Lieutenant Frenniks, bandit is armed, I repeated bandit is¡ª¡± Elliot found the rest of his targeteer¡¯s sentence redundant in that next moment as one of the specks flashed, black smoke trailing it as it began to bleed its altitude. ¡°Southern Four to TOC, Southern Two is going down, I repeat, Southern Two is going down.¡± ¡°TOC to Southern Two, status. TOC to Southern Two.¡± Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings. ¡°Southern Two¡­ejecting.¡± A smaller silhouette parted from the sinking fighter, bursting into a canopy as Elliot roared past. ¡°Southern Four moving to engage,¡± Elliot reported, chasing the bandit¡¯s six. ¡°The hell do you mean they¡¯re not obeying the evacuation order?¡± ¡°Exactly what it sounds like,¡± Marie clarified, ¡°not even the General can explain it. As far as he¡¯s concerned he¡¯s gotten his end of the bargain.¡± Evalyn¡¯s brow furrowed, and she scratched her scalp; neglected of a wash for a day or two too long. She let out a guttural sigh, dragging it out as Marie reciprocated with an enervated nod. Alarm bells were ringing, and Sidos had just found itself infiltrated by another tumour, but both women were too tired to exert any sense of panic. ¡°They¡¯re getting orders from this¡­network, aren¡¯t they?¡± Evalyn guessed, only to receive a shrug. ¡°I¡¯d assume so. Seeing what happened at the capital, it clicked for me,¡± Marie said, stifling a yawn as she poured herself a glass of water, droplets of condensation spilling over into the empty ashtray. ¡°Their goal¡­at least, in this case, is to see Sidos fall into disarray.¡± ¡°In this case?¡± Elvera nodded. ¡°If what Trysha Kepila, that Witch you snagged, is to be believed¡­,¡± she gulped down the glass of cold water and sighed, ¡°then this is just one project, likely aimed at tearing the alliance apart. Excala¡¯s on its knees in more ways than one, so putting Sidos down in the dirt would hurt both countries in one go. Who¡¯s been wanting to see the alliance break apart? Vesmos." Marie played with the rim of the glass, whirling her finger along it. "The cracks were already there, they just have the resources to force them open.¡± ¡°But those¡­Aether destruction machines¡ª¡± ¡°Atmospheric Aether nullifiers.¡± ¡°Whatever¡­those things weren¡¯t part of the cracks to begin with. They were an unrelated researcher doing unrelated work in God knows what backwater country.¡± Marie pursed her lips. ¡°Weirder things happen, and for all we know, they knew about this researcher, and this was their plan from the start. Whether the researcher tattling on them and running away was part of the plan or not, it still worked in their favour.¡± ¡°And now they¡¯re keeping some 42nd and H.O.A. units in their back pocket too?¡± ¡°That or General Treeman is lying through his teeth,¡± Marie suggested as dramatically as one would order a breakfast sandwich. Sadly, all Oswald felt comfortable offering her in the smoking room was said pitcher of water. ¡°And what do you think the chances of that are?¡± ¡°Can¡¯t say for certain,¡± the Lieutenant-General said. ¡°But whether it be genuine ideological differences or¡­you know, jealousy, Treeman was never fond of your father¡¯s policies.¡± ¡°So, you don¡¯t think he means to start a war?¡± ¡°No, I don¡¯t think so. But either way, Fault¡ª. The government¡¯s forces are in for a hell of a firefight.¡± ¡°Tell me parliament still has some H.O.A. regiment on our side,¡± Evalyn pleaded. As much respect as she could put on the 42nd, it was the H.O.A. units that would determine the outcome. ¡°Some haven¡¯t defected, as well as the police units. But the ones who have, are veteran companies; they can¡¯t be taken lightly, less so by police in the older models." Which is where Evalyn would come in. Clear the way of 42nd or H.O.A., whichever was causing more of an issue. ¡°And you can guarantee they won¡¯t detonate their bombs while we¡¯re trying to get there.¡± ¡°I can¡¯t. For all we know there could be a plane circling the mountains as we speak. It¡¯s why we¡¯re in a rush and Sidos is willing to pay you triple.¡± ¡°Right,¡± Evalyn nodded. ¡°Give me a moment.¡± Her cheek¡¯s marking shone a brilliant gold, and in place of her arm, a gauntlet protruded from her deltoid and worked the door handle, flinging the door open. The gauntlet split into three as she caught the trio under her charge by the scruff and gave them a good glare. Miraculously lined up in order of height, it was as though she was presenting the three to Marie. Alis, rather pathetically, gave Marie a salute despite the situation, while all Iris could offer was a meek wave to her god-grandmother. She nodded at them both, then gave a quick ¡®nice to meet you¡¯ to the Beak girl in the middle. ¡°Iris?¡± Evalyn asked. ¡°What do you want to do?¡± Geverde¡¯s contracts and her own interests had now coincided, and she could see the conflict flash across the girl¡¯s face. Evalyn didn¡¯t blame her; she would be the first to advocate for the girl to be taken off the contract. So she moved onto the boy but spoke instead to Marie. ¡°What¡¯s Alis¡¯s place in all of this.¡± Marie shrugged. ¡°Things have been moving too fast, so he¡¯s still an informant.¡± ¡°And what if I get him to come along?¡± ¡°Come along?¡± Marie repeated, raising an eyebrow. ¡°Yeah. He can hold his own, can¡¯t you?¡± Alis nodded, smelling a fight. ¡°See?¡± ¡°What¡¯s brought this on?¡± Marie asked. ¡°Well, what else is he going to do?¡± ¡°That¡¯s for Spec Ops to decide. Come on Eva, I thought you were jealous of the kid.¡± ¡°Jeal¡ªwhat would I be jealous about?!¡± Marie flicked her eyes in Iris¡¯s direction, curling Evalyn¡¯s mouth into a pointed frown. ¡°I¡¯m just considering the kid¡¯s future. He¡¯s got those knuckle-dusters, he wants a fight and he can fight. Doesn¡¯t like Vesmos to boot.¡± ¡°You realise you¡¯re going to be paying him, right? He¡¯s not a Wizard, doesn¡¯t pose Geverde enough of a threat to appease.¡± Evalyn¡¯s head sagged at the thought, and she ground her molars against each other until she put her grievances to rest. ¡°Fine. I¡¯ll pay him.¡± Marie shrugged. ¡°Sure. But he signed a contract with us, whatever he signs with you doesn¡¯t nullify that.¡± ¡°What about me?¡± a tepid voice asked, interjecting the barter. The two women turned to Crestana, arms staunchly to her side. Evalyn sighed, knowing she would voice her protest sooner or later. ¡°I¡¯m sorry Crestana¡ª¡± ¡°I could destroy the bombs.¡± ¡°They run off Aether, yes,¡± Marie started, ¡°but your magic can¡¯t destroy magic patterns. If it could, Evalyn wouldn¡¯t be a Witch anymore.¡± ¡°And even if you could buy us time to destroy it, we don¡¯t know your effect¡¯s range, how much time we¡¯d have, and on and on. Plus, if that bomb goes off, we lose our magic and need to stay in cover. But you die, plain and simple.¡± She felt bad for the onslaught from two parties, one of which the young girl wasn¡¯t familiar with, but gentle parenting wasn¡¯t something she could afford. Iris maybe, but Crestana wasn¡¯t her child. By law, what she did with herself wasn¡¯t her decision to make in the first place. The same went for Alis, but he was a special case. ¡°Sorry Crestana, you¡¯re going to have to wait here.¡± The girl nodded, admitting defeat, and no one interjected. ¡°When are troops moving in?¡± ¡°Tonight. Regardless of the situation.¡± Evalyn nodded, then turned to Iris. ¡°Make your decision soon.¡± Crestana couldn¡¯t move her feet. She¡¯d forced them as far forward as it took to get out of the women¡¯s sight, but any further and she was stumped. ¡°What¡¯s wrong?¡± Iris asked after she¡¯d taken a few steps further than Crestana. The Beak girl imagined her knuckles white, unanswered determination curling around the folds of her clothes. ¡°What are you going to do, Iris?¡± She sounded more upset about it than the person in question. For her, it was easy; the decision had been made with herself having no say in it. ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± Iris replied, the girl¡¯s short answer cutting off before Crestana was satisfied, not that she knew what would satiate the want she couldn¡¯t even put into words. ¡°I can¡¯t decide.¡± Crestana kept her eyes on the floor as Alis caught on to the conversation. He wouldn¡¯t understand, and his confusion would only make her more nervous. Being around those two sometimes made her feel crazy for being normal. ¡°It¡¯s not fair,¡± she croaked, her voice box sputtering as it tried to translate her mousy signal. ¡°It¡¯s not fair?¡± Iris repeated. ¡°Do you want to go?¡± Crestana¡¯s heart sagged. ¡°It¡¯s dangerous. Too dangerous to be fun," she said. ¡°I get you might be worried about us, but it isn¡¯t safe." ¡°You¡¯re both children!¡± she screamed, voice box crackling at the sudden volume it had never dealt with before. Not only it, but the two before her froze in shock. ¡°Crestana? What¡¯s wrong¡ª¡± ¡°Don¡¯t lecture me about it being dangerous. Both of you are¡­messed up in the head. Don¡¯t you get that? This isn¡¯t normal, none of this is normal and yet you¡¯re just¡­going along with it.¡± Her hands trembled, making something of the excess Aether trickling into her body. ¡°And I have to wait here for you idiots, just hoping you come back¡­how is that fair?¡± ¡°I don¡¯t know if it¡¯s fair or not, but it¡¯s just how things worked out.¡± ¡°Well then, it¡¯s wrong! Somewhere along the line, something went wrong! How do you justify any of this, huh? You both grew up like this, you can¡¯t see what¡¯s wrong with it!¡± ¡°There¡¯s¡­not much I can do about it, Crestana. It¡¯s who I am. Right, Iris?¡± They both turned to the little rabbit, whose pursed lips Crestana took as a sign she couldn¡¯t quite agree. Iris¡¯s downturned eyes softened, quivering in their sockets. ¡°It doesn¡¯t matter. Not at times like this.¡± The white rabbit smiled. ¡°Sorry, Crestana. I know it¡¯s not fair, and sometimes I see what you mean. But¡­I don¡¯t know. It¡¯s just¡­how things are.¡± Iris brought the pained expression to bear, severing the final thread of a fraying cord in Crestana¡¯s chest. ¡°Iris.¡± The voice came from behind them; what had been stern moments before had become sombre. Crestana turned to find Evalyn rounding the hallway¡¯s corner. Her eyebrows were still crossed like knitting needles, but she could instinctively tell Mrs Hardridge wasn¡¯t looking for a fight. ¡°What is it?¡± Iris asked. ¡°Mum?¡± ¡°¡­I just got word. Your father¡¯s in the air. I just thought you should know that.¡± Crestana caught the smile fade on Iris¡¯s face. Being born in it. Being surrounded by it. Maybe she was wrong to assume it made things easier. Chapter 28 Part 3: Hotshot Admittedly, things hadn¡¯t gone as well as he would¡¯ve liked. That was fine. His strategies never risked it all for a single end goal as a failsafe. Beyond the first few stages, it didn¡¯t matter where the ball landed, and like a pinball machine, he¡¯d be getting something out of it. Even if that something wasn¡¯t the jackpot he was hoping for. But he still had a chance to land close. But, whichever ended up as the regime''s enemy¡ªSpirits or its own army¡ªwas the decider between a flash campaign and an all-out war. He couldn¡¯t imagine a war of attrition against Spirits, the kind that would tear apart the country, although the alliance would be buried in the process. Provenance shrugged. His hired contact''s eagerness had outgrown his guidance; the former Minister of Defence¡¯s staffer seemed to be doing just fine by himself. As for his Wizard help¡­the man had a fire, certainly. Provenance had, like many people, simply pointed him in the right direction. He stirred his coffee, a milky brown instead of pitch black in tribute to a once comrade of sorts. Better off now, he hoped. But knowing her work, and her position, she¡¯d fallen into the right hands one way or another. If not, then he¡¯d be seeing her soon enough. Milky white eyes. That¡¯s how he¡¯d remembered her, although he had tried his best to hide it. Talking to her mentor¡ªnot the most pleasant of men¡ªhe''d heard it had been a forced infusion rather than some agreement with a sentient Spirit. That was all he could say about her. No matter. There were more where she¡¯d come from¡ªworryingly more showing up at his doorstep and growing year by year, outpacing the growth of his network two to one at least. Word of mouth had long since escaped his control. Agitated leaders, and weapons manufacturing spurred on by the invention of H.O.A. meant more Wizards and Witches. But such people didn¡¯t come out of an assembly line. Vesmos was just about the only country that held the capacity, and their constitution forbade such practice outright. More and more stray cats, despondent and undertrained, left to rust in the rain. All they posed was a threat. ¡°Anything else, sir?¡± a jaded employee asked from behind a worn and stained clipboard, eyes so hollow Provenance could see the glued-up gears working inside his head. ¡°No, nothing,¡± Provenance answered, watching as the fingernail¡¯s height worth of liquid swirl at his leisure, and took it as his cue to leave. Paying his tab, he gave a final smile towards the diner¡¯s staff and made sure they never remembered him. He stood on the curb. Noon, but there was barely dusk¡¯s worth of sunlight reaching the street. Days went by, and with each one the silence grew louder. By now it was only the working class making their commute during the morning scramble; anyone wealthy enough to afford a move already had. The swathe of city in the path of the tree¡¯s shadow was changing incrementally, labouring on like a cloud¡¯s flight overhead, only obvious once one neglected it for a time. Mould would run rampant, and sickness would follow. Although, maybe it wouldn¡¯t. Provenance would turn his head, wait a while, and turn back if he felt so inclined, or if there was work to be had. Until then, it would¡¯ve been like he¡¯d never frequented the local diner. Progress was slow. Wanting to avoid his line of fire, the target aircraft was doing everything in its power to dodge and weave its way around his guns. He gnashed his teeth, cursing his opponent¡¯s skill and painfully aware of the line he was about to cross. ¡°Eyes to wings, eyes to wings, you are about to exit operation air space, do you copy?¡± ¡°Wings to eyes I am aware,¡± Elliot said, glancing down at his map for confirmation rather than anything else. He knew the area like the back of his hand. ¡°Permission to enter civilian airspace.¡± Moments of radio silence as Elliot watched Southern Two close in from the east. The wings rattled as their million micro adjustments tried but failed to keep his target dead centre. ¡°TOC to all units, permission to enter civilian airspace granted. Weapons free.¡± Elliot moved to take a shot; something to alleviate the stalemate, but Southern Two beat him to the punch. A volley of vapour trails cut across the target¡¯s visage, forcing a break downward. This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report. Elliot and Southern Two followed, as the target inverted, evened out along the horizon, and began a clockwise turn. Elliot took the challenge, confident enough in a rate fight provided his wings were unlocked. It was a familiar dance, the centrifugal force working against gravity as he maintained even breathing, but even through his tunnelling vision, he could see he wasn¡¯t gaining on his target. ¡°Southern Four to Southern Two do you have a shot?¡± ¡°Almost Southern Four.¡± Southern Two had been further east when the target had made their break. The Sidosian fighter would¡¯ve likely crossed Elliot''s original trajectory before banking east and would now be looking for a leading shot on the target. But the spy plane was manoeuvrable; not outrating Elliot¡¯s Rapacian but standing toe to toe with it. If Southern Two was expecting an even fight then¡­ ¡°Break Southern Two!¡± Elliot watched as the joust was over in a split second. Southern Two attempted to reverse their turn, realising they no longer had the leading shot they were aiming for, and the target took the moment of confusion to fire. ¡°Wings to Eyes, confirm Southern Two is going down, over.¡± ¡°Copy Wings we see it.¡± ¡°Southern Four to Southern Two, eject! Southern Two! Southern Two!¡± Elliot watched the plume of black smoke thicken as Southern Two continued to lose altitude. Elliot held in his voice. Not now. Not until his feet were on the ground. Ignoring the slight detour, the spy plane continued its rate fight, circling back around to the west. The other fighters were likely still a way out but closing in. Here¡¯s to hoping, but they wouldn¡¯t be firing any bullets until they caught up; for now, it was still Elliot¡¯s job to clean up the mess before the target crossed the border. Geverdian territory was chock-full of atmospheric Aether thanks to the Queen''s forced weather patterns, particularly at high altitudes. There was no changing that in a hurry, and Vesmosian intelligence knew it. That much information could be found in a school textbook. Elliot spread his wings wide, raising his nose further into the turn as the g¡¯s grabbed his shoulders and shoved him into the seat; the trade-off for the impossibly fast turn rate he was afforded. He felt the aircraft stall for half a second and watched his sights line up with the enemy¡¯s fuselage. Biting down on his tongue, he squeezed the trigger as his airframe rattled. The bullets drew a lazy line across the sky, barely scraping the bandit¡¯s wings as they reversed their trajectory, making a beeline for Geverde¡¯s border. Elliot mended his heading, kicking his engines to full capacity as he straightened his wings. The fields below sprouted fences and sheds. An audience. How lucky of him. Not now. Not now Elliot. Not until your feet are on the ground. He squeezed the trigger again, scraping by the bandit¡¯s rudder. Again. Barely clipping the left ring. Again. Further and further off target. ¡°Just eat the dust already for me, please,¡± he hissed under his breath. Cloud cover. White wisps and low-lying. Enough to throw him off. ¡°Eyes! I need eyes!¡± ¡°Target breaking to your nine o¡¯clock!¡± Elliot pulled on his yoke hard, feeling the earth trying to reclaim him as he tried to keep his breathing steady. Blood pounded in his ears as darkness threatened the edge of his vision. ¡°Here we go.¡± Elliot turned with the bandit as he ascended, watching it disappear under his fuselage before inverting over the top. He craned his head, keeping a close eye as he came around its 3-9 line¡ª Peeking through the wisps of cloud cover, Elliot saw the bandit¡¯s nose looking right at him. The bandit had reversed his turn on him; that much he wasn¡¯t surprised by. Forcing rolling scissors in response to a barrel roll was basic. But to already be turned towards him. Elliot broke, bracing for impact, knowing how little time he had until his fuselage was torn in half. What a leap in tech. They¡¯d made him want to be back on the ground. Not up in the sky, doing God knew what for why did he care? He knew it was the shakes talking, but Elvera was wrong. ¡°Stuff this and go to hell.¡± And his words had power. A hail of gunfire, muffled through his canopy punctured the bandit¡¯s flank, taking Elliot off his tail as he heard a round ping off the edge of his wing. A Sidosian pilot tore by, neglecting to afford any courtesies over the radio as he left Elliot to process the afterimage burned into his eyes, one that he¡¯d only ever seen the other end of. Not now. Not now Elliot. Not until your feet are on the ground. Same sky. Same hills. Same towns. He could¡¯ve sworn he¡¯d seen it all burning from the sky years ago. They¡¯d all looked the same engulfed in flames. The other pilots he flew with, the ones he¡¯d shared the skies with but none of the resentment; he wanted nothing to do with them. Not to hold it against them. Their hatred of whatever Spirit orphaned them wasn¡¯t his place to speak on. Despite his brave words, it never had been. He was just sick of it; sick of caring enough to put his finger on the trigger and squeeze. It¡¯s not about you anymore. Sure it wasn¡¯t. But he never signed up to live for the greater good. The world kept turning, and there were new people to save and new enemies to put in the dirt. There always was, and there always would be. So why didn¡¯t he step off the merry-go-round? The radio chatter racing across his instrument panel began to sound like the wind outside his cockpit. The green below looked the same as the green across the border. He was sure the colour of grass didn¡¯t stray too far in Vesmos either. He knew he was killing them because they were trying to kill him first. He knew logic had to be thrown out the window with any sort of good he pretended to upkeep when his feet were planted on the ground. But he was sick of it. He knew Evalyn was never built for it either; pretending they didn¡¯t care. His wife had given him something to be besides the hands behind a turbine. His daughter had made him question how necessary those hands were in the first place. Not now Elliot. For now, you radio in that you¡¯re alive, begrudgingly thank whoever saved you, and pretend you don¡¯t care. Pretend you¡¯re still hot stuff; no need to have a photograph of your family stuck between your dials. Not need, ¡®cus you¡¯ll always come home. ¡°Isn¡¯t that right hotshot?¡± Chapter 28 Part 4: Pretend That You Believe ¡°You sure about this?¡± ¡°No¡­but what else would I do?¡± ¡°Step away from it?¡± Iris shook her head. ¡°Not for me. It doesn¡¯t work like that.¡± She stared absentmindedly at a wooden sign nailed to a stake in the damp earth. ¡°Danger: Mines,¡± it read, the two words sandwiching an anything-but-subtle skull and crossbones. They could talk freely, her and Alis. The brush was thick, and the 42nd weren¡¯t patrolling the area underneath them for obvious reasons. ¡°But I¡¯m sure you¡¯ve got the chance to pick and choose, right? Like Mrs. Hardridge does.¡± ¡°But I have to do what she does. I do or I don¡¯t. But she can¡¯t give the government excuses forever.¡± ¡°It won¡¯t always be like that,¡± Alis suggested. ¡°One day you can make your own decisions.¡± ¡°¡­But what if that means we end up on opposite sides?¡± Iris muttered, testing the waters with the chilling theory, if only to check she wasn¡¯t crazy. ¡°Mum said that family can fight without being enemies. But I don¡¯t get it,¡± she admitted. If they fought, it would be on opposite sides. Whatever that ended up meaning. ¡°So it¡¯s between a rock and a hard place, then,¡± Alis concluded, swinging backwards and catching their perch by the inside of his knees. The branch swayed under the movement of his weight. He waited for it to settle, then began to bring his torso up, then down, then up, then down. ¡°I can¡¯t be much help I guess. Last time I was stuck between a rock and a hard place, I uh¡­you know the story.¡± Busted through a fence, stole military equipment, and sought political asylum. ¡°But working with ULEF insurgents, I ended up repeating three questions, almost on a daily basis. Say, I saw someone I knew was a soldier in a different branch about to be shot, but I had a package in my suitcase full of intelligence, I¡¯d ask myself, ¡®Do I like what¡¯s happening?¡¯ then ¡®do I want to stop it?¡¯ and then ¡®can I stop it?¡¯¡± He hauled himself back onto the tree, using the inside of his brass knuckles to hook himself against the bark. ¡°What¡¯re the answers?¡± Iris asked him, her sentence punctuated by the low rumble of Higher Order footsteps spooking birds into a cawing whirlwind¡ªthe gurgling anticipation of an incoming skirmish, like a stomach before a feast. Alis smiled, a small curl at the end of his lips, something mischievous flashing between his eyes. Or perhaps not; it was hard to tell when even he didn¡¯t understand his own expressions. ¡°Why don¡¯t you try to answer them, as if you were in that situation?¡± ¡°As if I was¡­mmh. Fine,¡± she said combing over each question before circling back to the first. Better to take it one by one. ¡°I don¡¯t like that it¡¯s happening¡ª¡± ¡°Why?¡± ¡°Because I don¡¯t like Vesmos.¡± Alis frowned, bobbing his head side to side. The action gave her pause, but Alis offered her no feedback, so she continued. ¡°I want to do something about it.¡± ¡°Even with the evidence in your briefcase? It¡¯s very valuable,¡± he explained matter-of-factly, as though the situation was real. ¡°Yes,¡± she said, only halfway determined. Iris wasn¡¯t sure if it was his intention, but she felt she was being tested, and had picked two out of three wrong answers. ¡°And I can do something about it.¡± ¡°That one is a given for someone like you, isn¡¯t it? Especially for a situation so small. But even for you, scale that up to, I don¡¯t know, saving a lot more people or destroying a whole city for one reason or another, you¡¯d be more unsure than you already are.¡± The little respite from darkness the weak moonlight offered drew a line down Alis¡¯s side profile, glinting gently off his black hair. ¡°There¡¯s variables to all three questions that you have no answer to. Maybe the soldier deserves to be arrested, maybe you don¡¯t want to risk your own skin, maybe you just¡­can¡¯t do anything about it.¡± He glanced at his brass knuckles for a moment, turning them over in the silver light. ¡°All I would¡¯ve known for certain in that situation is that I had something valuable on me that needed to get somewhere, and that lashing out would only put me at risk.¡± Hundreds and thousands of times, those three questions must¡¯ve played on a loop. ¡°And I think, Iris, even though it¡¯s pessimistic of me, that you¡¯ll never know the full picture. Every variable, every person it¡¯ll affect. You only know what¡¯s for certain, and you¡­have to feel certain that what you¡¯re doing will help you in¡­one way or another.¡± He threw his head back. ¡°Only you. That¡¯s all I can be certain about, at least. Especially when we''re doing something like this.¡± Iris watched the boy who couldn¡¯t tell lies as he laid the anxieties of the past three years to bear. The object of her confidence that had once led her against the brunt of Wesper¡¯s fervent passion was now doubting that same confidence. She had acted almost three years ago on the basis that she could do something she wanted to do, save someone she wanted to save, just as he had strived to do for a whole people. Now, they both sat in a tree, above a field of landmines, waiting for a signal while they convinced themselves that they had the answers to those three questions like a religious zealot had answers to the meaning of life or the world''s creation. Absolute faith, unwavering belief, maddening, animalistic drive towards something that they and only they could drive towards. But they were people. People were supposed to be kinder than that. ¡°You there Iris?¡± Her mother¡¯s voice asked through six hundred metres of Aether line, voice distorted to the edge of recognition. Iris picked up the radio receiver with both hands and pressed the transmission button. ¡°Yeah,¡± Iris replied, before taking her finger off the button. ¡°The H.O.A. units are moving into position, they¡¯re starting in five minutes. We should get a head start. Meet me where I told you to.¡± ¡°Okay,¡± Iris replied, slinging the bulky contraption behind her back. She stood up, balancing the branch under the bridge of her feet as she stretched hours of static out of her spine. ¡°Ready?¡± Alis asked. ¡°No,¡± Iris admitted, and she felt the pause that came after. There¡¯d been better pre-battle pep talks. She could be sure about that. ¡°If all things go well, we won¡¯t have to lay a finger on anyone.¡± The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation. ¡°And if not?¡± ¡°¡­then leave it to me,¡± was his final proposal as the crystals along his hand glowed a poisonous purple. ¡°Let¡¯s not keep Mrs. Hardridge waiting.¡± ¡°Delta one to Delta line, thirty seconds out. Fix bayonets.¡± ¡°Fixing bayonet,¡± Delta Three confirmed, flicking one of many dull silver switches along their right control board. The pistons and steel cables running along the machine¡¯s arms worked automatically, operating by premeasured distances to fix the torso-length blade to the end of the rifle. The metal box was already getting stuffy. Delta Three leaned closer to the fan perched on the dashboard, unbuttoning their top buttons as they peered through the rectangular peephole. Inside the sealed cabin of their H.O.A. unit, watching the silent forest lit only by slivers of moonlight reminded them of a silent film. Only the low whir of the fan as their team lead counted down each second. Delta Three regretted asking for seconds. The steel frame and cables around their waist almost felt tight. They squinted, trying to decipher the collection of silhouettes beyond the metal fence. Delta three brought the wooden stand-in rifle to their eye as the movement tugged on the cables running down their arm. The pistons stirred, the gears creaked against the weight of each other, and the real thing, orders of magnitude larger, copied their movement. The silhouettes stirred through the sights of Delta Three¡¯s rifle. ¡°Floodlights.¡± The entire unit¡¯s floodlights¡ªmounted to the top of their chassis¡ªstruck the scene before them. Trees, trees, underbrush, a metal fence drawing a straight line through a fluid forest, and beyond that a wall of equally monstrous inventions that belonged nowhere near such pristine ground. ¡°Police! Drop your weapons!¡± the team lead demanded over their speakers, and a silent moment, no longer than half a second, was enough for Delta Three to choke on their own spit. The enemy turned their guns towards them. ¡°Open fire! Open fire!¡± Delta Three depressed the trigger, watching the colossal rifle outside their peephole slam its trigger and eject shell casings the size of buckets. The rounds thundered, seven semi-automatic rifles joining into a single racket, tearing through the trees, underbrush, and fence with no bias or prejudice. Two or three enemy units fell immediately, the surprise attack worked as Delta¡¯s rounds made target. The several remaining returned fire, the more accurate movement arrays and faster rifles making equally as short work of the tree line. One Delta unit took a round, although Delta three couldn¡¯t see where, nor how damaging the hit had been, only that there¡¯d been a metal crunch somewhere to their left. ¡°Disperse,¡± the team lead ordered, and Delta three shut off their floodlights, redirecting power to smaller headlights under the chassis, illuminating the ground. Delta three pressed their feet against the pedals, keeping their chassis as low to the ground as a H.O.A. could possibly manage while hostile rounds whizzed through the forest, clearing it at random of life and cover. ¡°Delta One to TOC, Delta One to TOC, subjects are non-compliant at this time. Several suspects K.I.A., one officer downed, over.¡± ¡°This is TOC to Delta line, copy. Secure the area; don¡¯t count on surrenders.¡± Delta Three moved their set paces to their second mark, knocking down trees with their bayonet like a jungle machete. Pausing, they kept an eye on their illuminated compass and turned back towards the outpost¡¯s fence line. ¡°Delta Three, in position.¡± Similar reports filtered in from every unit until the radio fell silent once again. Sirens wailed as distant cannon fire peppered the night¡¯s soundscape. ¡°Delta One to all units. Hold positions.¡± Silence again. No splitting tree trunks or flattening underbrush; their enemy wouldn¡¯t follow them into the forest and forfeit their defensive advantage. But with no guarantee of overwhelming firepower, the opposite in fact, Delta had to play asymmetrically. ¡°Delta two, nine-banger. On my mark.¡± Soft whirring. A brief rustle. ¡°Throw it.¡± Delta Three heard the unmistakable metallic ping of a pin being pulled. They brought down the shutter over their peephole as a loud crack rang through the air and bounced across the walls of their metal cabin. They opened their shutters again and watched the embers of the flashbang slowly die. ¡°Delta four, flare.¡± The crackling, red spark bloomed midair and landed at the foot of the war-torn fence, casting red silhouettes against the stunned enemy forces. ¡°Open fire.¡± Delta Three squeezed the trigger, aiming squarely at a stumbling silhouette and hitting their chassis off-centre mass. Not enough to take out the pilot, as the unit collapsed onto its left side, still firing from its right wildly into the night. Another stray round caught it squarely in the pilot¡¯s seat. More rounds took out more enemy units, until the stun grenade¡¯s effects began to wane, and return fire grew in intensity. Delta Three kept low to the ground, catching glancing rounds, some ricocheting off the forward-facing armour, others taking healthy chunks from the steel. The firefight continued, Delta line dealing with most of the stunned line before the stragglers fully recovered. Even then, the concentrated fire was hard to beat. ¡°Delta line to TOC, area secure, moving through fence line to secure next front, over.¡± ¡°This is TOC to Delta line, copy. Beware heavy resistance, over.¡± ¡°Copy. Over and out. Let¡¯s move.¡± Delta line advanced, trampling logs into mulch under their underslung headlights. Delta three flicked another switch on their control panel three stops down, and the preprogrammed wiring took over, steel tendons pulling the offhand around the unit¡¯s chassis to the ammo dispensary bolted to its back. A fresh magazine circled around and into the rifle cannon before the other hand drove the bolt home in time for Delta Three to raise their bayonet and slice through the wasted metal mesh. They climbed over the fence onto yet more grass, although they were saved from traversing through thick forestry. The battle raged fiercer a hundred metres northwest, but opening fire now wouldn¡¯t do them much good. The immediate area before them was choked with floodlights, vehicles, tents and supplies, and the larger Alpha and Bravo lines were doing well to keep enemy attention squarely away from Charlie and Delta. If not by outright concealing them, then by posing enough of a threat that the enemy couldn¡¯t afford to look away. Delta line followed the shadows single file and rifles raised, their footsteps concealed by the cacophony along the Alpha and Bravo lines. Heavy losses, at least on the enemy¡¯s side. Crumpled machines lay face down against the forest floor next to piles of smouldering metal, the genesis of a black column of gunpowder smoke all going up at once. These were veteran companies, however, and in a full-frontal battle, Delta Three could only imagine the Alpha and Beta lines to be fairing much worse. No 42nd. Likely still in the bunkers, waiting for the infantry assault. ¡°Delta line, hold.¡± To their west, a battlefield, to their north, the tops of artillery turrets dug into the same hill that housed the facility itself. Delta was made up of police units, but one didn¡¯t need to be a military strategist to know that taking the high ground was never a bad idea. Delta three watched as Charlie line all but sprinted towards the bunker opening, firing upon the units, by the bunker entrance. Rounds flew, some glancing, others hitting their mark. ¡°Move.¡± Delta line advanced for the hilltop, Delta three somehow tearing their line of sight away from the raging battle and for the dark shape silhouetted against a blank night sky. Left and right, the dirt got firmer under the sheer tonnage with each step. Then the view before Delta three flashed, and steel being shorn apart by sheer force stung their ears. ¡°Shit. Delta two to TOC, Delta one¡¯s hit a mine! Officer downed, over.¡± ¡°TOC to Delta two. Copy. Delta Two assume line command. Hold position and assist Charlie line.¡± ¡°Copy TOC. You heard him.¡± Loud and clear. Delta three raised their rifle and squeezed, the bolt slamming against the retriever like chalk against a blackboard tallying up casualties. The enemy squad was down, but they¡¯d taken most of Charlie line down with them, more than half of which were in varying states of immobility. Delta three turned their attention to the remnants of Alpha and Beta, the main enemy force having pushed them back past the tree line. ¡°Keep it coming boys,¡± Delta Two commanded as Delta Three inserted a new magazine. Delta Three kept his rifle level even as they drew the attention of the main enemy force. Return fire peppered the air around them, and sounds of grinding, tearing, and snapping metal became a commonality. ¡°Delta Two to TOC, we cannot hold our position much longer, over!¡± Delta three watched the remaining units of Charlie line cover their demolitionist as they rigged up the blast doors with explosives. A round tore through Delta three¡¯s chassis, taking with it the top-left corner, the floodlights, and the top hatch. ¡°This is TOC to Delta two, guided Bowbeak overhead. Flare your location over.¡± ¡°Delta two to TOC, fifty metres south of our position on the bunker hill! Danger close! Just blow them up I don¡¯t care what you do it with!¡± Delta Two ripped a flare from its ammo cache, hurling it towards the advancing line of enemy armour. ¡°Copy Delta two. On your mark.¡± ¡°Send it!¡± The seaplane so thick its hull might as well have been torn straight off the Citadel¡¯s bow had mounted cannons Delta three could only dream of. The real thing was nothing if not the stuff of nightmares. A ghastly whizz as a cloud of dust and shrapnel exploded as though the air itself had combusted like dynamite, the force alone toppling several units while the shards of metal made mince meat of whatever stood close enough, armour and vehicles alike. Another explosion¡ªmuch closer¡ªrocked the ground underneath Delta Three¡¯s mechanical feet. They stole a glance from their target to watch Charlie line retreat under heavy fire. Thunk. The sound, too loud for their ears to register without bleeding, was followed by a rush of cold air and the sensation of their leather harness digging into their chest as they were thrown backwards. Close air support thundered against the ground next to Delta three¡¯s ear, thundering war drums announcing the next stage of the battle to come. Chapter 28 Part 5: If Skeletons Remain Another faint explosion shook the tight walls Iris found herself sandwiched between. They¡¯d all sent vibrations through to the soles of her boots; every grenade, cannon round and bullet, but none yet had sounded so close. ¡°They must¡¯ve blown the front gate¡± Evalyn remarked through her helmet. ¡°Main assault will be coming soon.¡± The end of the service shaft they¡¯d blindly travelled down terminated directly ahead of them in a doorway¡ªsteel, with a ventilation grid near its feet. Besides faint chatter and orders, the door refused to give much of the other side away. It didn''t particularly matter; Iris could only expect a fight, even though a chance at slipping past wasn''t entirely out of reach. She and Evalyn had little need for the latter method. Their ally in tow, however, could have used less action. ¡°All right,¡± Evalyn said, grabbing the door handle and inching it open. ¡°Iris, hold onto that radio. You¡¯ve already had a chat with Deity Division?¡± ¡°Yes. They told me I sounded young.¡± ¡°Well, what are you going to do? They¡¯ll guide you through the structure. Can¡¯t give you as detailed of a guide as usual; the entire bunker is buried after all, but a rough schematic of the place should be good enough. Alis?¡± ¡°Yes ma¡¯am.¡± ¡°Hang back, all right. Watch flanks, act support. Iris¡¯ll be a bit of a bulldozer. Steer her in the right direction.¡± ¡°Yes ma¡¯am.¡± ¡°Try not to call me ma¡¯am.¡± ¡°Yes, ma¡ª. Yes. Boss.¡± ¡°Good enough. I¡¯ll draw their fire, thin out their numbers before the main troops arrive.¡± She closed the door again, kneeling before them and put a hand on Alis¡¯s shoulder, a heavy gauntlet coming down on his bones in a characteristically masculine gesture. Then she turned to Iris, running a hand behind her neck and bringing their foreheads together. ¡°See you on the other side, all right? We¡¯re going to stop a war from happening today, but I need you both okay first.¡± She stood and opened the door, stepping through and shutting it behind her. A guttural scream masked by what Iris recognised as some sort of gas mask. The few seconds of confusion that followed were punctuated by silence, realisation, and then gunfire. ¡°My God that¡¯s a lot of bullets,¡± Alis muttered over Iris¡¯s shoulder as scores of automatic fire raged. They were then snuffed out, one by one, the orange light of muzzle flashes peeking through the ventilation grid fading by the second. More weighted footsteps approached, but instead of stopping to fire, they ran past. The monster had moved on. Iris opened the door onto a landing three steps above the main floor¡ªa hallway stretched to her left and right, terminating in T-junctions on either end. Doors elevated by similar landings lined the hall at irregular intervals, and crates of supplies¡ªeverything from food to ammunition¡ªlined the damp, moss and lichen-infected walls. She grabbed the radio slung by her hip and brought it to her face. ¡°Breadcrumbs,¡± she whispered into the receiver. ¡°Left, left from your current heading is a staircase leading down. It¡¯s a wide-open space by the looks of things. Runs deeper into the compound away from the main entrance.¡± ¡°Copy,¡± Iris replied. ¡°Look, I don¡¯t know how many strong you are, but I¡¯d expect heavy resistance. It¡¯s the inner sanctum after all. Check your corners and watch for traps.¡± ¡°Copy,¡± Iris repeated, stowing the radio. Alis¡¯s hand clasped her shoulder plate, and she turned around. ¡°No, eyes forward Iris. I¡¯ll be our tail, you scan ahead for traps.¡± Iris nodded, disintegrating excess matter into gas and propelling it forward while Alis¡¯s knuckles shone purple and he sealed off their six with a solid barrier. ¡°Let¡¯s move,¡± he said, and they started forward. Through ventilation grids, airway shafts and even gaps between hinges, Iris¡¯s gas fed her too much information to process at once, and she re-evaluated her scope to the few rooms before her. ¡°There¡¯s a group coming towards us from the right,¡± she said, pointing at the T-junction ahead.¡± ¡°We can block it off with a wall if we want, but that¡¯ll mean someone else has to deal with them later,¡± Alis reminded her. ¡°Someone not as well equipped as us.¡± The halls were brimming with armaments. Disarming the 42nd only left them free to get right back into the fight, the same went for concussing them. The armoured steps grew louder as they approached the corner, faltering as they encountered the gas. She had a job to do, one that was important. That was all she could be certain about. Who she gave the act of mercy to, her enemy or her ally... Thinking about it like that, the debate quickly strayed from rationality she doubted was ever there in the first place. ¡°What do you want to do, Iris? Make a decision, fast.¡± Yet she couldn''t see the point in it. What had refusing her mother''s wishes, and by extension Geverde, done for her in the end? Brought her right back to the frontline. In the fray, where her failure meant people died, and her success meant people suffered, least of all her. It was always the same, no matter what era. It was a familiar feeling that wasn¡¯t her own: that her unrelenting power ultimately came with servitude. How great objects of faith¡ªgods and deities¡ªwould be bent to a humble pastor¡¯s will, morphed into the idol of their own personal teachings. Her place on earth was under a thumb that seemed to switch owners all too often. Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings. One after another, like doors down a hallway. Flimsy plywood and damp cork swelling like scar tissue. Her serpentine beast coiled around her legs, rearing its head next to hers as though to whisper into her ear to give the order. No words escaped its mouth moving on strings, yet she heeded the advice and gave the order nonetheless. The gunfire was getting tiresome, ceaseless rattling bouncing around her helmet for minute after minute. The bastards were tricky, and they knew their territory well. With bulletproof armour and that much firepower, Evalyn had pegged the 42nd as a division of bulwark-types and nothing else. But they¡¯d pegged her as something they couldn¡¯t kill with bullets and were manoeuvring around her, disappearing around corners before she could fire off an attack of her own. She wanted to keep a low profile, but time wasn¡¯t on her side. The more she entertained their stalling tactics the more 42nd there¡¯d be left to decimate the main assault. There was nothing wrong with taking out the base by herself, but for appearance''s sake¡­ She spread herself wide through several tendrils, each noticeable enough to garner a reaction from whomever they passed. Punches, swipes, shooting, she recorded them all and grabbed the perpetrators by the scuff, snatching them from their hiding spots. To most conventional firearms, the 42nd''s armour was the very definition of an ¡®immovable object¡¯. Nothing short of canon rounds could bust through their plating. A tougher nut to crack, and exactly why she hadn¡¯t bothered bringing her rifle. Six nuts to crack, six bows, six arrows. She couldn¡¯t picture the velocity of a cannon round, but she could imagine the impossible tension of a bowstring that might produce that same velocity. A strange trait, but that was how her mind worked. The arrows, unbendable in their own right, punched through the iron-cast armour and put them to sleep. Evalyn dropped the bodies, retracting the limbs into her armour as the gunfire picked back up again. With a bow in her own two hands, and another in a second pair she kept to her back, Evalyn started further down the hallway. More gunfire from behind her tore through a box of grenades, detonating the entire lot in one flurry of shrapnel. No damage to her, they likely knew that too. But the momentary plume of dust and collapsing tunnel around her was enough to shave off a few more precious seconds. More gunfire from behind her. She couldn¡¯t pin down a location, but a broad sweep of it with a flurry of spindly tendrils caught onto two more she dispatched with both bows. Watching their hollow eyes barely change as their bodies fell limp was something she¡¯d never get used to. Frankly, it wasn¡¯t human. Even with old Sidos dead, they persisted like zombies, loyal dogs to a master six feet under. They were worse at accepting her father''s death than she could ever dream to be. Hating something while she killed it. That was something she tried to avoid at all costs. Thirteen years had passed, and an eighteen-year-old Evalyn had fought desperately to end her own war. Times had changed, new problems had emerged in place of old ones, and there were other factors to consider now, other dangers Geverde and Sidos had to prepare for. She knew that. The war of Aether and Diesel was over, new technology couldn¡¯t be unmade. ¡°But I ended up here to put skeletons in the closet.¡± If not for noble reasons, Evalyn couldn¡¯t help but empathise with her little girl. More bullets drew her attention in time for a flash bang to flare in her face. Her helmet kept most of the noise out, but the light still found her eyes. She stumbled in the dust, finding her footing. The bang was always the worst part, the sudden nausea that came straight after had always gotten her hacking up her guts. But she¡¯d kept her armour intact. As long as she did that she could¡ª The next thing she knew, she was buried in a concrete crater dented into the far wall. Most of the shock had been avoided, but she¡¯d definitely broken something. There was blood in her mouth; she could taste the iron. Blunt force trauma. Not a problem if she¡¯d been prepared. Now her ears were ringing, the blood coursing through them drowning out her hearing as she dropped to the floor and staggered to her feet. Through burned-out eyes, she saw a single figure stand where dust had settled. An unassuming individual, with short and curled blonde hair falling over a set of tinted glasses. He assumed no fighting stance nor did he carry a weapon, simply opting to stand there, unarmoured, and block the way forward. Evalyn drew her bow, lessening the poundage to an appropriate level before firing. This time she heard it clearly; a distinct sound. A tone that zipped up the scale from low to high and her arrow was sent flying off course, embedding itself into the concrete wall to the target¡¯s left. Magic, that was plain to see, and she had a suspicion it wasn¡¯t her first encounter with it either. Evalyn turned tail, putting all the strength in her legs to leap right while she switched her extra limbs¡¯ focus from fight to flight. Another utterly alien sound and the Wizard came screeching around the corner in midair. Evalyn watched closely. He launched himself off the wall he¡¯d slammed Evalyn into, redirecting his speed in her direction, but never did his feet make contact with anything. Whatever method of movement he used, it was capable of more speed than hers. He closed the gap, maybe five metres, and she found herself flying into a concrete wall once again. More dust, more haze, but her mind was working better, she could absorb the trauma before it got the chance to jumble her insides. She sent a probing limb through the pulverised concrete clouds, only to feel it violently slapped away. Another probe got much the same treatment. If she¡¯d had bullets, maybe they¡¯d get past whatever magic it was before he could react, but magic like his wouldn¡¯t be much use in the first place if it couldn¡¯t repel bullets. It most likely meant she and her opponent were impervious to most damage: a great stalemate tactic that put her on the back foot. Her enemy had all day compared to her. A simple barrier didn¡¯t explain how he moved. Almost as though he was being repelled from the solid surface. The Wizard stood, refusing to attack her first. Every move was reactionary besides his traversal, but every instance of his magic had repelled one thing from another, whether that be an object away from himself or himself away from an object. Whether that was voluntary or not was something she needed to determine. Iris¡¯s beast screamed around the corner towards the staircase, winding through the purple gas scouting the route ahead. In each bend, she felt her abdomen tense in fear of being bucked off, but Alis¡¯s grip around her waist showed no such sign of fluctuating anxiety. She remembered to breathe and tried to follow his example. There was a chokepoint at the bottom of the stairs. Her gas had warned her too late to slow down. Two to each side of the stairwell, three behind a barricade of sandbags down the corridor. Iris tapped Alis¡¯s knee and pointed to either side as they approached the final bend in the staircase and promptly blew past it. Her magic sparked behind her, a foreign entity this time around. She brought up her forearms to her face, materialising a shield before them that immediately caught a hail of gunfire, magazine¡¯s-worth of bullets in the blink of an eye. Out of her periphery, Iris caught the two 42nd soldiers on either side of the stairwell, watching as their helmets were caved in by two pointed, steel-like beams of purple. Inelegant, but Iris couldn¡¯t fault an effective method. The beast¡¯s jaws dislodged themselves, notch by notch as the strings pulled against the violet-magenta hue. A crunch, a shearing through metal. Iris looked back and saw nothing but empty shells of armour for carcasses. She knew it was a mercy, both for them and for herself. But she still regretted ever affording it a second thought. Alis¡¯s eyes in the corner of her vision urged hers back forward, and she slowed down, reaching the edge of the hallway before dismounting. A set of double doors greeted them, ones that freely swung on their hinges like leaves in the wind, ones she¡¯d imagine an almost constant stream of people coming in and out of. These were dead, and whatever waited on the other side pretended to be much the same. ¡°Stay behind me,¡± Iris ordered, and Alis closed the distance between them, placing a hand on her left shoulder, patting it as though to reassure her. ¡°With you, Iris.¡± She felt his grip tighten, each finger pressing itself against her monstrous frame. ¡°Stay with me.¡± ¡°Always.¡± Chapter 28 Part 6: Last Chances Any rash movement forward was too risky to attempt; a read on her opponent¡¯s range was asking for too much, but considering she wasn¡¯t being blown away at every chance implied she was outside of it. They made no advances, however, perhaps out of fear of what Evalyn could or couldn''t do, making the discussion of range irrelevant in the first place. There were many ways to get around the shield provided it needed activating, bringing the fallible variable of human reaction speed into account. But so far the repertoire of things they¡¯d been able to repel suggested it either activated faster than human reaction speed or existed constantly. Needling her opponent until she figured it out was just about the only way forward. She twisted her front foot sideways, entered a lowered stance, and launched her arms from her hips to her face. Her magic answered with a tidal wave, jagged rock-like pieces of golden mass both supported by each piece behind it and by metre-long jagged spines that tore through the concrete and dug themselves into the earth. The wall held, but Evalyn still faced resistance. She dug the spikes deeper into the earth, fracturing their surfaces and turning the shards upward. Still not enough. Not nearly enough. Evalyn let the wall go and increased her distance, watching the Wizard close it in response, propelling himself against the walls and floor of the concrete corridor mazes. The concrete under his feet would always disintegrate into fine dust, but somehow he''d catch a hold of something solid enough, sending him flying instead. The facility was underground; at least three of the four walls of every corridor were supported by unimaginable miles of rock, dirt, and metal. Assuming the worst meant an entire planet''s worth of rock was needed. In a way, the corridors were the perfect environment for him to traverse. But that meant it would take something similar for Evalyn to manipulate his movement, let alone defeat him. But she could do it, even go so far as to say she could do so with relative ease. She rounded a corner, luring the Wizard across the threshold from humid grey concrete to tranquil open sky. ¡°Act V: Climax.¡± She planted her feet on soft gravel, conscious of the ageing pair of eyes intently observing her. Intrigued as they always were, but with an extra sheen of scrutiny Evalyn couldn¡¯t determine was real or her own anxious mind playing tricks on her. Yet the old Wishing Whale lived in her dome; she could only assume he was privy to any anxieties up there with him already. Her enemy likewise came to a halt that was rather closer to a skid. She hoped for a trip and fall to boot, but wasn¡¯t so lucky. The Wizard recovered and took in his surroundings. The fear he tried to keep under wraps suggested he was familiar with his predicament, his inability to act confirmed that she¡¯d won the engagement. ¡°Surrender,¡± was all the opportunity she was willing to give. The Wizard refused to budge. ¡°Surrender and I can guarantee you¡¯ll get off lightly. It¡¯s in your best interest, better than dying in some hole for someone whose face you¡¯ll never remember.¡± Still, the Wizard refused. If only he had less cumbersome magic, something that let her get enough hits to render him unconscious. Nothing existed in Evalyn¡¯s arsenal besides brute strength; nothing more ethereal that other Witches and Wizards had access to, something that played on the human mind. All Evalyn could do was apply enough bludgeons to end the engagement. Outside her Mind Palace existed a world that still ticked ahead, regular soldiers¡¯ footsteps drawing closer to a deathtrap of vastly superior enemies. Many lives would be lost. The one in front of her was no weightier, no matter how tragic. She fired several probing arms from her armour that enclosed the Wizard from all sides, deliberately letting them hang in the air enough for him to calculate their airtime and prepare. She caught the first note of the upward scale. Easier to pinpoint now that she knew what she was looking for. The top of that split-second scale coincided with repulsion, and she aimed for that small instant to spring a set of three walls, a triangular pyramid to encase both the Wizard and his repulsion. To avoid all her probes, the Wizard had repulsed at all sides, and if it took an entire rock layer¡¯s worth of material to have that force act upon him instead, all Evalyn had to do was create another world entirely. Her mind, her rules. That force acted upon his body, on all sides, all at once. Evalyn didn¡¯t know what had happened in that triangular chamber. Frankly, she didn¡¯t want to know. The warm wind slowed; brought stillness to the autumnal landscape like the gasp of a crowd. ¡°Sorry, it wasn¡¯t a pleasant show today old man.¡± The Wishing Whale stirred. ¡°I¡¯ve certainly seen worse. Perhaps not from you, but¡­certainly worse. Hm?¡± Their eyes met, but only one of them could manage a smile. ¡°Whatever it takes, was it not?¡± Evalyn nodded, preparing to return to the real world. ¡°You know, child, you can retire.¡± She pursed her lips; the pregnant pause weightier than the words themselves. ¡°If you desire, I can move on to my next customer. No need for you to continue this profession.¡± Evalyn dug her heel into the gravel. The proposition being made crystal clear certainly hurt in a way she''d never expected it to. ¡°You said you liked this place. Might as well give you as long as possible," was the pathetic excuse she could offer up. Evalyn looked back at the coffin of her own making, but nothing came to her mind. If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation. Nothing intelligent, nothing measured. Simple thoughts that amounted to nothing but a refusal to change, a fear of being powerless. Iris plugged her ears for good measure, but quick thinking had saved her from the worst of it. Solid barriers negated the flashes, but Iris knew the sound was still excruciating so long as it had air to travel through. Metres of liquid however contained the blast in a space no larger than her head, a distortion in a filter of oscillating purple. It stopped bullets too for good measure. ¡°I¡¯m counting at least twenty. Two gunner nests to our one and ten o¡¯clock, the rest are scattered in groups of two or three. They¡¯ve thoroughly covered all angles. I don¡¯t envy the first chap that would¡¯ve walked in here.¡± Alis turned to her one hand still firmly glued to her shoulder. ¡°I can see them. Should I handle this?¡± It¡¯d be quicker for her to bite the bullet¡ªwould leave less of a trace too. But twenty. Faceless they may have been. ¡°Please,¡± Iris said, yielding to the offer. ¡°Rodger.¡± Iris closed her eyes. Magic flared beside her. One by one, she could hear them drop, the storm of gunfire growing noticeably quieter with each death. Like a dying round of applause, it came down to the last person standing. Silence. ¡°Let¡¯s go,¡± Alis said, switching places with her as the liquid barrier evaporated into gas and rushed to expand into its new container. ¡°There¡¯s no one,¡± Iris reported. ¡°Are there any other lights?¡± ¡°There¡¯s a switchboard to our left. I can probably work it.¡± Alis left her side, the initial movement startling her until she could find him again. The purple gems swung with his hands, dull shine drawing lines in the dark. The lights came on, starting above their heads and sequentially backwards. There emerged the beginnings of a warehouse¡ªalbeit a small one¡ªhewn straight from rock and coated with metal mesh. The space had been built hastily, with exposed wires leading up to floodlights hanging from steel cables drilled into the ceiling. Sixteen messes of wire and aluminium were screwed and welded into bomb casings, their numberings written in chalky, white paint strokes. ¡°They¡¯re numbered seven to twenty-two. Iris, we¡¯re missing six.¡± The remaining sixteen were still spilling their mechanical guts, abandoned before they could be sealed up. It was too close for comfort, and there were still six missing. ¡°Do you think they finished the first six? Took them somewhere else.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t know, call it in.¡± Iris grasped the radio again, managing to depress the button with a single finger. ¡°Magpie.¡± ¡°Count the eggs. Getting a lot of interference.¡± ¡°Sixteen. They¡¯re numbered seven to twenty-two, but the first six aren¡¯t here.¡± ¡°Rodger¡­Wait, did you see any sort of aircraft on your way there? Any kerosene, parts¡­¡± ¡°No. Why?¡± ¡°There¡¯s an aircraft taking off nearby.¡± ¡°Is it big?¡± ¡°It¡¯s a passenger aircraft. Two propellers, domestic. Looks quite old too.¡± Her heart dropped. She and Alis were of the same mind. ¡°It¡¯s the bombs.¡± ¡°It might be. I¡¯m reporting it to TOC.¡± ¡°Where is it?¡± The Deity¡¯s eye stuttered. ¡°What do you mean ¡®where is it¡¯? There¡¯s not much you can do about it. Best we can do is to get the H.O.A.¡¯s to¡ª¡± ¡°Where is it.¡± Iris held down the transmission button until her fingers went numb. ¡°Do you have a compass with you?¡± ¡°I do.¡± ¡°Here¡¯s your BRAA callout then.¡± ¡°Copy.¡± Iris¡¯s dragon coiled around her feet, brushing its scales against Alis¡¯s legs, egging him to mount it. ¡°Two-five-three, eight hundred metres, fifty metres and climbing, hot.¡± She felt Alis¡¯s arm come around her waist. Her armour melded into her beast. Stowing the radio, all other thoughts washed out of her ears, replaced by blistering static. She could only act by what she knew to be true, even if it didn¡¯t yet encompass the entire picture. The wrong conclusion meant war, the right one didn¡¯t. Burn away anything else, leave only heat. Heat singeing her fingertips, setting her hair on fire, running electricity through the air. The ball of lightning, fastened tight in her Beast¡¯s jaws, grew inch by inch as it split the air apart. She added more fuel to the fire, preparing more to funnel down the pipeline. The Beast¡¯s head veered upwards, placing its muzzle inches from the rock, red and melting. ¡°Shoot.¡± Thunder clapped, reverberating off every rivet, every surface, shaking the mesh and outshining the spotlights. Through the blinding light, melted rock dripped from the walls where purple met grey, falling into rapidly piling heaps of steaming lava. She felt the blast meet cold night air, and like shutting off a faucet, she choked the beam of its fuel. A steaming tunnel was left in its wake, the air invading from outside bending light like running clay. Iris encased herself and her passenger in a capsule, ordering her Beast to make its move through the opening. Excited air beat at the walls of her makeshift cockpit, the stinging sensation translating to a dull itch across her body. The world widened, the itch subsiding yet not dying off completely. Her beast was still rising as she unmade the walls around herself. Cold night air, still untouched by the column of smoke yet to rise them from the brushfire she¡¯d started. She recalled the BRAA call and swivelled her attention accordingly. Moonlight was weak, but the green and red navigation lights blinking on the wingspan¡¯s tips gave away the aircraft¡¯s position. A last ditch attempt to disguise the plane as civilian; if it weren¡¯t for Deity division watching it take off from nearby, it likely would¡¯ve worked. Iris couldn¡¯t help but admit it made her hesitate. Hovering above the tree line, she pressed the transmission on the radio a final time. ¡°Can you say for sure?¡± Her attention remained so fixated on the aircraft she neglected to release the button. ¡°TOC confirms there are no civilian aircraft scheduled to be in the area. The no-fly zone is still secure. Orders are going out to shoot it out of the sky.¡± It wasn¡¯t a conventional explosive, Iris doubted it could ignite in the same way. But taking risks with that, especially when the plane was still so low. Iris let the radio drop to her side, never letting the plane out of her sight. Fuel to the fire. Her Beast acted as the other half of her brain, enacting her orders as naturally as another arm, as though she were aiming a gun herself. The jaws widened, the night sky thundered and a second, tiny sun was born under the moon. ¡°Shoot.¡± The second sun drew a line through the stars as though to draw out a constellation line between her and the plane. No explosion, no ignition, only pure and simple annihilation¡ªrendered non-existent before it got the chance. She felt the eruption of sound more than she could hear it. Two wings fell from the sky. Enough to identify it later. She leaned back into her Beast; purple cockpit spread over her head. First was the warehouse, the rest of the unfinished bombs from seven to twenty-two. Diving through the tunnel her Beast exhaled gas into the opening, rapidly filling the cavern. Using it in place of her eyes, she navigated to the front door, bursting through it before letting go of her grip on the matter behind her completely. The sudden flash only lasted a second or two, but nothing had been left the same. There was still evidence¡ªtraces and vestiges significant enough to piece together a working picture. No point in keeping things on the first floor if they were expecting an infantry assault. They¡¯d be nearby if they were still in the facility at all. Iris knew there was a hunch she could bet on. A shortcut. One she was afraid to follow. In a way, the tenacity of the 42nd was in part a blessing. Keeping the Sidosian troops busy on the first floor let her act with impunity, but it wouldn¡¯t last long. She flooded the second floor with gas, spreading her senses down increasingly narrower, roughly hewn corridors and through the gaps of doors and vents. The map she sketched on the inside of her skull grew wider until, like a muscle reflex, it zeroed in on a single point. She watched her Beast move along the map, covering hallways in the blink of an eye, her stomach lurching a bygone concern. They slowed, and Iris leapt off, stomping her feet across the concrete floor until she lost momentum outside another steel cast door. Iris kicked it down. ¡°Mum!¡± A golden knight stared down at a manila folder in her hands, the genesis point of the room around her. Calculations, diagrams and blueprints for wallpaper were tied with string to metal mesh encasing the manmade cave. Evalyn didn¡¯t look up at her. Iris didn¡¯t look away. ¡°Please, mum.¡± She¡¯d given in everywhere else; taken a step closer to what Geverde wanted from her, what Evalyn needed from her. ¡°Just this. Please.¡± Chapter 29 Part 1: To Those Who Push Us Forward ¡°I¡¯m afraid I¡¯ve asked of your people more than you ever owed us.¡± ¡°It¡¯s how the cookie crumbled, Prime Minister. Saying Geverde has a vested interest in...inconveniencing Vesmos is an understatement.¡± Fault smiled, removing her reading glasses and rubbing her eyes. Elvera had watched her transition halfway into a skeleton over the previous few days. If there were any kindness left in the world, the coming night would bring with it no further complications. ¡°The cookie certainly crumbled, Marie.¡± The Lieutenant-General jumped at the sound of her name. Fault seemed to be playing the role of ex-Prime Minister early. She stood up, taking in the room. ¡°Hardridge¡¯s daughter shared with me some¡­choice words of wisdom during the S.H.I.A. crisis,¡± Fault began, bringing an awkward smile to Elvera¡¯s face. ¡°She criticised my cabinet. Words I probably should¡¯ve listened to more. Who knew no one could get it as right as the dictator¡¯s daughter?¡± The Prime Minister bit her lip and reached for her jacket, facing the wall as she pulled it over her shoulders. ¡°She could see my cabinet for what it was. I did my best to be totally benevolent but¡­I don¡¯t know. Soon enough I found myself trying to scrounge together enough resources to fight off terrorists. Half the time they were already bent, from the cops to the bureaucrats.¡± She straightened her collar, turning around. ¡°Sorry¡­I think I¡¯ve trained myself to talk more freely with outsiders than I should. A testament to my efforts in Sidos, the fact that I can trust you more than anyone in this building. So¡ª¡± ¡°And as the Dictator¡¯s colleague,¡± Elvera began, interrupting the Prime Minister¡¯s downward spiral. ¡°As his daughter¡¯s godmother, as his wife¡¯s closest friend, I cannot say I will know how you will go down in the history books. All I know is that some parts will be buried.¡± Elvera straightened her posture and delivered a Sidosian salute, one that Percy Hardridge had taught her years before in the early hours of the morning. One of many moments that made up a now blurry recollection of after-parties and black-tie events that would die with her. ¡°And I don¡¯t believe the good you did for this country will be buried. Your methods will be criticised, your character speculated, surely assassinated in the coming weeks.¡± She recalled the astonishment on Elliot¡¯s face as he walked into Sidos Town Square, Evalyn¡¯s monthly update on the childhood stores she was too nervous to enter. Coats of paint allowed to age, brightly coloured signs pointing down streets that were still going to be there next week. Graffiti. Street art. Music blaring from trumpeters allowed to carve out a small space for their own in the storied, yet forever brand-new metropolis. ¡°But your predecessor gave Sidos freedom to change, you showed Sidos the value of changing. Whatever shape it turns into, that much is undeniable. Prime Minister Dalena Fault.¡± With the sound of the Sidosian Army retreating from the city came a part in the clouds. The grey that defined the city¡¯s walls, both literal and figurative had long since been showing their cracks. Fault had forced them open too hard and too fast, but in the long history of any one nation, only time would tell how her rule would be remembered. Fault, behind the closed doors of her once office, forgot her title and the broad shoulders that came with it, those capable of holding the weight a lone person could ever hope to match. She lowered her head, covering her mouth with her hand as her unwavering posture finally collapsed. ¡°Do you think so, Lieutenant-General?¡± ¡°Yes. Yes, I do.¡± Fault recollected herself, if only halfway, and Elvera released her salute. ¡°Thank you. That means a great deal.¡± ¡°And although she may have disagreed with you, I assure you Evalyn Hardridge is a benefactor of the country you helped create. She¡¯s protective of what she fought for thirteen years ago, so thank you for turning a blind eye to her language.¡± ¡°Certainly,¡± Fault said, collecting herself enough to look Elvera in the eye once more. ¡°The country must owe her a great deal. I wish I could apologise to her for letting it come to this.¡± ¡°She doesn¡¯t seek anything of the sort. Same as you, she just wants to put the past to rest.¡± ¡°I see¡­this must¡¯ve been a sensitive case for her then.¡± ¡°As much as she doesn¡¯t want to admit it, Ma¡¯am.¡± ¡°¡­well. Perhaps she and I can watch what happens to Sidos next. Although she might intervene if she doesn¡¯t like where it¡¯s going.¡± ¡°If that were to happen, a smack across the back of her head would put her senses back into place.¡± ¡°Even if things with Vesmos turn for the worse?¡± Elvera pursed her lips, letting breath escape her nose as she took a second to think instead of speak. ¡°Geverde must re-evaluate its position. But, if she gets payment, she¡¯s free to act accordingly. I must warn you however that she is quite the expensive hire.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t doubt it,¡± Fault chuckled, but her smile slowly faded. ¡°Things are going to change very quickly from now on. S.H.I.A. will take a hint, and start doing the rounds. There¡¯ll be a scramble to see if those plans ever left the facility before it was destroyed.¡± ¡°Do you think they were?¡± ¡°The military are hardline loyalists. They dislike Vesmos more than us, let alone any other country we¡¯re at odds with. I¡¯m willing to bet it was a closely guarded secret. But¡­we shouldn¡¯t make assumptions.¡± The two shared understanding glances. Whether the military were hardline loyalists or not, an entire contingent of the 42nd and H.O.A. divisions betrayed them in service of some other entity. Where their loyalties lay was another matter entirely. ¡°I¡¯m sorry that this is what I leave you with, Marie.¡± Elvera shook her head. ¡°No hard feelings. I look forward to seeing what you do from here on.¡± ¡°I won¡¯t let you down then.¡± ¡°Feels like I haven¡¯t seen your mug in years.¡± ¡°I¡¯m starting to think I never wanted to see yours again,¡± Elliot replied, crossing his arms and scowling, one eyebrow raised as though signalling an apology. Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation. Marie walked up to the platform¡¯s edge, flying under the radar of the other pilots absorbed in their discourse. She placed her briefcase down beside her and grabbed Elliot by his shoulders. Hanging her head, she spoke. ¡°I am very, very sorry Elly I promise I won¡¯t make you go through whatever you went through again.¡± ¡°Promise?¡± ¡°Promise.¡± ¡°And you¡¯ll promise to listen to me next time I tell you something is clearly a bad idea.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t promise that. You¡¯re wrong half the time¡ª¡± ¡°Hey!¡± ¡°I promise that I¡¯ll listen to you next time. Happy?¡± ¡°Never.¡± Marie sighed through her weak smile as her weighty eyes met his. She ruffled his hair before pulling him into a hug. ¡°I take it you didn¡¯t make any new friends.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t like how you can say something so cruel so easily,¡± he answered, returning the gesture. Elliot wanted to be mad: if not mad then as petty as possible. But he couldn¡¯t help feeling some relief at seeing a familiar face, especially one he could trust. Hauling his head out of the clouds over the years had made him more approachable, but he¡¯d kept his borders. It was thanks to a keen memory he even remembered any of the other pilots¡¯ names. Marie stuck around¡ªwhether by choice or by familial obligation¡ªlong enough for him to care about seeing her after returning from a flight. She was still around. The world had some semblance of stability. ¡°I uh¡­missed you. Marie.¡± ¡°What¡¯s gotten into you, huh?¡± She pulled away, and Elliot watched as her eyebrows furrowed and her smile drooped. ¡°Hey, Elliot? What happened?¡± Elliot¡¯s vision began to lose focus, the lines between Marie¡¯s figure and the morning foot traffic blurring ever so slightly. ¡°Was almost KIA¡­this wasn¡¯t, you know, by a hair¡¯s breadth. I know what that feels like real well and I know that won¡¯t kill me. But¡­.¡± Marie held his head against her shoulder, hiding his tears before they made it down his face. She knew what soldiers were like; what the uniform meant. In their own way, between two like minds, it was a mercy. ¡°I saw down that bastard¡¯s barrel, Marie,¡± Elliot said. ¡°I saw those two without me, and I thought, ¡®all this for some selfish morons.¡¯¡± ¡°All that for people who owe you their livelihoods, Elliot. Right behind you is a town square full of people who wouldn¡¯t be there next week if it weren¡¯t for what you did.¡± ¡°And what if I said I couldn¡¯t care less?¡± ¡°You know that isn¡¯t true Elliot.¡± ¡°All I know...is that I almost died for people I don¡¯t care about, Marie. I¡¯m getting slower, and I¡¯ve got things to come home to.¡± ¡°You and Evalyn made a promise, didn¡¯t you? You¡¯d watch her back, she¡¯d watch yours.¡± A train whistle blared nearby as the laboured motions of a steam engine approached. ¡°You don¡¯t feel invincible anymore Elliot, I know that. Welcome to planet Earth, hey? You did well. Better than anyone could¡¯ve asked for.¡± She pushed him back, forcing him onto his own two feet, a thin smile stretched across her lip. She was tired. He¡¯d picked the worst time to start the waterworks, but he couldn¡¯t help it. ¡°There¡¯s a twenty-year-old you who made a promise to his wife and the people he stopped a war for. You kept it. Now, I understand if you want to throw in the towel for real, but I don¡¯t want you of all people to lose confidence in yourself. You¡¯re a stuck-up prick and I like it that way.¡± Elliot hung his head, the good of the message fighting against the bad that came with knowing he needed it in the first place. ¡°You¡¯ll never let me off without a hit in?¡± ¡°Till hell freezes over, kid. You see these eyes? I¡¯ve already had to career counsel one person today on three hours of sleep.¡± ¡°Who was that?¡± Elliot asked as the train pulled into the station and the scattered movements of commuters morphed into a homogenous flow towards the carriage doors. ¡°Long story,¡± Marie scoffed, picking up her briefcase. ¡°The whole family has a debrief waiting for them. Better told over a drink and some more damn sleep.¡± A Witch like her had less leeway in a city like Excala. The protest had been the perfect opportunity: her Aether draw was low, but not completely zero. Committing a crime¡ªeven under the cover of invisibility¡ªwouldn¡¯t go very far if a Beak was given more than a few seconds to focus on her. It was death if she was caught. Queen Amestris herself had stressed the point ad nauseum, all while Colte insisted it was as good of a deal as she could hope for. He was right. But that made it all the more crushing. Main Street¡¯s bustle faded into obscurity. The briefcase in her off-hand was weighing too heavy to bear. Down a residential street in a corner of the city twice removed from its beating heart, Trysha, for the first time that day, saw no faces. Sheer walls hid a tapestry of personal lives and stories under an infinite wallpaper of an all-equalising sky. She was to be just another brick in the wall, another unremarkable note, a stitch in the tapestry, the same as untold millions. That was her final mission decreed onto her by the state of Geverde. She¡¯d have to grow out her hair at the very least, augment her features slightly with makeup or magic. Letting go of her name was a given. Things that, until she was to part with them, she never realised she was particularly attached to. Her name was more than a set of syllables, her face more than a mishmash of moulded shapes: they were the title and cover art to a book she¡¯d been forced to stop writing part-way. She should¡¯ve been happy, but being happy was exactly what she¡¯d tried the last time she¡¯d played pretend. Men in uniform had kicked down the door to her pillow fort, and there the dream had ended, with little fanfare or sympathy. If there had been applause, she hadn¡¯t stuck around for it. Colte¡¯s tired smile had proven something more than that. Something that, if given to her when she was still young, could¡¯ve taken her life in a different direction. Now, it was nothing more than a sympathy; a hope towards the pillow fort holding the second time around. The new pillow fort was named ¡®Room 15, 26 Janeview Street, Roukland¡¯. Brick and mortar, one bedroom, one bathroom, and a view that required a healthy dose of imagination. It wasn¡¯t a cupboard, but social housing had its limits. Like the beginning of a board game, the idea was she was meant to go up from there. Fresh start. Colte had recommended university. Make use of a government program, boost employability. Frankly, he spoke in tongues, but Trysha found it hard to hate. It was her faith in the idea that kept her from setting foot through the door. A set of keys had been jangling in her free hand her entire journey, their rattle bouncing around in her head as she followed them like compass needles. They¡¯d dragged her most of the way but had lost their magic as she¡¯d come to the door. Beyond the fading blue threshold were another few flights of stairs, not to mention another door. But it was the one before her that loomed the largest; the point the sky disappeared and the tapestry of ordinary lives no longer presented itself to her as something wholly detached, but as something she was just another stitch in. Just another stitch¡ªa few frays different from the next. Nothing in comparison to the past life she couldn¡¯t find pride in. Her black dress shoes lined up one step removed from the blue door was where she stopped and stood. The briefcase weighed on her arm, but it had grown numb given enough time. The sun¡¯s rays ate at her exposed neck, leaving a mark knowing what she intended to do with her hair. The urge to run away and try again in a few hours tempted her, filling the space the jangling keys had occupied until a moment ago. The door opened. ¡°Oh, hello,¡± a woman said, an excitable Spirit whizzing past Trysha¡¯s head the moment the was open. ¡°Sorry about him,¡± came the polite apology, ¡°he gets excited.¡± The ¡®he¡¯ in question circled her head, its oval wingspan pulsing in alternating shades of mellow green as a head extended out of the main body like a protruding antenna, eyes and mouth reminiscent of a toddler¡¯s crayon drawing. They left before she could get a word in¡ªa brief stutter being about all she could manage before they were off on their way again, paying her no heed. No heed, because she didn¡¯t deserve any. That woman may have wondered for a second if she was a new tenant. A second. The longest a complete stranger had acknowledged her for, and yet it was still totally insignificant. She was just another person. She¡¯d been given permission to be such. But the reversal of that could come in an instant. That thought still weighed on her two dress shoes like cinder blocks, stopping her from lifting them over the edge. The keys refused to jangle in her head again. Maybe tomorrow. Maybe tomorrow they¡¯d carry her over and into the tapestry. The two dress shoes turned to face the other direction. And they stopped, unable to leave the same step they¡¯d reached. The Spirit that had taken a passing interest in her had decided to next bother a man in his late twenties, with features too young for his age, hair parted down the middle after he¡¯d been told his comb-over wasn¡¯t doing him any favours, and circular glasses clouding from the moisture in his tears. The keys started to jangle, pointing not at her new house but at him, at the other resident who had made the pillow fort home. The man who¡¯d never thought of his life with her as something meant to be ridiculed as fake, had seen her life behind society¡¯s curtain and had called it on its worthlessness. The man who had given her permission to be human. To feel human. ¡°Damian?¡± ¡°Who else?¡± ¡°Stop.¡± ¡°Never.¡± ¡°Please¡­.¡± ¡°No.¡± ¡°Please¡ª¡± He muffled her next words with his chest and pulled her so close neither of them would ever forget the feeling. The keys ceased their rattling, and the main street just beyond the block faintly played a tune to welcome another unremarkable life to a long, long tapestry of souls who simply lived day by day. Chapter 29 part 2: We Dont Forget One more errand. One long in the making, too. Provenance tested the reliability of his Geverdian network¡ªwhich he¡¯d admittedly neglected for far too long¡ªand found that as stiff and rusted as they were, they¡¯d still paid off. With the privileges Geverdian Wizards and Witches enjoyed, not many ever found a need to turn to him for help. But between the few that did and the foreign hired help, they¡¯d found and placed an address into Provenance¡¯s mailbox the night before. It was a few words scrawled on a white napkin; he watched the bleached paper curl under his lighter''s naked flame. The address pointed him towards the northern outskirts of the city and to the doorstep of one of the Royal Excalan Hospital¡¯s satellite facilities. Being an intermediary between small clinics and the country¡¯s largest medical site, Burring Road Royal Hospital handled rural cases not severe enough to warrant the attention of the capital, but too pressing to be left to a general practitioner. And, seeing as it had taken the premises from a weapons factory that rose with the Aether and Diesel war and subsequently died with it, there were a plethora of unused buildings and annexes. Some, as of late, had woken up from their stupor and been given new light. No official signage, and no locals were being admitted to the newly appointed real estate. If Trysha hadn¡¯t been so busy, he would¡¯ve asked her to visit the place, but an old benefactor from years past had taken the role instead. From what they could determine, the ward was active, and nurses were moving in and out of the premises handling Aetherological equipment. Not a solid lead¡ªhalf-set concrete at best¡ªbut enough to warrant an investigation. Being a satellite hospital, clear roadworks and public transport easily connected it to the city. Shuttle buses ferried passengers between the two facilities: mostly doctors and hospital staff. Roughly half an hour of watching the Excalan skyline shrink into the ground brought him to the hospital premises, separated from small pockets of residential housing by fields of ripening cereal crops. Relatively quiet for a hospital; several cars, mostly small farming trucks parked outside the front door was the only sign of human habitation he could spot. Provenance was face-to-face with the main building: several storeys tall, with windows carved into ageing white concrete. Sterile, he was sure, but a place that had seen better days. To his left were a set of annexes, three in total and not much more than what looked to have once been elongated cabins. Wartime measures would¡¯ve required workers to live on-site. No barbed wire fences or outward security¡ªeither a sign of subtlety or that there really was nothing deeper going on. Provenance made for the annexes first, crossing the parking lot and stepping onto the gravel pathway leading away from the main building. He climbed the small wooden staircase leading up to a fading green door and wrapped his knuckles against it, to which an answer came almost immediately. ¡°Excuse me, sir,¡± a guard said, head to toe in army green and fielding a standard-issue wood-stock rifle, ¡°this area isn¡¯t open to the public.¡± ¡°I¡¯m allowed to be here,¡± Provenance insisted the moment the guard¡¯s eyes met with his. ¡°My apologies sir,¡± the guard said, stepping out of provenance¡¯s way, but Provenance didn¡¯t take him up on the gesture. ¡°Would you know where the head of the Mallorine family is?¡± ¡°No.¡± ¡°Could you ask one of the nurses, please?¡± ¡°Yes, sir.¡± The guard stormed off, and after a few minutes returned with a nurse. ¡°I¡¯m sorry sir, we don¡¯t allow members of the public to enter these premises.¡± ¡°I have permission. Would you know where Mr Mallorine is being held at the moment?¡± ¡°Yes sir, right this way,¡± the nurse answered, directing him to the cabin furthest from the road. Tucked away under the main building¡¯s shadow, the annexe was smaller than its contemporaries, older too. The nurse led him up the stairs and through the front door where she paused, and pointed. ¡°Over there, sir.¡± ¡°Thank you. Could you leave us alone?¡± ¡°Certainly, sir,¡± the woman said, bowing at a slight angle before turning around and leaving Provenance as the sole human in the room. Twenty beds in total by a quick estimate; all incapacitated, but their physiological instincts still weakly pulled at the Aether around them. Bags of concentrated Aether flowed through small tubes and into lances speared into their necks, but the measure was likely a preservative nature than anything restorative. Their masks laid atop each of their bedside tables. Provenance always likened Beaks without masks to humans without heads. It was a human-centric view of the matter¡ªBeaks could differentiate one another just fine without man-made implements, but Provenance struggled to see his surroundings as anything other than a mass of headless cadavers. Just bodies, like carcasses in an industrial FrostBox. Mallorine¡¯s was in no better shape. Being so close to the centre of things, Provenance wouldn¡¯t have been shocked if he¡¯d heard the man hadn¡¯t made it out alive. Not that being in such a state was so far removed. Provenance approached his bedside table and stood by the dresser. There being no chairs, he felt rather like a harbinger of death, his shoulders casting a long shadow over the faceless patient. Provenance took a handkerchief from his pocket and, using it to mask his touch, picked up Mallorine¡¯s mask. Ornate and decorated, more an item of jewellery than any tool. Flipping it over, the voice box was still intact, yet he doubted its functionality. Enough Aether to comatose a Beak would destroy fifty such devices. He looked over to Mallorine, placing the mask back where he found it. ¡°I¡¯m sorry sir. This isn¡¯t as luxurious as your tastes must call for,¡± he said, reaching into his jacket and producing a plain mask. There was no voice box attached to the inside as had been the case for centuries, the words instead forming on the mask like ink in water. He placed it on Mallorine¡¯s head.If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it. ¡°Could you tell me about the day you summoned the Spirit of Spirits?¡± Provenance waited, but no answer came. He couldn¡¯t make someone do what they couldn¡¯t. Seeing Mallorine in that state should¡¯ve told him from the onset to pack his bags and try his luck again somewhere else. ¡°Did Caynes tell you anything about the Spirit of Destruction?¡± Still, no answer came. The mask was left a blank canvas. ¡°Any feat of magic you couldn¡¯t believe? Anything that felt even greater than the Spirit of Spirits?¡± Nothing. ¡°...Tetrica...the one who manipulates worldly matter and Aether,¡± he said, reciting verbatim from the Resonances. ¡°The God so used by our hubris it disappeared from our world. The God that condemned us to our own slow rot. The only one who can save us from it.¡± The smell of dust clung to the hairs of his nose. Sunlight peered through the window, warming the sleeve of his black suit in a rectangular ray. Over the minutes, it fell onto Mallorine¡¯s mask, illuminating nothing. Provenance held in his scowl. By another feat of recklessness, his second, final source of information had been snuffed out. Well and truly snuffed out. He reached for the mask¡ª Witch. Five letters, and a full stop to denote that Mallorine had nothing more to say. Whether that be out of genuine ignorance or not, whether the word itself meant nothing at all. To trust a man robbed of almost all conscience in the first place was dubious but¡­ ¡°A Witch?¡± Mallorine spoke no further. ¡°You¡¯re¡ªthank¡­you¡­.¡± Provenance¡¯s fingers gently reached for the underside of the mask, when another word appeared in place of the one before. Daughter. ¡°...As far as public media knows, she is alive and well,¡± Provenance said, relaying only what he could. It was sincerely all he knew. ¡°Whether that was what you wanted or not, I do not know.¡± He lifted the mask off Mallorine¡¯s face and turned to leave, tucking the instrument away in his jacket. The smell of black coffee so ingrained in his head came to mind, but considering his mood, tea felt like the safer alternative. No milk. That experiment hadn¡¯t been to his liking after all. ¡°Have you found the Provenance yet?¡± Marie asked, pointing her question away from Evalyn and towards Colte. ¡°Nothing on him at the moment. Haven¡¯t really at the time to look. I had to sort out Trysha¡¯s entire debacle. Poor girl¡­at least we could find her husband.¡± ¡°Finding the child did feel like a bit of a stretch,¡± Marie agreed, ¡°but it was worth a shot.¡± ¡°Maybe it¡¯s better off we don¡¯t know,¡± Evalyn said, speaking over the two of them as she put her glass on the table. ¡°Now, no more work talk. Elliot¡¯s probably done with lunch soon.¡± She¡¯d managed to fix everyone''s refreshments in the meantime; that much her head butler had urged her to learn lest she was married off on short notice. His foresight hadn''t been entirely wrong, but he would¡¯ve never suspected she¡¯d be the useless of the pair at housework. ¡°Say, Evalyn,¡± Colte asked, leaning over. The old man, his clothes still smelling like ash had plonked himself down on a seat atop the veranda as though it was his own house, barely noticing the congregation grow off him like a salt crystal in water. He pointed at a trio of children across the table, one carrying a conversation all by herself while the other two looked too dense to realise her service. ¡°When did they get here?¡± ¡°Lunch. Crestana¡¯s still home alone until the end of the week, and Alis is technically our new neighbour. You,¡± she exclaimed, kicking the back of his chair, ¡°are the uninvited one.¡± Evalyn smirked as Colte grumbled to himself, and the noise outside followed her into the house through the open glass frames. Elliot had suggested the idea of a fancier lunch than usual himself, but the number of guests to entertain probably hadn¡¯t been accounted for when he¡¯d said it. ¡°Need any help?¡± she asked, circling the kitchen counter and catching him from behind. ¡°No, I kept it simple. Looks more gourmet than it is,¡± he said, looking at the spread arranged on a mismatched set of plates. ¡°Got some things heating up in the oven, but if you could bring these to the table¡ª¡± ¡°Aye aye, captain,¡± Evalyn sighed into his shoulder, squeezing him tighter. ¡°I missed you.¡± ¡°Me too darling.¡± Evalyn frowned. He felt the same, the food looked as good as it always did. ¡°What¡¯s wrong?¡± she asked. ¡°I can hear it in your voice.¡± ¡°Nothing important,¡± Elliot said, pressing his lips together in a half-smile. ¡°It can wait until tonight. I need this to stay as it is right now.¡± Evalyn watched her husband¡¯s hands continue to work. She¡¯d had a reconciliation of sorts with Iris, but Elliot hadn¡¯t. An enthusiastic reunion at the train station counted for something, but nothing had been talked through. Maybe that¡¯s all it was about. She hoped so. Being his anchor had become a crowning achievement in her life, but Evalyn recognised that it could slip out of the crown¡¯s fitting at any point. She¡¯d become an adult since marrying him, but was still more susceptible to nerves than he was. Out of her periphery, she caught Marie and Iris making a spectacular pair of ''ew'' faces, all while pointing in her direction. The marking on Evalyn''s cheek shone, and they both jumped out of their chairs, scattering like a flock of birds. Evalyn caught both of them with spindly limbs, binding their arms and targeting their weak spots. Marie hated anything touching her flanks, Iris couldn¡¯t stand the back of her neck. ¡°That¡¯s enough methinks,¡± Elliot said once Evalyn confirmed tears were rolling down both the offenders¡¯ cheeks. ¡°Bring those back here and carry the plates,¡± he said, taking two plates himself. ¡°What about whatever¡¯s in the oven?¡± ¡°¡­yeah. Should be ready.¡± Evalyn simply smiled, extending more spindly limbs to carry every item the short distance. She herself didn¡¯t take any steps forward, instead leaning on the counter as one by one, someone by the table took a plate and found a place to put it. One, two, three, four, five, six, and seven including her. Certainly seemed like it should¡¯ve been dysfunctional, but it held together. Bad things had brought good people together. If she could pick and choose, she¡¯d have liked to say ¡®good¡¯ twice in that sentence. But pick and choose she couldn¡¯t. Having any of it in the first place was a miracle. Meeting that woman they called Trysha had reminded her just how lucky she had been to that point. A pleasant breeze, good weather and even better company weren¡¯t going to make her forget. Each of them was in a different state. The three young ones were putting on brave faces; to the adults, it had become natural. Right now was a time for brave faces, though, in the hopes of not being the one to spoil it for everyone else. Finding the fun amongst that was the challenge. She sighed, and the golden glow in her marking faded. In her absent-mindedness, Iris had slipped into her blind spot, appearing at her waist like a small ghost. ¡°Hi honey,¡± Evalyn said, wrapping her arm around the girl¡¯s shoulders. ¡°You coming?¡± she asked. ¡°Yeah. Yeah, just taking my time.¡± ¡°Why?¡± ¡°I don¡¯t know. Thinking.¡± ¡°Oh,¡± her daughter said. It had taken her a few years, but she¡¯d caught onto the fact that ¡®thinking¡¯ was usually filler for something not entirely explainable. She was learning, bit by bit. ¡°You having fun?¡± Evalyn asked, and Iris nodded. ¡°It feels wrong to forget, though.¡± ¡°Forget what?¡± ¡°Forget what I did that night.¡± Evalyn squeezed her shoulder. The wind carried the noise from outside in. Perhaps it was just her imagination, but she couldn¡¯t recall it working the other way around. ¡°We don¡¯t forget,¡± Evalyn said. ¡°Me, you, Colte, Marie, Alis too. We don¡¯t ¡®forget¡¯, but we can¡¯t afford to focus on it forever. Sometimes it might not feel like it, and other times you might not feel like you deserve it, but the world has to keep spinning, and you have to keep going along with it.¡± It felt almost cruel how the world kept going even after someone died and how appropriate it felt to do nothing but mourn, yet realise one was still human. Hunger and thirst didn¡¯t wait; bills and work would only handhold you so long, and the moment material urges kicked in once more¡ªwhether that be for things or for people¡ªit felt downright horrible. But the way it kept spinning meant that¡ªfor someone in their line of work¡ªsomeone would be out for their life next. ¡°Let¡¯s talk about it more later, all right? You¡¯ll make your Dad upset if you don¡¯t eat anything.¡± ¡°Okay,¡± Iris said. ¡°And¡­you hid them, didn¡¯t you?¡± Evalyn pressed her lips together and nodded. ¡°Yes. They¡¯re locked away in my office, I promise.¡± The little girl nodded, shuffling off to join the others. It had been hard to conceal that night; the researchers in the facility had elaborated far beyond the original manila folder¡¯s worth of information. She¡¯d taken them all off the wall, Iris burning the rest with a clap of thunder that had left Evalyn in shock before they¡¯d made their escape. Now they lived in a box in her archive: the deal was that if word returned to Excala that the original plans had somehow escaped, or convergent evolution saw the technology appear somewhere else in the world, she¡¯d leave the box on a bureaucrat¡¯s desk, and leave the rest up to the Council. Evalyn had come to an uneasy treaty with her daughter, neither being entirely happy with the conditions. But the girl had learnt to shoot lightning out of her pet¡¯s mouth. Even as her mother, she wasn¡¯t prepared to challenge that. Even though for everyone¡¯s sake, that was something that needed rectifying soon. Who else would put her in her place the next time she skips a class? ¡°Evalyn! Food¡¯ll get cold!¡± ¡°Yeah, yeah!¡± Interlude: Thirteen "Thirteenth? Doesn''t matter what I got, this is your birthday." "You want ideas? Iris, darling, that''s not how birthday gifting works...well, no, I only asked you so I could buy you something you''d like." "Fine. All right then. Well, it''s been a while. They all started to blend together by then." "No, I remember the ones from Elliot. He''s got strange tastes, but thought goes into them, y''know? The ones I got from my father were all cosmetics. Jewellery or dresses." "Not at all. Anyone else would''ve killed for some of those things. Real ''heirloom stuff''. That''s what Elly called them, said that every middle-class family had something like that, usually from a great-grandma or other, and it''d get passed down from daughter to daughter. But to me, they were just cosmetics. I didn''t tell him that, though." "At least they weren''t consumables." "...yeah, you''re right. Thirteenth is the big one...follow me." "I need to get Elliot to oil this hinge...well you know how I dress, I only open this cupboard a few times a year." "Ah, yeah, here it is. Told me he hid them with the passports...that should be all of them, now let''s see." "The velvet''s worn...do you know if there''s a jewellery store nearby?" "No? Thought not. Wouldn''t know if they sold the cases separately. Ah, yeah. It''s probably these." "Emerald and silver. Gosh, it''s clouded. I''ll have to get that polished. Hm? Yeah. I remember getting this when I was thirteen. Stands out against my hair, so for earrings, I''d say it''s of good taste. Would''ve been nicer if I had green eyes. It''s why I only wear gold now." "You? Are you much for jewellery? We''d have to get your ears pierced. No, better to get them done by someone; I doubt you could finesse a hole that small into your earlobe." "Silver, I''d say. Silver, diamond. They''d go well with your hair, but if you wanted something to match your eyes..." "Yeah, there we go. Do you want these? They''re called amethyst. No, I''d never wear them. I don''t know who thought it was a good idea to give them to me. Purple isn''t my colour at all." "No, of course not. We''ll get you something new for your present. Keep thinking, but whatever you decide on, make sure it''s something you''ll find valuable, all right? You yourself."Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings. "Money." "...what? I appreciated it all the same." "Spend it? No, I saved it." "Don''t give your own Dad that look. I''m sure it was well spent eventually." "I don''t know. By the time I was thirteen, I''d been telling my parents I didn''t want anything for years, so I guess they just gave up. I don''t blame them, either. I''d do the same if you turned out like that." "Come on honey it''d be your own fault." "But I guess you''ve got an income so giving you money wouldn''t work..." "But this is about you, not Evalyn. Ideas? That''s not how gifts work...you know what? Nevermind." "That girl''s quite obvious. She likes to complain, so it''s easy to read what she wants. The year before you came, I took her on a holiday overseas ''cus she''d been complaining for months how sick of the city she was." "Nah. Besides her, Marie, and my parents, there aren''t too many people I give gifts to. There''s boys from my hometown I keep in touch with, but as long as I''m there for a pint and a chat, they don''t really mind if I come empty-handed or not." "Oh, there was one. I gave a girl a gift for her birthday back in high school. I think it was a scarf and a bouquet." "I thought I liked her. Looking back, I think it was one way between us, and I reciprocated just because I thought ''Why the hell not?'', which in hindsight is a horrible thing to do. No, haven''t seen her since. I think she works at the bakery now." "That year? That year Evalyn got me an entire suit. I know! Came with a wrist watch too. Said she was sick of me renting one every time we had a dinner to go to." "No. I think she just needed to phrase it like that or else she''d get too embarrassed." "The wristwatch? Ah, yeah. There''s a story behind it but it''s something we keep between us two." "One day. Not today though. But keep thinking of ideas. I don''t feel like I was too helpful, though." "I guess, it doesn''t have to be anything beautiful or fancy or other. If you want something boring because it''ll help you out in your day-to-day, then we''d happily get it for you. There''s plenty of beautiful things with no use to them, but the reverse shows that they care about you." "Father bought me my first handgun. Strange, right? But what do you expect from a family where everyone''s gone through boot camp?" "Carto ''87 standard issue. A little nicer than the service pistol at the time. But it used the same rounds as everyone else in the house, so it was easy to train with." "I liked it. Used it a lot until I entered service. Being an officer, you''ve got to use what they give you, and by the time I was senior enough to carry something to my own tastes, it just didn''t hold up like it used to." "Yeah, it''s still around. Would feel like I''ve lost some sort of connection to the Elvera household if I didn''t keep it. Well maintained too, if I say so myself. Hasn''t been fired in forever." "No, I guess there isn''t much point to a gun you don''t fire, but I guess it''s not about that. Like I said, it''s like...a part of me, in a weird way. Wouldn''t feel connected to the family without it." "No. Not often. Not out of bad relations or anything, but we live far apart, took different paths in life. I was the eldest, so as long as I became an officer, my younger siblings could do what they liked. Even then, I''m pretty sure we all still held onto our first handguns." "Yeah. Sentimentality. Hm? Oh. Strong emotions. Usually tender or nostalgic. If you feel sentimental towards something, you feel...well, tender and nostalgic towards it. In my handgun''s case, it''s the memories behind that, though. What it represents." "You sure? How many people have you asked today? Oh...well, keep trying. See what comes of it." Interlude: Thirteen II "Thirteen? Let me see...well, our family didn''t do presents at that age much." "Our mother would make us our favourite food, and our father would give us some money to spend. Yeah. It''s not tradition to give us many gifts until we reach Fifteen. If we survived the ceremony, of course." "About half? That''s on average, though. I had five siblings, and only two of us made it." "Of course. Mother was in tears about it for months; I don''t even want to think about how my father dealt with it. But...everyone knew what they were getting into. Both of them had watched their siblings die." "Sorry. Bit dark. Okay, fifteen then. It was a pipe. No not that one. It''s symbolic, so I don''t use it." "She does, eh? I''ve never seen that handgun. Guess she has no reason to show it to me...but yes, I would say it''s similar to Marie''s handgun." "They made sure it was beautiful, I can say that much. I don''t even let my hands touch it without a glove. Terrified it''ll rust if a little grease gets on them." "I''ve grown to appreciate it since. It''s the start of...all of this, I suppose. But at the time I''d just lost four members of my family, so it went over my head." "No, no I don''t mind. I just figured you never asked because you didn''t want to know." "The Spirit of Hell judges us during the ritual. He looks at us, then at the worth our lives will hold. If we''ll go on to do important things, then he gives us magic. If not, he lets us die." "I don''t know yet. I don''t think I''ll ever know why it was me until I die and see him again. But I''ve had ideas." "When Evalyn first opened her Mind Palace, I thought, ''This is it''. That was what I was kept alive to do. To train her. But then you came along, and it changed my outlook." "No, Evalyn will always be my magnum opus in a strange way, but I think you being hers is what really mattered. Don''t tell her I said that, she might get butthurt." "All right, back to presents...no? You''re sure? Sorry for rambling. All right, where are you calling from? Ah, say hello to your mother and father for me when you get back, all right? Jolly. See you soon. Bye." "Was that Mr Colte? What did you talk about?"If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it. "Present? Ah, that''s right, I still haven''t gotten around to it. What do you want?" "...what reason was there to ask Mr Colte about that? Me? Why me? I''ve got no say in your tastes." "Ah, right. That is very much in line with your character, Iris. Very much in line." "Do you really want to ask me of all people? Fine...but you''ve asked Mrs Hardridge, haven''t you? I''d wager it''s much the same." "Yes, that sort of thing, but our equivalents. Some gemstones and cosmetics you see around Excala are from Beak culture. It''s a give-and-take, so the line in the sand, as far as aesthetics are concerned, has long since blurred. It was another one of those things my family hated." "Me? Well...I never came of age in time, so unless my Aunt feels comfortable stepping in, I doubt I''ll ever be able to tell you...." "No, no, it''s okay. It''s...a bit tender, but we won''t get anywhere if I forbid you from talking about it forever. Come here, next to me." "The last thing I got was a brooch...well, not exactly. A good modern gift is a pretty mask, right? Women especially get ornate masks, but no matter what kind of Beak you are, you''ll always get some kind of brooch eventually." "Oh. I only say ''brooch'' because that''s how most Beaks wear them nowadays, but they''re usually carved stones or gems, sometimes with a great deal of metalwork. Fashion changes with time, but each one is unique." "We used to be just shadows, remember? Before we started mimicking humans and wearing Masks, that was the only way we could identify each other besides names. Mine is Garnet, caged in carved wood." "No, I don''t...I want to say it''s because I''m afraid of damaging the wood but...it''s because my mother gave it to me. Have a hard time looking at it." "Yeah. Maybe you''re right...oh, advice? Try not to fret over it, all right? If you start weighing up the pros and cons, it''ll cease to be something your heart is set on. Don''t follow your first instinct, but...follow your heart." "Ask for leave." "What? Leave. Days off." "Holiday? I guess. We never referred to it like that. Distinction without a difference, though." "Of course you can. I don''t remember anyone ever deciding a present had to be a material object. It can be an experience or an act of service." "It might depend on tradition, yes. But I''ve seen cruises and holidays advertised as gifts for loved ones in the paper. That reminds me..." "Every year, the Emperor and Empress of Vesmos have their birthdays, and their gifts to each other always make the front cover." "Inspiration? I don''t think your parents are quite that rich. Stuff like tailored clothes that could buy you an entire city block, or art from hundreds of years ago...and experiences usually as an aside. Going to island resorts or renting out cruise ships. Things like that. They''re not really spoken of in the same breath as a ''gift'', but I can''t think of how they differ." "I guess you could. I suspect your parents are going to take you out to dinner. Somewhere nicer than usual. They do that, don''t they?" "See? That''s still a gift. What have they been doing up until now?" "Ah. I see. Well, I''m sure if Mrs Hardridge had had the time to think on it, she would''ve come up with something." "Hm? Oh, I guess so. But asking someone else for an expensive meal takes a bit of the fun out of it for me. Knowing you worked for a good meal is a garnish in and of itself." "No. I guess you''re right. I''m not sure then. I may be in the same boat as you. But I''m sure I''ll think of something if anyone ever wants to get me a gift. Even if it''s just a favour." "You? Hm. Asking you to come with me to dinner would be nice." "It''s not boring." Interlude: Thirteen III "What''s on your mind? Still that?" "It''s all right if you''re thinking so hard about it, Elly and I can think of something. I just wanted to make sure we weren''t getting you something you didn''t want, you know?" "...yeah, that''s a lot of different things. Well we don''t have family traditions like Colte or Marie or Crestana...yeah, Elliot was right about that one too. I guess that leaves Alis''s idea. It''s not bad; I don''t mind it." "Yeah, of course. I don''t know how much leave Elliot has accrued, but he can always spare the weekend. Maybe we go somewhere together as the three of us, and you and I stay behind for a few more days? How about that?" "Well, that''s up to you too. Elliot and I usually flip-flop between mountains or coast until we...mountains? You''re sure? It''s summer, good weather for the beach." "Yeah, I guess so. You didn''t like it last year? Oh, I see. Guess it''s hard to decide without trying both. All right. Mountains." "Oh! Do you have any interest in castles? Yeah, those. I know, I know, but if you go west they have castles like you''ve never, ever seen." "They''re so big. Huge things that have seen dozens of battles. A lot of them are well-preserved too." "Yeah, and all the villages have stayed the same for hundreds of years. They hold battle re-enactments every few months."This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it "Yeah, yeah, yeah! They''re part of these medieval festivals. Less and less about killing Spirits the further west you go, but I digress. They sell medieval food and clothes and armour and weapons...you want a sword?" "And armour too?" "Why? I''m asking because I don''t like the grin on your face." "Crestana isn''t going to spar you if you''re using a sharp sword. You''re using fencing gear like I told you, right?" "I guess...just the helmet? Yeah, I''m sure they sell it separately, but...neck down in fencing gear...okay?" "No, no, no. It''s your birthday, suit yourself. Just make sure the sword is a good one, all right?" "Like, good quality. Make sure it''s pretty too, like those ones with swirly handguards." "A sabre? Those are too modern. I mean, I''m sure you can find nice ones, but Crestana does longsword fencing, right? Yeah, well...you do use knives against her, poor girl." "Don''t decide now. The type of sword''ll depend on where we end up going." "Yeah, but wherever we go might have something unique to the region. Mhm, makes for better memorabilia too." "Let''s wait for Elliot to come home. He''ll have some opinions of his own. But...you sure?" "I mean, it''s a lot considering what happened recently. No no, it''s completely fine, I just don''t want to tire you out." "...yeah. Yeah, I understand. Feels good even for a week, I know." "No, I don''t think so...but, but...if you end up feeling guilty about it, then that''ll waste the whole holiday. Do you think you can enjoy it if we go on one?" "Not sure? I think that''s still all right. You''ll have something to look forward to every day, all right? I won''t let you relax a single second." "Because you looked like you were having so much fun finding a gift idea. You finally got your mind off things, didn''t you?" "Mhm. Let''s keep that up. You''re thirteen now, my little teenager." Chapter 30 Part 1: From Nothing Their robotic limbs danced just as their engineers had ordered, pulleys and motors whirring softly from marker to marker as the pre-programmed animations wrapped metal fingers around large rifle bolts, pulling them back and forth with equal parts machined precision and heavy-handed force. The freer yet less meditated movements born of human input took over as each metal chassis raised a rifle to its eye and fired. Thunder and applause, again and again. Trumpets, bugles, a firing salute to the achievements of those never meant to be more than Help and Labour. Now, with their force sufficiently multiplied, their dreams were too. Not quite the soaring freedom that hope born from wings offered, but a lumbering, humble fruit of toil and turmoil. Their army would enact their goals all the same. Compacting the sand beneath their feet, the weary man watched the march of Higher Order Armour disappear beyond his vision¡¯s periphery, stifled by the rising air departing the sand. Eventually, their chassis were gone, like an oasis receding from sight. And he was left alone. Alone, with their corpses. Strewn metal, busted chassis, wires and pulleys lost heat with the setting sun while the bodies within them were spared a precious few hours of scorching sunlight before day broke again. He¡¯d been too enthralled by the dancing machines to join the survivors as they mounted cars, bikes, whatever could still run, hauling their injured and leaving their dead to the desert. He¡¯d watched the small men and women cry and shout, bustle like ants as they compiled what they could, all the while the machines swept their steel feet right past them, the ants none the wiser. Until he was all alone, watching the dunes swallow and regurgitate the bones of their collective dreams; drowning and resurfacing, smothering and setting free, over and over as though through some act of cruelty, the desert would never let them truly die. And so out there somewhere, the wandering dreams, the machines that so moved like humans, the contraptions that they had put their all into for one, final, battle¡­. The vagabonds still braved the desert, looking for a final resting place. At night, the hawks finally arrived. With mental faculties somewhat regained, he guessed they had spent the day scouring the surrounding desert for the little ants who¡¯d left in a hurry, and hoped at least the dancing machines made it safely. Torchlights zipped across the scattered debris and scrap metal terrain, the guns at the lights¡¯ fulcrums moving from one potential target to another. The weary man stayed quiet, hiding under the shade of a dead derelict, chassis hugging close enough to the sand to conceal him. The torches grew stronger, their jarring white light more intense as the troopers travelled in a single, spanning line. The weary man lay low, pressing his chest to the sand. One crunch of sand under steel-capped boots after another. Anything light enough to kick, they overturned with a strike of their foot. Other things they ducked underneath if they could be bothered. The weary man stuck his head into the sand, feigning death as the sounds approached. Closer and closer came horrid figures: a mismatch of bodies and colours and transparencies all feigning uniformity through their matching khaki overalls. Their guns were redundant; there were easier ways for a Spirit to kill a human. But pulling on a trigger certainly seemed less taxing. Fighting was out of the question. Spirits were hard to kill on even terms, let alone when outnumbered. Torchlight shined through his eyelids, the gun''s barrel searching his body for a sign of life. Save your bullets. They¡¯ll be dead by morning. The light receded, although slower than the weary man would¡¯ve liked. The crunchy footsteps likewise disappeared, and the night returned to silence. The words anchored themselves in his brain, and he replayed them over and over again. Conveyed with no voice, no tone, no intonation. As though they¡¯d appeared in his head. The weary man fell asleep, hoping those words wouldn¡¯t prove to be true. Three new doors opened, and somehow the end was becoming clearer. As though fine-tuning the focus on a lens, the number of entryways until the end of the hallway had whittled down to a final three. Three unopened doors; two on either side and one down the centre. Nothing particularly remarkable about them, besides the rabid thing sitting in the corner like a failed doorwoman, shaking and convulsing in time with the walls. With each open door, its territory had grown smaller, and like it or not, Iris was permitted a closer look. She couldn¡¯t describe it in detail, namely because she refused to ever look for that long. One new door led to the quiet city ruins, the other to the chamber of information where time and time again, the mud-soaked figure with the auburn hair would scramble his brain, and finally, the cave nestled deep in the Northern Chain. The final door was where Iris spent most of her time dreaming. Surrounded by the cold, watching as the small spark of lightning shone despite all odds, providing the child with one bit of comfort as it remained curled up, forehead to its knees, toes turning purple from frostbite. Each extremity that would die would be painfully disassembled and reassembled as new. Over and over again, until the nervous system regarded the sensation as a non-factor. After several days, a liquid blanket had cocooned the girl, spreading the spark''s light equally around the body; outside that, little else had changed. All sensations of pain, even the smallest convulsion of discomfort had stopped after a few days, and soon, it became clear that Iris¡¯s Aetherologst was mistaken; she could survive much longer than a week on purely Aether. Perhaps not comfortably, but the small child still breathed, however weak each breath was. Self-sustaining herself as a Spirit, regenerating any human aspect that failed along the way. Iris was confident she¡¯d get through winter. Her dreaming of the image in and of itself was proof she had. But that made it no less painful to watch. As the child suffered in silence, she turned her attention behind her, where her Beast guarded the open door, and another entrance lay just beyond the hallway''s bristling red carpet. ¡°Shoot,¡± she ordered, and the Beast did. Heat filled the cave and the air grew frenzied, compelled to rush through her hair by the temperature difference. She felt the tips of her fingers begin to melt, so she reformed them. But much to her disappointment, her fingers simply weren¡¯t as hardy as everything else around her. Not a scratch, not a scorch mark. Yet again, she gave up, finally dawning on her that the earlier success in brute-force tactics had been by the hallway¡¯s grace. It wasn¡¯t going to make the same mistake twice. The chattering mess of bones and flesh kept at a steady pace, and the girl before her showed no signs of an improving condition. The mountains had long since been silent, and in the depths of the mountain¡¯s cold, it was disheartening to know the snow had smothered her mother¡¯s magic. Even if it were just a recreation, witnessing what had ended the war of Aether and Diesel was an experience she cursed herself for missing out on. But time progressed linearly; one day the small child would leave the cave. She was sure of it. ¡°Tuck your elbows in. Yeah, like that. You¡¯ve got to move your body more than in fencing. Can¡¯t rely on levers.¡± Alis tapped Crestana¡¯s right shoulder, correcting her posture one joint at a time. Her extended arm, hand bawled into a fist, grew stronger with every minor alteration. The more Iris watched Crestana¡¯s movements, the more her bias towards swords became apparent. Iris had little to alter when it came to movement; knife thrusts and slashes transitioned well into strikes. It was a matter of power, of which Crestana had little. Alis had brass knuckles and a certain level of brawn, while Iris could reinforce her fist, even leave the mechanical movements of a strike entirely to an exoskeleton of sorts.If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement. ¡°This isn¡¯t going to hurt anyone, Alis,¡± she admitted, dropping the stance and straightening the sleeves of her school blazer. ¡°Lend me your knuckle dusters; it¡¯d be a different story.¡± ¡°It¡¯s still a skill you should know, and no. These are mine.¡± Crestana sighed, watching the boy clutch his brass knuckles like a priest did his prayer beads. She turned to Iris, shrugging. ¡°As long as I¡¯ve got a sword¡ª¡± ¡°You only practice longsword. Too big to carry around.¡± ¡°Yeah, but¡­fine. Knives?¡± Iris bobbed her head from side to side, propping her other foot onto the chair, and resting her chin atop her knees. ¡°Depends on what you¡¯re killing.¡± ¡°I can¡¯t carry an arsenal with me,¡± Crestana sighed, defeated. She fell back into her chair, and Alis dropped all guard, his attention beginning to wander the room. Four solid walls made entirely of books, their covers so thick they blotted out the hearty shelves they rested on. Blocks of jade, mauve, crimson and navy melded the further away she was, and eventually disappeared like a horizon, replaced with the towering, nonsensical ceilings of the East Excalan Library. Under the light of a single streetlamp springing from the wooden floorboards, Iris, at least, was filling in the time before she went home for the day. Evalyn had quit giving her lip for not coming home earlier, and in return, she¡¯d agreed to call her when she could. But as of late, she was beginning to question if it was even worth all the effort. Crestana had turned herself away from books, her magic as a Beak now the least of her problems. To replace it had sprung a sudden obsession with becoming a fighter, and Iris struggled to indulge her repetitive demands. They¡¯d outgrown her already, and Crestana had, just that day, turned to Alis. ¡°When¡¯s your Aetherologist¡¯s appointment?¡± Iris asked, mumbling through the gap in her teeth. ¡°Tomorrow. Why?¡± ¡°Mmm,¡± Iris grumbled as Alis sat at the ornate, wood-carved table that rocked gently on the uneven surface. His eyes were still on the room, as though exiting training mode had switched some sort of flip in his brain. ¡°It¡¯s a library,¡± she said. ¡°You¡¯re allowed to take one.¡± ¡°No, it¡¯s the space itself,¡± Alis replied. ¡°Do you really get used to this?¡± ¡°Eventually,¡± Crestana said, leaning on her chair, tapping her thumbs together and letting out another sigh. ¡°Why, what¡¯s so special about it? Vesmos has got to have magical buildings.¡± ¡°Yes, but¡­they¡¯re not¡­alive. Like this is.¡± Iris turned her eyes upwards, recalling the way that the space did indeed seem to breathe and change while she wasn¡¯t looking. Tony had once admitted their incessant rearranging had given guests panic attacks in the past and, considering refugees still littered the bookshelf halls, meant the EGL had lost a touch of its fervour. ¡°Life comes from the people in the room where I¡¯m from, not the room itself.¡± Lost in the world around him again. It annoyed her sometimes, but admittedly she was jealous. Being so concerned in an outward direction surely felt better than the opposite. Crestana turned to her again. ¡°Did you talk to Mrs Hardridge?¡± Iris curled further into her ball, taking a leaf from Alis¡¯s book and turning towards the bookshelves. ¡°Yeah,¡± she said into her sleeve. ¡°But it¡¯s still no.¡± Crestana sighed, shutters creasing upwards as she turned away, finally ready to tend to her homework instead. Iris had her load for the day sitting like a stench in her bag, and ignoring it didn¡¯t make it go away as she¡¯d hoped. ¡°I¡¯m taking a walk,¡± she quietly declared, timidly unfurling as Crestana gave her a nod, already halfway through a sentence. ¡°Mind if I join you?¡± Alis asked as she passed, and Iris shrugged without pausing. A shoulder-width cut of the bookshelf before them shifted backwards, and they stepped through the opening, turning right. Unable to hold it in much longer, Iris stretched her back and rolled her shoulders, waiting for the bookshelf to move back into place before she took the same liberties with her speech. ¡°I don¡¯t like this.¡± ¡°Crestana?¡± Iris nodded. ¡°And now she¡¯s asking you.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t mind. As long as she doesn¡¯t treat training like a one-and-done deal¡ª¡± ¡°I mind. I¡¯m not worried about you.¡± They rounded the corner, and the library¡¯s cramped corridors and alleyways opened up, coalescing into a ring river of water that flowed forever clockwise. An open, green hill, grass growing to ankle height swayed happily, basking in streaming light that seemed to come from some nebulous point overhead. Iris couldn¡¯t seem to look directly upward. It was a lazy technique to hide the seams in the illusion. But it was just that: lazy, and the Interior Manager of the East Excalan Library was more aware of it than anyone else. Their aether-infusion workshop sat at the apex of said hill, rotting wood planks and pillars frozen in time, pinned together with rusted nails in a similarly arrested state. The sign hanging by chain swung gently in a breeze that didn¡¯t exist. The library glade¡¯s new status as something of a public park took away from its celestial aura, but it was quaint, nonetheless. Iris stopped by the river and took off her socks and shoes. Checking up and downstream for anyone putting their mouth in the water, she stepped in... And sighed. The cold water trickling over her feet sent shivers running up and down her spine like race cars, massaging every muscle and joint along its way. She sighed again for good measure, conscious of Alis, who wasn¡¯t as privy to removing any clothing willy-nilly. ¡°I don¡¯t want her to start doing this stuff,¡± she said, frankly, although Alis had probably already gathered. ¡°There''s no reason for her to.¡± ¡°It¡¯s hard to argue with her skillset,¡± Alis suggested, crouching by the riverbank and watching it all run past. ¡°Given some training, anyone would kill to have her on a fire team.¡± ¡°That makes things worse, Alis,¡± Iris complained, splashing him with water. "Both ways make a bit of sense.¡± ¡°So, you don¡¯t want me to help her?¡± Alis asked. ¡°I won¡¯t if you don¡¯t like it.¡± She pursed her lips, grinding the smooth pebbles under her toes. ¡°Do what you want,¡± she said, stepping out of the water. ¡°I¡¯m not giving you orders.¡± Carrying her socks in her shoes, she hiked the small hill, turning to check if Alis was following. He still waited by the riverbank, hands in his pockets. ¡°What is it?¡± she asked. ¡°I can only imagine things taking a turn for the worst, Iris. What am I supposed to do then?¡± ¡°Help us make it better. What else?¡± His face had ¡®easier said than done¡¯ written all over it. If there was a better alternative, she was open to suggestions. But between the pair, they had little outside the way of brute force. That applied to more things than just combat. Alis stepped over the river, joining Iris halfway up the hill. ¡°Take your shoes off.¡± ¡°No.¡± ¡°Why?¡± ¡°I don¡¯t feel like it.¡± ¡°It feels nice.¡± ¡°I will take your word for it,¡± he said, hands still in his pockets as he walked past. She turned with him, reminding herself what was a standoffish reaction from some, was Alis¡¯s honest feelings. If he couldn¡¯t explain it, then it was a matter of intuition rather than dodging the subject. It was a trait they shared, along with their inability to properly explain it aloud. She followed behind him, arriving at what they most often used as the front counter. Four wooden posts sketched the workshop''s borders, and a waist-high workbench filled in the gaps on all four sides. It was an inviting design, easy to argue where the glade ended and the workshop began. ¡°Tony?¡± Iris called. ¡°Al?¡± With her free hand, she rang the service bell a couple of times for good measure, knowing the chances they¡¯d be sleeping on the clock were frustratingly high. ¡°Phone¡¯s that way, Iris. We gave you a key, didn¡¯t we?¡± A small, scaly neck stuck its head out from underneath the far workbench, bumping its dust-coated nose against the wood. With tired eyes, Tony looked from her, then to Alis. ¡°Oh, this whatcha racket¡¯s about?¡± they asked. ¡°Well, it¡¯s not ready yet. Give us a minute, will ya? Maybe a week. Yeah, a week sounds good.¡± ¡°I wanted a break,¡± Iris said, slumping over the counter. ¡°Where¡¯s Al?¡± ¡°With her Majesty,¡± Tony said, head slowly rising as the toolbox he sat coiled in began to float. ¡°Said it was urgent. Why, you need him?¡± ¡°No. Just looks lonely.¡± ¡°Where¡¯s your friend? Karen?¡± ¡°Studying,¡± Iris mumbled, cheek pressed against the table. The toolbox came down on the desk with a mighty clank, and Iris watched Alis take a rather blatant root around its contents. He reared back as tools began to prance around in the air. ¡°You sound as limp as your socks at the moment.¡± Iris grunted, acknowledging the sentiment but taking it no further. The librarians were considerate enough to ask, but they weren¡¯t babysitters. ¡°And what about you, big man? Still banking on these things to be ready?¡± Alis nodded. ¡°Otherwise, I¡¯m afraid it¡¯s back to square one with me.¡± Tony chuckled, waving around a chisel like a free hand. ¡°¡®s a lotta pressure,¡± he started. ¡°Do or die. Must be an important fight to you, huh?¡± ¡°Yes, sir,¡± Alis said, hands stiff in his pocket. Iris furrowed her brow, wondering if he was even trying to kill his military habits; at least it was better than watching him salute at random. She turned her face into the wood and watched her world go black, hoping it would make the ensuing stretch of silence less painful to endure. It didn¡¯t, and eventually, she heard a pair of boots softly trample the grass, one step at a time. ¡°Al ¡®n¡¯ I been talking ¡®bout you,¡± the Spirit muttered under the scraping of a chisel against wood. ¡°Aren¡¯t yourself since you came back from Sidos.¡± She tensed her hands and released them, feeling the pins and needles accumulate like sand in an hourglass. The chisel dropped onto the workbench, and the sound of sandpaper came next. ¡°I¡¯ll be transparent; we talked to your mother about it.¡± Iris recoiled but couldn¡¯t argue. ¡°When?¡± ¡°About a week ago, a few days after you came back from your holiday. Said you¡¯d regressed pretty quickly.¡± ¡°What am I supposed to do? It was fun, but it doesn¡¯t change anything.¡± ¡°Even though you have a shiny new sparring sabre?¡± Iris nodded. ¡°Don¡¯t tell them that.¡± Tony chuckled, blowing away the sawdust caught in his sandpaper. ¡°They¡¯re not the type to mind. As long as you¡¯re using it, they¡¯ll be happy.¡± She poked her head out from her shell, seeing the Spirit smooth out the kinks in what looked like an oversized medicine pill, half the size of an egg. Turning her head, she saw Alis walking in a loose circle, craning his neck upwards but to no avail. ¡°Getting along with him?¡± Iris nodded. ¡°He took me out to dinner for my birthday. I let him talk the whole time about the food, but I liked it.¡± ¡°Helped you forget for a while?¡± Iris nodded her head. ¡°It feels wrong, sometimes.¡± Tony released the carving, and it fell into the toolbox with a hollow clatter. ¡°You got plenty of people to talk to it about, hey? Even that clueless mutt over there. Bet my Ixa you two have even more in common than you realise. Feels better suffering together, y¡¯know? As long as you don''t become each other''s ball and chain.¡± Iris felt her hands move, wrist drifting upwards as though carried by a warm current of air. Her fingertips, barely touching the driftwood, began to dance at Tony¡¯s behest. ¡°And your mother used to swing by when she was younger. Sometimes a load ¡®a people is the last thing you need and you just wanna¡­let it all out. ¡®Cus ya know no one¡¯d blame ya for whatcha doin¡¯, but no sane person can do what you lot do day in day out without goin¡¯ a little crazy.¡± Iris watched her fingers tap and twirl, her nails softly clacking against the driftwood. ¡°I don¡¯t want to start crying.¡± ¡°Why?¡± Tony asked. ¡°Because I don¡¯t know if I¡¯ll ever stop.¡± Chapter 30 Part 2: Talks of Little Importance A chill prickled her exposed skin, telling her off for neglecting the change in seasons. From a distance, the falling leaves almost passed for snow, yet the branches never grew bare even after so many years, and the lonely pathway somehow always remained clear of the debris. Evalyn entertained the possibility of something lying in wait for her at the end of that path, and the thought that it might finally be the time to search for it. She held onto her husband¡¯s hand, the tips of her fingers turning as red as the bridge of her nose. The man in question had his eyes averted to the ground, probably some level of guilt swirling around in his bushy nest of hair. She didn¡¯t hold him to it; his decision had been a catalyst, yes, but if anything, she could only be grateful that he''d forced the issue on her as early as he did. ¡°Elly is thinking of moving up,¡± she explained, unable to meet the old Spirit¡¯s eyes herself. ¡°He wants to put in for a promotion and move up.¡± ¡°Well, congratulations,¡± Darminjung said, hands resting on the head of his cane, his expression betraying blissful serenity as it had since she''d first laid eyes on him; what for him must¡¯ve only felt like a small kink in his timeline. ¡°He wants to throw in the towel and stop flying soon,¡± she reiterated. The Spirit gave some pause, but still, his demeanour remained entirely intact. ¡°Has your love for it waned, perhaps?¡± She felt Elliot startle, and so squeezed his hand, a little peeved to know he was hoping to get by without talking himself. ¡°No," he said. "Not for flying but¡­doing what I do. I¡¯m starting to think it isn¡¯t worth dying over.¡± He was slowing down, perhaps not enough to significantly impact his performance, but when invincibility was the norm, anything less was terrifying. That was the answer she came to when she imagined her armour as fallible. ¡°And that¡¯s brought your own circumstances into doubt, has it Evalyn?¡± She pursed her lips, nodding. The mutual agreement between the married couple to always fight for each other, like a clause in their marital contract, had kept the idea of retirement from her mind. ¡°It¡¯s true I don¡¯t want to let go of you yet,¡± she said, terrified of being on the receiving end of something that even rivalled her magic, ¡°but once Iris is ready¡­I can¡¯t see my heart being in this anymore.¡± She had an out; perhaps the greatest privilege the Spirit of Desire had afforded her. No term had been set, no promise of eternity. To the Wishing Whale, ten, twenty, even fifty years were the same; the difference between five minutes and fifteen. When Evalyn could bear becoming a regular person again, she could. The Spirit smiled, leaning back into the bench. ¡°Do you finally feel it¡¯s been enough? The actions you¡¯ve taken in these thirteen years since, have they absolved you?¡± ¡°I¡­don¡¯t know, but I know it isn¡¯t why I¡¯m still doing this anymore.¡± The old man nodded, enjoying another fresh gust of melancholy wind pass through his wispy-thin hair. ¡°Your wish hasn¡¯t changed. The way in which you chase it, yes, but the core itself is part of your being.¡± ¡°Meaning?¡± ¡°Meaning I will stay here until you¡¯re satisfied. But, if ever I become a detriment to your wish¡­then of course I will leave.¡± The Wishing Whale turned to her and smiled. ¡°No hard feelings, of course.¡± And, despite the cold nipping at her face, she returned the smile, feeling the edge of her vision blurred with tears. ¡°Thank you,¡± she managed to say before turning away out of embarrassment. ¡°Thank you.¡± ¡°At your service¡­ah, but before you go.¡± He turned his cane to his left, its end pointing into the distance, where the path disappeared behind a golden, misty curtain of falling leaves. ¡°Why don¡¯t you start walking? You''ve never ventured far, and¡ªalthough I don''t blame you you''re a busy woman¡ªI''d be hard-pressed to see you go without making the journey. I¡¯ll be sure to mark your progress.¡± ¡°How far?¡± Elliot asked, a tinge of laziness slipping into his tone. She elbowed him for his troubles, or rather lack thereof. ¡°Not far, but you two must get to bed soon, so nothing you can finish by tonight,¡± he said, revealing a shimmering watch from underneath his sleeve. With his cane hand, he poked her knee, goading her on. ¡°Get to it. Chop chop.¡± And so, just having been evicted from the bench, they indulged the old Spirit. They were never truly out of sight per se, but losing him in her rear-view mirror gave her the confidence to wrap a tepid arm around Elliot¡¯s, sharing their body heat. ¡°Sorry,¡± was the first thing he said, and in response, she squeezed tighter. ¡°Stop,¡± she said. ¡°It was going to happen. Better now than later.¡± ¡°Right,¡± he said. ¡°I don¡¯t think we ever cleared it up.¡± ¡°Cleared what up?¡± ¡°How long you¡¯d be a Witch for. Part of me expected you wanted to end up like Colte.¡± ¡°Oh, God no. Not anymore. A decade ago, yeah, but then I looked at our savings account.¡± Elliot nudged her, and she rocked back and forth on his arm, the motion shaking a chuckle from her. ¡°Okay, yeah¡­I just think it happened naturally. Because at the time, I couldn¡¯t see an end to it all, but I knew there¡¯d be one. I looked down at my own body and¡­realised that I can¡¯t do this forever.¡± Elliot looked her up and down, grinning. ¡°I don¡¯t know darling, you look pretty good for your age last I remember.¡± Evalyn squinted, letting out a soft groan as the needle ticked back and forth between forgiveness and retaliation. ¡°You¡¯re lucky I¡¯m in a good mood,¡± she threatened. ¡°And you should be, it was a compliment.¡± ¡°Back to what you were saying. Yes. I¡¯m sorry I didn¡¯t clear it up. It just wasn¡¯t concrete enough to put into words.¡± ¡°Ah¡­beats me. I switched up fairly quickly.¡± ¡°Really? Doesn¡¯t seem like that to me.¡± ¡°Does it not?¡± ¡°No,¡± she said, shuffling her hands up his arm. ¡°I¡¯ve been getting the sense you want to settle down for a while.¡± ¡°How so?¡± ¡°You never took this much leave for me.¡± He wriggled his arm out of her grip and wrapped it around her shoulders instead. They swayed, back and forth in time with one another. ¡°Well, aren¡¯t you glad I saved it until three years ago?¡± Evalyn frowned, knowing exactly the moral victory he was gunning for. ¡°Just because she¡¯s my daughter doesn¡¯t mean I can¡¯t be jealous of her.¡± And she didn¡¯t let him have it. Watching his face curl and tint red, she was satisfied knowing she¡¯d gotten the one-up on him. Tilting her head into his shoulder, she indulged in a guiltless smile. ¡°Give her as much of your leave as you can, all right?¡± ¡°Course,¡± he replied. ¡°And you make sure that one day, she doesn¡¯t need to hide behind you anymore.¡±Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon. ¡°I think we¡¯re past that point already,¡± Evalyn sighed. ¡°But I think I¡¯m¡­we¡¯re all still propping her up from behind.¡± ¡°But that¡¯ll never change,¡± Elliot muttered. ¡°Never will for any of us, hm?¡± ¡°I know, but it¡¯s different when it comes to her. Magic or not, I¡¯d burn the world down before I watch her die.¡± Elliot smiled, unable to agree with words, but in his embrace, she could tell they were of the same mind. ¡°What do you think is at the end of the road?¡± she asked. ¡°I hope it¡¯s worth it,¡± Elliot mumbled. Unsure where the sarcasm ended in that sentiment, Evalyn swung her foot into the back of his knee, just to find out. ¡°You¡¯re done already?¡± she teased. ¡°It hasn¡¯t been ten minutes.¡± ¡°I¡¯m just hoping it¡¯s nothing too personal,¡± he said, massaging the point of impact. ¡°It¡¯s your mind palace. Freaky stuff is probably tucked away in here.¡± ¡°Freaky?¡± ¡°Freaky.¡± ¡°What freaky stuff have you not uncovered after thirteen years?¡± ¡°I don¡¯t know. Could be something horrible.¡± ¡°And you¡¯re talking from experience, are you?¡± ¡°I am but a simple man, not a lot going on up here. But you¡ªow!¡± The room always reeked of smoke whenever he visited, and as long as his rear touched any upholstery, it would reek of smoke for hours afterwards as well. Elvera didn¡¯t smoke. She¡¯d made a point not to and drilled it into Evalyn¡¯s mind before she ever met the Ash Man. Clearly, that nagging had stuck. But it wasn¡¯t the smell that bothered her, the smell of smoke. Thanks to his infrequent visits, that smell of smoke had latched onto whatever part of her brain stored her memories of him. It wasn¡¯t glamorous, or even particularly sentimental, saying that smouldering ashtrays reminded her of him, but it was how things had turned out. Her ashtray, taking its rarely occupied spot in the centre of her dining table, proudly boasted a small, neat pile of the stuff. It caught her eyes every time they strayed from the documents before her. As a pair, she and Colte were partial to a select few underground joints in and around Excala. But sometimes, her days off only meant earning the privilege of doing the same work, just in a different environment. And on those days, which were more frequent than she cared to admit, he¡¯d instead find his way to her apartment¡ªa bottle of something too expensive in hand¡ªand wait out the day¡¯s work, oftentimes smoking on the balcony. ¡°You¡¯re going to drop dead one day if you keep that up,¡± she said, eyes drifting laggardly down the page. Regrettably, by that time of night, the glass of whiskey in her hand had a way of appealing to her eyes that the documents couldn¡¯t hope to match. ¡°Then you¡¯d better stop sending me contracts,¡± he mumbled, slouching against her railing. ¡°Keep it at a minimum outside of work. That¡¯s a fair deal, no?¡± ¡°Fair deal my ass,¡± he chuckled. She took a swig, fighting the alcohol on its way down and smacking her lips afterwards. The shimmering, amber liquid managed to break her stupor and convinced her hand to put the pen down. ¡°In other news, the Sidosian shadow Prime Minister confirmed in a press conference today that it will continue investigations into Vesmos¡¯s role in an alleged spy plane incident if it wins the upcoming snap election. The election, which comes in the wake of Prime Minister Dalena Fault¡¯s resignation, has put the future of these investigations into question, fears that the S.D.C. party¡¯s earlier statements have put to rest for the meantime. Vesmos authorities, including the Imperial family, have yet to address these claims, neither confirming nor denying their involvement. Despite this, Sidos has not ceased levying further claims as research continues¡ª¡± She turned down the radio, muffling the presenter¡¯s voice into static dissonance. Its place beside the jewellery box hadn¡¯t changed since she¡¯d bought the dresser they both stood on, nor had anything else in the room for that matter. Colte had mentioned it for years, and the same went for Evalyn, yet neither had managed to convince her. Every time Colte visited, he knew where everything was as well as she did. Every time Evalyn and her cadre reported for dinner, they had no trouble finding the plates and cutlery. It was a mark of stability, although one could argue that a lack of variables came with its downsides, too. But she imagined it was much the same for Colte; other people ultimately forced those changes. Other people that, for them, didn¡¯t exist. ¡°What was it this time, then?¡± she asked, the start of the conversation calling him back in from the balcony. He trundled over, a much less intimidating figure without his coat. Dressed to standard, but only barely, and perpetually in clothes that always kept her wondering where exactly the money she paid him was going. ¡°Nothing. I just wanted to¡­check in, I guess.¡± She smiled. ¡°I¡¯m doing all right. Yourself?¡± ¡°¡­yeah. Yeah, I¡¯m doing all right. Could be better, though. Tell you the truth, I was hoping to hear your gripes so I didn¡¯t have to deal with mine.¡± ¡°What kind of coping mechanism is that?¡± she snorted, lounging in her chair now that the day¡¯s work was far from her mind. She tapped the glass in front of her. ¡°I thought this was more down your alley.¡± ¡°What image do you have of me, Marie?¡± he asked, sitting down and reaching for his own glass anyway. He grunted, opening the bottle and watching the pour until a thumb¡¯s height of liquid swayed in the vessel. ¡°Gripes aside,¡± he started before taking a sip, ¡°I did just want to see your face.¡± ¡°How sweet of you,¡± she chimed. ¡°Hope it was worth the trip.¡± ¡°Always is,¡± he smiled, and they drank to the silence. There were things to talk about. There always were. But there was a moment there that felt as though it¡¯d break with any mention of the present. ¡°Do you miss the Royal Espionage Division?¡± Colte¡¯s eyebrows rose, and his attention found her with a face like a startled hound. ¡°R.E.D.? What brought this up?¡± ¡°You saying you wanted to see my face,¡± she said. ¡°You say that, but I can¡¯t help but feel like something¡¯s missing.¡± Colte pursed his lips, finally dumping the remnants of his last puff into the ashtray. Two neat piles, slightly overlapping each other. ¡°Who¡¯s still kicking around from those days?¡± ¡°From those days?¡± Elvera crossed her arms, ¡°most of the flyboys are still on the Steel Whale. Francis Molaine, you met him, right?¡± ¡°Briefly. Heard Elliot mention him a couple of times.¡± The cicadas began to wail again, heralding another chill breeze that brushed through the apartment. It¡¯d bring in all sorts of bugs, but summer days in officer uniform were torture: it was worth the price if only to feel that breeze kiss her bare skin. ¡°So him¡­a few other Squadron Leaders¡­Kedron, he was head of Intelligence.¡± ¡°Oh yeah,¡± Colte replied, smiling as he rolled his sleeves. ¡°Loved watching him try to figure out what I was doing there.¡± ¡°He did eventually.¡± ¡°Did he?!¡± ¡°No, no,¡± Elvera chuckled, enjoying Colte¡¯s sour face. ¡°Thought you were just a gun-for-hire until we disbanded.¡± ¡°Good,¡± he said, settling back in his chair and talking into his glass. ¡°I¡¯m hoping to take that small win to the grave.¡± ¡°Petty.¡± ¡°What? I never liked him. But, keep going.¡± Elvera racked her brain again, but no noteworthy faces came to mind. All were riffraff, cycling in and out of Special Operations duties, and to the end, never aware of exactly who they were working for. ¡°Then¡­I guess us. Evalyn¡ª¡± ¡°No, she doesn¡¯t count. Elliot doesn¡¯t either.¡± ¡°And why does that detail rile you up so much?¡± ¡°It¡¯s a cool kids club. You¡¯ve got to keep the red tape intact at the front door. Pun intended.¡± ¡°All right,¡± she sighed. ¡°Then, besides that¡­us four.¡± Colte nodded, letting the silence stretch. Seems like she had gotten it right. ¡°Heard from Daugherty at all?¡± he asked, but Elvera had nothing to offer him besides a shake of her head. ¡°How long has it been?¡± ¡°Long enough to put him down as MIA,¡± she sighed. ¡°Do you think he¡¯s all right?¡± ¡°If we¡¯re talking about the same sucker, then yes,¡± he grunted, the frown stubbornly glued to his face. ¡°Even after all that, I never knew what that guy was thinking.¡± ¡°Me neither.¡± And the other didn¡¯t need much mentioning at all. Eyes like gemstones and a frustratingly beautiful smile. Someone who had run circles around them all until the end, somehow always one step ahead. But in their line of work, the great equaliser called death was an everyday factor. It had taken the best of them, and far too soon. ¡°Does Evalyn still visit Lyanna¡¯s grave?¡± ¡°Every year. She goes while Elliot attends the remembrance ceremonies.¡± ¡°Still?¡± he asked. ¡°You say that you still don¡¯t do the same.¡± Elvera watched as the man drifted into another world entirely, the sheen over his eyes thickening. Many names and faces were swirling around in his head, all of whom had left their bodies at some point down the road. But the reason Elvera never had qualms inviting a bachelor to her house, nor any complaints when he invited himself over intending to drink, was because she knew that girl was still running circles around his head. He''d brushed it off as a one-night thing before, no different to how most of his folk treated their love lives. But Elvera could call his lie where Evalyn couldn¡¯t, and saw that sheen crawl over his eyes every time he wondered if Lyanna thought of their ¡®one night¡¯ the same way he always pretended to. ¡°I don¡¯t, technically,¡± he said, finally returning to the summer of 1941. ¡°Changed the date after things got awkward with Evalyn.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t know if you¡¯re kind or a coward.¡± ¡°Bit of both,¡± he smiled. ¡°But running into her there, of all places, would¡¯ve been a nightmare. We all know her mentor should¡¯ve been Lyanna.¡± ¡°Doesn¡¯t excuse you from messing up once or twice,¡± Elvera smiled. ¡°But I miss her too.¡± Elvera¡¯s face lightened a little despite the mood, and her small smile brought a curious one to Colte''s dour face. ¡°She would¡¯ve been in love with Iris.¡± Colte chuckled. ¡°I can see it.¡± ¡°Lyanna loved them dense, after all. Aw, she would¡¯ve been all over Iris.¡± ¡°Yeah,¡± Colte said, her smile infecting him. ¡°I can see it.¡± Elvera let the smile linger, the image staining her mind with rainbow pink and purple. The ice in her glass clinked, reminding her that the whiskey was probably helping the process along somewhat. ¡°Would have liked to see what she could do with that girl. Hell, Evalyn barely knew her, and she visits her more than she does her own father.¡± Colte kept his smile under control. It was a touchy subject, sure. She kicked him underneath the table. ¡°Come on, I can make that joke.¡± ¡°Can you?¡± ¡°Sure I can,¡± she said, standing up and feeling the drink in her legs. ¡°It¡¯s been a while.¡± ¡°Has it now?¡± Colte asked her as he finished his drink. ¡°Don¡¯t know about you, but it feels like he was put in the dirt only yesterday." She finished her glass and placed it by the radio. The breeze pulled her to the balcony, and feeling a little lighter on her feet, she gladly obliged. ¡°He died the day Florence did,¡± Elvera said, keeping her smile. Painful memories, but she was only human. It wasn¡¯t in her to cry over wounds older than her goddaughter. ¡°She would¡¯ve liked Iris too.¡± The radio drowned out the crying cicadas, and Elvera turned around to see another empty glass beside hers. ¡°Speaking of Iris, I¡¯m going to start looking for a way into that network Trysha talked about.¡± ¡°You got any ideas?¡± ¡°It involves me going undercover, but yeah, I¡¯m sure I can pull a few favours.¡± Elvera smiled and mouthed a thank you. It was brief, and the full version would come after the drink wore off. For now, Colte tuned the radio until the sound of strings playing somewhere in the city filled the small, stagnant apartment with a small sense of life. He outstretched a hand, and she, with a sigh, took it. ¡°Thanks,¡± he said. ¡°Anytime.¡± Chapter 30 Part 3: Eat Your Heart Out Weekends had started to come and go, never long enough to leave her feeling satisfied. She hadn¡¯t much in the way of study that kept her from enjoying them to the fullest; it was a problem prevalent in her class but far removed from herself. But that still left her with work for her mother at the agency, the menial tasks from day to day that comprised the ¡®P.I¡¯ portion of their lives. Sometimes, a client¡¯s personal matters would lead them down a rabbit hole, with nothing but organised crime and loan sharking as the light at the end of the tunnel, but it was chump change compared to the state contracts they received. Potential for violence, matters of intimidation, and owning a face¡ªor rather mask¡ªthat the streets recognised and respected was what allowed Evalyn to corner her market. And that respect went both ways, although rather tepidly. It was why their front door hadn¡¯t been gunned down yet by an angry mob out for revenge. But that was another tangent, Iris reminiscing about a time when her mother wouldn¡¯t hesitate to bring her along on such a job. Nowadays, taking Iris¡¯s recent moods into account, Evalyn had been reluctant to bring her along on anything that involved more than wrangling a stray cat. She appreciated the sentiment and indeed the act itself. But it was the alternative that she had problems with. ¡°I have problems with this. You know that, right?¡± ¡°I know.¡± ¡°So why do you keep doing it?¡± The difference in their energy levels wasn¡¯t even laughable, and as Iris sat there, slumping over Evalyn¡¯s desk, she wondered if Crestana had stolen her share of their daily enthusiasm. Sweeping the bookshelves with not so much a spring in her step as a one-tracked determination. Whatever she was trying to achieve by dusting the shelves in her place, it was going to be done, whether Iris liked it or not. ¡°Because I want this,¡± she said as frankly as possible. ¡°And I know it¡¯s taking time out of your day¡­nor do you particularly enjoy it. A favour for a favour.¡± She followed Crestana across the room with her eyes as the girl moved her attention from the bookshelves to Iris''s desk. One feather of that duster on it and it would be personal, a favour she was directly indebted for. ¡°Stop!¡± Iris announced, stretching her palms wide and arresting Crestana before her duster could touch the desk and create a favour she couldn¡¯t talk her way out of. ¡°That isn¡¯t what I mean.¡± Crestana¡¯s body stuttered. She lowered her duster, and Iris breathed a sigh of relief. ¡°But it¡¯s my choice. You don¡¯t get to tell me what I can and can¡¯t do,¡± Crestana said matter-of-factly, turning her attention back to the desk. ¡°Stop!¡± Iris reiterated. ¡°Then why are you trying to make me help you? You can¡¯t tell me what I can and can¡¯t do.¡± ¡°I can¡¯t,¡± Crestana agreed. ¡°But I¡¯m hoping I can do something about that.¡± ¡°Then why can¡¯t I?¡± ¡°Because I won¡¯t let you.¡± If she had a mouth, she¡¯d be smirking. That¡¯s how the words came across, but the part that irked Iris the most was that, knowing Crestana, she was playing the words completely straight. Alis, someone with little experience with people, who read them instinctively, much like she did, agreed with Iris¡¯s assessment. The girl was serious. Dead serious. Iris sighed a shaky breath. She didn¡¯t have the distance to shoot down Crestana¡¯s requests as Evalyn did. Crestana was a friend, and she wanted to oblige a friend wherever possible, but obliging wasn¡¯t always helping. That was a new lesson she tucked under her belt, one that sat uncomfortably, with sharp edges that dug into her side. ¡°It¡¯s not something you want to do with your life,¡± Iris said, but Crestana didn¡¯t respond. The duster finally touched Iris''s desk. She winced but continued. ¡°It¡¯s a lot of hard decisions. You hurt a lot of people. And¡­it makes you choose between things, and it makes you feel evil.¡± Like choosing between hostages and freedom fighters. The life of a few innocents, or those who chose to die for a cause they never saw realised. Crestana continued to dust her desk, and Iris felt her counter for unpaid debts slowly creep up by another digit. ¡°You¡¯ve already been through so much. Why can¡¯t you just leave it all behind?¡± That finally stopped the dusting, but Iris didn¡¯t feel relief, the panic instead turned into fear. Beaks barely had facial expressions. With Evalyn, at least she could tell if she¡¯d gone too far with her words. ¡°We don¡¯t get to make choices like that, do we? I mean, you should know that better than anyone.¡± Crestana placed a hand on Iris¡¯s desk, following the length of the grain with her fingers. Her nails were long again, and she was overdue for a haircut. It fell in long strands over her shoulder, like a waterfall drifting into a void. ¡°Evalyn told me what kind of work the Council would give me if they found out. Killing people like you who they can¡¯t control.¡± She turned to Iris, walking up to the desk and coming face to face with her, as though to show off the vast divide in levels of energy again. ¡°I have watched people die. You know that, right? So I¡¯m not letting anyone tell me I have to go and hunt you down, nor am I letting anyone else do that to you. If they¡¯d ask me to hunt Wizards and Witches, I¡¯d tell them good luck trying to find anyone who could defeat both of us.¡± It was a strong statement, one that left Iris speechless. Crestana, perhaps sensing that her job was done, smacked the table and returned to work as Iris helplessly coiled into her field jacket. ¡°Today,¡± Iris muttered, just loud enough so that Crestana could hear. ¡°After this, we can see if Alis is home, and I¡¯ll let you do some training.¡± Crestana continued to dust Iris¡¯s desk without a word in return, but Iris could see now a small spring in her step that her friend struggled to keep under wraps. ¡°I¡¯ve told her to do some of her warm-ups for the moment,¡± Iris mumbled. ¡°I¡¯ll start teaching her how to shoot.¡± ¡°Mrs Hardridge won¡¯t notice there¡¯s ammunition missing?¡± ¡°I¡¯ll say I was the one shooting.¡± Iris found her backside glued to her well-worn spot on the living room couch. Slumped like a cat over the armrest, she watched Alis indulge in a book from over the folds of her jacket sleeves. The radio was chatting in the background, yet it seemed as though the words in the air weren¡¯t messing with the ones on the paper. Stepping one foot outside, he¡¯d be keenly aware of his surroundings, eyes reading windows in a building like words on a page. It didn¡¯t seem that way at that moment. Maybe that meant he felt safe, and was finally dropping his guard. Iris hoped so. She dismantled a sliver of her hair as quietly as she could and, from her dangling fingers, produced a spindle that crawled across the ground towards his bare nape. ¡°What are you doing?¡± he asked, nose still in the book. ¡°What am I doing?¡± Iris lied. ¡°Hm,¡± he said, closing his book. Iris retracted the spindle with a zip, hoping he hadn¡¯t really noticed just yet. Maybe he was just acting off of instinct. ¡°So you¡¯re on board with it now? Crestana.¡± ¡°No,¡± she said, ¡°but I don¡¯t want to keep arguing with her.¡±If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation. ¡°I see,¡± he said. ¡°It¡¯s a little indulgent, but I can¡¯t say I don¡¯t understand.¡± Iris felt her brow furrow. ¡°What do you mean indulgent?¡± ¡°I just mean that you might be risking her safety just so you don¡¯t have to argue with her anymore.¡± ¡°Yeah,¡± Iris said, sinking even deeper into her jacket and feeling the sweat cling to her neck thanks to her overdressing. ¡°But she made a good point. She thinks she can¡¯t go back now, so she has to do everything she can to go the other way.¡± ¡°Fully buy into it, huh?¡± he muttered. ¡°Want to read this book when I¡¯m done?¡± ¡°What¡¯s it about?¡± ¡°A man who turns into a big bug. It¡¯s very philosophical.¡± Iris crinkled her nose, and Alis, sensing a ¡®no thank you¡¯, dropped the subject. ¡°All right,¡± Crestana announced, stepping through the open glass doorways, ¡°I think I¡¯m ready.¡± Iris groaned, disassembling her hair and reforming them into two tendrils protruding from her back. They snaked across the room and grabbed the coffee table, shifting it out of the way before flipping the rug over as well. It was subtle, but one floorboard had a small notch in which nails could just about fit under. Iris didn¡¯t bother, filling the notch with enough purple matter to displace the entire plank. ¡°Now you know where the guns are,¡± Iris grumbled. ¡°I don¡¯t really care if you know because you can¡¯t get teleported here unless I hold the door open for you, but still. Don¡¯t take anything.¡± She rolled off the couch as she spoke, bare feet pitter-pattering over the hole in the floor the other two were peering down into. She plucked out a handgun with her tendril and gave it a once over. Dust, rust, any ware or spare round left in the chamber, but Iris was happy enough with its condition. She passed it to Crestana, who caught it with both hands. With no visual references to go off, it was natural she had no clue how to hold it. The design was intuitive enough, but Iris considered that it wasn''t as instinctual as she''d imagined; she¡¯d just been exposed to it enough to believe it was. ¡°Like this,¡± she said, finding another handgun and holding it. ¡°Keep your pointy finger on the trigger guard, okay?¡± Crestana nodded, doing as she was told. Iris passed Alis the gun who held it as though born with one in his hand. As expected. ¡°All right, outside,¡± she said, finding a loaded magazine in the ammunitions box and taking the lead onto the balcony. She didn¡¯t bother with shoes at home, even when stepping outside. The grass was remarkably pillowy, and the ground soft and malleable. But also, shoes would get in the way of her armour. ¡°What¡¯s that for?¡± Crestana asked as Iris¡¯s armour crawled across her body and locked into place. ¡°Put the magazine in the handle,¡± Iris began, pointing from one implement to the other. Crestana looked at her, and then to the weapon, hesitating for a moment but nonetheless doing as she was told. ¡°Did it click?¡± ¡°Yes, it did.¡± ¡°All right. The top of the gun, pull it back. Yeah like that. Now the hammer, the thing that¡¯s sticking out near the back, pull that back too. Okay.¡± Fearing Crestana¡¯s lack of barrel awareness, Alis tucked himself directly behind her as Crestana held the gun exactly as though she had no clue what to do with it. Admittedly, it even made Iris nervous. ¡°Now there¡¯s a switch on the side, it says on and off. Flick it to off.¡± ¡°All right. What do I do now?¡± ¡°Shoot me.¡± ¡°¡­sorry?¡± Crestana asked. ¡°I¡¯m your target. Shoot me.¡± ¡°But¡­that¡¯s dangerous. Even if you¡¯ve got your armour¡ª¡± ¡°I¡¯ve stopped worse,¡± Iris insisted stepping further back. ¡°If you can¡¯t even do this, then there¡¯s no point.¡± The shutters on Crestana¡¯s mask furrowed, the eyes in her mask growing remarkably narrow. She looked down at the gun in her hand for much too long, probably seeing past the metal and the leather. That was what Iris wanted. This is a gun. Her mother had once said that, and first given her an idea of what it could do, what it meant, and how it was ultimately just a tool. A symptom of the person who wielded it, their intentions, their resolve, their ambitions. In that way, it deserved great respect, and more importantly, fear. If Crestana couldn¡¯t point it at someone in full armour, then the symptom would be indicative of the user¡¯s intentions, their resolve, and their ambitions. She watched as Crestana levelled the gun¡¯s barrel at her, and closed her eyes. Iris heard the shot but barely felt the impact; a glancing hit against her right abdomen, the bullet ending up somewhere amongst the grass. Iris nodded, trying to swallow her conflicted feelings in favour of indifference. ¡°All right, do you want some targets?¡± Crestana¡¯s shoulders relaxed, and she lowered the handgun. Her finger was off the trigger, and the safety switch was turned on once again. As much as Iris wanted to whine, it pained her to admit that Crestana was an extremely fast learner. At the heart of the Vesmosian capital was much less a landmark but rather a constant phenomenon. When every borough had skyscrapers that stretched towards the sun in the same pathetic way a moth might to a flame, and streets so caked in grime and human blood that it created a calloused scab on the earth, locking away the soil for the next millennia, landmarks weren¡¯t held to such high regard. The organisation of streets was different, the faces, the buildings¡¯ facades, yes, but what tied the entire hellscape together was meat. Human meat. Provenance, before ever seeing his first warzone, had not truly realised that the human body was nothing but a moving carcass made of meat until he had seen one without its head. With all significant identifying features whisked away with the face, all that was left was meat. Separated limb from limb, gutted like a pig, it did not matter. Humans were meat, more so than Spirits. So perhaps it was fitting that Vesmos, a capital of the race built upon greed, would evoke the same feelings in him despite the moving carcasses keeping everything from the neck up relatively intact. The human meat grinder called war brought the philosophy that was its namesake to the city itself. Whether it be factory assembly lines or locked away behind one of the millions of windows nailed into the hundreds of buildings, humans were meat. For the rich, for the employers, for the gangsters, for each other. Provenance could gaze upon Excala from a distance even without any sheer cliffs or high mountains to perch upon. The city was well-defined, and tapered into the grasslands at a leisurely pace, slowly taking it over one year at a time. Yekreni City had, at some point in its history, been disembowelled as it continued to grow. While the concrete rebar skyscrapers at its centres, with all their fake gold and mass-produced mounted statues, continued to grow, the urban hellscape spilt out of the wound in the city¡¯s stomach in all directions, infecting the landscape. Grime, pollution, a buildup of wasted souls and cartilage¡ªwhatever the city couldn¡¯t consume¡ªspread through the rocky, mineral-rich outcrop like a fertiliser, and from it grew more and more and more and more. At night, the millions of windows transformed into lanterns, the oil and electrical lamps burning on whatever little life each window¡¯s occupants had left. Like fireflies stuck in the mud, ensnared by spindly, evil fingers, the little fireflies without any clue of what else to do or how to break free, continued to shine. They continued to burn until one day, they could no longer. Then, the city, in all its generosity, would replace one flame with three. And so, the spill continued. Provenance, afforded the luxury by the stamp in his passport, glided through it all like a bullet flying through a headless carcass. Vestiges of wealth, of the other fraction of society, moved like veins pumping blood through the dying corpse, however weak the flow was. Money. What passed as ¡®social services¡¯ to desperate, dying people flowed along such train lines he travelled on. Red, and grey. Red, grey and black. Red was the most common, most recognisable colour after green and blue. Red dictated green, it showed mercy yet gave its punishments. For them, it was the face of authority. Grey functioned in the same way but for the blue. Then black, a colour stamped on, accented, and adorned by the weightiest decrees in society. The final say in law and reform, the last seal on public infrastructure, the highest honour on any medal. The same weight would never truly make sense to him, but by the expressions of fear and awe on every face that saw the black stamp adorning his passport, he could at least gain a sense for it. As long as that black stamp didn¡¯t fade into grey, he had no use for his magic. Every move he made was an imperial decree in and of itself. After hours of listlessness through Vesmos¡¯s vast countryside and three major cities on one train line alone, he found himself suspended high in the air by pillars of concrete that cut through the neighbourhoods below like powerline towers. So high up, with half the city below and half above, the gradient between overpopulated slum and sheer walls of glass and concrete was clear. The space between buildings expanded upon by indulgent balconies, skywalks and terraces filled out the spaces like a canopy of leaves, and blocked the sun from ever reaching the first civilisation below. Five of his seven stops were suspended on platforms connected to towers. The final two were built atop more solid foundations, but no less artificial. There was no true tangible heart to the city, but the administrative district could be mistaken for one. To Provenance, it was less of a heart and more of a worm inside it; a parasite. A base of operations in the centre of a warzone whose only purpose was to replay and enact the policies decided upon by people far away and far removed. High society had built itself a mountain out of buildings and concrete, and its face atop it. What lay inside the mountainous heap of buildings and windows and ladders and staircases and tunnels and train networks was a mystery to even him. Like a termite mound, it was probably impossible to navigate. Whatever was important enough for him to know about filtered up to the top anyway. ¡°The next stop is Fairview Gates, Administrative District. All passengers, please follow the allocated guidelines to your correct identification stations.¡± Provenance moved to step off, having found himself an empty row of seats at the border. Passengers had fluctuated, but never by much. Red and grey made up a fraction of the population after all. The train halted, the engine resting as the doors slowly hissed open. Provenance stepped out, separated from the main body of blue passengers by several carts, a mass tide that he would want to avoid if he stood any chance of getting to his destination on time. The administration¡¯s overground complex was downright glamorous when compared to what it neighboured. Somehow staving off the dirt and grime, trees dotted a massive circular garden adorned with ornate iron fencing: a final, symbolic barrier. A final toll box waited for him, where the three coloured lines¡ªgreen, red, and grey¡ªconverged. ¡°Identification please,¡± the officer asked. Tall, slightly undernourished, and shrunken eyes crested with wrinkles. But by virtue of his uniform, job, and clean-shaven face, it was clear he was nowhere close to the bottom. Even then, calling him middle class didn¡¯t quite do his situation justice. Provenance handed over his passport, opened to the page where the all-important stamp had been placed and waited for the man¡¯s reaction. He watched the man¡¯s eyes widen, and his eyes flick back and forth from his face to the stamp. Not the most dramatic reaction Provenance had been treated to, but that wasn¡¯t surprising. Plenty of high dignitaries filtered to and from the administrative district, but perhaps rarely on the train in. ¡°Thank you, sir, I was warned of your arrival. I¡¯m told their Majesties are waiting for you.¡± Chapter 30 Part 4: Shes Trying Her Best ¡°Her Majesty is waiting for you,¡± Al said, fluttering his blue, crystalline feathers against the magic draught. Returning to the library after the dawn of a new week, his face had turned up at the workshop again, but the news he brought made Iris wish it hadn¡¯t. ¡°As in¡­now?¡± ¡°Just about. Told her what the best time ta catch you unawares¡­free, would be right about now.¡± ¡°The¡­Queen,¡± Crestana muttered, the words falling out of her mouth like drool. ¡°Yeah,¡± Al reiterated. ¡°Evalyn¡¯s already on her way.¡± ¡°But I didn¡¯t tell the school¡ª¡± ¡°She¡¯ll handle the backend stuff.¡± ¡°But the office¡ª¡± ¡°Your buddies can clean it, can¡¯t they?¡± ¡°But¡ª¡± ¡°She¡¯ll keep it quick,¡± Al said firmly. ¡°Told her to keep it to a day.¡± ¡°Why is the librarian ordering the Queen around?¡± Crestana hissed, but it didn¡¯t quite grab either of their attention. Iris was already consumed by a sense of dread. ¡°What if I say no?¡± she ventured, instinctually knowing that even putting her hopes into words would be enough to dash them from her. ¡°Evalyn says yes, so you have to as well. I know you¡¯re young, but grace period¡¯s over. It¡¯s a state contract.¡± The final words seemed to catch Crestana¡¯s attention most of all: for Iris, they were just two words she had already braced herself for. The mercy Evalyn had afforded her as of late didn¡¯t extend to all parties, and this was an order from the very top. To put it simply, there wasn¡¯t a way out of it. Iris stuffed her hands into her skirt pocket and fished out a set of jangling keys. Tearing off a golden, toothed one, she handed it to Crestana. ¡°I¡¯m sorry but, can you stay in the office until closing time? Check that the door sign says ¡®closed¡¯ and tell anyone who calls that we¡¯ll have to get back to them later. We can pay you.¡± ¡°Oh uh¡­sure but, Iris? Are you okay?¡± Iris could feel the scowl on her face and made a conscious effort to unfurrow her brow. ¡°Yeah, just¡­I hate her.¡± ¡°What, the Queen?¡± ¡°Yeah. I¡¯ll tell you later.¡± Al flapped his wings and rose into the air, hovered in front of Iris and cocked his head in the direction of the nearest portal. She took a deep breath, trying to best accept her situation before facing it for real. Her no-contact-with-the-Queen streak had ended a few years short of what she had hoped for, but flying under the radar was neither her nor Evalyn¡¯s particular speciality. It was to come eventually, and who knew? Maybe sooner was marginally better than later. ¡°Iris,¡± Crestana called as the girl¡¯s cold arms wrapped around Iris¡¯s torso. She felt Crestana¡¯s grip tighten, the hard mask pressing into her back softly vibrating as she spoke. ¡°Be safe.¡± Iris couldn¡¯t quite answer her friend¡¯s sentiment with full confidence, but she hoped that holding her hands would at least reassure her until she returned. Beyond that, even simple reassurance felt dishonest. ¡°I¡¯ll be back soon.¡± ¡°And after that?¡± ¡°¡­I don¡¯t know.¡± Crestana let go and retreated a few paces. Offering a wave, which Iris returned, they parted ways. ¡°What''s it about?¡± Iris asked as they ascended a spiral staircase to one of the library¡¯s many catwalks. When it wanted to, the library could be a building with four walls, walls of sheer bookshelves, each tome like a divot in the rockface of a cliff. ¡°I was there a few days ago, and she mentioned that a storm¡¯s kicking up between Wizards and Witches,¡± Al said from Iris¡¯s shoulder, having already given up on flying himself up the staircase. ¡°Don¡¯t exactly know what the fuss is about, but they¡¯re droppin¡¯ off the radar like damn flies, one after another, tryna leave the country without tellin¡¯ nobody about it.¡± It didn¡¯t take a genius to figure out such an act was paramount to treason. Fugitives on the run from Excala meant more working for other states and regimes. ¡°Does she want Mum and I to find them?¡± Iris asked, knowing the correct word would have been ''hunt''. It was the logical assumption, and following that assumption further only painted a grim picture for the next few days of her life. ¡°No, don¡¯t think so. She¡¯s got a leash on the root of the problem. Big Mama¡¯s a bit of a nutcase, but she¡¯s not stupid. If she¡¯s going to make you work, she¡¯s going to make things efficient.¡± If Al meant the words as reassurance, Iris didn¡¯t quite feel the desired effect. She refrained from voicing her complaints because if she started, they¡¯d probably never stop. ¡°Make a right here,¡± Al said, pointing to a fresh opening in the wall. Being small enough to conceal with a simple trick of the light, Iris had to squeeze through on her side, shimmying until she stumbled into a small room of brass pipes and copper levers. ¡°You know the drill,¡± Al said as Iris dragged her school bag through the opening. ¡°I¡¯ll start things up, you step through and follow the lanterns. ¡°All right,¡± Iris said, shouldering her bag. ¡°Where is she going to put us when it¡¯s done?¡± ¡°That¡¯s up to her,¡± he said, fluttering his claws onto a nearby lever, and activating it with his weight alone. ¡°But if you need me, I¡¯ll still be here.¡± Iris nodded. The sudden onset of Aether was not lost on her, and it drew her attention forward, where a ring of blue sparks began to broaden, stabilise, and rip a hole into reality. ¡°Thanks, Al,¡± Iris said, knowing not to shoot the messenger. ¡°Queen¡¯s orders,¡± Al said. ¡°Human Princes have to ride into battle. Compared to them, my job is a damn cakewalk.¡± ¡°I mean, for everything,¡± she continued. The words had initially slipped out as a mere formality, but she owed the Great Library a good deal, and the debt seemed to increase by the day. ¡°Both for me and Mum.¡± Al fluttered his feathers, tilting his head. ¡°Ah,¡± he grunted. ¡°Part of the job. The other job. This job, I mean.¡± Iris nodded, pursing her lips. Maybe it would¡¯ve been best if she¡¯d let the debt grow quietly in the background. ¡°But,¡± Al sighed. ¡°It¡¯s also been a pleasure of mine. Can¡¯t say I haven¡¯t enjoyed watching you both grow up.¡± His head rotated, large eyes staring listlessly into the portal, mind already far beyond it. ¡°When my rule comes, which, let¡¯s be honest, I rue the day, I hope I¡¯ve curried enough favours to ask for your help when the country needs it most.¡± His choice of words was too self-deprecating for Iris¡¯s liking, but voicing that was outside of Iris¡¯s social vocabulary. A wall existed there that might not have in others, so she kept her mouth shut. ¡°I¡¯ll see you later, then,¡± she said, smiling faintly and walking headlong into the portal. Tingles raced up and down her nerves like race cars, beaming out of the tips of her extremities and leaving her with a phantom sensation even after her feet were firmly intact with the bare soil. The clock was ticking, and the lantern-lit pathway cutting a beeline through the forest whispered her name as though to seduce her. She began to walk, planting one foot in front of the other as fast as she could without breaking into a run proper. Power walking in the Queen¡¯s vicinity probably broke several rules of etiquette, but Iris could only assume. She never listened to those classes anyhow. As it had before, the darkness subsided, and her surroundings drew painterly sketches of gargantuan tree trunks and spanning canopies, which, over time and distance, became more detailed. The houses built into the tree¡¯s wood themselves grew defined in their edges, support beams, gears and pulleys before they eventually matured in architectural sophistication. Brick, mortar and glass were signs that she was approaching the inner sanctum, the forest glade the monarch called home. And as she began to feel the thousands of eyes glaring at her like a hail of sharpened arrows, the lights went up how those of a theatre stage might, and the forest clearing came into view. ¡°How was school?¡± Evalyn said the moment their eyes met. She was seated on a dainty, cast iron patio chair, the shape of the twisting green metal actively searching for new shapes and patterns. The same went for the other two seats and the table they surrounded. Ornate, unique, and ever so slowly winding. ¡°Same as always,¡± Iris replied, her eyes already focused on the other attendee at the meeting. She was taking a human form, her flowing robes spilling over the armrests as its blue pigment lightened and darkened seemingly at random. In lieu of a crown, a dazzling set of antlers swirled around her scalp, their velvet brown a far cry from that of an ordinary deer.This narrative has been purloined without the author''s approval. Report any appearances on Amazon. Through blue eyeliner, Queen Amestris¡¯s piercing eyes found hers. The stare seemed to tug at her, ever curious of what lay beyond the purple irises and behind the hallway doors. ¡°Did you go to the library with Crestana again?¡± ¡°Yeah. I gave her the keys to the office and asked her to do my chores.¡± ¡°She knows where to return the keys?¡± ¡°Yeah. In Alis¡¯s shoebox.¡± ¡°And you said I¡¯d pay her?¡± ¡°Mhm.¡± ¡°All right,¡± Evalyn said, patting Iris¡¯s thigh before turning to the Queen. ¡°Sorry, your Majesty, housekeeping.¡± The Queen kept silent, eyes flicking back and forth between the two like a possessed doll. Eventually, she smiled. ¡°I¡¯m glad all seems well,¡± she said. ¡°How is the Academy performing?¡± ¡°I¡­uh.¡± ¡°An anecdotal report shall suffice.¡± ¡°I¡­don¡¯t like it¡ª¡± ¡°She¡¯s a little biased, Your Highness,¡± Evalyn interrupted. ¡°We¡¯ve been happy with the Academy¡¯s education so far.¡± ¡°Hm,¡± the Queen muttered, eyes again passing from one to another. ¡°Don¡¯t think of me as brash, Hardridge. Be it a Thursday, the words of one pupil would not cause me to act against an entire institution.¡± Evalyn pursed her lips as though she were sucking a lemon. ¡°Yes, Your Highness.¡± ¡°So,¡± the Queen asked again. ¡°Do not hold back.¡± And then it clicked. The question, although warped beyond recognition, was a clumsy attempt at mimicking Evalyn¡¯s first words upon meeting. Her ¡®How was school?¡¯ was familial, and most of all, human. Neither could apply to whom she was now dealing with. ¡°Every day is¡­similar,¡± Iris replied, choosing her words carefully. ¡°I don¡¯t care a lot about the lessons, but I have a friend there. I just go to see her¡­and because mum and dad say I need to.¡± The Queen nodded. ¡°Very well. I shall inquire into a review of the current curriculum, and have you placed with Crestana Mallorine in every class until you graduate.¡± It was Iris¡¯s turn to purse her lips as though she were sucking a lemon. She flicked a glance towards Evalyn, who was pinching the bridge of her nose, trying to hide the exasperation. ¡°Speaking of the Mallorine successor,¡± the Queen continued, bringing Iris¡¯s attention back to her piercing gaze. ¡°I must thank you for your role on that fateful day last winter,¡± the Queen said, closing her eyes and sparing Iris the needling stare. ¡°I understand it caused a great deal of stress.¡± Iris nodded, acknowledging the sentiment at least. Too little, too late, and her concerns had grown since. Coming from Her Majesty of all people, no amount of sincerity could compensate for the life that had finally been put into perspective for her. ¡°It was my job,¡± Iris said, and the Queen nodded her response. ¡°And in doing so I then owed you a favour. The council has gone quiet, and I did everything in my power to quell unrest regarding your nature. No more complaints have been levied, and we may continue our relation in peace. I hope that may even our debts. Now.¡± The twisting iron rods which had until then been relegated to the confines of a tabletop, suddenly grew upwards. Lengthy, intricate spindles winding around each other, expanding and contracting to form shapes until a replica tiered cake stand and all its treats stood proudly like a fruit-bearing tree. She blinked, and the iron cakes lost their rigidity, their colour infinitely more appetising. The Queen was first to take one, biting quickly as though eager to eat, all the while maintaining her polished decorum. The eyes continued to flick back and forth, slowly chewing, waiting for something to happen. Iris caught Evalyn glancing at her as she too took one, clearly an order to follow suit. Iris selected one indiscriminately, the sugar on her tongue making her wonder how her thieving instincts hadn¡¯t kicked in sooner. It was likely the Spirit sitting in front of her putting off her appetite. The Queen swallowed, finally ready to continue her sentence. ¡°As for this new development,¡± she began, promptly getting down to business. ¡°A concerning situation has arisen.¡± ¡°I¡¯ve heard Aether-infused are going rogue,¡± Evalyn started, half a slice of sponge cake awkwardly resting in her hand in lieu of a plate. ¡°Have you found the cause?¡± ¡°What I believe to be the cause,¡± the Queen said. ¡°I waited for a Tuesday to consult your mentor as I often do on such matters, and he noted that there was a slowly developing situation he assumed to be the cause.¡± The Queen took another treat, taking her time to bite, chew, and swallow in exactly the way one might if they were imitating others. It put a healthy pause between sentences, and Iris felt the time in the real world draining past her. ¡°There has been a string of murders as of late,¡± the Queen said. "Several Wizards and Witches have died in unexpected circumstances. Word of mouth had unearthed a significant few amongst the community, only after I ordered investigation did more arise.¡± Another bite, another painfully long interlude of quiet chewing. ¡°No investigator under my chain of command could determine any obvious patterns, but once brought to Colte, he identified a clear link between every victim. All were present during a hostage rescue on a remote F.S.A. base three years ago, one you both participated in.¡± It was enough to stop her from chewing. Recent thoughts had brought that day back into light, but until that moment she had done her best to keep it in her mind and convince herself to think of it as Evalyn surely did. But ultimately, necessity dictated she face that day sooner rather than later. Evalyn glanced at Iris once again, this time out of empathy. She didn¡¯t return the glance, however, keeping her attention squarely on the Queen. ¡°As far as we can tell, most were assassinated in their sleep with firearms, yet nothing besides a gunshot wound suggests such.¡± ¡°As in there was no bullet?¡± ¡°Correct. A lack of spent casings is understandable; a thorough assassin would cover their tracks. But digging a bullet wound from their victim is another matter entirely.¡± ¡°Magic is involved then. Strange then,¡± Evalyn muttered, drifting into her own mind as the cake in her hand fell to the wayside. ¡°Anyone¡¯s first thought would be that the F.S.A. are taking revenge, but¡­.¡± ¡°Didn¡¯t S.H.I.A. use an Aether bomb?¡± Iris suggested. ¡°Fight magic with magic.¡± Evalyn nodded along. Everyone at the table was in understanding; there simply wasn¡¯t enough to go off. ¡°Since Colte was unavailable to head this investigation, I¡¯ve turned to you two. Tracking down the remnants of the F.S.A. and questioning their movements is our priority.¡± Iris nodded her understanding. It was simple enough in theory, provided they could pull the necessary strings. But Evalyn didn¡¯t seem to share her contentment. ¡°Excuse me, Your Highness¡­¡®our¡¯ priority?¡± Iris furrowed her brow, watching her mother''s face of genuine confusion on the cusp of panic. ¡°Yes,¡± the Queen stated flatly. ¡°Ordinarily, you¡¯d be answering to the Lieutenant-General of Special Operations, but I have assumed command. I will be coming with you.¡± Iris continued to watch her mother¡¯s face as its expression painfully transitioned into a smile. It would have been entertaining, but Iris wasn¡¯t particularly happy about the news either. ¡°Why?¡± Iris asked. ¡°Your Majesty,¡± she tacked on. ¡°Maintaining rapport with the Aether-infused is a high priority of mine. And, I also wish to see the world again. It has been some time. Now, further details I shall order my staff to resolve; I ask for you two to prepare. This journey, I suspect, will not be a long one, if we find ourselves fortunate enough.¡± The cake stand morphed again, the cakes falling neatly into a small, metal tin, baking paper and all. The lid came down on the tin and the meeting itself. When Iris¡¯s eyes finally strayed from the display of magical eccentricity, she found the monarch¡¯s seat was empty. ¡°What¡¯s that?¡± Iris heard, and her eyes returned to the tin of cakes. Resting atop the royal steel stamped into the thin metal was a jewel. Blue and vibrant, its shimmer swirled in a vortex down into an infinite void. Around it was what looked to be diamonds, fairly ordinary in comparison. Evalyn reached out to take it, but the gem moved, sliding just beyond her fingers. She tried again, but a similar story until the jewel was teetering on the edge of the box. Iris, finishing her cake and wiping the sugar off her fingers, reached out for the jewel instead. Her fingers were more agreeable, apparently, and she managed to pick it up. ¡°Don¡¯t smudge it,¡± Evalyn said. ¡°That¡¯s probably the Queen.¡± Iris withheld the urge to drop the thing with all her being, and her fingers just managed to hang on. ¡°Do you think she¡¯s inside it, or she is it?¡± ¡°You could say I am inside it,¡± a voice replied. Iris grimaced, turning to Evalyn. ¡°She¡¯s in my head again!¡± she squealed, ditching all airs of formality despite still being in the presence of a royal. ¡°No, I could hear it too. She¡¯s just speaking through Aether.¡± Iris continued to recoil, holding the jewel as though it were covered in dung. ¡°You can put it down, Iris. Just keep it on the tin.¡± Iris obliged, thoroughly through with her service. As she stepped back, and Evalyn lifted the tin box off the table, the world around them began to fall away like ink in water, diluting in place of somewhere else. ¡°Hm. A bit more abrupt than usual,¡± Evalyn said as though she were commenting on an elevator cabin. The last of the Queen¡¯s forest fell away, and in its place was the front landing of Evalyn¡¯s apartment. Deep summertime darkness, and the hazy image of small Spirits and insects circling the lantern overhead gave Iris a rough estimate of time. ¡°Twelve o¡¯clock,¡± Evalyn said, checking her watch. ¡°Your Majesty, two humble requests. I¡¯m desperately hoping nobody saw us appear out of nowhere, and I¡¯m concerned about Iris¡¯s sleep schedule. Now that she goes to school, it¡¯s quite important.¡± ¡°Understood, Hardridge. I will take that into consideration.¡± Iris saw her mother grin, clearly satisfied with the risk she had taken. She entertained the victory no further, and Iris felt a small tinge of disappointment knowing that power over a monarch in her mother¡¯s hands only amounted to so much. Evalyn fumbled for the key in her coat pocket and eventually opened the door. ¡°Do you think Crestana¡¯s gone home?¡± Iris asked. ¡°I sure hope so. It¡¯s midnight, I can¡¯t be paying her seven hours of overtime.¡± Evalyn tucked the keys back into her pocket and turned on the lights. ¡°She¡¯s kept the place clean, though. I¡¯ll have to thank her later.¡± ¡°Maybe, but she only cleans for me because she wants me to train her.¡± ¡°How devious,¡± Evalyn replied kicking off her shoes and starting down the hallway. The office was in much the same condition: orderly, and without a speck of dust. The favours they owed their janitor were growing by the day, so much so that paying her outright started to look like the more appealing option. ¡°Well, if the School¡¯s been notified, all we need to do is let Dad know and maybe ask Alis to take care of the office.¡± ¡°I can do that tomorrow if you want,¡± Iris said as she grabbed Evalyn¡¯s wrist. With her head, she furiously gestured towards the office door while tugging on the captured wrist. ¡°Yeah¡­that sounds good. Iris why don¡¯t you check the mailbox, I¡¯ve got some files to organise.¡± ¡°Okay. I¡¯ll be back soon.¡± ¡°Brilliant.¡± Iris turned, refusing to let go of her mother¡¯s wrist as her pair of furious feet preceded her mother¡¯s pair of stumbling ones, purely along for the ride. She stormed down the hallway and out of the door. ¡°What are we going to do?¡± ¡°Hey Iris, let¡¯s take a breath first.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t like the mission already, but her?¡± ¡°I know she can be a little insensitive, but we all have to put up with it.¡± ¡°Why? I don¡¯t care that she¡¯s the Queen I hate this!¡± ¡°She means well, Iris, but she¡¯s a Spirit. She can¡¯t help it.¡± ¡°Can¡¯t help what?!¡± ¡°She can¡¯t help the fact that she doesn¡¯t understand us. You saw how she was looking at us, how she was chewing. It¡¯s clumsy, but I know she feels some level of guilt for threatening you when you first met.¡± The words of panicked frustration were caught in her mouth. She looked at her mother¡¯s strained face with a mix of emotion. ¡°Is it my fault?¡± ¡°No. No! No, no Iris I¡¯m not trying to blame you. I know how she is, and I get it, she¡¯s frustrating to deal with. I just want you to know there¡¯s nothing malicious about it, all right?¡± Iris stuttered, but nothing came out. She felt her eyes growing hot and sucked on air like a choking fish trying to keep it in. Evalyn¡¯s face tried to hide it, but behind the mask, things were only getting worse. Her mother pulled her into an embrace and rocked her back and forth, sparing Iris from having to cry in front of her. ¡°Let¡¯s do what we have to do, all right? Put your best foot forward, especially for the next few days.¡± Best foot forward. It was like talking a child into attending school for the first time. She was going to murder people, they both knew that. Yet the most horrible part about the warmth in her mother¡¯s embrace was knowing that she would never experience it if she refused to take that step forward, if she refused to let those strangers die. She steadied her breathing and sunk into the hug. ¡°I wish I was like you.¡± Evalyn chuckled. ¡°It took years to become me. I just haven¡¯t told you about the years I wasn¡¯t.¡± She pulled back, brushing Iris¡¯s fringe that she¡¯d made a mess of. ¡°You could ask anyone; I was a wreck, more than you could ever be. That isn¡¯t a challenge, by the way.¡± ¡°I know,¡± Iris answered, trying to focus on Evalyn¡¯s weak smile over the thoughts still swirling in her head. ¡°I¡¯ll tell you some other time, though. It¡¯s late. Are you hungry?¡± ¡°Yeah.¡± ¡°Then let¡¯s take care of everything quickly and go home. The trams aren¡¯t running, so we¡¯ll take the roofs. Do you want me to carry you?¡± "Yeah." ¡°You¡¯re right to carry the Queen and the cakes.¡± ¡°Yeah.¡± Evalyn smiled. ¡°You look so tired.¡± ¡°I am tired,¡± she said, sniffling. ¡°All right, let¡¯s get you home.¡± Chapter 31 Part 1: No Substitute Two trails in the sand followed his feet like half-finished snakes, the tip of his toes drawing through the fine grains, sometimes leaving divots, sometimes kicking them up and flinging them halfway down the side of the dune. There was nothing between the mountains to his south and the ocean to his north; nothing besides the ruins of his dreams and a long, rough path carved by tyre tracks. He¡¯d taken it before, one of the few paths worth the risk of consistent travel. It was fast, yet still unpredictable, following the stars in a way no Spirit would ever think to. He followed those same stars again, watching the stolen cars he had once ridden with comrades cruise by him, their red tail lights like vapour trails in the night¡¯s darkness. Entire convoys, their black and green paint jobs obscured by darkness, well camouflaged if not for the headlights sparkling like embers lost in ash. He laughed at himself as he watched the cars go, wishing he could stick a thumb up and beg for a ride, but before his mind could even think to do so, they were already blurry specks on the horizon. They had joined the dancing machines. The laugh turned into a sputtering cough, warm saliva and cloudy breath escaping his mouth and taking with it precious body warmth. He¡¯d scavenged as many pieces of clothing as he could and it still wasn¡¯t enough. His fingers were blue, and his face had grown numb long ago. The movements of his legs were not his own, but he¡¯d long surrendered to them. His life was forfeit anyhow. Spending his last breath in trying to reach a city that wanted to kill him anyway was futile, but not the worst way to die. If being human meant reasoning with his death, then he would take the humiliation if it meant he could thrash like an animal until he succumbed to it. Then, perhaps he¡¯d see the dancing machines one more time. Lights. Not the ones heralding the arrival of his beloved convoys, but ones running perpendicular. Their high beams blinded him, but by the way the light spanned the horizon, he knew it was a formation of some sort rather than a column. They were sweeping the landscape, perhaps in search or something. Their engines roared, unobstructed in such a desolate desert, audible for miles, yet he had not heard them. The convoys that now drifted into the distance had covered the sound, but now, there was nothing to distract him from the oncoming tide. The lights arrested his movements and seized his senses. He could only stand there, shielding his eyes from the light as night suddenly turned to day and then some. The engines stopped, worn brakes crunching and squealing as the long line came to a halt. Sixteen lights meant eight cars. Something moved, its partial silhouette blocking the lights directly before him¡ªa slithering motion, translucent wisps of some kind of matter flowed before the headlights and over the drifting sand. The grain didn¡¯t move; whatever was coming for him was weightless. The translucent matter reared upwards, matching his height, although the man felt it was with mercy that the Spirit went no higher. It was shapeless, swirling with the will of the soft wind that pushed the dunes over the earth. The only thing that took form in the congregation of smoky, emerald matter were winding veins, branching from one strand to another in an interconnected network, keeping the apparatus in place. ¡°Slave.¡± It growled, drawing the man¡¯s attention to a small voice box intertwined with the pulsating network. ¡°Get in the car.¡± It was the moment he expected gun barrels to point at him from all directions. Perhaps they were, but, behind blinding lights, he had no hope of seeing them. A convoy of slave wranglers drawn to news of the base¡¯s destruction, hoping to mop up the military¡¯s leftovers. They¡¯d be more liberal with their choice of weapon than the military when standardisation wasn¡¯t a concern. Those with something more lethal¡ªor more cruel¡ªthan a bullet and barrel wouldn¡¯t be afraid to use it. He obliged, stepping past the headlights and keeping his head down. The lanterns directly in front of him belonged to a people-mover with a thin, canvas roof, but even then, the prospect of warmth in his dying breath was enough to excite the man even a little. He would find a way to end his own life before he was ever made to work under the foot of a Spirit again. ¡°They¡¯ve taken the case you refused,¡± Marie reported over the phone, hiding her disappointment behind the wire and receiver. ¡°Won¡¯t be back for a while, and, here¡¯s the kicker, the Queen is going with them.¡± ¡°Trailing six feet of blue silk?¡± ¡°No. Put herself in a hairpiece. I think she wants to be in Iris¡¯s hair. My bet is she won¡¯t get much higher than her jacket collar.¡± Colte answered with an agonising creak of his worn desk chair. The sun¡¯s rays had tried¡ªand failed¡ªto weasel him out of the shade while he shuffled to follow the shadows. ¡°They¡¯ll be all right, especially with the Queen there. I¡¯d have less chance of dying to a firing squad than I would against those three all at once.¡± ¡°You know that¡¯s not what I¡¯m worried about.¡± ¡°I know,¡± he said, turning his back to glance outside the window. The shadows had moved to point east, if only barely. He checked the clock ticking on the far wall. ¡°But I¡¯m doing my part in all this. Can¡¯t stop now, especially when I¡¯ve finally got something.¡± Half past one. He hadn¡¯t been given a time, only a date to receive a call from a caller whose situation was temperamental, to say the least. Missing it meant waiting who knew how long for another chance, assuming rapport hadn¡¯t fallen through. ¡°Has that something gotten back to you yet?¡± Marie asked. ¡°No, not yet. Been waiting since twelve.¡± ¡°So an hour and a half? Can¡¯t expect them to¡ª¡± ¡°AM. Twelve AM.¡± ¡°Right. Look I¡¯m not exactly free at the moment myself, I just called to let you know about those two. I don¡¯t want to hog up your line much longer if that¡¯s the case.¡± ¡°No worry, this is my Aether line phone. I¡¯ve got my good old wire freed up for when they call me.¡± He heard her muffled, exasperated sigh whisper through the small speaker. ¡°All right¡­this lead then. How long do you think it¡¯ll take you to exhaust?¡± It was Colte¡¯s turn to sigh. He didn¡¯t want to think about it himself; he¡¯d gotten too used to abstaining from fieldwork. ¡°A week if things move quickly, maybe longer. Contact with everyone might be limited.¡± When the network failed to get him anywhere or had simply been exhausted, new leads, new contacts, and new risks were needed to close in on an answer, a target, a goal. ¡°For the foreseeable future, I won¡¯t be living as Liam Colte.¡± ¡°Then let¡¯s celebrate your return to it. Sound good?¡± Colte paused at her sudden invite. He was planning to do exactly that, with prior warning or without. ¡°Sounds good,¡± he said, choosing to say something simple lest the moment fall apart. But his contact decided to ignore his best efforts. ¡°Sounds like you¡¯ve got your lead. Good luck,¡± she said, signing off. The line faded in his ear, Aether twine unfurling into the wind until another ring finally scattered the delicate pieces. ¡°Hello?¡± he said, picking up the receiver with his off-hand as the other hung up the Aether line. ¡°This Mr Colte?¡± said a whisper, crackling over the line. ¡°Yes, this is Colte.¡± ¡°Yeah, yeah. I got yer meetin¡¯ like I asked Mr Colte. I got yer meetin¡¯ but I still can¡¯t help but ask if you¡¯d just¡­reconsider?¡± Colte kept his objections silent. The man had a jitter, that was a no factor. Tolerable enough if he could roll with the punches. But he¡¯d explained enough, and enough times at that. His mouth shut, his eyebrow twitching, he pressed on. ¡°No, unfortunately, I can¡¯t and that¡¯s final, Mr Jones. I already have the payment ready, it¡¯s been shipped off, so I¡¯ll need the details for this meeting right now or that money is turning right back around.¡± ¡°All right Mr Colte! I understand just¡­I think you¡¯re underestimating them is all. Don¡¯t want you to go through no trouble.¡± ¡°Thank you, Mr Jones. The details please.¡± ¡°Details, yeah. Yeah, I got them on me spare me a moment will ya.¡± He heard a rattle as Mr Jones set the receiver down, and in the ensuing silence came incessant rustling at the behest of shaking hands looking for a note of some kind.If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it. Colte closed his eyes, searching¡ªalbeit silently¡ªfor any patience left in himself, shoring up a modicum that would see him through one final phone call. ¡°Just as you said Mr Colte, gave ¡®em an alias, no mention you was in Geverde either. Put you as a fella out of Trepedite, just like you asked. Are you ready for the address Mr Colte, I won¡¯t repeat it twice Mr Colte I can assure you that.¡± ¡°Yes, I am,¡± he said, grabbing a pen and paper and keeping the groan from escaping his lips. ¡°Eighteen slash two three two, Farakeep Street, Third Street, Trepedite. It¡¯s downtown. Slums.¡± ¡°Loud and clear, Mr Jones, loud and clear. The money will arrive shortly. Please be prompt in collecting it, we don¡¯t want it getting lost.¡± ¡°I certainly will Mr. Colte, I certainly will. Now, you keep your head on your shoulders Mr Colte and I hope to hear from you again. And not just because of the easy dosh I mean it Mr Colte.¡± ¡°Jolly,¡± he replied, promptly hanging up and heaving a sigh that tore the frustration from his lungs and expelled it into the air, marking an end to a consecutive thirteen painful hours. The iron gates closed behind him, the squealing of their iron hinges preceding the weighty clunk of the locks closing shut. A full stop to the first half of the city, the side of the coin that was the epitome of human greed and excess: its logical conclusion, as far as current progress allowed. In the garden Provenance walked through, Spirit Trees sprang in excess, and the silent hum of a magic shield overhead did not go by him unnoticed. Grey reigned supreme here, and the will that drove their oppressive spear was¡ªto its very core¡ªhuman, but the spear itself was coated in Aether. A door awaited him at the gravel path''s terminus, with two armed guards on either side. Armed was unfortunately an understatement. Clad in medieval-style plate armour, blue lines ran down the metal like a pattern-reader, quietly circulating magic to every extremity like the flow of blood. Its design philosophy was ancient but purely aesthetic, the modern implements still present in portable radios and sidearms, albeit tucked away underneath cloth bearing the imperial insignia. Jet black, but that went without saying. Any equivalent of the Sidosian 42nd Division¡¯s armour was reason to panic, but especially so when the inch-thick steel was substituted for layers and layers of raw power. It wasn¡¯t as though Provenance frequented the capital, but even so, their developments in weaponry were too fast to ignore. The rail lines in and out of the city now levitated entire trains like the cars in Excala, and the artillery cannons positioned around the administration compound like thorns on a rose were of new make too. Perhaps the empire had subdued another Higher Order Spirit and replicated its magic; it was a decent point of conversation primed for his upcoming meeting. ¡°State your business,¡± the left guard announced, hand on the hilt of an upturned longsword sword, similarly radiating magic. Provenance opened his passport and showed it to the same guard. Their helmet remained motionless, but clearly, the eyes shrouded in shadow had seen all they needed to. ¡°Proceed,¡± the guard then stated, which would also be his final word on the matter. Provenance tucked his passport away in his breast pocket and reached for the door handle, hesitating as his hand touched the doorknob. Even through the thick layers of his suit, he recognised the Aether. Out of sheer exposure to the phenomenon, he knew it was Spacehopper magic. It''s magic, yes, but the Spirit itself was long disposed of. Even if he cared little for taboo, what was unthinkable to the average Geverdian managed to stall him, even for a second. He opened the door and stepped through, watching as a ceiling plastered itself over the blue sky overhead, and four brick walls¡ªfrom the scaffolding to the wallpaper¡ªshut out the forest around him. Next came the marble floor and enough exotic furnishing to build an entire estate outright¡ªmoney woven into the curtains and carpets, the culmination of thousands of years of craftsmanship into each table leg and cushion seat and cabinet hinge. Such was the wealth of the Imperial family, so much treasure for a temporary residence in a city they rarely visited in person. Tastefully sparse, little stood between him and the individual seated at the far end of the room. Provenance watched her, poised in front of the window as a golden glow streamed through the glass, the resulting halo her literal mandate from heaven. Or close enough to it. Provenance bowed. ¡°Empress Fanreth,¡± he said. The woman¡¯s delicate features barely acknowledged him, but her hands, silhouetted against the light, beckoned him across the embroidered mauve carpet. He stepped closer, past a low table of artisan finger foods and drapes of richly dyed silk, holding his polite smile and straight posture. The Empress finally turned, now that she was in full view. Her eyes scoured him like a hawk, scrutinising him from top to bottom, and yet he felt no offence in her doing so. She was too beautiful. ¡°Life has surely treated you quite poorly,¡± she said, brushing a hand over her lap while a silken, deeply embroidered sleeve trailed behind it. Like the guards outside her door, her body never moved unnecessarily. The chains of emerald hanging from her hair stick never swayed, and Provenance found not a single smudge on her makeup. Refined to a sharp edge, but for high society rather than combat. ¡°I make do as always, Your Highness.¡± ¡°Surely. Sit.¡± Provenance obliged, taking the seat opposite the Empress as she turned back to the window. One of the spires atop the administration complex. From such a point, one was no match for the tallest of the city¡¯s structures, but the view remained sublime in its own way, rendering the mass of humans as the anarchic termite mound it functioned as. The sheer scale of it all sealed Provenance¡¯s mouth shut as he drank in the sight before him, a sinking feeling growing in his gut. ¡°Are you any closer to your dream yet?¡± the Empress asked. ¡°Yes. I can say that with confidence.¡± ¡°And where does this city fit in that dream of yours?¡± He kept his eyes on the skyline, watching as splendour regressed to squalor the further he went down. Fighting for scraps at the lower levels, unable to count ones days in advance lest their hands stopped working the conveyor belt. So far removed, they sat like Gods atop the world, with no power to change it. Utterly helpless, from very top to very bottom. ¡°It doesn¡¯t,¡± he said. ¡°I can say the same for any city.¡± The Empress smirked, resting her hands on her lap and turning towards him. ¡°It reassures me to no end to know you have not changed.¡± ¡°And have you, Empress?¡± ¡°Hardly,¡± she sighed, standing. ¡°My husband¡¯s forefathers built this empire on the bodies of thousands. If it comes down to me, I will not see those sacrifices be in vain.¡± ¡°Which is where I come into play,¡± he said, standing up to match her, hands by his side, shoulders firm. ¡°What is it you ask of me this time?¡± The woman stared into the abyss, rehearsing her words in her head before she spoke them so there was never a single flaw in her speech. Practiced, measured, cards close to her impeccably styled collar. ¡°Geverde and Sidos¡¯s position amongst the middling nations continues to grow. Thanks to your people, recent events have stifled their progress. The benefits to my husband¡¯s imperium aside, many nations hold similar views to us.¡± She turned to him, her movements controlling the laws of inertia itself, as each piece of her outfit turned with grace. ¡°Yet they still buy the Alliance¡¯s Higher Order Armour, and day by day, it becomes more advanced. Their influence grows, even without considering their monopoly on the Aether Infused.¡± ¡°I am aware, Your Majesty. They have indeed played their hand well.¡± She nodded, continuing. ¡°Vesmos may have become the most powerful player in the lands between Human and Spirit country, but we have not lost sight of what we are.¡± ¡°An outpost for the human species. His Majesty told me as much when I first met him.¡± The imposing man had treated him kindly, but not without a gleam in his eye. He knew what Provenance was capable of, and was yet unafraid to meet him in person. It was that sort of supreme confidence, belief in the folly of man that convinced Provenance that he would be an invaluable agent of chaos. And his wife, whether terrified of losing her status or clawing for the admiration of the man with heavenly blessing, did his bidding like a dog. Did so with gusto, with glee in every stride, every word. Provenance could never quite take her seriously. She nodded, approving his assessment. ¡°Vesmos could hold its own on all fronts for a while, but without support from the motherland, it would fall in time. It has always been this way, and we have fought ferociously to maintain the status quo.¡± And so the subjugation of peoples was overlooked as long as the slaughter of Spirits continued. Subjugation not for subjugation¡¯s sake, but to maintain order, so the machine could keep churning. ¡°And you are afraid this support may be¡­divided amongst your empire and the Alliance?¡± ¡°Vesmos¡¯s ultimate goal is the eradication of Spirits wherever possible, to leave a habitable world for our kind. If the matter was simply a division in support to further the greater good, then our empire would adapt.¡± With a great deal of spite, surely. Power was a drug, hard for a human to abdicate, let alone a society birthed from their greed. ¡°But for power to fall into the hands of a hermit kingdom,¡± the Empress said, the smallest hint of spite leaking into her voice. ¡°People so wrapped up in themselves that they don¡¯t have the slightest hint of how the world works. One half run by a Spirit at that.¡± The Empress watched his smile, and he maintained it effortlessly. ¡°Is this the position of the Imperial family, Your Majesty?¡± he asked. ¡°It is, otherwise I would not include it in my briefing.¡± ¡°Is that what drove your Air Force to send that spy plane over Sidos?¡± The Empress pressed her lips together, sensing the critique in his question, no doubt. ¡°The actions taken by the Air Force were hasty, yes,¡± she said, leaving the conversation at that. Provenance pushed the issue no further. For his own machinations, it had worked out well enough, but they had squandered his gift¡ªthat fact could not be overlooked. ¡°Then let us pray they have learnt their lesson,¡± he replied, guessing that whoever was in charge no longer had a head to learn the lesson with. ¡°I would like to take a different approach instead,¡± the Empress ventured. ¡°My husband has expressed interest in keeping you on¡­a retainer, so to speak.¡± ¡°You wish to keep me in the capital?¡± ¡°You will be permitted to continue with your business as you have, but we are in the midst of preparing for something unprecedented, and we require all the help we can muster.¡± Provenance¡¯s smile broke, first into an awkward chuckle he could not quite control, then into a growing show of unease. ¡°I am not ¡®help¡¯, Your Majesty. Our relationship¡ª¡± ¡°Our relationship is whatever I decide it is, given the right incentives.¡± Provenance openly grimaced, grinding his teeth at the thought of it. ¡°And what would those be, Your Majesty?¡± ¡°Backing, in short. More liberal access to our resources: say the word, and my husband will get it done within reason. Funding, as I know your plans live and die by faith and favours. Whatever else you desire can be settled in the fine print.¡± ¡°And in return?¡± The Empress smiled. ¡°We ask the same of you. We ask that the network which works for you will work for us as well, and those¡­brilliant talents of yours be put to use in furthering our common goal.¡± Provenance took a step forward, shoes slowly crushing the velvety carpet underneath. ¡°We do not have a common goal, Your Majesty. The path that leads there may follow similar routes, but make no mistake. I do not share such shortsighted desires.¡± Her Majesty glared at him, ever defiant, the glimmer in her eyes an inferior replication of her husbands, but nonetheless spoke of unending confidence. The eyes of someone who had never heard the word ¡®no¡¯. ¡°Your fairytale still enraptures you, does it Provenance? All those promises, those¡­spiteful wishes for a world that will never exist.¡± The Empress sat in her tower, watching the days go by underneath her as ants scurried from speck to speck. ¡®It¡¯s inevitable¡¯. ¡®It¡¯s how it will always be¡¯. It was true. All of it was true. The assessment of those who could see it from the top down. But for every one of those ants... ¡°To be enraptured by it is to live.¡± ¡°And to know it isn¡¯t true is to survive.¡± Their differences were inconsolable, but business was business. Provenance could walk out of the door at that very moment, but they would find him eventually. ¡°The armour those guards wear outside,¡± the Empress started. ¡°Defensive Aether is woven into the very fabric. Of course, they do not ¡®see¡¯ per se, and can¡¯t make eye contact with you. In case you¡­felt there¡¯d be no consequences for refusing us.¡± Provenance kept his eyes trained on the Empress, suppressing a rage that festered in his gut. Conducting his business from the capital was possible, yes, in-betweens were a significant factor in how he operated. But ultimately, timelines would lengthen, leads would lose their reliability and his network would lose a face to rely upon. Yet the benefits could not be ignored, either. ¡°I shall give you the night to think about it. This can be your room, it¡¯ll be more suitable for habitation by nightfall.¡± Chapter 31 Part 2: The Crown In Her Head ¡°Do you want your medicine now or later?¡± ¡°I¡¯ll take it when we¡¯re queuing. If I¡¯m lucky, it¡¯ll knock me out right before we take off.¡± The waves breaking against the harbour were calm this time of year, their gentle lapping overpowered by bickering gulls and the chatter of eager passengers, many marvelling at the sight of the behemoth up close. Iris had to admit, the sight of the monstrous turbines wasn¡¯t any less impressive the second time around. She thought about being underneath one if it were to fall, a meaningless daydream that was interrupted by a hand on her shoulder. ¡°Worried about your friends?¡± Evalyn asked. ¡°A little,¡± she said. ¡°It feels like I¡¯m leaving them in the middle of something.¡± ¡°Do you feel you¡¯re missing out?¡± ¡°No. That¡¯s not¡ª¡± ¡°I¡¯m joking,¡± Evalyn smiled. ¡°They¡¯ve got to work through it, with or without you. As long as you¡¯re there when you¡¯re able to, that¡¯s all you need to do. All right? Don¡¯t be afraid to trust them.¡± ¡°Do you trust them?¡± ¡°I don¡¯t need to trust them,¡± Evalyn scoffed. ¡°As long as they lock my office door and clean the place, I¡¯ve got no complaints.¡± The line shuffled forward, and Evalyn picked up their suitcases. ¡°Has your hairpiece said anything since we left the station?¡± ¡°No,¡± Iris reported, feeling her heart rate increase at the mere mention. It sat heavy, pinning back one curtain of hair behind her ear. Gaudy enough to catch the attention of some envious women; it had taken a thorough half hour of convincing from Evalyn to even put it there. If her mother could fuss about flights, she could at least keep one gripe of her own. ¡°I wish they¡¯d just bore a tunnel through the mountain range,¡± she muttered right before giving the cabin crew a friendly greeting. Iris handed over their tickets, and they stepped inside. ¡°Doesn¡¯t change much from plane to plane,¡± Evalyn sighed as they navigated the velvet carpet, luxury goods advertisements framed on the walls in place of fine art. Iris noted the distinct lack of marble pillars; the liminal space between onboarding and reception took on a more recognisable yet still high class feel. ¡°Is this a different company?¡± ¡°It¡¯s a Geverdian one; read the tickets. A Beak even checked them.¡± ¡°Right,¡± she muttered. She found the hairpiece too distracting, diverting all her brainpower to hyper-focusing on it instead of her surroundings. ¡°State¡¯s paying for our tickets. Can¡¯t give out government money to foreign competitors.¡± The reception came into view, and Iris produced the tickets again, this time taking the chance to read them. ¡°It says first class,¡± she said as she handed them over. Evalyn raised her eyebrows. ¡°Lucky us.¡± Her mother was unconscious not long after, jaw hanging limp as though whatever blow had knocked her out cold had also dislodged her jaw along with it. Iris followed a small trail of drool venture its way out of the corner of her mouth and sighed. Evalyn was keeping her head above the water for her, a buoy on rough seas she could swim towards. Iris appreciated the effort, but when she was alone, she couldn¡¯t help but regress backwards. Even in that moment, she could feel herself sinking. She got out of her seat and shuffled into the isle, remembering the way Elliot had chosen a direction and gone with it, unperturbed by the decision beyond what mattered in the moment. Iris missed him already, truth be told, and was debating on whether she could spend the few coins in her pocket to phone him. Left, right, left? Right it was, towards the front of the aircraft. ¡°Where are you going?¡± a voice asked, seeping into the crevices of her brain. Her entire body shivered. ¡°Trying to find a phone,¡± she answered. ¡°Or someone who knows where I can find one.¡± ¡°You passed a staircase to the downstairs amenities seven seconds ago.¡± Iris stopped in her tracks, pursed her lips and ground her jaw. She spun on her heels and retraced her steps, finding the staircase and taking it a level down. The sounds of the mall greeted her before the sights did, and soon the deferential bustle of a wide arcade enveloped her. Shops lined either side, the illustrated posters advertising breezy summer fashion and cultural souvenirs. She looked up, where similar slogans hung from banners alongside chandeliers as clouds rolled past the generous glass windows. ¡°There is a sign to your left. A phone box sits fifty metres to our right.¡± Iris held her tongue and sighed, begrudgingly following the directions. The thought had crossed her mind to leave the hairpiece behind, but leaving the Queen unattended sounded like a valid enough reason for execution. She passed vacationing customers, the summer levity never rubbing off on her despite the proximity. Enveloped in normalcy only made her feel like an outsider, and the voice inside her head only made things worse. ¡°There. To your left.¡± An Aether line phone box sat in between a cobbler and a handbag store, the gentle curves and unassuming paint job exactly like those on any Excalan street. She tapped her boot against the genuine cobblestone and the intent behind the design made more and more sense. It certainly felt a little more sincere than her last flight. Like staying in a small town inn rather than a ten star hotel. She booked it for the phone, confirming it was unoccupied as she scavenged in her pocket for enough coins to pay for a minute and then some. Service a couple thousand metres in the air would come with a markup. Iris stepped through the door, shutting out the miniature world and leaving her with a muffled version of it. She breathed, counting the holes in the dial. Her eyes flicked from zero through to nine, and then back again. Back and forth, back and forth. Elliot¡¯s face wafted around in her head; how through smiling eyes he would tell her everything she didn¡¯t want to hear, and then try to give her every mercy, every shoulder to cry on she could ever ask for. Like bad medicine encased in honey. And suddenly, her hand could no longer reach the telephone.The author''s tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon. Picking it up was just another minute in bed past her alarm, or another day she went about refusing to study for a test. Whatever that was, calling him was only another instance of it. She let her hand fall. ¡°Are you not using the phone?¡± the hairpiece asked. ¡°No. Sorry, I guess.¡± ¡°No, I was merely trying to be helpful¡ª¡± ¡°Don¡¯t start, please,¡± Iris scoffed, exiting the booth. The floor under her feet bobbing up and down was finally getting to her, and the chatter grated against her ears. A staircase. One of those seldom-travelled staff access staircases would do. She¡¯d seen the city through the window minutes before their landing, the glittering skyline from the ocean looking as though a mirror was reflecting the stars into the desert. Still, it only made her stick to her stomach. The journey into the city was swift and discreet compared to her flight. Heavily tinted windows dulled the synapse-searing neon signs to something more tolerable, but even then, she refrained from looking outside. Evalyn looked worse for wear, but at least the medicine had worn off. Scanning her surroundings as ever, Iris assumed her mother was taking stock of how the city had changed since their last visit. Little if going by first glance. They left the lights and towers behind, pulling into a district of the city that slept at a reasonable time. It was dark, save for the occasional lit window and streetlight. The place¡ªif ignoring the haze of illumination in the sky¡ªrespected the night. There stood the Geverdian Embassy; a small, three-storey building, parked next to two office blocks. ¡°Get used to it,¡± Evalyn said, stepping out of the car. ¡°It¡¯s how we¡¯re going to be travelling for the foreseeable future.¡± As long as there was a warm enough bed. She prayed for at least that much. The building¡¯s modesty, barely being more than the office blocks on either side of it, spoke to the state of the cross-national relationship. Still in its infancy, and clearly not of much national concern, the building hid its faults with pleasant wallpaper and a passable paint job. ¡°We¡¯re mainly here to help stranded tourists,¡± their guide said. A Beak, as were most working at the embassy. Some humans fluttered about as paper mules, never able to amount to much more in a country where being paid a living wage was already remarkable. ¡°We¡¯ve picked up more¡­stimulating work in recent years, but we don¡¯t get called the hermit kingdom for nothing. Here we are.¡± The first floor wasn¡¯t so much divided into rooms as it was into sections. The place they had come to was a group of desks in a room of many, quietly labelled ¡®foreign operations¡¯. Two people were waiting for them: a stocky, bearded man whose face looked permanently crumpled and strained, and a slender woman with short hair and a few years on Evalyn, sitting atop one of the many desks. ¡°Are you mediating the meeting, Your Majesty?¡± Evalyn whispered as they approached. ¡°I already have,¡± she said. ¡°Everyone knows their role already. Yours is yet to begin.¡± ¡°Understood,¡± Evalyn said as she gave a curt smile to the two awaiting them. They shook hands, then turned to Iris and did the same. They exchanged no names, offering no greetings beyond the initial acknowledgement. ¡°We¡¯ve conducted reconnaissance under the Queen¡¯s orders for the past few weeks,¡± the woman began, standing up from her desk and towards a well-worn, in-use cork board. ¡°All off the books, considering our lack of leverage this time around.¡± ¡°Letting these greedy bastards know we¡¯re on the back foot at the moment would only make things harder,¡± the man interrupted, rubbing the bridge of his nose and turning back to the board. ¡°Anything useful?¡± Evalyn asked as Iris scanned the corkboard, trying to make a sense of it. Photographs connected by string to notes and receipts painted a picture of a flow of consciousness, likely the process that resulted in the conclusions she and her mother were to receive. ¡°We¡¯ve found that the F.S.A. has pivoted their strategy since,¡± the woman continued, reaching for a set of photographs on the desk. ¡°We¡¯ve caught wind of expanding operations overseas, to other nodes along the human trafficking trade.¡± She passed the photos to them. ¡°Hardly surprising, seeing that¡¯s all that¡¯s left of their last plan.¡± Iris watched Evalyn flip through the photographs one by one, a grim expression looming across her face. She handed back the photographs before Iris could see for herself. The woman noticed the gesture, eyes passing over Evalyn, then towards Iris. She took the cue and placed them face down. Perhaps they saw it as a mercy, but it only tempted her imagination to fill the gaps with the worst it could muster. ¡°So they¡¯ve expanded?¡± Evalyn continued, to which the woman nodded. ¡°Diversifying their operation instead of putting all their eggs in one basket. The thing is, in theory, this practice should need more recruits, but there hasn¡¯t been a corresponding spike in humans deserting their masters.¡± ¡°Guerilla groups make do with a little, but this is too much.¡± The woman nodded. ¡°It¡¯s likely they¡¯re drawing locally from wherever their new operations are based. This is all to say that they¡¯ve bounced back in a big way, and have the potential to work internationally now.¡± ¡°Which makes the idea that they¡¯d go for revenge not so farfetched,¡± Evalyn concluded. ¡°So, any evidence that they¡¯re responsible?¡± The woman shook her head. ¡°That¡¯s where we were hoping you¡¯d come in. Her Majesty barred us from working on this any further since it might involve some strong-arming, but¡­¡± The woman waltzed over to the corkboard, tapping her finger on an address pinned high above her. ¡°This is one of their few remaining safe houses, a garage on the outskirts of the city. Spirit runs the place, but most of the employees are F.S.A. and they run the place like it¡¯s their own.¡± ¡°So we just go there, look for answers?¡± Evalyn asked, and the woman nodded. ¡°That¡¯s the score. Bring back what you find, and we¡¯ll piece together your next steps.¡± Evalyn gave a curt smile and nodded. ¡°Sounds like a plan,¡± she said, before reaching for their suitcases. ¡°Anything else? If not, we might go get some shut eye upstairs.¡± ¡°Just¡­one more thing,¡± the woman said, her eyes wandering from Evalyn down to Iris. This time, she addressed the words to her. ¡°Are you the one that Colte spoke about? The child that caused an uproar in the council.¡± Iris watched the woman¡¯s face soften, eyebrows upturned. The sincerity behind the question was there, but her eyes flicked to Evalyn for confirmation. Her mother looked at them; a wry smile adorned her face before she averted her eyes. Iris nodded. ¡°Yes,¡± she said, wondering exactly how much the woman knew. ¡°Oh¡­may I?¡± the woman asked, an arm outstretched to her shoulder as she crouched at Iris¡¯s level. Iris nodded for a lack of a better response, and the woman pulled her into a hug. Over her shoulder, she watched the stocky man, unable to look away, his expression equally softened. ¡°You¡¯re doing so well, darling,¡± the woman said. ¡°You might never meet them, but there¡¯s people out there rooting for you, all right?¡± Iris¡¯s mind returned to the phone booth and the call she swore not to take. It was as if the world just had to get back at her for taking one step forward. She held onto the woman¡¯s coat, face half submersed in her shoulder, but not enough to hide any tears. She held them back, eventually croaking a few short words. ¡°What¡¯s your name?¡± she asked. The woman pulled away, a small smile across her face. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, but I can¡¯t tell you that.¡± She stood up, and waved, the man following suit not long after. Evalyn took Iris¡¯s hand, her eyes tainted red, and they turned to leave. Their room, with four plastered walls and a mattress thicker than paper, still couldn¡¯t shake the air of a holding cell. Barebones, white decor wasn¡¯t a deal breaker, nor was it exactly unfamiliar territory, in fact, she was well versed in what a room did for her psyche. The light above her head flickered, and she resolved to go to sleep as soon as possible, passing the time before her head hit the pillow by staring out the window. ¡°Not going to read your book?¡± Evalyn asked. Iris shook her head. ¡°All right¡­I¡¯m going to shower, then. Let¡¯s hit the hay when I¡¯m done, all right? Don¡¯t be afraid to get a head start, either.¡± Evalyn, carrying a bundle of clothes, left Iris in her pyjamas by her lonesome. She continued to stare out the window, forgetting to give an answer before the door to the bathroom closed. Iris exhaled, and her cheek found the cold windowsill as the rest of her body relaxed, hanging from the ledge. She had a view south, where without moonlight, the dunes were only vague charcoal sketches on a black canvas, framed by sparse city lights. ¡°May I talk to you about something?¡± the hairpiece asked her from her bedside table. Iris jolted at first, but she gritted her teeth, calmed down, and gave in. ¡°Sure.¡± ¡°The woman who hugged you then,¡± the hairpiece started as Iris felt the faucets run water under the floorboards. ¡°I understand she¡¯s wanted to meet you for a while.¡± The expression that seemed to melt once business was done. It was as sincere as expressions came; the hairpiece¡¯s words weren¡¯t hollow, a lie purely to console. ¡°How do you know?¡± Iris asked, still somewhat suspicious. ¡°When those in the Council who dealt in such matters called for your execution, word spread through back channels and hearsay.¡± The hairpiece certainly had a manner of speaking, so frank it was almost refreshing. ¡°I received many letters of protest from those whose ears it fell upon; most Aether infused like yourself, and one of them, her. Their threats of insubordination were a great aid in convincing those council members to back down.¡± Iris watched the hairpiece out of the corner of her eye, the slow vortex encased in the jewel swirling so steadily Iris wondered if the voice was her own creation. ¡°They are out there, rooting for you, as that woman said. It is unfortunate that you may never learn their names.¡± ¡°If it¡¯s unfortunate, then do something about it,¡± Iris said, crashing onto the bed and turning the covers over her face. The fabric shield seemed to work, as no more words got through to her. Chapter 31 Part 3: No Better Way Iris watched from the bed as Evalyn pulled her arms through her coat sleeves. Outfit complete, she stood still, metaphorically dipping her toes into the bath. Unfortunately, it didn¡¯t pass the human thermometer test. Her face crumpled, and she took the coat off, leaving it with her briefcase on top of the unmade bedsheets. Turning to Iris, she smiled. ¡°You¡¯re forgetting something.¡± ¡°No, I¡¯m not.¡± ¡°Yes, you are. Your head must feel pretty light at the moment.¡± It was Iris¡¯s turn to crumple her face. ¡°Our worry is that the F.S.A. agents will burn everything they have the moment they suspect a thing. Use any leverage you will, just make sure word doesn¡¯t get out of that garage to any employees not on shift. We¡¯ll be close behind to clean up the mess, so use your faces if you need to.¡± ¡°So cut their phones, seize radios, apprehend them all at once, and only then do we start talking.¡± ¡°Any earlier, you might lose our best lead.¡± ¡°Can¡¯t we kidnap them first, talk later?¡± ¡°If you can find an abandoned basement somewhere, sure. Hotels are risky, the embassy can¡¯t divert government funds into a property for something the Council doesn¡¯t know about, and bringing them here is out of the question.¡± She turned around. ¡°And, it goes without saying, activating a full-blown Mind Palace that close to the city, Spirits will flock to it like flies. So don¡¯t even think about it.¡± With that, the Witch and Wizard bid them farewell, with no real guarantee of ever meeting again. Still, the handshakes were brief, and they exchanged no names. The mission continued, the only through-line ever proving that they had any interaction at all. That embrace Iris shared with a stranger, it may as well have never happened. The car they borrowed from the embassy was a box of junk. Barely running, it was the type of job that would need an entire shop¡¯s worth of mechanics to assess, gawk at, and leave bewildered before they could even undo the first screw¡­or find it, for that matter. Iris watched her mother take a final right turn, disappearing behind the corner of Mob Reet Garage and Mechanical Repairs. The stout building barely stood out from the dust-laden streets surrounding it, brick and mortar filled with fine sand until it coloured the entire neighbourhood brownish yellow. It was a ghetto; construction company dorms for humans who had no master¡¯s basement to sleep in built and lived in ones of their own make. What little business could thrive in such an environment like a sapling in the desert, did so by all means necessary. The area just didn¡¯t scream ¡®business prospects¡¯ to Iris whatsoever. ¡°I sense no Spirits nearby,¡± the Queen whispered into her ear. ¡°No human witnesses either. Empty as a Wednesday.¡± Iris confirmed with her own eyes the street was thoroughly deserted. She looked up, finding the corner of the garage roof and reaching towards it. Her hair disassembled, pieces conjoining both into a liquid grappling hook and her helmet. The plates closed over her head, and the silver of the hairpiece dug into her scalp. She compensated, loosening it around her crown. The grappling hook stuck to the tin roof and held firmly despite the sand, digging solid teeth into the metal with a distant, soft crunch. She tugged on the rope, then reeled herself in. Flying through the air, she positioned herself feet first, softening the landing with more purple matter before climbing herself over the edge. Infrastructure was poor in such a part of the city; subterranean, let alone Aether phone lines, were a luxury. Iris read the closest utility pole, the two cables running underneath the electricity infrastructure being the two that routed communication. The thick black lines followed the path running along the street until it branched off and into the garage¡¯s roof. Iris severed the connection, watching the cable line fall limp before moving across the rooftop, keeping to the rear end of the building. Underneath her was an alleyway, overflowing dumpsters lining the path one after another. She hopped down, catching her own fall before looking around. A back entrance several paces left of her presented an enticing option, but the risk was too great. Ventilation shafts, all too small for her to crawl through. Asides from that, she was staring down a brick wall. ¡°The door,¡± the Queen whispered. ¡°What about it?¡± Iris asked, eyes searching for another option while her ears searched for the sound of Evalyn¡¯s voice. The car was no longer sputtering, so hopefully it wouldn¡¯t be long before the entire garage headed her mother¡¯s way. ¡°Get me to the door,¡± the Queen reiterated. ¡°I can help.¡± Iris reconsidered the first and most obvious option. Her gas was odourless, but not colourless, and any probe liquid or solid would not go unnoticed for long. She conceded, keeping her footsteps quiet as she approached the metal door. ¡°Slip the jewel underneath,¡± she said. ¡°You can see?¡± Iris asked, panicking as she recalled every heinous act of disrespect she¡¯d done assuming Her Majesty was temporarily blindsided. ¡°Only when it is required of me,¡± she clarified. ¡°I am not so Tuesday as to invade your privacy.¡± Iris wished ¡®privacy¡¯ also included keeping voices to her ears and not her head, but she held her tongue, feeling the icy edge of the executioner¡¯s axe leave the nape of her neck. Undoing the hairpiece, she passed it underneath the generous, rusted gap underneath the door and waited patiently. Second by second ticked by¡ªmuffled bickering from beyond the brick wall filled the silence. ¡°Someone is taking their lunch, another is similarly on break¡­reading.¡± ¡°One on either side?¡± ¡°Correct.¡± Iris bit her lip. There were little chances of her slipping in undetected. Divide and conquer it was. She refitted the hairpiece to her head and stepped back a few paces, crouching behind the safety of a dumpster before moulding a lump of purple matter into a sphere. She flicked her wrist, sending it into the door and making it clatter. One¡­two¡­three¡­ She tried again, this time knocking flakes of paint off the rusted surface. One¡­two¡­ The door opened, and a worker stepped out. Malnourished and tanned from the sunlight, his jaw was still working through something as they glanced down the street, left and right. If luck had it, the other worker¡¯s book was keeping them occupied. Iris waited until the mechanic before her appraised the damage, closing the door behind him and cutting himself off from the outside. She took the opportunity, lashing out with a tendril and delivering a solid blow to the back of his head, catching him as he fell. She lowered him to the ground, before grabbing the doorhandle. ¡°Right,¡± the Queen whispered as though reading her mind. Iris opened the door and stepped through, eyeing the second worker and dealing a similar blow to them before their nose ever left their novel. They slumped over in their chair, asleep for the moment. Iris paused for a few seconds, watching the worker for any twitches or spasms. None. A clean job. She assessed the room: what could qualify as the remains of a kitchen sat in one corner of the room while the rest remained sparsely furnished. A blackboard divvied up into days of the week afforded her a clearer picture of their adversaries. Seven employees in total; all assumed F.S.A., five of which were currently on shift, two of which were currently unconscious.The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings. She wedged the door to the room with purple matter, digging it into the concrete floor with spokes for added assurance. Finally, Iris breathed, passing her eye over the room. ¡°Radio to on the kitchen counter,¡± the Queen said, and Iris¡¯s eyes followed. Using a tendril, she punctured a hole clean through it. ¡°See any others?¡± Iris asked. ¡°No. The office?¡± The building was tall enough for two floors; most of it would make up the garage floor, a reasonable guess being everything beyond the door she had wedged. ¡°Can you check under the door again?¡± Iris asked. ¡°Certainly.¡± Iris reached through her helmet and undid the pin, using the wedge to bend a hole in the base of the metal door. She¡¯d seen automotive garages before; they were popular fronts for illegal operations. It wouldn¡¯t be strange to consider most of the building was open floor, placing the only available space for an office directly above. ¡°Metal structures are obscuring my view; what are those?¡± ¡°Focus.¡± ¡°Hardridge is engaging with two workers. They don¡¯t look too pleased.¡± ¡°What else? Any rooms?¡± ¡°No. The space is quite wide open. It matches the profile of the building exterior.¡± ¡°Above then,¡± Iris hissed, fitting the hairpiece back into her fringe and undoing the wedge on the door. She looked around, crumpling her nose at the mess she¡¯d made. At her command, several tendrils wrapped themselves around the man outside, dragging his unconscious body into the room. ¡°I don¡¯t do restraints well,¡± Iris admitted. ¡°They disappear when I don¡¯t think about them.¡± ¡°The cupboards over there are held together with¡­what is that material?¡± ¡°Duct tape.¡± ¡°Surely there¡¯s some left over.¡± Iris released her tendrils, each molecule disassembling into gas that filled the entire room, seeping into the gaping gaps between each piece of furniture. Cockroaches, rat droppings, a handheld radio she destroyed by hardening the gas inside it¡­ ¡°There,¡± she whispered, singling out the tape inside a kitchen drawer and retrieving it, condensing the gas into tendrils once again. Tearing off pieces, she securely bound four hands and two mouths. Iris next moved up to the door, pressing her ear against it. Distant talking, which she assumed was the fruit of Evalyn¡¯s labour. Besides that, it was dead silent until muffled shouting broke out, startling her. ¡°Upstairs,¡± the Queen said. If directed towards another worker, that would make all five employees accounted for. Iris opened the door slowly, feeling outside air against her skin as she tucked herself behind a set of car hoists, rusted beams flaking their paint onto her jacket. She looked to her left and found a set of staircases in the far corner of the workshop, leading upwards above the break room. She peeked around her cover, scanning the area for any unaccounted-for movement. Two mechanics were craning their neck under the hood of Evalyn¡¯s car, completely engrossed. With their backs turned, the floor was temporarily hers. She gathered purple matter underneath her feet, silently floating an inch above the concrete from cover to cover. From one beam of the hoist to the other, crossing the gap to the next hoist. Talking, only this time it was louder, echoed by the vast walls of the building. Iris stopped; a mechanic had turned in her direction. Too many sightlines; what avenues of movement were safe had changed at the drop of a hat. She pressed herself against the beam, replaying in her head the position of every worker as the footsteps continued to draw nearer. One by one, the steps falling in sync with her heartbeat as she desperately kept control over her breathing, imagining her next moves should things go south¡­ A crash of metal against concrete, and the footsteps paused, reversed, and turned into a jog. Iris dared a brief peek around the corner to find her mother stumbling on the floor, driver seat door ripped off its hinges as she smiled like an idiot and held onto her flat cap. Her marking was gone, hidden under heavy concealer. Iris took the opportunity, making for the stairs. The door to the office creaked open, and heavy footsteps against the metal stairs followed as someone descended. She dived underneath the last few flights of the staircase and caught her fall as the third and final worker passed directly overhead. Their footsteps also faded into the conundrum. Iris stood and rounded the staircase, climbing them and reaching the door. ¡°Stop,¡± the Queen said. ¡°It¡¯s a Spirit.¡± ¡°So?¡± ¡°You cannot render him unconscious so easily.¡± ¡°Then what do I do?¡± ¡°Leave it to me.¡± From her vantage point, she could see the small catastrophe swallow the workers¡¯ lines of sight, but it wouldn¡¯t last for much longer. She felt her heart beating against her ribcage and finally sighed. ¡°All right,¡± Iris said. She turned the door handle and opened it. Immediately, the air changed. What was minutes ago making her sweat through her jacket now had her grasping at every bit of warmth she could find. Proper paint surrounded her, mauve dye hiding flimsy walls while carpets hid rotting floorboards. The lines converged in front of her, on a Spirit occupying the far side of the room. Jagged lines jutted out at random angles, the only piece of clothing fitting the inconvenient physique being a tie around what Iris was forced to deduce was his neck. ¡°Who are you?¡± the boss asked, worry only catching up to his voice after the sentence. But even given the head start, he couldn¡¯t outrun her hairpiece. The aura that radiated from the Queen¡¯s perch wasn¡¯t directed at her, but she was drunk off it, nonetheless. An otherworldly presence filled the room, shouldering the air out of the way, leaving Iris breathless. Her knees grew weak, taken over by an inexplicable need to kneel; to declare her subservience. If it were not for the Spirit of Destruction¡¯s pride sitting somewhere deep in her psyche, she would¡¯ve given in. The pure charisma and leadership of a natural-borne leader, a ruler, using Aether as its medium instead of words and tangible communication. The effect it exerted on the Spirit across from her was even greater. She watched as the jagged lifeform buckled under the sheer weight of it. They didn¡¯t last long, soon dipping their head and rattling the desk in the process. Stay. The word resonated within the four walls of the room: a single, firm command, of which in human language took the form of mindless zeal or silver-tongue words. This was instead primal, like the snarl of a wolf or the growl of a bear. Iris approached the desk, duct tape in hand, seeing that the boss barely moved a muscle since the Queen had issued her command. ¡°Will it hold?¡± ¡°Not for long. Best to secure any extremities.¡± ¡°Theres too many,¡± Iris muttered, crouching beside the boss to examine the silhouette. Instead, something else caught her eye. ¡°Is that a panic button?¡± ¡°What is that?¡± ¡°It¡¯s a silent alarm. It calls the police.¡± The glass seal was broken, the button depressed. Somewhere in that fall, the boss had found the opportunity to make her day hell. ¡°That¡¯s a problem, I¡¯d assume.¡± ¡°Isn¡¯t that obvious?¡± Iris sprinted out of the office and made for the bottom of the stairs, throwing away caution in the wind as she screamed at the top of her lungs. ¡°The police are coming!¡± No other reaction came besides an explosion of Aether as three golden limbs forced the garage doors shut, plunging the place into darkness. Iris followed the golden glimmer, finding a golden suit of armour in place of her mother when she rounded the last corner. ¡°You¡¯re F.S.A. aren¡¯t you?¡± Evalyn asked, skipping formalities and diving headfirst into business. The three bound engineers shook their head out of reflex. Evalyn sighed, tightening the bounds like a hand under stress. ¡°We have sufficient evidence to implicate every one of you for terrorism, and that isn¡¯t a risk I¡¯d imagine you¡¯re willing to take. Am I right?¡± Evalyn crouched before one worker in particular, hiding his fear behind gritted teeth. ¡°You have no foothold here anymore, we know that. So you do us a favour, and we don¡¯t have to make martyrs out of you all for something that¡¯s no longer worth it.¡± None had an answer for her, so she pressed forward. ¡°Three years ago, the Fadaaki military destroyed an F.S.A. base in the desert. Do you know if anyone is keen on taking revenge for that defeat?¡± The workers kept their mouths shut. Evalyn stood up again and began to pace. ¡°We want to do business with them. If you do what we say and relay our message, the dirt we have on all of you stays hidden.¡± ¡°You came onto us. Why should we do what we tell you?¡± one asked, drawing Evalyn¡¯s ire. She drew closer, nose to nose with the man until he was shying away from the light. ¡°Because if you do as I say, then one of your cells goes down the drain and you walk away today alive. You don¡¯t, and not only do you all get executed, but every single damn cell we could pull from your communications gets busted as well. Make the right choice.¡± Distant sirens floated through the garage doors, slowly siphoning away their time. ¡°These men are too grounded in their faith,¡± the Queen said, although it seemed she excluded Evalyn from the chatter. ¡°Hardridge¡¯s talents don¡¯t suit extracting information, but yours might be.¡± ¡°How?¡± Iris muttered. ¡°Your Mind Palace. I¡¯ve seen it before, felt its terror. It¡¯s only grown since then, hasn¡¯t it?¡± Iris bit her lip, doubting how wise an attempt would be, dreading what a worst-case scenario might look like. ¡°I can¡¯t just¡ª¡± ¡°There is little time.¡± ¡°But if it becomes a full Mind Palace¡ª¡± ¡°You may interpret it as intuition as a Higher Order Spirit myself; your other half is too prideful to let that happen. Unless it wishes to risk your death, Iris, it will push back against you.¡± The sirens slowly grew louder. Evalyn¡¯s questioning was yielding no results. ¡°Fine,¡± Iris muttered. ¡°I will give you a hand,¡± the Queen said. ¡°Focus on that hallway.¡± Iris closed her eyes, and the sickly walls used her imagination as another putrid shortcut to reality. The cardboard walls, the bristling carpet, the child slowly dying in the snow. She focused her mind on the carpet, the feeling against the soles of her feet. Slowly, it became more and more vivid. Not only the carpet, but the choking, stale air of the hallway, the way the lights flickered, the way the walls closed in around her. Open it. The Queen¡¯s command brought her to her knees, and the reality that had filled the container of her imagination suddenly spilled forth. Only parts. She held onto the hallway itself, both her and the other half of her, albeit for different reasons. But what came forth first was the carpet, the mangled tufts of hardened fabric that pricked and plucked at the workers¡¯ fabric, holding onto them as the air choked them out. The other half of her held onto her wrists, pulling her away from the Queen¡¯s influence. As Her Majesty¡¯s Aether grew, so did the grip on her hands grow desperate. More and more, it constricted her hand, tugging on it with rotted, maggot-ridden flesh. Iris knew what was tugging at her, that sack of decaying flesh. As much as she wanted to give in herself, she couldn¡¯t bear to look at it, let alone listen to it. Reality was waiting for her. Iris kept her eyes closed, listening to the small whimpers of the F.S.A. agents grow more and more distressed. ¡°Don¡¯t waste this opportunity, Hardridge.¡± Her mother stumbled over her words, but eventually they came nonetheless. ¡°Anything big, anything that suggests a revenge campaign.¡± ¡°Radio¡­they said on¡­on the radio that¡­oh my God¡­¡± ¡°Radio, what did they say?¡± ¡°¡­big operation¡­out of West Teremoar¡­¡± ¡°It¡¯s where all the veterans went! The attack! The people you¡¯re looking¡­for¡­¡± ¡°The people that survived?¡± ¡°y¡­yes¡­something¡­big.¡± The police sirens rang in her ears. ¡°Stop.¡± It was her mother¡¯s voice. Iris opened her eyes, and the three workers collectively panted, heaving for air. Evalyn kneeled once again. ¡°Do you have any proof? The F.S.A. depends on this.¡± The worker in front of her gathered himself, speaking through sharp, laboured breaths. ¡°No, but¡­we don¡¯t know¡­about anything else. It¡¯s¡­all regular jobs. Slave rescue¡­ugh God¡­regular business, not¡­revenge.¡± ¡°It¡¯s not worth the risk, especially when you could be investing resources to something more useful?¡± The worker nodded before doubling over, heaving ragged breath after ragged breath. The sirens were upon them now, just outside the closed garage doors. Evalyn held them down as she turned to Iris, eyes still hidden behind the armour. ¡°I¡¯m giving you twenty-four hours to relay this message to a wiretapped phone across the road. If we do not hear from you at all, then the evidence we have on you lands on the Police¡¯s desk. Got that?¡± The workers nodded. Evalyn¡¯s eyes never left Iris. ¡°Let¡¯s move.¡± Chapter 31 Part 4: Answers Just Out of Reach The mission¡¯s nature afforded Evalyn some shut eye: they were twiddling their thumbs until news came from the wired telephone. Her nap only lasted so long, though. She¡¯d stripped the covers off the bed and unbuttoned her shirt as far as she still considered decent, the ceiling fan her only defense against the choking heat. And yet the heat was only an annoying buzz in the back of her head, fading as her body grew to adapt to it. What really kept her eyes wide was the feeling of the bristling carpet against her armour, fabric like the hooks on a cat¡¯s tongue. Still fresh in her mind, it haunted the soles of her feet. She looked over at the hairpiece on the table, left abandoned, and not wholly without reason either. Her daughter had looked as though she were struggling back at the garage, and the way it had been the Queen that demanded Evalyn to act made it easy to deduce what had happened, if not the specifics. ¡°Why did you do it, Your Majesty?¡± Evalyn asked as she watched the ceiling fan whip about, kicking hot air up and out of the window. ¡°It was our only option in the moment,¡± Amestris replied. ¡°It was a Thursday sort of matter, and time was running out. There was no clean way about it.¡± ¡°Sure, but that can¡¯t be the only reason,¡± Evalyn said, and the Queen was silent for a few moments. The fan whirred, and the hot air danced. ¡°It is not,¡± she finally admitted, ¡°but considering her future, she has no choice but to learn, eventually.¡± Evalyn fidgeted with her own fingers, the heat getting to her head as she frowned deeply, sweat sticky in the creases in her skin. ¡°And what if I didn¡¯t want her to, Your Majesty?¡± she asked. ¡°If it gets to a point where it¡¯s too dangerous to let things continue like this.¡± ¡°You mean to say release her from her duties?¡± ¡°¡­yeah,¡± she said tentatively. The Queen, in response, gave a long, silent pause. The fan rocked, and a distant phone call somewhere in the building weakly chimed through the floorboards. After she counted the fan rock back-and-forth seven times, Her Majesty finally gave her answer. ¡°I am always open to disputes. Even if they turn violent. Just know I won¡¯t concede easily¡ª¡± ¡°But she¡¯s still a child.¡± ¡°She is your child. She¡¯s rare, but not unique. You know that, Hardridge.¡± ¡°That doesn¡¯t¡ª¡± ¡°If you wish to fight me, then fight me with a mother¡¯s wrath. Then you may stand to challenge me.¡± Fight to protect her daughter and her daughter alone. Even if it was the Queen herself suggesting it, the small feat of fighting with one¡¯s life for a single child felt like a monumental task. One impossible even for an absolute power. But on matters of law, talking to the ruling monarch was about as final as things were. She held her tongue; the Queen knew exactly how ¡®unfair¡¯ it all seemed. Yet Evalyn had rarely seen ¡®fair¡¯ outside of board and ball games in her thirty years: the Queen¡¯s philosophy suggested things she couldn¡¯t expect different from another few hundred. ¡°I¡¯m going to find her. You won¡¯t get stolen, right?¡± ¡°I won¡¯t be helpless, Hardridge. Feel free.¡± ¡°Thank you, Your Majesty.¡± Evalyn rolled out of bed, buttoned up her shirt, and headed for the door. ¡°Hardridge,¡± the Queen called after her, stopping her by the door. ¡°I mean it. I would never hold it against you, especially for that young one there.¡± ¡°I know, Your Majesty, but I can¡¯t extend you the same impartiality.¡± ¡°And that love is why the Spirit of Desire chose you.¡± Evalyn smiled weakly, the hand resting on the doorframe finally parting with it as she left and closed the door behind her. Her lips quivered: after a conversation like that, it was hardly right to say she was thinking of retiring. Evalyn found her outside, sitting on a bench by the main entrance. ¡°Are you wearing sunscreen?¡± Evalyn asked, the words almost embarrassingly motherly. ¡°I¡¯m in the shade,¡± Iris said, glassy eyes still listlessly wafting over the cramped street before them. Two no-through road signs on either end of the street kept things quiet, the office buildings teeming with workers presenting outward nothing but dead facades. Evalyn sat close to her daughter, leaving enough room to let a draught pass through comfortably. ¡°How are you feeling?¡± ¡°Hot,¡± Iris said. ¡°¡­anything else?¡± Her daughter remained silent, pressing her thumbs into each other as the dead stare remained idle. It was one of her trademarks¡ªa stare that passed through anything and everything, but sometimes they were too much to bear to look at. ¡°What you did, back there,¡± Evalyn ventured, placing a hand on Iris¡¯s thigh, ¡°that was very brave of you.¡± She moved her hand to the back of her daughter¡¯s head, caressing the long, silver hair. ¡°Thanks to you, things are going smoother.¡± ¡°I didn¡¯t want to do it.¡± ¡°I know. We end up doing a lot of that sort of thing, don¡¯t we?¡± ¡°Yeah.¡± Evalyn held her tongue, knowing the next words she wanted to say wouldn¡¯t help in the slightest. ¡°Because of¡­what you did¡­I don¡¯t think we¡¯ll have to make good on our promise. You know, of handing that evidence in. Without you, I don¡¯t think that threat would¡¯ve held enough weight.¡± ¡°That was this time,¡± Iris muttered. ¡°It¡¯s not always this easy, is it?¡± Evalyn sighed through her nostrils, realising that measured responses wouldn¡¯t get her anywhere, not with Iris in such a state.You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story. ¡°I don¡¯t know if you know this but¡­when Dad and I first got¡­well, not married, but close to it, Marie gave me three months. Three months to fall in love with him without a war going on, without emotional highs and lows and all that. Just¡­three months of normal life. Obviously, that went well, but how do you think I felt when three months were up and Liam showed up at my door?¡± Iris shrugged her shoulders and shook her head. ¡°Not good?¡± Evalyn nodded. ¡°He kept it simple. First assignment, we were following up on a gang war, basically tracing a trail of blood and building a timeline. What happened yesterday, what happened today, what would happen tomorrow. And what those thugs did to each other, I don¡¯t think either of us is creative enough to come up with.¡± Iris¡¯s stare didn¡¯t change, and Evalyn lost confidence in the line of thought, but not so much that she could find the courage to cut things short. Words were flowing out of her mind, only to live a brief life in the street¡¯s silence. The sun beat down on the pavement a few metres ahead, and she saw the bodies from twelve years ago burning in the sunlight of an Excalan alleyway. ¡°Once we caught up to them, Liam told me to wait outside while he took care of the fight. It was in a big nightclub, you know? I know I¡¯ve never taken you into one, but you can imagine. Anyway, left on door duty. Four younger guys pull up in their old beater, all swinging their guns around, no trigger discipline. Green, don¡¯t know what¡¯s what; maybe they¡¯re new recruits, I don¡¯t know. My rules of engagement stated that the moment they pointed a gun at me, I could fire, so I did.¡± She could recite the words to the story, the way things happened, their order, even describing it down to the details were all in her capacity. But, to remember a single face, to remember the feeling of pulling the trigger in that moment, she had overwritten those memories over and over and over again until they were meaningless. All she could conjure was a memory no more emotional than a police report. ¡°Four guys, most older, one my age, all dead on the spot. Liam heard the shots and came out, said he¡¯d done his work anyway, but I¡¯m sure I cut things short for him. I¡­think it was the lack of magic that irked me, nothing that had been in my training, just¡­pulling the trigger a few times. Turns out they had stolen the vehicle, and they were newly inducted, but they weren¡¯t that far gone. Their lives would¡¯ve never been the same again, but a point in the right direction, they could¡¯ve at least been, I don¡¯t know, a grocer. Maybe a hairdresser if they were trustworthy enough to handle scissors.¡± She looked over to her daughter, relieved to see that the eyes had at least moved a little, now looking down at Evalyn¡¯s hand. ¡°Am I talking too much?¡± she asked, and Iris shook her head. ¡°You never tell me these stories,¡± she said. ¡°You only tell me the ones where you save cats and find old ladies.¡± ¡°But those are the good ones¡ª¡± ¡°And you tell dad about the ones where you find out the client¡¯s wife is sleeping¡ª¡± ¡°And you shouldn¡¯t be listening to those young lady¡­they¡¯re still good¡­well, for people with a morbid sense of humour.¡± Evalyn smiled, sighing through her nostrils as she patted Iris¡¯s thigh. ¡°Maybe it¡¯s not a bad idea to tell you these once in a while.¡± Iris shook her head. ¡°It¡¯s not. I like them.¡± ¡°There¡¯s plenty more where that came from, unfortunately.¡± They sat in silence as the buzz of the cables overhead trickled into their ears. Evalyn closed her eyes, trying to make peace with the heat, swaying back and forth along with the waves of warm air rising off the concrete. Eventually, a bout of footsteps interrupted her as they grew louder and louder, closing in on the embassy¡¯s front entrance. The doors flew open, and their guide from the night previous looked up the street, then down, until their eyes finally landed on them. ¡°We¡¯ve gotten word,¡± they said. Evalyn sucked in her breath, returning to reality. ¡°And?¡± ¡°Whoever they called, they said they¡¯d consider the offer¡­if we can find them. We¡¯re tracing the call now.¡± The phone rang again, stirring the two out of their late afternoon stupor. Angry, it rang repeatedly until Crestana¡¯s hand crawled across the desk and picked up the receiver. ¡°Excalan International P.I, how can we help you?¡± Alis watched her ready her pen and notepad, shutters only at half-mast. ¡°Sorry, no, this isn¡¯t Evalyn. Yes. I can take your name down and leave a message. I see, thank you for calling. No, I can¡¯t confirm a date, but she¡¯ll call you back when she¡¯s in the office. Yes, thank you. Bye.¡± The hook switch clattered as Crestana gently rested the receiver back into place before face-planting into her half-finished homework. ¡°I can take over if you¡¯re tired,¡± Alis said. ¡°I¡¯d rather Mrs Hardridge still have her customer-base when she returns,¡± Crestana grumbled into the desk. ¡°There¡¯s little else to do, anyway. This entire place is spotless.¡± Alis sighed. In the absence of any dust to clean, they¡¯d given a go at the cases on Mrs Hardridge¡¯s corkboard but found how she organised her thoughts more puzzling than the case itself. Every moment they weren¡¯t dusting or answering phone calls, their eyes were on the large spread currently pinned to the wall. ¡°So¡­we¡¯ve established its something to do with a missing person,¡± Crestana revised. ¡°Yes. Some¡­debt collector mix up. Fairly common story where I¡¯m from.¡± ¡°And this part here¡­is she suggesting a collector erased her debt and relocated her?¡± ¡°Well¡­ ¡®relocated¡¯ is a stretch of the imagination. That note just says ¡®erased¡¯. Very different implications.¡± ¡°Don¡¯t say things like that.¡± ¡°It¡¯s a possibility. Not likely, when it comes to debt.¡± They stared at the board in silence, but Alis only felt his brain short-circuit as his eyes glazed over. The intricate patterns and myriad connections read as nothing more than shapes and lines. ¡°You must develop a calloused mind dealing with these cases day in, day out. Do you think Iris understands what this all means?¡± ¡°In an apprenticeship capacity, yes,¡± Alis said, answering from similar experiences. His superiors had included him in operation meetings as a matter of principle; for training rather than out of want of his input. Iris¡¯s relationship with her mother wasn¡¯t purely that of master and apprentice, so there was room for nuance. ¡°I¡¯d like to think she knows what she gets into every time she goes out on assignment,¡± he muttered, the draught floating through the windows catching his small words and wafting them towards Crestana. ¡°Otherwise, she¡¯d be just like you were,¡± she said. There was a hint of mischief somewhere in her tone. It was a prod, ever Alis could discern that much. He nodded along anyway. ¡°Couldn¡¯t be a mutt for the Empire, nor for the U.L.E.F., any plans to make sure it doesn¡¯t happen again?¡± Alis slumped into Iris¡¯s seat once again. ¡°Do you have any questions less¡­demanding?¡± Crestana shrugged. ¡°I¡¯m told I need to think these things through. I thought I¡¯d do my research.¡± She¡¯d put him in a bind; figuring out the answer to that was what had him paralysed in the first place. Moving forward with no proper action plan, towards what simply felt like the most obvious answer had left him stranded once before. ¡°Can I get back to you on that one?¡± he said, and Crestana gave him a disinterested nod, making him wonder if she had ever cared in the first place. Instead, she lay her head on the desk again, and began a long, drawn-out groan. ¡°I feel like I left Iris on bad terms,¡± she mumbled. ¡°Maybe I was too forceful.¡± Alis nodded absent-mindedly, his attention drifting out of the window as a brief parade of every long face Iris pulled behind Crestana¡¯s back ran through his mind. ¡°That¡¯s all you have to say?¡± Alis wrenched himself back into the room. ¡°Sorry?¡± ¡°At least make me feel better about it.¡± ¡°I sincerely cannot tell if you¡¯re serious.¡± ¡°¡­half, half.¡± The doorbell rang, and the two jumped out of their languor, heads swivelling towards the front of the flat. Alis stood first, dragging his feet into the hallway with Crestana a few paces behind. The doorbell rang, the finger pressed against the buzzer refusing to leave in an orderly manner. ¡°Coming!¡± Alis shouted, the infuriating sound hastening his footsteps until he reached the door and flung it open. There was no one in front of him until he adjusted his eyes to face downward. There, a child, a girl about six years his junior, waited for him, wide eyes glassy with desperation. ¡°Sorry, we aren¡¯t taking commissions at the moment.¡± ¡°Please?¡± ¡°No.¡± ¡°Please!¡± Crestana wormed her way past Alis, shoving him to the side and giving him a terrifying glare for all his troubles. She knelt in front of the girl, but the moment she did, the girl recoiled. Terror flashed across her face, and she cowered behind the doorframe. ¡°What¡¯s wrong?¡± Crestana asked, taken aback. She took another step forward, but the girl only cowered further, hair sticking on its ends like a frightened kitten. Crestana stood, flabbergasted, and turned to Alis. ¡°Ask her what¡¯s wrong?¡± Alis pursed his lips and kept his sigh to a minimum. His eyes met with the girl¡¯s, her stare more mellow resting on his face. ¡°What request did you have for us?¡± The girl¡¯s eyes warily flicked towards Crestana, keeping watch as she unconsciously drew her body closer to Alis. ¡°I want you to¡­find someone for me.¡± Chapter 31 Part 5: Return on Investment Crestana was making tea for the meantime. Separated by a few walls, the girl seemed to come back to her senses. Alis had pulled up two chairs, placing them opposite each other in the centre of the room, uneasy about taking Evalyn¡¯s place at her desk, especially in front of a potential client. The girl, who¡¯d timidly introduced herself as Moira, sat across from him, cradling her own arms as she scratched them as though something belonged in between them. Alis didn¡¯t have anything to offer besides a cushion on Iris¡¯s desk, so he gave her that. She clung onto it, oily hair falling over her shoulders. It wasn¡¯t matted, nor was it particularly dirty. Not too dissimilar to those whom bathing regularly was a luxury. She wasn¡¯t matted like a stray dog, but he guessed she had gone at least a week or two without. The kettle finished boiling, and Alis heard Crestana take it off the stove. ¡°You understand me, right?¡± Alis muttered. Moira nodded sheepishly, the oversized flannel shirt shuffling with the slightest movement. ¡°All right. That Beak¡¯s name is Crestana. She won¡¯t hurt you, all right? She¡¯s actually nicer than me.¡± ¡°But¡ª¡± ¡°No buts. You keep getting scared and we won¡¯t be able to have our conversation at all.¡± Moira pursed her lips together, sinking back into her chair. Alis had little experience dealing with children. Beyond telling them to scram when they asked for free food, he found it hard to deal with them. Not for any fault of their own. Children were supposed to be entertained, every interaction catering to them and their needs. Alis¡ªwell aware of his ineptitude when it came to dealing with people¡ªfound it too high a hurdle to clear. The baggy pants that hid Moira¡¯s feet reminded him of Iris. She had somewhat grown into her clothes since, her stubborn refusal to wear anything else besides uniform giving him a comical then-and-now comparison. Moira, although the clothes different, the skin tanned from sun and hair jet black, gave off the impression of a similar life story. Even if the girl in front of him didn¡¯t share his friend¡¯s thousand-yard stare, he pondered how an interaction between the two would go. Fascinating, but utterly boring at the same time. Crestana entered the room again, and Moira sank into her chair, shoulders tensing, Alis¡¯s eyes the only thing anchoring her to the chair. Crestana looked conflicted, shutters drooping over her eyes as she set the mugs down on Iris¡¯s desk and shifted it closer to them. Moira¡¯s eyes were now squarely in her pillow as she held it close to her face. Alis looked around, the atmosphere growing awkward each second the silence continued. ¡°Who are we looking for?¡± Alis asked, finally starting the conversation. ¡°My¡­self,¡± Moira said, rather carefully. ¡°Your¡­yourself?¡± Moira shook her head. ¡°I don¡¯t remember much. I don¡¯t know how I got here. I don¡¯t know where my home is.¡± ¡°So, you¡¯re lost?¡± A pause, the answer¡¯s timing off beat by a few seconds. Moira nodded, as though choosing her actions very carefully. ¡°Then you¡¯re better off asking the police¡ª¡± ¡°No!¡± the girl cried, jumping out of her seat. ¡°Please.¡± ¡°Why not?¡± Alis asked, ¡°they can help you far better than we can.¡± ¡°They¡¯ll put me in jail,¡± Moira said, desperation leaking from her eyes into her voice. ¡°They¡¯ll put my brother in jail.¡± ¡°You¡¯re a criminal?¡± Alis asked next. ¡°She might¡¯ve entered the country illegaly,¡± Crestana said, directing her words to Alis and Alis alone. ¡°No passports.¡± Alis looked back to Moira, who nodded her head into the cushion, finally finding the Spirit in the room to be a helpful convenience. Alis narrowed his eyes but obliged. ¡°All right, but we still don¡¯t run this agency. It¡¯s no use asking us until the detective came back. ¡°Please!¡± came another outcry. ¡°I want to go home. I don¡¯t know what to do.¡± Alis squeezed the bridge of her nose as Crestana watched him, just as confused. The door opened, and the three snapped their attention to the hallway as a pair of light footsteps travelled down the hall. ¡°Is that the detective?¡± Moira asked. ¡°No, shouldn¡¯t be,¡± Alis said, standing up in time for a head to poke around the corner. ¡°It¡¯s a party in here,¡± another jet-black haired individual said, military overgarments slung over one shoulder. ¡°Mr Maxwell,¡± Alis said to his second landlord. ¡°Who¡¯s this?¡± Elliot asked, pointing at Moira. ¡°She showed up at our door a few minutes ago,¡± Crestana started. ¡°It sounds like¡­she has amnesia?¡± ¡°Amnesia? Did she hit her head?¡± he asked, getting closer. Moira dug herself into her pillow, but the fear was nowhere near as visceral as it was when she faced Crestana for the first time. Elliot kneeled, smiling to calm her nerves. ¡°Can I see you hand?¡± Moira tentatively stuck her left hand towards him, and he took it in his own. ¡°She¡¯s malnourished. It isn¡¯t recent either, her growth¡¯s quite stunted. Anything else unusual?¡± ¡°She¡¯s terrified of me,¡± Crestana said, the disappointment coming across in her voice. ¡°She might¡¯ve been a slave, or at least was on the market to be one,¡± Elliot said, deducing it like clockwork. ¡°Slave?¡± Crestana muttered, voice box betraying the shock. Elliot only nodded in response. ¡°I¡¯d be scared of Spirits too if I were held captive by them.¡± Moira¡¯s wary eyes scanned Elliot, but nonetheless his treatment seemed to finally calm her down. He smiled at her, friendly fa?ade never faltering despite the dire condition.The author''s narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon. ¡°I¡¯m guessing she has no papers either.¡± Alis shook his head. ¡°Crestana thinks she doesn¡¯t want to go to the police in case they¡¯ll deport her.¡± Elliot raised his eyebrows, patting the girl on the head. ¡°It¡¯s possible, but what she needs right now is a doctor.¡± ¡°No!¡± Moira shouted again. The outbursts were getting incessant. She clung to the cushion, eyes pleading with Alis more than anyone. With nobody wanting to struggle with a child, the four were left in a stalemate situation. Alis sighed. If it meant getting her to the hospital¡­ ¡°I will personally take your case if you do what this man tells you to.¡± The crowd was hushed; Crestana¡¯s shutters were angled in surprise, and Elliot¡¯s brow was mirroring them. They looked to him, then back to Moira. She of all people seemed most shocked of all. Alis wasn¡¯t one to unfurrow his brow easily, or without reason. Knitted eyebrows almost seemed to be his most natural state, too intense to simply call it an unfriendly resting face. It was a quirk, but one Crestana had learned to ignore. Even so, watching him brood beside her in the Great Library¡¯s lobby¡ªamber glow casting harsh shadows across his face¡ªwas enough to make his expression feel almost contagious. The shutters were squeaking, and she fought to keep them at a neutral position. She tapped her feet, filling in for the lack of words she felt slowly killing her. ¡°What do you think will happen?¡± she asked for the sake of conversation. ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± Alis answered, letting her words drown in the ensuing silence. Crestana swung her feet, watching as the books around her constantly shifted positions, reordering themselves like ants crawling across a wall. ¡°Why don¡¯t you want to help her?¡± Crestana asked, hoping he¡¯d give her a different answer. ¡°We have nothing to lose. You¡¯re not busy.¡± She turned to him, rolling her head along the back of their leather couch. ¡°It¡¯s not against your code of ethics to help a little girl, right?¡± Crestana wanted him to shift, move in his seat out of discomfort, as though there was something going through his mind as he sat there, vexed. But he was as still as a statue, forgetting to even acknowledge that she had ever spoken. She shrugged internally, turning back. ¡°Why do you want to help her?¡± his voice finally replied, and Crestana closed her shutters, finally letting her shoulders sink into the couch. ¡°Why not?¡± she said. ¡°There¡¯s a child who needs help. I¡¯m sure it¡¯s innate, but I find it hard to ignore someone like that who¡¯s sought us out for help.¡± ¡°So you¡¯d do the same for anyone else provided they knocked on that door?¡± ¡°Probably not.¡± She was being honest with herself. Something about the girl drew her into caring: denying that would just be no different from lying. She could pity Moira more than anyone who¡¯d brought their problems to Evalyn over the phone. It was a privilege she could afford, and one that both Mrs Hardridge and Iris desperately wanted her to keep. ¡°I¡¯d be more reluctant to help settle a domestic squabble than help a poor girl find out where she came from.¡± ¡°And if she was a slave, like Elliot said?¡± ¡°Then we find out how she got here. That¡¯s not so bad. And who knows? Maybe there are people looking for her.¡± Crestana glanced over at Alis, who hadn¡¯t looked up from his original position. Stoic as ever, his train of thought continued bulldozing through the silence. ¡°You need a win, Alis,¡± she started, self-aware the words came from experience. ¡°Three years with the U.L.E.F. and barely anything came of it. This might be good for you, you know? Even if it doesn¡¯t topple Vesmos tomorrow, it might just put you back on the right track.¡± Alis the boulder finally shifted, leaning back into the chair as his eyebrows unfurled just the slightest bit. ¡°We both need a win,¡± she sighed, just as Elliot cleared a line of bookshelves and entered the lobby. The two sat up, eager for the news. Elliot¡¯s face as he sat down was solemn. ¡°She¡¯ll be all right,¡± he said. ¡°But she isn¡¯t healthy.¡± ¡°Any diseases?¡± Crestana said. ¡°A long list,¡± Elliot sighed. ¡°All related to her malnourishment. We can get away with not taking her to a better hospital provided she eats, but it seems like she¡¯s gone without for a long time.¡± ¡°Can she get better?¡± Alis asked, and Elliot bobbed his head left to right. ¡°Sure, but that depends on what happens next. Legally, I doubt she exists outside of some godforsaken asshole¡¯s receipt book. Unless you find this girl any next of kin, she¡¯s going to end up in an orphanage.¡± Crestana felt herself sink into the couch further. She could tell why Elliot looked so troubled: judging by the state she was in, a fresh start in an orphanage might just be the best thing for her. To even go along with her request might be doing more harm than good. ¡°I still think she deserves answers,¡± she said, the words almost sounding involuntary coming out of her voice box. ¡°I can imagine her being haunted for the rest of her life. You know, a bit like how Iris is.¡± The three fell silent one last time, the indecisive air finally broken by the person she least expected. ¡°I¡¯ll take the case,¡± Alis said, and Crestana felt the weight lift off her shoulders. ¡°We¡¯ll get started¡ª¡± ¡°Woah, who said we?¡± Elliot interrupted, flicking his eyes back and forth between the two. Crestana looked over his expression, thoroughly stumped by what he was referring to. ¡°We¡­Alis and I.¡± ¡°You have an aunt and a school term to get through.¡± ¡°But this is more important!¡± ¡°Yeah, yeah, tell that to your aunt. She¡¯s letting you stay out late already, don¡¯t give her more reasons to panic. You¡¯re staying here.¡± ¡°I¡¯ll be fine, Crestana.¡± ¡°I¡¯m sorry Alis, but this isn¡¯t about you.¡± She turned back to Elliot, but he simply pursed his lips and shook his head. ¡°Alis has years under his belt, and he can take time off too. You¡¯re not in a position to do that yet.¡± Crestana pleaded with her shutters for a second longer, but quickly conceded the effort. Elliot came across as the more frivolous parent, but according to Iris he could be even stricter than Evalyn at times. People who had seen war thought differently. ¡°Come on,¡± he said, ¡°I¡¯ll take you home.¡± He¡¯d ironed out more specifics with Alis as they left the great library, splitting ways at the exit to head for different tram lines. They arrived at their stop just as the sun was setting, and the lanterns in the sky were beginning sparkle, one by one. They had filled the time by talking about school, Elliot recounting a life in the middle of the woods that felt almost alien to Crestana. The small talk only lasted so long, and Elliot finally entertained her misgivings with his decision. ¡°I heard from Evalyn about your recent requests of her. I¡¯ve got to say, you sound like an upstart warrior trying to become an ancient master¡¯s apprentice.¡± ¡°Yeah, but it hasn¡¯t worked so far, that¡¯s the problem,¡± Crestana sighed. ¡°It never will. No one would agree to train the one person who could one day kill their daughter.¡± Crestana saw things differently, but stating that now, would only make her feel like a broken Pattern Reader. It was a courtesy that Evalyn hadn¡¯t told her off for it yet; she was better off taking Elliot¡¯s gentle warning and backing off. ¡°I just don¡¯t know what I¡¯m supposed to do with this,¡± she said, watching her own hands resting on the wooden bench. The sun was setting, the shadows growing, the acutely nauseating feeling of falling into the shadows creeped up her spine, threatening to swallow her whole if she lost control. ¡°The shadow magic, controlling Aether, I can¡¯t help but think there¡¯s a reason I have all of this.¡± ¡°To pay for the sins of your family, huh. Sounds awfully familiar.¡± ¡°Evalyn said the same thing.¡± ¡°The only difference is, Evalyn asked for her powers. You didn¡¯t.¡± The tram rolled down the street, ringing its bell as the odd stray pedestrian crossed quickly jogged over the tracks. The lights inside sent stripes of orange glow across the brickwork, and the wheels squealed as the brakes engaged. ¡°Evalyn couldn¡¯t opt out for the longest time, but you have the option to never opt in in the first place.¡± The tram stopped, and Elliot stood, making for the door. ¡°You make that sound like Mrs Hardridge¡¯s situation has changed.¡± Elliot paused in the tram¡¯s doorway, his shoulders slowly slumping as he turned around. ¡°Let¡¯s get on first.¡± ¡°Okay.¡± She boarded quickly after him, re-shouldering her school bag as Elliot dropped a few coins into the driver¡¯s palm. He took a window seat, and Crestana sat down beside him. The tram began to move once more, rocking her stiff body side to side as the silence dragged on. ¡°What trapped Evalyn into being a Witch wasn¡¯t the magic, it was her mindset. Her Spirit will only stay inside her for as long as she wants it. That¡¯s how it works.¡± He kept his eyes out the window, eventually closing them as the sounds of the street below sifted in through the window¡¯s opening. ¡°She was racked with guilt by association, and she had a burning need to make sure she could never lose family again. Her and I lost people during the last war; she didn¡¯t want to relive that. But now that guilt¡¯s faded, and she¡¯s realised that protecting those people doesn¡¯t necessarily equate to what she does now. I think I have too.¡± ¡°So you¡¯re both¡­moving on?¡± Crestana asked. ¡°She¡¯s thinking of retiring once Iris is ready. I¡¯m thinking of dropping active duty once and for all.¡± Decades worth of collective effort, and to so resolutely throw in the towel in such a manner. He was showing her the end in hopes she would never even bother starting. ¡°Does Iris know?¡± she asked. Elliot shook his head. ¡°Haven¡¯t found the chance to tell her yet.¡± ¡°Do you think she¡¯ll take it well?¡± He was silent for a moment, biting his lip as his mind worked silently. ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± he finally said. Crestana couldn¡¯t face him. The tram kept rocking side to side. ¡°I¡¯m¡­like this now,¡± she said. ¡°Even if I try my best to avoid it, I can¡¯t help but feel that one day, that life is going to find me.¡± ¡°Then¡­then let¡¯s pray it doesn¡¯t,¡± Elliot said. Chapter 32 Part 1: Field Trip Night fell, and Crestana had long since left for home. Elliot had checked in on him once before he soon retired for the night, but clarified he wouldn¡¯t be home by morning. He lay on the couch, still in his day clothes, watching the moon shy behind clouds through his open window. Silver light kissed the gentle lines of the dusty couch, found the crevices between the floorboards and glinted off the worn edges of his knuckle dusters. He turned his fists over, watching the light gently roll over the gems, hopping from one to the other. Left to right, left to right. The moon highlighted the physical signs of wear: the chips, the scratches, but not so far as the magical. The shapes and patterns woven into the physical matter, canals in which Aether would flow, mould, and take on new shapes, were deforming with time and use. Lieutenant-General Elvera promised him repair and maintenance if he offered his services to Geverde¡¯s crown. The toys the librarians were crafting were enticing, reinvigorating even. They opened up avenues and use cases he¡¯d never dreamed of. But they¡¯d be useless if the foundational magic decayed. Without that, he truly was nothing. At least he felt that way. Crestana could poke holes in his rhetoric all she wanted. In reality, he was more desperate than she could ever imagine. Alis Harbourman; the arbitrary name coupled to a worthless existence. All his value lay in the palm of his hands. Moira stirred: he could hear her shifting under the covers. He¡¯d left the door open in case of an emergency, but was now regretting it. The light in his eyes, the shuffling from his room¡­a horrible night to be a light sleeper. But the door hinges to his room squeaked loud enough to jolt someone awake. Knowing what little he did of his client; he guessed she was similarly wary of her surroundings in the small hours. Alis let it be. He¡¯d gone without before. The map on the table fluttered, left in place after they¡¯d finished consulting it late into the night. The coloured lines and shapes alone weren¡¯t enough to jog the girl¡¯s memory, but along with some descriptive language, Alis found a plausible starting point for their journey. That was tomorrow¡¯s problem, but the ticking of his clock reminded him tomorrow was rapidly turning into today. The next train was their ticket out of the city. After a purchased breakfast and two transfers, they headed towards another border town¡ªa satellite settlement separated by farmland from the city. Too close to be a stopover, too far to thrive in a unique identity, it was one of the many sentinels of the Excalan breadbasket. If it weren¡¯t for Moira¡¯s finger firmly planting atop its name on his map, the town would¡¯ve never crossed his mind. He kept a watchful eye on her as the train continued full steam out of the city. Her attention had died down after the second station, too overwhelmed with stimuli to ask questions about every single detail. Now, the window seat just about kept her entertained. Alis watched the overhead fan buzz in its cage: trains going so far outbound were rarely busy on weekdays, let alone full. Besides one or two other commuters, they had the wooden box on wheels all to themselves. ¡°Is it always this temperature here?¡± Alis pulled on the collar of his button up. ¡°It gets much colder in autumn, and it snows in winter.¡± ¡°Hm¡­I remember being hotter,¡± she said, readjusting her knees on the seat as she peered over the windowsill like a cat. She looked back at him. ¡°What¡¯s snows?¡± ¡°Snow?¡± ¡°You said snows.¡± ¡°Snows is when snow falls from the sky. It¡¯s ice. Frozen rain.¡± Moira looked at him, cheek twitching but otherwise dumbfounded. ¡°Okay,¡± she said, turning back to the window. ¡°You¡¯re welcome,¡± Alis muttered. The magic was still fresh in her mind¡ªquite literally¡ªand the traces left hinted that whatever happened to her happened recently, less than a month ago. Enough for a lead to grow cold, but not die. He kept it all to himself. All the client knew was that he was entertaining her request, and all for free. Anything else was unnecessary, better left in the dark. The double-platform station opened to an equally sleepy town, the high street stretching out before them. Artisan goods, quaint bakeries and family restaurants operated out of wood and stone houses, their worn shingles clinging onto the rooftops despite the wear. He imagined business would be better on weekends, but for now, the place boasted little in the way of foot traffic. ¡°Do you remember this place?¡± he asked Moira, standing beside him as her gaze travelled down the main street. She nodded. A good start, all things considered. ¡°All right. Do you remember where you stayed?¡± At that, she shook her head. ¡°Right,¡± Alis nodded. ¡°We start there, then.¡± The sun was at its zenith, so they took to the entrance¡¯s awnings as Alis read the map, studying the faded paper hidden behind stained glass. The window beside him screeched open, and a Beak woman stuck her head out of it, the floral designs of her mask followed by a powerful stench of roses and peonies. ¡°Can I help you?¡± she asked, the mask croaking as alcohol in the perfume met Alis¡¯s nose, crinkling it. ¡°I¡¯m looking for inns. Could you help me?¡± ¡°Is the little girl with you?¡± ¡°Yes,¡± he smiled, selling the lie with confidence. ¡°She¡¯s a visiting cousin. Our parents are busy in the city, but they¡¯re joining us tonight. They asked us to find a place to stay.¡± They hid Moira¡¯s figure convincingly under baggy clothes, but Alis looked¡ªand to many was¡ªan adult not old enough to be her father, and too distinct to be her brother. Any negligence, and he¡¯d have suspicions pinned on him instead. ¡°In that case,¡± the Beak said, waving him closer to the window as she pushed a map between them, spreading it flush with the counter. ¡°The Jane Maragret hotel on Burleigh Avenue is our largest. It¡¯s not the busiest this time of year, since city folk would rather be down on the coast. Over here,¡± she said, dragging her finger across the map, ¡°is the Lannard. Smaller, but they¡¯re attached to the horse track and keep stables. Then on the other end of town is the Edwin. It¡¯s a pub, but they offer rooms on their second floor. It¡¯s meant for people who drink themselves to sleep.¡±If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it. If he were to prioritise his time, he¡¯d work his way from most to least promising. Instinct put the Edwin at the top of that list. Out of the way, not the first option in town, and non-intoxicated guests would stand out more in a pub compared to a hotel. ¡°Is there anywhere else?¡± ¡°Not officially, no. Can¡¯t speak on any short-term rentals. I wouldn¡¯t see how you would come across one unless you had friends in town already.¡± Alis nodded, biting his lip as he stroked his chin. ¡°All right, thank you. We¡¯ll take a look.¡± ¡°Enjoy your stay,¡± the woman said, retreating into her office and grinding the weary window closed. By now, Moira was once again beside him, also crinkling her nose. ¡°Any of those places familiar?¡± he asked. ¡°I wasn¡¯t listening.¡± ¡°O-okay. Well, one was a hotel.¡± ¡°What¡¯s a hotel?¡± ¡°You know what? Let¡¯s take a walk.¡± They kept to the shade, Alis recalling the directions as pavement turned to gravel turned back into pavement again. The houses were stout, all detached with a healthy plot of land to boast, separated from the road by dried up gutters and cobblestone fences. Chickens roamed in front gardens, empty heads pecking at the ground before Moira¡¯s quick footsteps scared them off. Every stray cat, every vegetable patch, Alis found himself grabbing her by the scruff of the neck, pulling her back on track. But he could sympathise with her. The more he saw, the more it grew on him. When every building wasn¡¯t much taller than you were, the sky seemed to close in, and the world felt much smaller than he knew it to be. Half of him felt it too claustrophobic, the other half wondered how much easier it would be if his world only extended so far. As they neared the Edwin, the town picked up again, with local shops answering the needs of the residents rather than the wants of tourists. Ordinary grocers, cobblers, fruit stalls and butchers. A peek behind the curtains, for the more cynically inclined. ¡°What are you going to do when you find out who you are?¡± ¡°I don¡¯t know until I find out.¡± Fair point. Alis gave her that one. ¡°Then what if you can¡¯t find a family?¡± ¡°I¡¯ll stay with you,¡± she said with confidence. Too confident for Alis to deny then and there. Then, it was her turn. ¡°Do you have a family? You look like you¡¯re alone.¡± ¡°I do,¡± he said, ¡°technically.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t know what that means,¡± Moira said, kicking a stone down the concrete pathway. ¡°Me neither,¡± Alis agreed, eyes finding themselves square on the pub¡¯s second-floor balcony. It was an old building that spanned the corner of a cross intersection, log scaffolding and white plaster stretching up two storeys. The first floor was open, double doors thrown wide to invite foot traffic inside. The second storey was more secluded, repeating curtained windows interrupted by signage. He scanned the second floor, spotting a curtain move somewhere down the east face. But with sunlight bouncing off the white plaster, it was hard to say for certain. Alis checked his watch. Just past noon and in time for lunch. He motioned to Moira, and they crossed the street. The pub was near empty, its quaint atmosphere wasted on empty chairs, although it seemed the type of place to lose that quaintness once customers filled the chairs. ¡°Do you remember this place?¡± he asked in a last-ditch effort, but Moira could only shake her head in response. No matter, the check-in book was what he had his eyes set on. He led the way up to the counter¡ªthe bartender behind it quietly polished a pint glass, a small nod the only acknowledgement. ¡°Excuse me?¡± Alis said, resting his arms on the counter; ¡°My cousin and I are scouting ahead for our family. We¡¯d like to reserve two rooms for the night.¡± ¡°Are you able to pay now?¡± he asked, the wrinkles in his forehead growing pronounced as he placed the glass down. ¡°No, but could we know which rooms are available?¡± The bartender grunted, squatting underneath the countertop. Alis heard a small hinge turning, and leather binding scraping across wood before the tender resurfaced, placing a thin, untitled book in front of them. He crossed his fingers as the bartender opened the book, wilted fingers turning through each page. It was a check-in list, each page divided into ten rooms. Enough detail was there: Alis could determine something at the very least. If he could just take his time with it. The bartender¡¯s fingers stopped on a half-empty page, the pen ink still dark and bold, not yet weathered by time. As he consulted the check-in book, two sets of footsteps leisurely descended a nearby staircase¡ªa man and a woman, one in front of the other. Alis watched them reach the first floor and find a table, sitting down as they continued their conversation. They sure looked like tourists. ¡°Rooms two and seven are occupied. How many guests were joining you?¡± ¡°Four adults. Two adults and one child in two rooms,¡± Alis said, printing the story line by line as he kept his eye on the couple. It wasn¡¯t the sort of establishment to stay in with a lover, nor was it the place you¡¯d find a tourist eating lunch in on a weekday. He shelved the thought in the back of his mind, hoping they would move on soon enough. It only made his job more difficult. ¡°I could put you in rooms three and four.¡± Alis nodded. ¡°If you¡¯ve got the time, do you mind showing us the rooms? My father¡¯s a light sleeper, and I¡¯d like to make sure he can get some sleep.¡± ¡°If you¡¯re looking for a hotel, I¡¯d recommend the Jane Maragret on high street.¡± ¡°We¡¯ve already been earlier today, and I thought it best we exhaust our options.¡± Alis pleaded with his smile, silently willing the bartender to just give in. It would give the man something to do after all. After a tense few seconds of telepathic pleading, the bartender sighed, exchanging the check-in book for a set of keys, both weighed down by a block of wood, their corresponding numbers roughly carved into them. He rounded the corner and made for the stairs when Alis pulled one last move. ¡°Would you have a toilet anywhere?¡± he called after the already weary man. ¡°Around the corner, down the hall,¡± the bartender replied. ¡°Thank you! Please, start without me. My cousin will join you.¡± The man barely responded, a simple grunt signalling the restarting of his trudge up the staircase as Alis made for the opposite direction. Moira interrupted him, holding onto the hem of his shirt and planting both feet like tiny anchors. Alis tugged on his own shirt again, but the small girl¡¯s stance was resolute. He turned around. ¡°I¡¯ll be back soon, all right? Just have a look at the rooms and tell me what you think.¡± He kept the smile going for a little while longer, aware that it wasn¡¯t reaching his eyes. Moira let go and slowly turned around, following the bartender¡¯s lead up the stairs. As Alis turned toward the hallway, he caught the young couple in his peripheral vision. The woman who sat facing the counter caught his eye for a moment. Either he was overthinking it, or they knew how to kick sand over their own footprints. Suspicious or not, their view of the counter was a problem. He slinked down the corridor, eyeing a doorway that led into the kitchen. It seemed quiet from the counter, but he pressed his ear against the door just in case. Nothing. No cooking at least. Alis cracked the door open, slicing the pie until the gap was large enough for him to squeeze through. He crouched, quietly closing the door behind him. The kitchen connected to the counter by an open doorway and a sidelong window. Crouching would keep him hidden. He kept tabs on the couple with his ears. They continued to chat, and their voices weren¡¯t getting any louder either. Alis¡¯s hand gripped a knuckle duster in his left pocket, even though it wasn¡¯t serving much more purpose than a stress ball. Past fryers and stovetops, he finally reached the doorway leading to the counter. The thin leather-bound book called his name from across the way, just a short distance. ¡°You know where to go. Once your cousin comes back, ask for a key and show him the way.¡± The bartender¡¯s voice travelled down the staircase, his footsteps hot on its tail. Alis pressed himself against the doorframe, listening to the bartender¡¯s grumbling grow in clarity. By the time he could make out every expletive, he decided it was time to move. ¡°Sorry!¡± Moira announced, her small voice shrill against the silence. Even the couple¡¯s conversation was stifled. ¡°I¡­forgot something¡­my toy in one of the rooms. Can you help me find it?¡± Muttering under his breath was one thing, Alis doubted he could deny a young girl¡¯s request in front of paying customers. The muttering expletives ended with a quick sigh, and the footsteps began again. This time in the other direction. Alis indulged in a small sigh himself before stretching over the gap and plucking the list from the lectern. He booked it for the bathroom as quietly as he could, locking the door behind him. A week and a half: that was the rough time frame both the Aetherologists and Moira herself placed on her amnesia. They had to stop somewhere¡ªAlis hoped he could at least snatch a trail early. The search zone only expanded the further they went down Moira¡¯s travel history. A week and a half, that was only a few pages back, each page as sparse in guests as the information booth worker had suggested. Each day would only have one guest at most, some entirely empty. Then he fell on a particular page, a particular entry. A single adult customer took for the night, one two rooms, and another by two adults and one child. It fit the time frame, and the number of guests was a clear outlier. He had more hotels to check, and with each, the number of names would grow, but one was a good start. ¡°Peter Nair.¡± Chapter 32 Part 2: In Circles It wasn¡¯t best practice: training for Crestana meant wide open fields, plenty of room for error in case she misjudged her limits. Even if grass choked on Aether, no one would shed a tear if she killed a swathe in a sea. But that same swathe¡ªor rather its area¡ªwas worth more in a small apartment complex. The walls were thin, and so were the floors. The margin of error tightened drastically. But on the flip side, it made for better training. She placed herself in between two dusty Pattern Readers, one in her line of sight slowly playing Terponin¡¯s String Quartet 1802, the other behind her playing a radio-drama adaptation of More Than One Red by Terrence Jarrow. She pictured her margin of error: a focused cone that extended forward, stopping before it reached the floor, ceiling, or the far wall. The constraints were a familiar standard, the consequences they came with were new. She could stop her in the event things turned south. Somewhere in her was a big red switch, a break in her concentration. It was easy to find, provided her body itself remained well defined, separated from shadow. To that end, she had tied the curtains back so sunlight streamed through the window, illuminating the aftermath of her feather dusting floating through the air. Crestana put her trust in the sun and closed her mask¡¯s shutters. The voices of the radio drama behind bled into the cascading strings in front, falling in time with each other as though to the same rhythm. The voices rose in pitch and intensity, and so did the strings in vigour and volatility. Blended together, she found it hard to single one out through hearing alone. The resulting sound was distracting, tempting her mind to focus on separating one from the other. The more it succeeded, the further away she strayed from her goal. Frustrated, Crestana fired immaturely. The choking sensation¡ªas close an experience to drowning a Spirit could get¡ªwas barely more notable than a muscle spasm to her now. But sheer repetition still wasn¡¯t enough. The room fell silent, the faint blue running down both Pattern Readers weakly flickering as Crestana tightened the noose indiscriminately. She quickly loosened her body, and sound bloomed again, spreading itself across the small office and trickling out the window. Her shutters fluttered, voice box transforming her release of tension into heaving breaths. She undid her hair tie, easing the pull on her scalp. Again. She could go again. Both pieces played simultaneously, disconcerted and out of sync. The vocals rose as the quartet fell, tension high, pitch low. Crestana only allowed herself a moment with the sound before she focused, spending her mental capacity on the small, imaginary cone that extended before her. The lines of the Pattern Reader, the blue streaks of shining Aether rather than the sound it produced, became her new obsession. The small area before her, the small box that she envisaged as her enemy. She closed her eyes¡­ A shrill ring bounded over both the radio drama and the quartet, inspiring the sort of panic she felt when caught red-handed. Crestana stood from her seat, scrambling to turn off both Pattern Readers before this time; a knock bounced down the hall. It would have been proper to announce herself, reassure the visitor she was coming. But if she could get out of whatever reprimand she may face from a neighbour, she would take it, and slink away from the door until the knocking stopped. She crept down the hall, heels following her toes. Her socks masked her footprints as she approached the door and pressed her mask up to the peephole. An old man dominated her distorted view of the outside world, his wrinkled face and combed, greying hair suggesting he was pushing his sixties. Besides a three-piece suit that hid a burgeoning abdomen, the cane that rose to his chest was particularly eye-catching. Styled like a gentleman¡¯s cane, with gems encrusted into a brass knight¡¯s helm, the stick¡¯s length profiled it more in-line with a staff or a walking stick. Certainly long enough to fend off a longsword. But more importantly, no one so wealthy would ever even consider living in the district. It wasn¡¯t a neighbour. She opened the door. ¡°Hello, can I help you?¡± ¡°Oh¡­hello. Might I have the right place?¡± ¡°This is Excala International Private Investigators.¡± ¡°And you are?¡± ¡°I¡¯m just here to maintain the office while the owner is gone.¡± ¡°I see,¡± the man said, tapping his cane against the floor as his mouth contorted into a shrivelled frown. ¡°When will she be back?¡± ¡°I can¡¯t say, sir. Would you like to leave a message?¡± ¡°No, no,¡± he said, waving away her offer. ¡°But if I could leave my card, I¡¯d like a call back when she returns.¡± Holding his cane, the man reached into his coat, and only then could Crestana fully appreciate the selection of rings on his left hand. Rather than beautiful, she could only think of how a blow might disfigure whatever face they connected with. Never mind scars, it¡¯d leave a depression in the bone. After rummaging, he produced a small, egg-white business card and handed it to her. ¡°Thank you,¡± she said, passing an eye over it. ¡°I¡¯ll leave a message.¡± The man smiled, refitting his suit and tipping an imaginary hat. The cane gently swung, and its decadent head reinterpreted the hallway¡¯s dull light as dazzling. Crestana watched the man leave, noticing the smallest limp in his step. It by no means crippled him, but the asymmetry in his step gave the cane much needed context. She shut the door and returned to the office, tossing the business card onto Evalyn¡¯s desk. He looked rich, but Iris¡¯s family didn¡¯t starve for money, nor was Crestana herself excited by the prospect of a large paycheck. With only a business card to go off, it was infinitely more interesting to speculate on one of the many missing spouses already in her notepad. Still, the cane stood out to her; the light sparkling through the gemstones burnt into her vision. She wasn¡¯t a stranger to heirloom-worthy jewellery, but craftmanship and beauty aside, there was a presence to the cane¡¯s head that whispered to the same part of her that longed for the shadows. The phone¡¯s shrill ring wrenched her from the cane¡¯s spell, and she reached for the receiver, stopping her hand until after the second ring. ¡°Hello, this is¡ª¡± ¡°Crestana?¡± Alis asked. ¡°Y-yeah?¡± ¡°I¡¯m bringing Moira back.¡± Crestana flashed a glance at her watch. ¡°It¡¯s early. Are you sure you¡¯ve got enough to go off?¡± ¡°No. I¡¯ve only got a few names, but I don¡¯t want to stay much longer. This might¡­just be paranoia, but I think I¡¯m being tailed.¡± Crestana shot a look at the hallway. ¡°Are you sure?¡± she muttered into the receiver. ¡°There¡¯s a pair of tourists. They haven¡¯t been following me, but I¡¯ve seen them over and over.¡± ¡°It¡¯s a small town I wouldn¡¯t be surprised if¡ª¡± ¡°I know, I know¡­but it¡¯s been too many times to call it coincidence. I thought they were suspicious when I first saw them, and I tried to convince myself I was overthinking things.¡±Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site. ¡°All right. When will you be back?¡± ¡°Soon. Great Library. If I can¡¯t lose them in there, I might as well hand myself in.¡± ¡°Okay, I¡¯ll meet you there.¡± ¡°Don¡¯t bother. I don¡¯t want them to associate you with me.¡± Crestana felt it again; the sense of helplessness the more experienced seemed so eager to force on her. But she had to concede she was a card best kept close to their collective chests. Insurance for a rainy day. ¡°Do you know for certain they haven¡¯t been tailing you for longer?¡± ¡°No¡­I guess it¡¯s a possibility.¡± A moment of pause as the line cut, waiting to be fed another coin. The beeping broke, and Alis¡¯s voice returned. ¡°Have you received any more calls or visits or anything?¡± Crestana dug back into her memory, recounting her day from the first minute in the office. ¡°I got a call from a lady who wants a witness testimony examined for discrepancies, a small business wanting a way out of a protection racket, and¡­I guess I got a visit from an unusual person.¡± ¡°What were they like?¡± ¡°Well dressed, suit and all. He had quite a tall cane, halfway to a walking stick. The head was brass, like a knight¡¯s helm, had gems incrusted in it. Oh¡­¡± ¡°Oh, what?¡± ¡°The gems. They resembled the ones in your brass knuckles.¡± ¡°Okay¡­oh for God¡¯s sake.¡± ¡°He was asking for Evalyn, but not by name. I¡¯m not sure of his intentions; he never mentioned why he visited¡ª¡± ¡°Did you get a name?¡± ¡°I didn¡¯t, but¡­hold on.¡± Crestana reached over the desk, grabbing the card and turning it over. ¡°Peter Nair,¡± she said. Alis, for a moment, was silent. ¡°We¡¯ve found our guy.¡± Alis stepped off the train, wary of the couple two carriages down, who¡¯d trained into the city with barely any luggage at all. They¡¯d convinced him the moment they followed him into the regional station, and his panic had only solidified once they¡¯d mirrored his transfers beat for beat. He¡¯d carefully hidden the fact he was onto them: his experience in the U.L.E.F. had at least taught him that much, but shaking them had proven difficult. More people, more streets, more opportunities to break free of their gaze, but he found them uniquely inescapable. Much of their cat and mouse was a one-way affair, with him on the losing end. He held onto Moira¡¯s wrist, and the girl could intuitively sense the danger without Alis having to utter a word. They stepped onto the next tram headed towards the Great Library, and finally finding a seat, Alis spoke for the first time on their return journey. ¡°How did you find us?¡± he asked. ¡°Our particular P.I. agency?¡± The girl thought for a moment, the empty void between her arms once again pronounced by noisy, irritating scratching. ¡°I asked where you were,¡± she said. ¡°Until someone knew.¡± ¡°Okay¡­how did you know about us?¡± he asked. The girl pondered again, eyes searching for an answer as the edges of her mouth quivered. ¡°I¡¯m sorry.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t need an apology. I just need to know.¡± ¡°I¡­I don¡¯t know, I just¡­remembered you were important¡­that maybe you could help me¡­¡± Alis barred the frown from showing on his face and scanned the rest of the tram¡¯s occupants. He couldn¡¯t see either in their car, which most likely meant they were in another. Crestana¡¯s description of Peter Nair put him high in Alis¡¯s Vesmosian social order. Red or grey, but purely based on the cane, he was willing to bet on the latter. He didn¡¯t need to know what that sort of human would want with a girl like Moira. The couple had tracked Alis for miles; nothing was to say Crestana wasn¡¯t in for similar harassment if she left the apartment in broad daylight. Thankfully, she could travel through shadows: dusk, and she¡¯d have free rein over the streets undetected. That saved him from worrying for two, at least. He could focus on his own pursuers, and why exactly they were trying so hard. The tram eventually came to a stop, and Alis tugged on Moira¡¯s hand. He stood up first, and she followed closely behind. Stepping onto the pavement, Alis only had so much cover and to experienced tailers, practically none. An empty street, the cawing of crows and the tram¡¯s rumbling followed its master, leaving the street in a mellow stupor. It made him an easy target, inviting, almost. Assuming they didn¡¯t turn their strategy to attack, it would work towards his advantage. The Great Library was expensive, and since the tree sprouted over the capital¡ªnow bringing sunset onto certain parts of the city hours too early¡ªit had turned it into another city block. If they¡¯d follow him this far, they wouldn¡¯t turn tail right before the home stretch. Alis picked up the pace as the dilapidated building came into view. ¡°Where are we going?¡± ¡°Somewhere we can run away. Stay quiet.¡± He veered through the front door; the building heeding his hurried steps and rushing to clean up the interior. Moira squealed as the floorboards flipped underneath her feet and chandeliers crashed down from the ceilings. ¡°Quiet,¡± he said, wrapping his arm around her shoulder. Al poked their head from underneath the front desk, flapping their wings and yawning. ¡°The hell was that?¡± Alis glanced over his shoulder. ¡°We¡¯re being followed,¡± he said. ¡°Help me lose them.¡± Al gave him a stink eye, nodding him to the spiral stairs. ¡°You owe me one,¡± the Spirit muttered as they passed them and ascended the creaking staircase. Reaching the second floor, Alis heard the heavy front doors grind against the floor as they opened. He didn¡¯t risk a glance backward. In his usual seat, Alis waited in silence for an all clear. As expected, Moira couldn¡¯t read, and Alis wasn¡¯t in a state of mind to read to her, either. She sat the seat beside him, staring at her own palms halfway in a state of shock. Almost fifteen minutes had passed since the entrance had sealed shut behind them. Their pursuers were likely long lost; they were free to leave whenever they wanted, but Alis was hoping Tony would do him the favour of apprehending the pair. They had a name to work with, and with some luck and lack of loyalty, they could attach some answers to that name, too. ¡°How are you feeling?¡± Alis asked tentatively. ¡°I¡­what¡¯s going on?¡± Moira asked, croaking the words. ¡°You just¡­started dragging me and now we¡¯re here.¡± The thought only then occurred to him how the situation looked from her perspective. ¡°Sorry,¡± he said, the words tossing around in his mouth. None served as a good place to start. ¡°Two people started tailing us when we left the first inn, but I couldn¡¯t shake him. I called Crestana and asked her if she¡¯d noticed anyone suspicious, and it looks like she received a visit from Peter Nair, the person who booked your room.¡± Moira offered him a blank stare in return for his efforts. He bit his tongue and tried again. ¡°Two people started following us after we left the first place we checked, then I found out that the person you were¡­probably travelling with, had visited my friend. You know, the Spirit girl.¡± Moira nodded. Slowly. ¡°So, We¡¯re going to¡­try to talk to the people who were following us. They might know something about you or the person you were travelling with.¡± ¡°But¡­they¡¯re dangerous?¡± Alis pursed his lips. It was innate for children like her, like them; a lack of biases ignored allegiance and agenda. All that existed was friend or foe. ¡°Yes, they might be,¡± he said, knowing it was useless to try to hide it. The cliff of tomes behind them parted in silence, catching their attention with the sudden glow of a streetlamp dangling from the roof of the gap. One by one, more of its brethren sparked to life, and through the new opening a pathway emerged from the void. ¡°We caught them,¡± Al said through a disembodied voice. The Spirit showed themselves, batting their wings against a pair of books and pushing themselves through. ¡°Well, Tony did. They made a hell of a mess.¡± ¡°They retaliated?¡± ¡°Oh, you bet yer ass they did. Quicker if you see for yourself. That way.¡± Al flapped onto Alis¡¯s shoulder, again pointing him down the newly formed path. He grasped the air for Moira¡¯s hand, but wasn¡¯t able to find it. He turned, only to see the girl had shrunken further away. ¡°What¡¯s wrong?¡± She looked disturbed, cowering further into her chair. His first assumption was that she referred to the stalkers, but her eyes, the pair that had been sceptical of the entire library, were square on Al. ¡°She¡¯s scared of Spirits,¡± Alis explained, and Al hummed his understanding. ¡°Take it slow, she¡¯ll be right once she meets Tony,¡± Al muttered back. ¡°I¡¯ll trade ya a tour for a damn explanation.¡± Alis held out a hand to Moira, and her eyes, for a moment, fell back onto him. He seized the opportunity and tried to smile. ¡°I¡¯ll make sure you¡¯re safe. You¡¯re my client, remember?¡± As expected, it felt nothing but forced. The way his lips curled was unnatural, and his teeth had never so clearly seen the light of day. Anyone, especially a child, would see the expression for what it was. He was entertaining her the only way he knew how, and perhaps as a consolation prize, Moira gave in, taking his hand and following his lead out the door. They found themselves on the other side of a wall of books, the other side of a room very similar to the one they had just left. On their short trek from one to another, they¡¯d come across the aftermath, strewn across the book walls like paint on a canvas. Two types of magic: one was structural, the user of said magic spawning great vines that kept the moving walls in place and at bay, and caught the living chains and cloth before it could ensnare them. The other was purely offensive; the only remnants left of it were perfectly circular holes blown out of the shelves. Two wooden sticks and a Space Hopper lay on a lectern, the latter addressing him with no short measure of fatigue. ¡°I wish you wouldn¡¯t,¡± Tony sighed before Alis could even get a word out. ¡°These were on them.¡± Alis regarded the two sticks carefully, refusing to touch them in case they misfired. He didn¡¯t need to, anyway. ¡°I¡¯ll be a moment,¡± he said, directing the words to Moira. ¡°I think these people are dangerous, so I need to talk to them alone¡­why don¡¯t you¡­try asking these two Spirits their names.¡± Moira shook her head. Alis pleaded, but her reluctance only fuelled more intense head-wagging. ¡°Moira?¡± he asked, lowering his voice. ¡°Do you trust me?¡± Her head stopped moving, but it hesitated to shake along the other axis. Eventually, she ventured a small nod. ¡°Well,¡± he said. ¡°Me, and many other people I know, would trust these two librarians with their lives, okay? They help a lot of people. You can trust them, and you can ask them for help.¡± What was that phrase he often heard Mr Maxwell ask Iris? ¡°How does that sound?¡± The girl stared at her shoes, fragile body swaying from side to side. Eventually, she gave a small, barely noticeable nod, just enough to concede, but to make sure he knew she wasn¡¯t happy about it. It seemed to him like that kind of nod. He turned towards the wall, and Tony, with the brush of his tail, opened it. The inside of the room was empty, resembling more a cell than what Alis had grown used to. Their hands were bound by ancient chains, where Tony had found them was a mystery, but judging by the damage outside, they seemed like a last resort. The stalkers didn¡¯t react as he entered. The man had propped himself upright on his knees, but the woman wasn¡¯t so lucky. Her own body weight was pressing her face into the floor. Both were fairly ordinary appearances-wise, but they weren¡¯t faces he expected to see so far west. Sharper, narrower features he was used to seeing on the cattle-movers he had navigated almost daily. ¡°The Empire¡¯s border is our world¡¯s shield.¡± Their friendly demeanour gone; they looked like nothing more than a pair of strangers. ¡°Her great armies are our world¡¯s sword.¡± His indecisiveness had delivered unto him the perfect incentive. Alis cursed fate. ¡°And we as its people shall be our world¡¯s steel.¡± The two glanced at him, eyes examining his face. The man smirked. ¡°Traitor.¡± Alis walked out of the room, knowing neither would talk easily, if ever. Chapter 32 Part 3: Foreign Investment The food was good. Unbearably so. Provenance wasn¡¯t the type to fall for such simple allures, but base instincts were a powerful force, hard to argue with as much as it disgusted him. But the bird¡¯s nest, the gold and marble perch above the squalor, quickly reminded him exactly what he would trade in to accept such luxury. Security limited his movements to the multi-level imperial penthouse: the golden cap to the administrative complex. Expansive in scale and space, but ¡®limited¡¯ remained the most fitting descriptor. He¡¯d lived amongst squalor before and found its anonymity comforting. Above the clouds, the angels squarely focused his attention on him. The scraping silver armour plates, the thuds of sabatons against polished granite floors were never more than a hallway¡¯s length away, barely in earshot. Provenance could feel the constant buzz of Aether, the current circling the entire mansion; the fuel purely to keep the suits of armour from crushing their wearers. Heavy fur coats and sometimes even billowing black capes marked with gold insignias adorned their shoulders. Standing at doorways or roving patrols, he had counted at least twenty, possibly more. The Empress¡¯s message was an overtly clear one. She wanted anything but to be taken lightly. It was a bratty way to satiate her insecurities. Aware she didn¡¯t command the same respect, pure muscle was her answer. At least her self-awareness could count as something of a silver lining. Spouting the type of rhetoric they taught in primary education, shallow propaganda, scapegoating. Provenance knew she was smarter than that. Material expansion. Land, resources, money. The human nations saw a quarter of the continent ruled by Spirits and wanted to see those borders changed. If a tribe of warmongers would trade their people for money, then all the better. Misguided as it was, Sidos¡¯s Civil War could still claim to be a war. The Vesmosian frontline was a business, new land its product, and the country its assets. The Empress saw the buyer¡¯s heads turning towards a new player on the scene, and there came an interest to nip any competition at the bud. As simple as that. Gain and loss. A matter of survival. He¡¯d had his fair share fulfilling the wishes of empresses, kings and dictators already. Distilled into their essence, it was always the same liquor that left a foul taste in his mouth. The thoughts kept him company, echoing through the hushed hallways until he reached the Empress¡¯s waiting room, the same he¡¯d first arrived in. Ever since, the door he stood before had ceased to exist, replaced by a plain wall. Guest or not, he was still a man: sharing a room with the Empress unattended for any length of time, let alone a night, was blasphemy. Guards aside, her quarters were hidden behind layers of polished marble and Spacehopper magic. It was hard to say she was in the same building as him at all. Two caped knights stood by the door, arms resting on the hilts of their swords, the tips of their scabbards planted in the floor. They gave way without hassle, allowing him to announce himself. ¡°Enter,¡± came a graceful reply, harmonising with the silence rather than overruling it. Provenance pushed open the door and stepped inside, closing it behind him as he continued to face forward. As was etiquette. ¡°You called, your majesty.¡± ¡°I did.¡± She turned away from the window, sparkling eyes once again inspecting him. ¡°Do not worry. It is not an answer to my offer I called for; it was you.¡± Provenance dipped his head, only then noticing the plate of appetisers and gold-trim teacups accompanying Empress Fanreth. In a room of gold and ivory, even such luxuries struggled to stand out. Vesmosians took savoury food with their tea; it mingled better with the leaves. He crossed the room again, taking a seat in the opposite chair. The Empress had taken her tea already, probably an invitation to indulge in it himself. Yet, in her presence, he was still reluctant. Weeks of etiquette classes and he would still look like a slob in front of her. ¡°We haven¡¯t had the chance to talk in¡­how many years must it be now?¡± she began, the steaming cup resting in her hands. ¡°You age very little. I¡¯m jealous.¡± ¡°High praise coming for yourself, your highness.¡± ¡°Please,¡± she said, a curt smile daring to cross her face. ¡°It¡¯s not time that ages me, it¡¯s my husband¡¯s mistresses.¡± She sighed, shaking her head. ¡°Pretty little things.¡± ¡°Like birds in a cage, your majesty. Don¡¯t you think so?¡± He watched her out of the corner of his eye. The curt smile had disappeared, and the tea in her mug was suddenly more interesting than the view. ¡°Such a cynical view of things you have, Provenance. I¡¯d fall into despair too soon if I thought as you did.¡± ¡°Cynicism is a blessing if you follow it with action, your majesty. For people like us, it¡¯s our greatest weapon.¡± ¡°By us?¡± ¡°By us, I mean all under heaven. All of us.¡± The Empress smirked, turning the teacup in her hand. ¡°You don¡¯t age, and you don¡¯t change either. You must not be human.¡± ¡°I wouldn¡¯t do what I do if I weren¡¯t.¡± The weather was cloudy, and spots of sun travelled across the city like spotlights on a stage, blessing all underneath with brief moments of sunshine. The rays, so clearly defined, looked as though they could penetrate deep into the city. Provenance hoped that even a single, square foot of light would reach the deepest slum. But perhaps that was na?ve. ¡°My husband would be pleased to see you still so devout. The Imperial Court has been especially volatile as of late; allies are growing fickle, and so are enemies. Keeping control over every house is proving a challenge. I see it in his women.¡± ¡°How so?¡± ¡°They come and go quickly, provided my husband doesn¡¯t spend the night with them. In the little time they spend in his service, they¡¯re more brash, ruthless than I ever was.¡± She turned to Provenance, regarding him with a modicum of fondness, perhaps even respect. ¡°You are much like him. He never wavers either.¡± Perhaps she meant it as high praise. But from the woman who saw everything through the Emperor¡¯s silhouette, the obsession sparkling in her eyes, it only left him with pity to return.This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report. ¡°What you do. How has that treated you? Last time you spoke to my husband it¡­I¡¯m sorry if I offend, but it sounded quite foolish.¡± ¡°None taken, your highness,¡± he assured her. ¡°It sounds foolish to me, sometimes.¡± He picked the teacup¡¯s handle and brought it to his lips. Grassy, tones of earth and¡­ ¡°Petrichor.¡± ¡°Good guess.¡± ¡°Oh¡­thank you. Progress¡­perhaps more than all the years before combined.¡± ¡°Goodness.¡± The raise of an eyebrow, the same tone she might talk to a child with. She was willing to entertain him, nothing more. He continued regardless. ¡°The Spirit of Destruction is alive.¡± Even the Empress gave the statement its due respect. She paused, mouth slightly agape. Her head turned, and their eyes met. ¡°You¡¯re sure?¡± she asked. ¡°As sure as I will, or anyone else will ever be.¡± The Empress pursed her lips, turning her attention back to the city. ¡°I must say I¡¯m shocked. Unless your delusions have finally gotten a hold of you.¡± ¡°I¡¯ve endured too many roadblocks for that to be the case,¡± he said. ¡°I believe it¡¯s in Excala. ¡°Excala?¡± The eyebrows crossed. The name, the name alone, tempted her wrath. ¡°It¡¯s the last known location I can find. And¡­I remain incredulous¡­but a Witch may be involved in¡­some capacity.¡± The delicate fingers tightened around the cup; the statuesque face could no longer hide the scowl. ¡°Do you know any more?¡± ¡°No, your majesty.¡± The sparkle in her eye shone brighter than ever. Threat and opportunity, risk and reward. A ray of sunshine peered through the window. A blessing from the heavens. Painfully ironic, at least from his perspective. ¡°Then perhaps our interests align closer than I originally thought,¡± she concluded, the window once again dropping into clouded shadow. Shallow propaganda and scapegoating. Perhaps the noble words passed down from the child of heaven weren¡¯t so insincere coming from her mouth. Provenance was quick to assume the infatuated could tell the Emperor¡¯s truths from his lies. Love was a mystifying tonic, but Provenance suspected that whatever had ensnared the Empress was a far more toxic poison. When half-rusted buses struggling over cracked and overgrown highways were the only route into a country, Iris felt a dread pool at the bottom of her stomach that she otherwise never felt, no matter the danger that lurked on the other side of the border. ¡°Are we going to have beds?¡± she asked, tugging on Evalyn¡¯s sleeve. Her mother¡¯s head violently bobbed along with the faults in the road, and she was developing a nasty tick in her left eyebrow. ¡°Hard to say,¡± she admitted. ¡°I came here years ago. Colte and I just found an old inn and stole a room. It still felt like we were camping.¡± Evalyn had called it Anarchism. Spirits, with little need for food or water, would pool their energies into creating civilisations. Without an intense need for anything material, economies often surrounded shelter, entertainment, more recently human luxuries, if not outright humans. Fadaak was an exception: closely intertwined with human society. Old Thoruway was the exact opposite. ¡°It¡¯s hard to expect a decent bed when you don¡¯t have a half decent society.¡± Humans once settled the fertile river basement, and the ruins of their civilisation, now husks of their former glory, were home to a concentration of Spirits. A country by technicality for the sake of borders on a map. A dream landgrab for Vesmos if they weren¡¯t separated by a country or two. ¡°Those bastards really chose a brilliant spot to set up shop, huh? It¡¯s a miracle we even tracked an Aether line into this hellhole.¡± Iris sank back into her chair. The view from her seat only served to further justify Evalyn¡¯s moaning. There really was very little. Towns on the horizon were dilapidated, the roads leading to them barely still trodden paths. She held onto hope, praying that their current vista was simply the most morbid out of a succession of livelier ones. ¡°I already have people in the capital,¡± the Queen whispered. ¡°You won¡¯t be sleeping so rough.¡± ¡°Mum, the Queen said¡ª¡± ¡°I heard. Thank you, your majesty.¡± ¡°It isn¡¯t in my best interest to sleep in the open either,¡± Queen Amestris said. She fell into a short silence, as though surveying the landscape. ¡°This is a Spirit land. Ancient. I could be¡­recognised.¡± The creaking chassis forever filled the silence. Iris couldn¡¯t shake the feeling she was heading for nothing but eternity. The ground she first set foot on was muddy. Sweeping clouds coloured the sky, threatening another torrent at the drop of a hat. Iris held onto her own luggage as Evalyn organised her own inside the bus. The road was no longer paved. It looked as though it hadn¡¯t been for the last hundred years. The surrounding city, as tall and wide as Excala itself, was half in ruins. The apartment blocks around her were punctured with gaping holes in their brickwork, shoddy roofing, supported by half-rotting wooden beams. ¡°Is there a tree growing out of that one?¡± ¡°You would be correct,¡± the Queen said. ¡°It looks decrepit to the human eye. Amazingly so. But¡­the air.¡± Aether. So much Aether. Magnitudes more than Fadaak. Spirits of every conceivable shape and size roamed the street level, flew between the city blocks and floated high above their heads. A precession of golf ball-sized creatures daisy chained their way over rooftops six storeys high while underneath them, a ghostly thing¡ªhalf deer, half whale, although Iris was unsure which side was which¡ªsauntered past. ¡°It¡¯s a trip and a half, that¡¯s for sure,¡± Evalyn sighed, eyes already exasperated. ¡°Where are we headed next, your majesty?¡± ¡°Follow Iris. Talking to both of you at once uses more Aether than I¡¯m willing to draw.¡± ¡°Lead the way.¡± As promised, Iris followed the single word orders she received at every junction. The city stayed much the same, most of it a snapshot of the last days of its human rule. Overturned carriages missing their horses under mounds of rubble and ivy, a commune of Spirits living out of a bakery, the family¡¯s name now faded from the wooden sign. ¡°I learnt about it when I was homeschooled. My father put an¡­emphasis on the collapse of Thoruway. I know now a lot of what I learnt was probably exaggerated¡­but still.¡± They were walking through the remnants of a war: the last day of many lives. Such a clear post-mortem over a century later indicated a swift death. Maybe that was for the better. Iris couldn¡¯t say for sure, nor did it feel right to do so. Aether forced her eyes open, head spinning as though she¡¯d inhaled gasoline fumes. While she tackled her nausea, she noticed the looks they attracted from the Spirits capable of such a thing, but none turned into aggressive advances. They would stomp, drift, waft, or fly past, sparing them little more than a second thought. They were only short, no more than a head-turn or a hushed glance. But to the F.S.A., those moments were a symptom, part of their purpose. Otherwise, to bother with such a place besides to conquer it was an utter waste of time. ¡°Here,¡± the Queen whispered as Iris¡¯s feet stopped in front of a particularly dilapidated apartment. The second-floor wall was largely caved in, the damage extending to the roof, which was covered by a thick sheet of khaki canvas. The front door was bolted shut; the locks were new. Iris craned her head and saw a telescope peering out of the hole in the wall. Muffled thumping from inside approached, each small sound sharp, and accompanied by a satisfyingly hideous groan. The door opened, and a younger man, perhaps mid-twenties, opened the door, a small grin stretched across his freckled face. ¡°Get inside before the rain starts.¡± Iris obliged, the man stepping aside as she and Evalyn entered. The door squealed again as he worked the hinges and redid the bolts. ¡°It¡¯s been pissing rain for the past week. The tarp¡¯s soaked too. What can I get you? Tea?¡± ¡°Tea would be nice,¡± Evalyn smiled, and the man nodded in return, running up the steps with the same thumping creaking as before. Evalyn put a hand on Iris¡¯s shoulder, leaning around the staircase and peeking down the hallway. ¡°It¡¯s a mess of cables,¡± she said. ¡°Communications?¡± ¡°Primarily, yes. It works as an embassy on occasion, although it¡¯s rare.¡± Evalyn took charge up the stairs, although her steps were more sceptical of the wood¡¯s integrity than their host¡¯s. The wind greeted them again after their brief parting, along with something new¡ªthe sound of a small fire. A small Aether burner sat underneath a pot of water, held up by a chain and a pyramid of three sticks. ¡°I hope you¡¯re okay with rainwater,¡± the young man said as he clawed open a black tin. ¡°There¡¯s been an abundance, not that the nearby river¡¯s water is bad.¡± ¡°No,¡± Evalyn smiled. ¡°I¡¯m not a stranger to it, at least.¡± ¡°No? That¡¯s good. What about the young one there? She¡¯s awfully small, ain¡¯t she? Can¡¯t say I was expecting that.¡± Iris¡¯s eyes flicked between the fire and the hole in the tarp. The wood beneath her feet had a nasty bounce to it, and what little of the wall remained was ready to fall apart. ¡°I¡¯ll try,¡± Iris muttered quietly. ¡°What was that?¡± ¡°Nothing.¡± ¡°Oh, well. Beds are downstairs. Taken care of them as best I can. Doubt you¡¯ll be here long, though.¡± ¡°What makes you say that?¡± Evalyn asked, placing her briefcase down by the door. ¡°Finding the F.S.A. in a wasteland like this sure doesn¡¯t sound that easy.¡± The water slowly came to a boil as the man sprinkled tea leaves into a pot. ¡°Bollocks. It¡¯s a piece of piss.¡± He dipped his pinky into the pot for a second or two before shaking off the water. ¡°Anywhere the slave trade travels through, an entire network pops up around it. Somewhere like this, the buyers and sellers get careless. Open radio, Aether lines.¡± He stood and walked over, extending a hand to Evalyn and then to Iris. ¡°Terrence Hotherland. Geverdian Federal Police.¡± Chapter 32 Part 4: Upstanding Citizen ¡°There¡¯s a few F.S.A. cells all over the country here. It¡¯s a hotbed for human trafficking, so it¡¯s no surprise.¡± Their tea was now cold in their cup, rocking gently on the uneven floorboards. The wind had picked up since, and the humidity had finally reached a tipping point. Down came the rain, pouring buckets over the tarp that rolled over the edge into the street below. The sound alone was overwhelming, and Terrence¡¯s voice was soon struggling to jump over the small fire, now battling the elements to keep aflame. ¡°We sent word from the Geverdian Embassy in Fadaak,¡± the Queen said. ¡°Have you not found the phone they used during the transmission?¡± ¡°Yes, but it was a public phone.¡± ¡°A public phone?¡± Evalyn scoffed. ¡°Here?¡± Terrence shrugged, frowning. ¡°Radio works in short distances, but if you need to call outside the country, you need phone lines. And, like you mentioned your Majesty, third parties can track those. Zip, right back to your hideout.¡± Terrence stood, grabbing his cup and walking to the hole in the wall. ¡°So, groups started paying whatever technician was desperate enough to come out here to build phone lines and set them up in public places. They¡¯re treated as a universal safe zone.¡± With one hand keeping a firm grasp on the flimsy wall, he leaned out of the hole, extending his hand to the tarp¡¯s edge and catching the overflow in his cup. ¡°Six different groups have used that phone since you sent that message,¡± Terrence sighed, swishing the contents of his cup clockwise. ¡°Three of them were different F.S.A. cells. Is there anything else? That¡¯s besides the keywords you¡¯ve already given me, obviously.¡± ¡°They said it was¡­something different,¡± Iris muttered, watching her tea do laps inside her mug as she rocked it back and forth. ¡°And the workers in Fadaak thought it was too risky. Because¡­um¡­¡± ¡°Because it was drawing too many resources,¡± Evalyn said, taking over where Iris left off. ¡°Has there been any chatter about something like that? Something irregular?¡± ¡°Irregular¡­¡± Terrence muttered, massaging his chin. ¡°Let¡¯s start with what¡¯s regular,¡± Evalyn offered. ¡°Yeah¡­yeah okay. Well, the MO of local F.S.A. is highway robbery. Most of the roads in this country are screwed, unworkable unless you¡¯ve got some heavy off-road capability. That creates bottlenecks. Easy pickings if you¡¯re trying to do the old stick ¡®em up.¡± Terrence scratched his cheek, the flow of exposition stopping briefly as his thoughts once again clouded his mind. ¡°Irregular,¡± he muttered. ¡°Their operations are scattered. It¡¯d be hard to pick out one particular thing, but¡­by the way you two described it, there¡¯s some people against it? It¡¯s getting some pushback?¡± Iris nodded, and the water in her mug shifted accordingly. Terrence pursed his lips. ¡°Okay. That¡¯s something I can work with. I think the best thing you to and her Majesty can do right now is boots on the ground work.¡± ¡°Door to door?¡± Evalyn asked, standing up with a groan before waltzing over to her luggage, grabbing the cylindrical leather rifle bag tucked between the handle straps of the briefcase. ¡°Door to door,¡± Terrence concurred. ¡°The G.F.P. keeps a close eye on the traffickers. We make sure they know crossing us is bad for business, keeps incentive to kidnap Geverdians down. That means I can give you a list of places to hit.¡± Terrence finished his tea and placed the mug on the floor. ¡°They¡¯re a skittish bunch, though, but that¡¯s tomorrow¡¯s problem.¡± The nightmares now were a thing of routine. Three doors, one imitation of Evalyn as though a bear had mauled her, and one small cave with one meager life dying and reviving over and over. Iris felt an innate desire to care for the child, the white tufts of hair growing on its head getting longer by the night. But, by her own estimates, the child would live in perpetual agony, a slow and painful hibernation for the next few years. There was no way to change history, nor did she hold any desire to try. Nestled deep in the mountains, in a cave no humans would ever find her, her only choice was to sleep her immortal sleep. Waking her would only mean she was conscious of the suffering. So, the more mature rendition of the little girl unfurled herself from her foetal position and stood, turning for the door. Her Beast waited for her, floating inches above the ground as still as a puppet with fastened joints. They loosened as she approached, and she reached out to caress its blocky snout. The teeth chattering nearby didn¡¯t get past her, bone gnawing at bone like a rabid dog on the cusp of losing control. The thing watched her, curled up in the corner, nothing left to cower behind but a shallow, weak plea for mercy. She regarded the thing almost with pity. Almost. What drew her attention that night wasn¡¯t sympathy, but a change in its silhouette. It was missing an arm. Torn from the torso at its shoulder, a mass of rotted, hanging flesh was all that remained of what used to resemble the sleeve of a blood-soaked trench coat. The thing seemed to be in no more or less pain than before. The wound wasn¡¯t fresh either, having already aged by what only days submerged in a swamp could achieve. It was festering and infected, and the blood was no longer red. Iris took a step closer, the snout of the Beast underneath her arm her insurance. Something about the mass of flesh instinctively repelled her eyes, but she stood her ground and observed. Little else about the thing had changed besides its loss of a limb. Feeble skin hung onto spindly bones. Hair dangled from pores on the scalp. It was no longer the otherwise perfect rendition of Evalyn she remembered. The mockery of Elliot had long since passed as well. What they meant, what they represented perhaps, remained a mystery. But the last stand of the undead kept the three remaining doors sealed. So close now, so dominant over the hallway, was Iris¡¯s presence now that she could not see, hear, nor feel anything left that could stop her from breaking through. Just one more piece. If only she reached out and grabbed it, maybe she could tear off another arm¡ª ¡°Please¡­¡± ¡°Please¡­don¡¯t¡­¡± ¡°You. Don¡¯t. Underst-t-tan¡­d¡­¡± ¡°You were shaking.¡± Evalyn¡¯s face appeared at the edge of her bed, a gentle smile welcoming Iris back to reality. ¡°Is it the mattress?¡± It was springy, each movement earning a ghastly squeal from the metal coils inside. ¡°No,¡± Iris said, sceptically. ¡°I don¡¯t think so.¡± Evalyn pressed her lips together into a small smile. ¡°All right. Do you think you can go to sleep again? We¡¯ve got a lot of walking to do tomorrow.¡± Iris dug her face into the pillow, the rain still pounding against the thin walls a reminder of how vulnerable she was. She believed it was by miracle a Spirit hadn¡¯t waltzed into the house and taken her unawares. Terrence insisted there were barriers and repellents in place, but it still didn¡¯t convince her. Now that she¡¯d waken up with little fatigue to persuade her to sleep again, the Aether¡¯s jeering was louder in her ears than ever. A dull buzz, scratching, gnawing, unperturbed by the flimsy walls that kept the rain at bay. Evalyn¡¯s hand brushed her fringe from her face. One small action that she felt did more against the Aether than the tarp ever did against the storm. Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation. A strike of lightning. It felt so close. Her home wasn¡¯t exactly made of brick and mortar, but somehow, just being cold and tired far away from her own bed was as taxing on her soul as half the jobs she¡¯d ever undertaken. ¡°Why do I have to be here?¡± she said, her subconscious croaking the words out of her mouth before she could force them down again like bile. Evalyn smiled, a note of mischief in the way her lips curled. ¡°You homebody,¡± she said. ¡°Camping sucks, I know.¡± ¡°This isn¡¯t camping,¡± Iris argued. There was nothing tranquil about it. Rotting stars and storm clouds blocked the stars, and a maelstrom drowned out nature¡¯s silent whispers while distant moans, chips, howls, cries of Spirits meandering a mass graveyard of gravestones five storeys high. A single Aether lamp, dangled by a dried, tendon-like string, struggled to shine despite the obnoxious abundance of fuel in the air. Orange light fell unevenly across switchboards and telegram machines, too lazy to venture far into the shadows under desks, behind cupboards, or on the other side of Evalyn¡¯s nose. Half obscured in shadow, there was still life in her mother¡¯s skin, vitality in her hair, warmth in her touch. ¡°I was dreaming,¡± she finally said. ¡°It was the same as always, but¡­that thing in my head that looks like you. It¡¯s getting weaker, and begging me to not go further. It was¡­missing an arm.¡± The same arm, albeit its living counterpart, had dipped into shadow from the bicep down, and Iris¡¯s heart skipped inside her chest. The same arm, its warm, gentle yet calloused counterpart, took her hand and caressed a thumb over the back of it, reminding her it was still there. Blood still flowed through it. ¡°Missing an arm? Did you do that?¡± Iris shook her head. Evalyn maintained a rhythm in her petting. One, two, three, four. She felt her eyelids weakening as she counted the strokes. ¡°Maybe it was the Queen¡¯s fault. I can¡¯t say for sure. Maybe we can ask her tomorrow.¡± ¡°That¡¯s¡ª¡±. The words came before she knew what to do with them. ¡°I don¡¯t know.¡± ¡°Don¡¯t know what?¡± Evalyn asked. ¡°How to talk to her.¡± The fingers moved across her scalp like a slow march. An army of snails. Maybe ants. ¡°Oh, well. No one really does,¡± Evalyn giggled. ¡°She¡¯s the Queen for a reason. I doubt even Al knows half the time. The most¡­experienced person I can think of is Marie. Experienced, but I can¡¯t tell you if there¡¯s a theory behind it.¡± ¡°¡­how do you do it?¡± Iris asked. The jittering Aether was fading, no match for the slow, repetitive, familiar vibration of overworked, hardened fingers against her hair and her skin. ¡°I think I realised quickly that it¡¯s in her nature to care for her kingdom. Knowing that, you can¡­butter her up, threaten her, bargain with her¡­. Show her you have value, and she¡­gives you that respect. She¡¯s a Spirit; she¡¯s fair, at least in that sense.¡± ¡°Do we have to be that fair?¡± Iris mumbled, her eyelids growing heavier by the second. The shadows on Evalyn¡¯s face grew deeper, and she fought to keep them open. ¡°We do what we can,¡± Evalyn whispered, leaning in to kiss Iris¡¯s forehead. ¡°But first we have to work hard for ourselves. Just like her Majesty does for her kingdom.¡± Breakfast was swifter than usual. Iris nor Evalyn had little in the way of a ritual around the first meal of the day without Elliot, but with little else to eat besides canned rations¡ªor game Terrence had generously offered to less-than-stellar reception¡ªit was over within fifteen minutes. They left the building early, finding the cracked sidewalk littered with murky puddles deceptively deep. Evalyn, lost in her map, still skipped over the small ones and circumvented the larger pools. Iris, lost in nothing more than her thoughts, was damp up to her socks in no time. Do we have to be that fair? It was a line she had rattled off in the hopes of fending off sleep for even a few seconds longer. The sidewalk dipped into a shadow, moving too fast to be a cloud. Iris craned her neck, and an ocean of feathers greeted her, shimmering in the fresh daylight like iridescent pearls. Purple, pink, azure blues and hints of yellow. The vague shape whistled over the ruins, closer to a cloud than a creature, until it and its shadow disappeared over the rooftops of the buildings opposite. ¡°What are we going to do when we find them? Not the F.S.A., the people killing Wizards and Witches,¡± Iris said, eyes still fixated on the derelict horizon the ceiling of shimmering feathers had disappeared over. ¡°Whatever we need to do,¡± Evalyn asked, nose still deep in the crevices of the hand-drawn map. ¡°They¡¯ve been killing people like us. We¡¯ve got no reason to believe they¡¯ll suddenly decide against it when we catch them.¡± ¡°So¡­we kill them,¡± Iris said, hopping over a puddle while she tried to ignore the bitter taste the words left in her mouth. She had to get used to them. ¡°Not necessarily, but if they force our hand¡ª¡± ¡°But it¡¯s my fault they¡¯re here.¡± Iris¡¯s feet came to a stop at the edge of a murky puddle. Blotches of oil, shimmering a thousand different colours, marred its surface. She kept her eyes on her feet, hearing Evalyn finally raise her head from the parchment. The steady rhythm her boots made against the concrete and gravel stopped. And just as well, too. Iris didn¡¯t feel like moving forward until she had an answer. She was already so many steps ahead of herself, in a different country, pursuing a lead that was only plausible at best. ¡°They¡¯re angry at what we¡­what I did. How is it fair to punish them again?¡± She could feel her mother¡¯s stare against her scalp, the same portion that felt her calloused fingers¡¯ caress until she fell asleep. ¡°Are we even¡­trying to be fair?¡± The pool at her feet festered. She wanted to jump in, hope that it was a pit of murky oblivion that she could lose herself in. ¡°I hope you don¡¯t mind me speaking on your behalf, your Majesty. The Queen¡­she¡¯s fair in that she stays true to her principles. She won¡¯t try to use you, scam you, betray you. Don¡¯t compare that to some¡­eye for an eye notion.¡± The steps started again, this time in the opposite direction. They stopped; the toes of a pair of shoes paused on the other side of the filthy puddle. ¡°That¡¯s how people lose. For us, that means we die. We play the game, and as much as we try, our game has no rules. All right?¡± Iris expected as much. The F.S.A. was a dime a dozen to someone like Evalyn. Only by misfortune had they become so entangled with the organisation, snuffed the fire that burnt on something righteous. And they had to do it once again, now under the cover of a different justification. ¡°So why are we more valuable than they are?¡± The feet turned around and continued their trek. ¡°I don¡¯t feel like watching you die anytime soon.¡± Almost as though there was some semblance of standardisation, each trading outpost the two visited followed a set criteria, the points of which spelt themselves out with each subsequent visit. One: outposts are situated in places of low foot-traffic. Spirits were few, and the ones Iris did see¡ªbesides the ones behind the counter¡ªwere small, never larger than a small dog. Even the Aether in the air was weaker. Less Spirits drew less Aether, less Aether attracted less Spirits. Whatever was the progenitor, the chicken or the egg, she couldn¡¯t tell for certain. It was a question better left to someone like Terrence. Two: like any other business, there was a storefront. Often poorly renovated and living like a parasite in the shell of something that was once a more wholesome establishment. None of the ¡®product¡¯ was out for display, leaving it all to Iris¡¯s imagination to fill in the gaps. It was better that way, according to the Queen. Apparently, her imagination would never be twisted enough to craft anything worse than reality. Three: the industry wasn¡¯t run in a mum and pop small-time retailer fashion. Every outpost was a blip in a greater trading network, whichever gang, syndicate, black company they affiliated with. The Spirit behind the counter rarely had a particular disdain for the human, merely the same disinterest an industrial farmer had for their livestock. Most stores doubled as shelter for their keepers, and as such, were a museum of scavenged human inventions, broken or otherwise. ¡°Geverde must be here,¡± the Queen whispered as Iris asked the all-important question after their fourth visit to an establishment. ¡°The trade is global. Dismantling a single node might be righteous, but hasty. The trade will move somewhere we do not have agents that can reclaim our citizens. It would be a Friday thing to do.¡± Iris followed Evalyn into another X scratched into the map with red pencil. Several storeys of decaying brick hung between neighbouring blocks like an injured soldier hoisted on the shoulders of two comrades. The injury itself was a hollow bottom floor, its remains piled in mounds that spilt onto the street like an unsolved jigsaw puzzle, and in its place stood steel pillars, bolted into fresh concrete, haphazardly dug into the ground. It was the quality of a job undertaken by one Spirit and one pot of low-quality cement. Maybe a pickup truck, if they were lucky. Iris imagined it all coming down in a great avalanche of concrete and bodies and wondered if the Spirit in charge would care. What felt like the worthier cause to wring some throats over¡­ Iris wished she had the same blindsiding conviction the Queen held. They caught the Spirit, nestled in piles of rubble for walls, stoking the last vestiges of a roast. It was barely smoking by then, but the smell of charred meat it left behind tickled her nostrils and made her feel ill. The Spirit, a lanky, four-legged twig of a being, given shape by a green, plated exoskeleton abandoned the fire and searched their surroundings. Eventually, they reached out towards a voice box laying a few feet away. The metal box, as though by some invisible twine, skated across the rubble and attached itself to the Spirit. ¡°C-can I¡­h-h-help you¡­?¡± An old, broken model. Evalyn took charge of the investigation, packing up her map and tucking it into her coat. ¡°Hello, my name is Batrice, I¡¯m a colleague with agent Hotherland of the Geverdian Federal Police.¡± The Spirit shifted, turning back to the fire. ¡°N-n-no¡­Gev-v-verde slaves¡­I¡­w-w-would-d-d call¡­¡± ¡°I understand. But we¡¯ve gotten word from the capital that there is a¡­victim that we believe to be somewhere in the capital. We¡¯d like to look at your books.¡± The keeper¡¯s bulbous head, eyes bulging from either side of their face hesitated, but eventually gave a slow, deliberate nod before returning to stoking the fire. With another leg, they pointed toward a waist-high slab of intact brick pillar, laying flat across relatively undisturbed ground. Evalyn obliged, walking towards the desk and urging Iris to follow. The Spirit watched her, one eye following her as she walked, the other remaining on the dying fire. The desk was sparse save for a few thick books, barely held together by their binding. The pages were stiff and yellow, their blank faces marked with nothing but numbers. The in and out, buy and sell, supply and demand of the business was all written down, with each new entry cataloguing the sales for the day by numbers, names, gender and price. That, organised into one column, contrasted with the incoming shipments, sorted by projected value. Iris watched as Evalyn flipped through page after page too fast to take in the information. Eventually, she stopped, putting the book down. ¡°Here too,¡± Evalyn muttered. ¡°What?¡± Iris asked. ¡°You¡¯ll find out soon. I need to ask some questions.¡± Chapter 32 Part 5: Deserved or Not The Spirit continued to prod the fire, haphazardly playing with it as though a child with a plate of vegetables might. Passing the time, waiting for them to move on like a wandering wind. ¡°They don¡¯t look like they have anything to hide,¡± Evalyn muttered. ¡°Why?¡± ¡°I don¡¯t know¡­call it optimism,¡± she said, patting Iris¡¯s head before walking back towards the Spirit. ¡°We have a few questions. It¡¯d help us if you¡¯d answer them truthfully.¡± The Spirit continued to turn over charred log after charred log as the small crackle of dying flames danced with Evalyn¡¯s words. They lived as fast as they died, dancing together in the air while the Spirit offered none of their own. Silent approval. At least that¡¯s how Evalyn seemed to take it. ¡°You¡¯re working with the F.S.A., and so are some other traders.¡± It wasn¡¯t a question, technically a statement. The Spirit reacted accordingly. That was to say, not at all. Evalyn continued. ¡°The numbers don¡¯t add up. You¡¯re only selling ninety percent of your incoming¡­stock, but you¡¯re still making the expected earnings.¡± The Spirit continued unfazed, even as a passing breeze put down the last vestiges of the flame. It playfully swirled around the small cavern as the Spirit¡¯s limb finally met the ground and stood still. ¡°Ten¡­s-s-slaves¡­s-sell¡­ni-ni-nine¡­. One¡­go-goes-s-s to¡­the¡­F.S.A-A-A.¡± ¡°And the extra money?¡± ¡°They¡­g-g-give me¡­r-r-radio¡­to¡­s-s-sell.¡± Evalyn crossed her arms, a small grin on her face. ¡°Spirits still value entertainment. A long-range radio would be worth ten times more here than in the next country. How many slaves would one radio pay for?¡± ¡°T-ten¡­r-r-roughly¡­¡± ¡°Ten freed slaves for the price of one, huh¡­clever¡­alright. One more thing, then. What do you get out of it?¡± The Spirit turned away, trotting towards the cooked game. The lump of meat vibrated, eventually dragging across the floor towards the Spirit, albeit with more effort than the voice box had. By the doorway into the building, the Spirit stopped. ¡°N-n-nothing...¡± Evalyn sighed, frowning. ¡°So, you won¡¯t sell them out easily?¡± Even though Evalyn phrased a question, this time, the Spirit still neglected to answer. They stood by the door; the meat pressed against their spindly limbs. What Iris originally interpreted as a communication barrier at best, standoffish attitude at worse, was something that ran deeper. Indifferent wasn¡¯t the right word for them. In some lived experiences, sympathy, or maybe even empathy, was a curse. ¡°We suspect the F.S.A. has been murdering our people,¡± Evalyn said, practically ripping the mask of G.F.P. Batrice off her face. ¡°It¡¯s important to us, to her Majesty Queen Amestris of Geverde, that we find out who is responsible. For that, we are investigating the F.S.A.¡± To a sympathiser, any enemy of the F.S.A. would sound like defenders of the slave trade. Iris would certainly think so in the same position, even if being Geverdian held some sort of credibility. ¡°W-w-we¡­smug-g-gle¡­weap-p-pons¡­¡± ¡°How many?¡± ¡°F-f-five¡­s-s-six¡­every-y-y month¡­¡± ¡°Shit. They¡¯ve got enough for a militia by now.¡± ¡°F-f-feeding¡­time¡­¡± The Spirit trotted through the door, dragging the charred game along with it. Seconds passed in silence, and neither moved. As though to pay some sort of respect. Deserved or not, Iris didn¡¯t envy the hand the keeper had been given. ¡°I bet they threatened the other sellers into giving up that ten percent,¡± Evalyn said, finally uncrossing her arms and making for the exit. Iris followed. Iris had long since burnt through all her portable entertainment. Stuck in a place where she could not buy more left her in a bind, one she hoped to pass like a hibernating bear, indulging in her springy mattress until the next call to action arose. And much like a bear, she found it impossible to truly hibernate (as per a useless factoid she learnt in school). Instead, she spent her spare time in a sequence of clockwise trial and error, from her shoulder to her back to her other shoulder to her front. None of them seemed to work. The floorboards above her head were rotted, half had holes in them cascading dust and debris, yet she still found it impossible to eavesdrop on the conversation upstairs. Perhaps if she climbed to the top bunk and pressed her ear against the wall, she would catch something more than senseless garble competing with the rain for space in her ear. It was effort exerted for the sake of it. The same went for trying to decipher one of Evalyn¡¯s books. Whatever innate grasp on language she had three years ago didn¡¯t cover the level of vocabulary her mother could stomach. The sheer number of words squeezed onto one page was enough to make her head spin. Running through each failed attempt to exhaust or entertain herself was also just another way to count sheep. She had already tried that, too. What remained were thoughts and questions better left for a future version of her, one that couldn¡¯t afford to leave them unthought and unanswered. Instead, she turned her head and peeked over the folds of her cushion. ¡°Yes, Iris?¡± the Queen muttered, snaring her gaze in an instant. Iris felt her brow furrow, and she considered turning back the other way to resuming her endless routine. ¡°You¡¯ve been tossing. You¡¯re feeling Wednesday¡ª¡± ¡°What does that even mean?¡± The words left a horrid taste in her mouth, and they stung at their master in the air. They weren¡¯t her words. Her feelings, yes, the brunt of her ugly, overcast feelings, but certainly not her words. ¡°Sorry,¡± she said. ¡°Sorry, your¡­Majesty.¡± ¡°What¡¯s bothering you?¡± ¡°What¡¯s bothering¡­why do you ask?¡± ¡°Am I¡­forbidden from asking?¡± ¡°No¡­just¡­you¡¯re the Queen. You¡¯re not supposed to ask that sort of question.¡± ¡°I still don¡¯t¡­quite understand.¡± Iris dug her face into the pillow. She had lost, or at least felt like she had lost at something. ¡°What mum said to me this morning. It¡¯s bothering me.¡± ¡°In regard to fairness. No?¡± ¡°Yeah.¡± Rainfall was persistent that night, but had lost the weight of the torrent the night before. Still, the sound that passed through what was left of the walls carried a presence, a third party sitting in on their conversation that had, as of Iris¡¯s last word, stagnated. This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere. The Queen wasn¡¯t one to vocalise her thinking, nor was any Spirit Iris had met bar the Beaks in her school. The way utter silence left her hanging in limbo was particularly irksome, and that irritation had a habit of building up like grime inside a pipe. Thorny words scraped the walls of her throat as they threatened to breach her lips. ¡°Hardridge isn¡¯t wrong,¡± the Queen began, relieving Iris¡¯s irritation. ¡°But consider that she has known me for only thirteen years. To call it even a fraction would be an exaggeration.¡± ¡°So¡­before?¡± ¡°Before, I was crueller. I¡¯ve seen a¡­change in myself in my twilight years. The last hours of a Sunday.¡± Twilight years. Iris had heard many describe her Majesty as ¡®past her prime¡¯ in hushed voices, accompanied by light shrugs and haphazard frowns. It is what it is. What can you expect? She¡¯s already been alive for so long. Hearing it straight from the horse¡¯s mouth gave it a newfound existential gravity. ¡°I¡¯ve begun to see the¡­trees for the forest. The individual pieces on the board, now they derive from me sympathy. Yet¡­¡± The rain swallowed the words of the almighty. Even in such a form, she carried so much presence. But, in the end¡­ ¡°I still protect a nation. Nothing can come before that. Even so, I am glad that I¡¯ve become the ruler that can give someone like you a chance.¡± Devoid of inflection, of emotional notes that allowed human and voice box words to prance from mountains to valleys. That was what Iris was used to, the weight of the Queen¡¯s words carried by sheer, instinctual presence alone. Every word a command, every sentence a royal decree. Iris buried her head into the pillow and decided she was imagining things. ¡°So, it is not as though I cannot sympathise with you, nor Hardridge,¡± the Queen continued, once again returning to the manner in which she always carried herself. ¡°Perhaps you, considering your family, have never felt the fear of a circumstance you can¡¯t control. A war your loved one dies in; a famine your family perishes in.¡± ¡°Just because¡ª¡± ¡°Let me finish. Please.¡± ¡°Okay¡­sorry.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t mean to offend you, but I mean to say that I have watched mortals, over millennia, pray to gods for the power that you have. Your magic, the responsibility you hold, is gruelling, but having none at all is¡­paralysing. Hardridge talks from a place of knowing that pain.¡± She knew that. Mum¡¯s been through a lot. Dad too. That¡¯s why they do what they do, that¡¯s why they are who they are. That¡¯s why their footsteps are so wide, too wide to fill. ¡°You might not have that same motivation, but with circumstances as they are¡ª¡± ¡°Stop. I know¡­I¡¯m tired of hearing it.¡± Dead air again. There was something about a dying conversation that poisoned silence. Iris revelled in crystal clear peace, but in between words, the missing pieces of an awkward conversation injected hit after small hit of anxiety into her veins. If she started counting sheep now¡ª ¡°One day, Geverde will no longer need you. Not you, nor any other unwilling Witch or Wizard. I wish that¡­one day¡­I might rule such a kingdom.¡± It wasn¡¯t her responsibility to shoulder, not a world she needed to create. It was barely even a promise she could hold her hopes up for¡­ Yet it still made her heart flutter. ¡°Are you up yet?¡± ¡°Half,¡± Iris grumbled as she tried discerning Evalyn¡¯s face¡ªa knotted mess of pink and orange¡ªthrough her blurred eyes. ¡°Half?¡± she chuckled. ¡°Let¡¯s get more than half going. Here, breakfast.¡± Canned food again. It was on a plate, at least. The dry bread in her mouth distracted her from the saltiness, and she washed it all down with tea. The leaves were weak. Third cup, probably. First come, first serve. She watched the small pool of brine on her plate glisten in the morning sunshine. Oil and salt from the depths of the ocean. No. That made it sound too fresh. Pressed in a factory, injected after the fact to simulate ¡®freshness¡¯. Then she looked at the hole in the wall beside her and figured she shouldn¡¯t be complaining. Still, a small glimmer of hope remained: maybe Evalyn was doing just as badly without Elliot¡¯s cooking as she was. But the woman was steely, licking her lips and her fingers as she rinsed her plate in last night¡¯s rainwater. ¡°What?¡± she asked, catching Iris¡¯s glare. ¡°You don¡¯t deserve dad.¡± ¡°Huh? Where did that come from?¡± ¡°All right ladies, I stayed up all night for this, so don¡¯t squander it.¡± Terrence cut their morning short, his ever-energetic voice preceding him up the staircase. Next thing Iris knew, he had crossed the creaking room and slammed a map in between them. The entire floor rattled under the abuse, and Iris was left blinking sawdust from her eyes. ¡°You were busy,¡± Evalyn muttered, walking along the structural supports hidden underneath the rotted wood. It was a talent that took years to notice¡ªshe was silent on creaky floorboards. ¡°If it¡¯s a shipment you want, then that makes things easier. You flagged four places yesterday, so I monitored their communication.¡± He looked at both of them one after another, so thoroughly chuffed in himself she could see the dog tail wagging. ¡°There¡¯s one coming here,¡± he said, finger landing on a circled X, ¡°in less than two hours.¡± The city had imprinted its legacy on history pages across the human sphere of influence, and like an ancient lifeform, left its physical remains to be fossilised, pondered over for a million years to come. Being in such a city, where life was exceptional, where movement stood out like a tree growing from a fifth storey window, already put the pair on the back foot. ¡°You can make something of a skeleton, can¡¯t you?¡± Wiring purple matter across her body like puppet strings no thicker than a length of twine. It was enough to reinforce her movements, make her stronger, faster, more agile. But for combat? ¡°Worst-case scenario,¡± Evalyn said. ¡°Can¡¯t afford the entire city to bear down on us. Not now.¡± She loaded a magazine into her rifle and slung it over her shoulder, finishing her sentence in a language Iris had now come to know well, one that dealt in metal scraping against metal, in springs and gunpowder and shell casings. They¡¯d do things the good ol¡¯ way. Evalyn handed Iris her sidearm, and Iris looped it around her waist. No further questions. She pinned the Queen into her hair. It was lighter than the day before. ¡°Are you still there?¡± she muttered. ¡°Of course.¡± Iris pursed her lips. Now she felt stupid for asking. They left via the front door, Evalyn once again in the lead, nose buried in the map. Left, left, then another right, passing a main road in favour of a backstreet that ran more or less adjacent. This time, Iris kept pace with her mother, and they walked side by side in a quickened march. One, two, one, two. Evalyn checked her watch. ¡°We¡¯re almost there,¡± she said as a rumbling lorry tore through the stale, graveyard-like ambience. The screeching brakes engaged close by and turned somewhere in front of them. ¡°Against the wall,¡± Evalyn said, and Iris followed. The vehicle rumbled past the end of the alleyway, oblivious. It was a personnel carrier, large enough to see action in war. ¡°That¡¯ll be them,¡± her mother muttered. ¡°Let¡¯s pick up the pace.¡± They ducked further into the backstreets, battling disarray and entropy, watching their footwork until Evalyn came to a screeching halt, heels planted into the ground. Iris crashed into her nose first. ¡°Come on, stairs,¡± her mother muttered, eyes finding the lip of the roof colonised by moss and vines. She opened the rusted service door inward as Iris nursed her nose. It screeched on its hinges like an alarm, but for all her effort, Evalyn could only force a few degrees out of it before the hinges locked in place for good. ¡°Can you slip through?¡± she asked. Iris measured the gap, trying to ignore her nose. ¡°Yes,¡± she said. ¡°You go first.¡± Iris sucked in her stomach and sidestepped into the crevice. Rust flaked off the metal and littered her jacket, but otherwise, the ancient door hadn¡¯t taken a toll for the passage. But just in case, she checked her face for cuts. There was a disease she couldn¡¯t pronounce yet. Tetris. Apparently, that wasn¡¯t it. Beside her stood an old dresser, its glass broken and its left side mangled by something large. Something sharp. But the years had taken its toll. If the former residents had used it to barricade the door from inside, if it had failed when inevitably torn from its place, strewn against the wall and discarded, that was all her own conjecture. She found a secure handhold, stuck her feet firm against the concrete floor, and pulled as Evalyn pushed. It was her mother¡¯s turn to squeeze through, and she, too, made it inside unscathed. ¡°Any scratches?¡± ¡°No.¡± ¡°Good,¡± she said, smiling to herself. They found themselves in a stairwell¡ª bare brick walls on all four sides stretched further upwards, whereas another door led deeper into the building. ¡°Up,¡± Evalyn said. Shielded from the elements, the stairs hadn¡¯t decayed as severely as lumbered wood elsewhere. Still, it was dry and groaned like the risen undead. Disregarding the personification, it might as well have been. Five flights up, and Evalyn pushed the service door open into a hallway. With the walls relatively intact, nature had found its way to seep into the crevices, but otherwise, the building was almost airtight. The carpet was still red under a thousand layers of dust and the wood above them still brown above a million strands of spider silk. The only evidence of disarray was the signs of struggle. Scratch marks, smashed furniture, opened walls and stains of blood so faded they looked indistinguishable from simple discolorations in the paint. Iris could see them. She¡¯d spent too much time sitting in that hallway in her head not to. They stared down the hallway for only a few steps before Evalyn laid a hand on the first door they came to. ¡°Do you think we¡¯ll see any skeletons?¡± ¡°Don¡¯t say that.¡± ¡°Right. Sorry.¡± She pushed open the door, and a wave of dust enveloped them, stinging Iris¡¯s eyes and drying out her throat. Evalyn pulled a pair of handkerchiefs from her coat pocket, handing one to Iris. The room they walked into was sparsely furnished, clearly a hotel suite. A moth-ridden queen bed the centrepiece, it had gone the quickest out of all the furniture bar the curtains. Evalyn moved for the windows, sealed with rusted locks, the decaying metal tangling together into a mess. ¡°Handgun,¡± she said, holding out her hand. Iris reached into the holster and pulled it out, giving it to her mother. Rather unceremoniously, she struck the lock. Once, twice, three times. Number four did the trick, and the snarl of metal came loose. Evalyn pushed the window open and handed back the handgun. ¡°Don¡¯t peer too far over,¡± she whispered, pushing Iris¡¯s head back down. ¡°My hair blends in a little better.¡± The uncharitable angle only revealed the far edge of a set of concrete courts, the remains of their nets could barely be described as evidence. The tops of heads¡ªsometimes everything from the neck up¡ªwould flit about along the edge of her vision. Nothing conclusive, frustratingly so. But Evalyn¡¯s gentle push against her scalp was proving more than enough to keep her in line. She exhaled through her nose, trying to keep her nerves quiet. ¡°Weapons. They¡¯re on the move.¡± Chapter 32 Part 6: In Place of Forgiveness Tailing a vehicle on foot was an ask they could ease their magic restrictions for. Especially now, so close to something that wasn¡¯t just speculation, they couldn¡¯t afford to be so conservative. Exoskeletons, twine-thin lengths of matter that ran along Iris¡¯s extremities. If she just relaxed her muscles, sent her brain¡¯s instructions to those strings instead of her legs themselves, they¡¯d do the work for her. Soon, they were travelling by rooftop once again. With scant cover and precarious footing, they travelled cautiously, dipping in and out of concrete windows, using the sound of the engines as their guide. They could afford to. There was little else to hear besides it and the rushing wind in their ears. Iris focused solely on moving as fast as possible, one foot in front of the other, one leap before another drop. The Queen, their third pair of eyes, warned them of nearby tornadoes of Aether, a problematic Spirit at their centre. Such a small Aether pull at such a speed would present like a buzzing fly to a human, here and gone in an instant, before one could even swat it away. But Spirits weren¡¯t all made equal. Those who could perceive their human bodies could just as well put two and two together quickly. And news travelling by telepathy spread like a firestorm. Iris followed Evalyn¡¯s lead, barely maintaining her momentum while her mother somehow juggled the chase with hunting the small convoy. Two trucks. Evalyn¡¯s headcount had found a group of twenty-three slaves, and as per the agreement, three were taken. I guess they round up. Next had come a set of wooden crates, lugged from one truck to the other. A scrawny freedom-fighter had undone the bolts on one, and lying inside¡ªnestled in a bed of golden hay¡ªwas a small machine gun, compact enough to fit inside a coat. Real bullets. Real, lead bullets that would stay inside a human¡¯s body. That piece of the equation was yet to add up. Dwell on it too long, and it potentially derailed their entire line of inquiry. The F.S.A. using magic. It was already dubious. Then again, S.H.I.A. had done something similar. Didn¡¯t matter. Nor did it matter whether they asked their questions nicely. They¡¯d shoot her and her mother in a heartbeat, given the chance. The engines slowed, taking one last turn before they idled, the familiar rhythmic chug putting an end to the journey. Evalyn and Iris killed their momentum, taking a perch on the shy side of a slanted roof, ducking under its apex as they watched and waited. Before them was another derelict apartment complex. Six storeys of bare, crumbing brick and makeshift repairs loomed over a small, overgrown courtyard. Knee-high in drenched grass, a group of men trudged back and forth from the trucks to the building, collecting the cargo like a factory conveyer belt. Three would carry crates, the fourth would escort a person. A person who looked shocked out of their wits, in tattered clothes, the most genuine relief spilling from their eyes as smiling faces greeted them. Congratulations. You made it. The worst is over now. We¡¯re sorry we couldn¡¯t do more. We¡¯re so, so, so sorry. ¡°Iris?¡± The hundred-year-old tiles were digging into her fingertips, sapping the rest of her strength from her body lest she used the energy to do something rash. ¡°Iris. You¡¯re crying.¡± So, it wasn¡¯t raining. Figures. It had been so common until then. But no, it may have been overcast, but the sky was holding its sympathy that day. ¡°What are we¡­doing here?¡± Iris choked. ¡°I can¡¯t do this. Whatever we¡¯re going to do, I can¡¯t¡­¡± ¡°Iris.¡± They were in the middle of battle. Out on the field. All her mother could offer was a simple cradle of her cheek. The warmth in those calloused fingers, forced to do things Iris could never dream of. ¡°I know I¡¯m harsh, but it¡¯s because I care about you. And¡­because I care about you, I want you to cherish what you¡¯re feeling right now.¡± And like it was as simple as breathing; her mother conjured a smile that radiated like the sun itself. ¡°Even if it hurts, like it hurts me. You¡¯ll know you¡¯re human.¡± The hand left her cheek, and Evalyn stepped so far out of character, Iris found herself stifling a scream. She stood up in plain view of the enemy and raised her hands. Nervous mutters quickly escalated into shouts for arms. The uproar continued for seconds that felt like hours while her mother continued to stand in surrender, resolute in her decision. Iris could only lay there, stunned. ¡°Geverdian Federal Police! I mean no harm. I want to talk to whoever¡¯s in charge!¡± No shots were fired, and the muffled panic slowly fell into silence as well. ¡°S-someone get the chief!¡± Evalyn closed her eyes and deflated her chest, only then showing her nerves. ¡°I have one more with me. She¡¯s going to stand up now. Again, we mean no harm.¡± Iris looked at her mother, fingernails still digging into the tiles. The author''s content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon. ¡°Don¡¯t be scared. I¡¯ve got you.¡± Iris swallowed her spit. That alone took all her effort. Her fingers parted with the roof. Her knees were weak¡ªher footing crumbled underneath her. But not having to place a hand on her gun, if it was all for that, then¡­ Iris stood, perhaps not tall but with her hands in the air. Eagerly waiting for her was a small crowd, hands shaking on their guns. The lack of trigger discipline terrified her. She felt her instincts taking a hold, pulling herself inward, curling herself into a ball. ¡°Forget about how scared you are. Watch their movements. Every single one. Mental exercise, you know¡­¡± Iris tried to follow her example, but her eyes only continued to blur over and drift. ¡°I could never do this without you,¡± she said, the words slipping out of her weakened lips. She continued the exercise, biting her cheek until it hurt, waiting for a response from her mother that never came. She glanced at Evalyn and found a look she didn¡¯t recognise. ¡°The chief¡¯s here!¡± A pair of men, one much older than the other, rushed out of the compound¡¯s front door, huffing as the building before them led their eyes up to Evalyn and Iris. ¡°We¡¯re coming down now!¡± Evalyn shouted, taking a step forward. ¡°Hold on to me.¡± Iris lowered her quaking hands and wrapped them around Evalyn¡¯s waist. One at a time, one foot in front of the other. They reached the edge, and Evalyn hauled her over it. Nothing under their feet: Iris could do nothing but squint and hope she didn¡¯t throw up her breakfast. Salty brine. The worst moment to remember it. Next came the impact, and the privilege of using her brain to feel the inside of her skull. An instant bout of nausea hit her worse than a bullet ever could, and she held onto her mother¡¯s arm for dear life. She silently begged for time to recover, but they were still at gunpoint. ¡°Take your holster off,¡± Evalyn muttered as she slowly reached for her rifle strap and lifted it off her shoulders. The clatter of their firearms against the ground was as convincing a surrender as they could offer. The F.S.A. seemed to agree. Still, the guns remained trained on them as their hands returned to their place above their heads. The older man, the so called ¡®chief¡¯, approached. Slim, and of greying hair, the scars across his body weren¡¯t telling of battle. The wounds around his wrist, around his neck, told of a different breed of torture entirely. ¡°What do you want?¡± he asked. ¡°You, or one of your cells, told us to find you. Said you would only speak to us if we did. Was that you?¡± ¡°Yes¡­you only want to¡­talk.¡± ¡°¡­yes. Today, we only want to talk.¡± The chief watched them with wavering eyes that flicked back and forth from Iris to Evalyn. ¡°Grab their guns! Pat them down!¡± The imminent threat to their life was erased, just like that. ¡°Let¡¯s be careful,¡± Evalyn muttered as she watched her guns disappear into the firepower-starved hands of the onlooking crowd. For a change of pace, the F.S.A. treated them to a sight that wasn¡¯t the ugly end of a gun barrel. They pointed those to the ground now. A small luxury, but Iris would take anything she could get. Her knees were still shaking inside her pants. From tears to terror to plummeting off a building, there was a concussion somewhere in that sequence; it had slipped past her, though. And the chief could tell. ¡°Get the girl a chair,¡± he ordered from behind a derelict bureau: as useful as a plank of wood on crates without its drawers or polish. It must have been the thought that counted. ¡°Yes, sir.¡± Iris heard a pair of feet run out of the building, but she didn¡¯t dare look back. Otherwise, the room was barren of any furniture, the roof was sobbing into a bucket, and the crude hand of a novice had boarded up the windows, crooked nails jutting from the planks and all. Nothing stood in the way of Evalyn¡¯s talk; the chief had no other formalities left to cower behind. For a moment, Iris felt as though she and the chief shared a nervous gaze. ¡°Thank you for hearing us out,¡± Evalyn began. The chief leaned forward, grinding his teeth. ¡°What do you want from us?¡± ¡°Honesty.¡± He eyes closed. A strong, frustrated exhale. ¡°My name is Takari. That¡¯s all the honesty I can give you before I hear your question.¡± ¡°Batrice. G.F.P.,¡± Evalyn¡¯s silver tongue replied without a note of hesitation. ¡°This is Lily. Academy apprentice.¡± ¡°Academy apprentice? Out here?¡± ¡°She shows a lot of promise,¡± Evalyn continued with a straight face. Honesty¡­all Iris knew to do in such a situation was to keep her mouth shut. ¡°We want to ask if you¡­or any other F.S.A. branch have begun an operation intent on harming Geverdian assets.¡± The chief¡¯s thin brows furrowed, the wrinkles around his eyes growing pronounced in a betrayal of his confusion. ¡°Sorry? Have we been after¡­your assets?¡± ¡°Yes. Assets that were used in a hostage rescue roughly three years ago.¡± ¡°Hostage¡ª¡± The chief¡¯s face relaxed, the wrinkles flattened, and he leaned into what was left of his tattered chair. ¡°I see.¡± ¡°Have you been getting your revenge?¡± The chief refused to answer too readily. Instead, he bit his lip, biding his time. The pair of footsteps emerged from the silence, clattering into the room and punctuated by the thump of a crate against wood. Iris dared a look behind her, pulled the crate closer, and sat down. Thankfully, it was stable. The blood rushed out of her head and her eyes spun. Unable to hold it any longer, she doubled over. ¡°That¡¯s a crate got this morning. We use them as furniture because we don¡¯t have the money, or time, or spare wood for chairs.¡± For the first time, the chief cracked a smile; one so in disbelief he couldn¡¯t help but laugh at them. ¡°We¡¯re doing everything we can to scrounge enough to get these bloody guns. You think we can go and do something as stupid as revenge killing?¡± Iris glanced at her mother. The chief seemed too animated to be lying. Evalyn kept her gaze sharp, however. She wasn¡¯t done. ¡°Bullets that disappear in the body. Do you know anything about that?¡± The chief¡¯s smile turned into a look of pity. ¡°You must be joking. Magic?¡± ¡°S.H.I.A. wasn¡¯t afraid to use magic.¡± The chief froze, at a loss for words, before he sank back into his chair, shaking his head. ¡°I wish we could,¡± he muttered. ¡°You know¡­do you know how close we were? If you had just been¡­a few days late¡­taken a different tactic¡ª¡± ¡°And you expected Geverde to wait patiently for its expats once you were done?¡± The chief¡¯s skin seemed electrified, charged with a desire to bite back. Iris felt it in Evalyn, too. The tension in the air wanted to explode, yet they both kept silent. Bygones would never be bygones, but what was done was done. An explosion now would only result in a spat. Wasted time, wasted energy. ¡°As far as I know,¡± the chief finally said, his last proclamation. ¡°The F.S.A. has taken no measures against Geverde or her¡­assets. You have the wrong people.¡± It was enough for Iris. Evalyn had kept a fire going inside her that wanted to defend what she did three years ago. In comparison, Iris couldn¡¯t even bear to shelter it with the tips of her fingers. She wanted to leave them alone, if only because she was too afraid to face punishment for her actions. Evalyn would say such a thing didn¡¯t exist, but she could feel the consequences chasing her. ¡°I understand,¡± Evalyn said, motioning to leave. ¡°If you hear anything¡ª¡± ¡°Hear anything¡­what?¡± Evalyn paused, frozen like a photograph. The floorboards under her feet creaked as her weight shifted forward: a cat arching their back. Iris found the hands of higher powers weaving her fingers together into a prayer. She closed her eyes, hoping his hubris hadn¡¯t gotten to the chief¡¯s head. ¡°I thought I asked for your honesty.¡± ¡°And I am giving it. I may know something that can help you. And, to be honest, I am not willing to give it away for free.¡± Evalyn¡¯s eyes glanced at Iris. More accurately, the pin in her hair. ¡°Yes,¡± the Queen whispered. ¡°What do you want?¡± The chief rounded the corner, magnitudes more confidence in his stride than the worried glances of minutes prior. ¡°You Geverdians know a thing or two about Aether, right?¡± ¡°Who does he think he is?¡± Evalyn grumbled loud enough to be heard, snatching her weapons off the guard by the door and storming out of the office. The last working clock struck the hour, and a new air of commotion had beset the decrepit base. Bodies rushing from point A through to point Z almost created an illusion that the place wasn¡¯t as far gone as it was. The clatter of firearms, of bullets in magazines in crates, of grenades with jangling pins. Evalyn marched down the cramped hallways with Iris in tow, squeezing past all manner of freedom fighters: from gaunt to utterly emaciated, the same conviction burned in their eyes. ¡°Oh, distraction! Give us cover! God¡¯s sake, might as well have called us meat shields.¡± They stepped out into the empty lot. Six trucks¡ªcanvas roofs covering their cargo beds¡ªbacked into it, taking on supplies by the crate and manpower by the fire squad. Evalyn came to a halt in the centre of it all, Iris coming up to her side as she loaded a clip into the magazine well. ¡°Is this going to be dangerous?¡± Iris asked. ¡°Not for us,¡± she said, driving the bolt home. ¡°Focus on keeping them alive, else our lead dies with them.¡±