#throw me across the velodyna!

[matcha-bnuuy]

Every day I am praying for big mommy hrothgar. No cat girl waifs, give me lion woman wives. Make the Queens live up to their name...

[chrysalispen]

Prompt #24 - Beam

“Before pointing out the mote in thy neighbor’s eye, attend the beam in thine own.”

=================

“I’m fine,” Aurelia said, shortly.

Krile was staring at her with worried eyes.

“What?”

“You’re not fine at all.”

“Krile-

“You’ve not fully recovered,” she went on. “Not even close. You should be in the transport with the rest of the injured, not attempting to help haul them back!”

“Someone has to follow behind and watch for imperial patrols. With Shtola out of commission, we’ve little choice.”

Krile glanced at the men and women being loaded on their litters into the wagons, then let her concerned gaze linger upon the Warrior of Light. She still looked remarkably unwell, but while Krile didn’t know Aurelia as well as some of the others she had been around the woman long enough to realize that any attempts to force her to rest would end in failure. 

“All right,” she said finally, “but the minute you start hurting I’m putting you on a transport.”

“That won’t be necessary. It’s not that terribly far to the Wall from here. I can easily walk.”

Despite her assurances, Aurelia was quickly given cause to regret them. The heat was punishing and while her arm was easy enough to deal with (holding a cane in her non-dominant hand took some mental adjustment but otherwise was of little note), the pains from her still-healing chest wound rose quickly from a dull ache to a burning throb.

By the time they reached the far side of the Velodyna her coughing was almost constant. The moment the convoy stopped to rest and water the draught chocobos pulling the wagons, Aurelia all but collapsed onto the riverbank, curled into a ball, audibly gasping. Pain radiated down her arms from her chest as the muscles constricted, and her head spun from the heat and lingering weakness. 

As she wheezed and spat blood she heard the sound of footsteps crunching against the packed gravel and mud.

“I knew this was a bad idea,” Krile said flatly, her jaw set with determination. “Up with you. Onto the transport.”

“But-”

“No buts.”

“There’s not space enough to carry me,” Aurelia coughed, “and I’m not in such bad shape I can't walk. I'm not- not going to throw anyone else off-”

“Hells take you, you’re as stubborn as Minfilia ever was."

"So I've been told. Frequently."

"Someone needs to. You'll drop stone dead rather than admit you need help." Krile motioned over a conjurer. “You there!"

"Ma'am?"

"Have one of the carriages make room for Mistress Laskaris. She’s unwell.”

“Damn it, I said I'm-”

“I heard what you said, Aurelia, but since it’s naught save foolishness I’ve elected to ignore it,” the Sharlayan retorted briskly. “Do you need water?”

Shamed by her own weakness, she could only offer a brief nod and accepted the offered waterskin. Its contents were lukewarm and full of grit but any cooler and the constricting effects on her throat would irritate it and make the coughing - and the pain - worse. She sat slumped over her knees on a rock overlooking the water, head hanging limp and sweaty hair listing in the wind in clumped strings like a wilting flower.

At a glance she saw the Lalafell speaking in animated tones with two burly men in Resistance uniforms. She splashed some of the water against her cheeks and sealed the waterskin, coughing into her sleeve- and let out a pained gasp when one of them, a Roegadyn, scooped her into his arms as though she weighed nothing.

“Really, this isn’t necessary,” she rasped. “I can make it a few fulms to get in a bleeding wagon.”

The obstinate expression on the smaller woman’s face was all the answer she needed. She sighed and held out the waterskin, which was plucked from her fingers and passed back to its owner.

“That’s more like it.” Those keen eyes shifted their gaze to the other man, this one a Highlander with his dark hair bound in long braids. “I presume you were able to make room for the Warrior of Light?”

“Aye. Not much, mind, an’ we had to pull a couple o’ beams from the auld benches, like- but they’ll be braced against the frame. Should be more’n enough to hold fast under her weight-- seven hells, miss, she’s bleedin’!”

Dully Aurelia lifted her hand from her shirt. Two small spots of crimson were spreading across the linen.

An irritated sigh drifted from her fellow Scion's lips. “I told you not to be so stubborn-”

“Naught of importance. Just a loose stitch,” she mumbled. “The barbers must have missed it. I’ll see to it on the wagon.”

“No,” the conjurer said firmly, “I will see to it. You will lie down and do nothing else for the duration until we cross the Wall and reach Oriens, and from there you are to go home and take to your bed and rest for the next sennight-"

"A sennight?"

"-or until Lyse or I send for you. That means no physical exertion, Relia. No chores. No quests. No primals.”

The Garlean let out a sound somewhere between a groan and a yowl.

“This is so godsdamned embarrassing-"

“You’ll get over it.” Krile waved at the two Ala Mhigans. “To the transport. I’ll ride with you.”

[thinkofduty]

[prompt #14 - scour ]

"Orella, come here and help me."

"Yes, mother."

Such is it every Heavensturn. At nineteen, Orella has worked her way steadily through the ranks, besting those who think little of her and steadfastly ignoring those who attempt to undermine her efforts. As a woman she has found an unfortunate amount amongst the rank and file who attempt to do so, and gleefully, at that. Not once has it stopped her from pressing ever onward - to their chagrin, she hopes viciously.

But here at home she is no soldier but a weary maid at her mother's beck and call to aid in running the home and sitting for her infant brother, who can at least string together sentences now, even if all he knows to do is demand sweets. It is not the company she would prefer - she longs for the boisterousness of a tavern, for the loud mouths of her brothers-in-arms - but there is naught she can do about it.

Thusly does she chase her mother to and fro around a home no longer familiar to her, which she privately thinks has outgrown its occupants. She hoists aging wicker baskets full of laundry, scrubs the squeaking floorboards with lye and vinegar, dusts endless webs from every dark corner.

It is, Orella decides four days into her week long leave, a life that she is glad to have left behind, for it was never made for her. And it is as glad to be rid of her as she is it, she knows: the wary eyes of boys-turned-men that used to mock her for wanting to join their rough and tumble games satisfies her; the wailing of babes in the arms of girls who refused to braid her hair once upon a time bores her. When she follows her mother with her brother upon her hip and a sack of vegetables upon her back she sweats and tries not to sigh.

At least her father offers some modicum of escape from this life, and bless his aging bones for it. He rescues her from chores with a request to carry his bags to the mountain stream that trickles down the red clay to the Velodyna proper, and though she expects to be sent away, he pats the ground beside her.

"Open the bag," he says, eyes twinkling, and her eyes grow wide at the bottles nestled within the leathern depths. "Take one. Stay and keep an old man company as he fishes."

She's glad to. Together they bait the line and throw it to the water, set the line upon its stand, and settle down to watch the sun trudge its way across the heavens and behind the Peaks' peaks. As Ala Mera is blanketed in evening the air grows chill, but with beer in her belly and a chance to relax, Orella finds she minds the gooseflesh on her arms not at all.

***

Opening the door and stepping into their home is like stepping into a different world altogether.

Together, Orella and her father have filled a crate almost to the brim with fish - enough to dry and salt as well as eat fresh, and plenty enough to sell and trade. Her mother is on them in an instant, berating them gently for daring to stay out past dark, for there are dangers lurking and here's her only daughter without the protection of a nice young man--

She pretends not to notice when Orella gestures at the dagger on her hip, and presses instead the crate into her arms along with a request to clean them. Tedious work, to be sure, but not difficult, at least: she shares a rueful glance with her father as they're parted once again. It's almost as if her mother thinks that by keeping them apart Orella won't run off back to the capital as she had done four years previously.

At least she gets to work in the kitchen by herself. It isn't enjoyable scouring fish scales from their cold, clammy bodies, but moreso than listening to her mother prattle on about what a life she could be leading - the one she doesn't want. She doesn't want a husband, not least one who could not keep up with her own physical prowess; doesn't want a babe crying for food at every turn; doesn't want a house that protests her every step.

As if fuelled by her own irritated thoughts, the knife slips right through the fish and into her finger; as she curses and drops the blade, drops the fish, she hears a small voice.

"'Rella?"

Of course it's Merden, here to play witness to her mediocrity at even the most basic of tasks. Unkindly - and she knows it's unkind, can no more help it than she can her height - she wishes he would toddle right back over to their mother and give her some Twelve-damned peace of mind --

"Present," he says in his small voice, and holds out for her a boiled sweet in his grubby hands. It has dirt on it, and he's presumably dropped it once or twice along the way, but 'tis clear enough the boy's been holding onto it for most of the day to give to her rather than devour for himself.

All unkindness melts away like butter, and Orella smiles.

[friendly-fire-engaged]

A Memory of War - #3

((posting this chronologically out of order because something came up that made me want to post this one before the previous ones RIP)) ((Trigger Warning: Mentions of Death, Blood, Violence and Drowning))

In the early hours of the morning, long before the sun crested the walls of Castrum Oriens, they came and packed the prisoners into two caravan wagons and shipped them off. Marinus could only guess their destination, and he immediately assumed worst. The war was over, which meant only one possibility as the wagons moved east: over the Velodyna, past camps of soldiers and survivors celebrating their victory over the empire: they’d be taken to the capitol to face judgment and death.

He didn’t really remember the length of the trip. He remembered the humiliating sting of the rocks, the rotten rations, the piss buckets, and whatever else the jeering soldiers thought to toss at the carts, but he didn’t remember how long it went on or how many times it happened, how many camps they passed through. His mind was elsewhere in all of that.

He remembered, however, what happened on the great loch’s shores. Upon approaching the great bridge, the caravan veered away, heading northwards across the precarious saltscape that stretched over the mouth of the lake. Suddenly, Marinus was alert. Why weren’t they going to Ala Mhigo? A darker thought crossed his mind: were they going to kill them and dump the bodies in the wilderness, with no trial or jury involved? A murmur of discontent rumbles through the carts passengers as the salt creaks and shudders beneath them.

At once, with an earth-shaking explosion, the world overturns around Marinus. Time slows to a halt. One moment he’s sitting in the back of a wagon, next he’s sailing overhead and the wagon is floating above him.

And then the world comes rushing back up to meet him. There’s no time to cry out in pain; the impact hits him so hard all the air rushes from his lungs in a WOOSH. Wood splinters and cracks as the cart comes crashing down nearby. Something pierces the half-hyur’s side. Warm blood sticks to his hip.

The shouts of maelstrom soldiers and screams of wounded chocobos drag Mars’ bleary attention to the battle in front of him. Disturbed by the tremors of the caravan, a phoebad erupted through the salt crust to attack. Now it rampaged, swiping wildly at soldiers and wagons, throwing debris and people alike into the saltwater.

He had to run. He had to get away from this. Staying here meant death, either from the Maelstrom or the Phoebad. Mars struggled to his knees, then to his feet, only to feel the world ripped out from under him again as the shackles on his ankles yank him back. He hits the dirt with a yelp and twists, watching in terror as the salt shelf behind him begins to crack, and the wagon that he, two chocobos, and a half a dozen wounded men are tethered to, starts to slide into the brine.

People, chocobos, and wood are buoyant, Marinus reassures himself.

Steel shackles, chains, spokes, armored harnesses and frames are not, he quickly discovers.

He screams for help. It’s drowned out by the din of battle.

Despite all his desperate scrambling and clawing for a hold on the salted earth, Marinus is dragged beneath the surface alongside his wounded and thrashing compatriots. 

He takes one final gasping breath before the earth slides out from under his fingers and the blackness of the Loch consumes him.

He had always known the Lochs were deep. Off shift, he would make bets with others in his unit on how deep they could swim. But this time, the weight of the chains pulled him down faster than his arms ever could. He needed to break free. The half-hyur clawed at the chains, desperately yanking them through the shackled they threaded through. The panicked thrashing of his dying companions didn’t help; each twist and thrash and kick ones still alive jerked the line, threatening to rip the chains from his grip.

He didn’t want to die. He couldn’t die yet. Not like this… not like this.

By the time Marinus worked his legs free of the binding chains, his lungs burned, his mind was a blur, and the light from the surface above felt so, so far away. He kicked off, away from the carriage that plummeting into the inky depths below, away from the glazed over eyes of his allies, away from their pleading gazes. He couldn’t help them. He’d die.

Instead, Marinus swam for his life.

[mystisnykoto]

Keter - Chapter 30

Lost Hope of Salvation 

Mystis stood at the edge of the camp as they said their goodbyes to Aki. The pair embraced tightly as Zeffer and his team arrived.

“Just a quick trip, no fancy business,” spoke Aki. “I want to see you home tonight.”

“Of course!” Mystis chirped, poking Aki on the nose. The two slowly split away, holding hands till the last second as Mystis bounced away. “Just take a long nap, I'll be home before you know it!” Mystis chuckled, smiling brightly as turned around to face the morning twilight. Mystis walked up to Zeffer and his team of Peryha, Cret and Jaelyn, as the group mounted their chocobo and set out down the path away from the camp.

                                                                                                                             After a few minutes of travel, the group came upon a fork in the road, as Zeffer turned to face Mystis.

“Cret n' I will be investigatin' a sighting out near Fallgourd,” spoke Zeffer, handing a red glowing orb wrapped in a thin cloth. “We figure it best to send the three of you together, just in case Leo gets hostile.”

“What the hell is this thing?” asked Mystis as the orb was dropped into their lap. “Why are you both coming with us? We have other scouts and patrols that can head to Fallgourd.”

“We're assistin' te patrol that is out there already,” Zeffer quipped back at Mystis. “And that orb is how we took down the Brights without some of us being touched. Toss that near a Bright, they are able to be affected by normal weapons and magics.”

“Come on Mystis, this Bright has had a lot of extra time to cover a lot of extra ground,” started Jaelyn. “We don't have time to dilly-dally about this.”

“If we're going to get this done, we need to get a move on,” spoke Cret, looking at Zeffer and then to Peryha. Mystis grunted and relented, agreeing with the group.

“Fine, but I don't like this...” Mystis let out as they glared at Zeffer. Zeffer and his team shared some quick information before splitting off down their respective paths. Jaelyn glanced over to Mystis, lightly tapping Mystis on their arm.

“Hey, we'll get this done and be home in no time,” spoke Jaelyn, Mystis' eyes never leaving their hand. Mystis looked at their hand, seeing a slight purple discoloration from where they had held the Bright crystal. Mystis moaned out a soft tone, agreeing to Jaelyn's statement.

                                                                                                                            “Castellum ahead,” Peryha spoke out, pointing to the tower in the distance. “We'll be there soon and check in with the scouts at the gate.” Mystis looked at the looming tower and walls, feeling a heavy weight on their heart, fearful of what might have befallen Leo.

“Right, lets get to it...” Mystis spoke out in a dull voice, spurring their mount and taking off to the gate. Jaelyn glanced to Peryha with a smile, as they too quickened their pace.

“All too easy...” Peryha whispered, licking her lips as excitement for battle grew in her.

                                                                                                                            Iris slipped on some loose white robes as she leaned against a nearby wall. She breathed heavily, still extremely weakened by her ordeal with in the dungeon.

“Ooof... thought for so long that I was nigh indestructible with this limb...” spoke Iris, squeaking her rubber fingers together. “Could always just use it to protect me from anything. I guess that's not the case...”

“You need to be more careful!” Ruri belted out, nearly crying as she held Iris' real arm over her shoulder to help her walk along. “I guess this confirms what we thought about Zeffer.” Ruri looked over at Dias, as the samurai stood ready in case of attack. “At least one of them is good.”

“Y-yeah, about that...” Iris started, looking over to Dias. “What's your deal? You were one of Zeffer's flunkies, why help us?” Iris asked, as the trio shuffled along. Dias sighed, pointing to Iris and then himself, making a few extra hand motions between him and the wounded woman. A few moments later he stopped, as both Iris and Ruri looked on more confused than before. “Yeah I don't follow, do you think you could write it...” Iris paused as she looked down to her waist. “Wait, my journal!? Did you find my journal?” Iris asked, panic overtaking her voice.

“W-well no, but it's probably in here somewhere,” Ruri replied, looking over as Dias shrugged out a confused grunt. “I mean, this is a pretty large place, it might be in one of the side rooms with the rest of your stuff.

                                                                                                                            “That girl writes down EVERYTHING!” Cret shouted, flipping through the pages of Iris' journal. “Look Master, she even put notes on you in here!” Cret laughed out, his shrill hyena cackle causing his own chocobo to stagger. “Enough from you bird! I'll not take any from you!”

“What else is in there?” asked Zeffer. “How and when was she touched? Can we influence the Bright within to put control over her?”

“Well...” Cret flipped through the pages, reading over some of the early pages where Iris detailed her adventure and dealings with Omicron Eta. “Absorbed into an Allagan computer system, replaced her arm and side with some sort of digital paint construct... Well, this makes some sense now.” Zeffer and Cret looked up to see their camp up ahead.

“Digital rubberized paint construct... That makes sense to you?” asked Zeffer with a soft chuckle.

“Not in the slightest, but it makes sense to why her body is haphazardly held together,” spoke Cret. “I shall read over this before returning to the croft. Perhaps have some extra bargaining information with the girl.”

“Get it done...” spoke Zeffer, looking over see Aki walking into his tent. “Things are about to get interesting...”

��                                                                                                                           “You WHAT!?” shouted Aki as he grabbed hold of Zeffer by his throat. Aki slammed Zeffer against the nearest wall, holding Zeffer steady as his fingers started to crushing Zeffer's windpipe. “You sent... Mystis with your cronies, to find a Bright!?”

“It was the best cou-” Zeffer started as Aki squeezed hard, throwing Zeffer across the room and out from his tent. Zeffer started to scramble to his feet, as Aki was quickly upon him and slammed the miqo'te back to the dirt.

“I decide the course of action!” Aki shouted, rage enveloping his voice as Zeffer tried to turn away. “I give the orders you little shit! You are going to go and get Mystis and stop them from dealing with this Bright!” Aki let off Zeffer and started storming away, as Zeffer stood to his feet and spoke up.

“Why give Mystis special treatment? Hmm?” Zeffer asked, purposely trying to get a rise out of Aki. Aki stepped back, crossing the distance between himself and Zeffer in an instant. Aki quickly punched Zeffer in the face, knocking the miqo'te back to ground. “My-Mystis is the soldier, the v-very same as us all. They agreed to the same danger as the rest of us...” Aki quickly drew out his katana, holding the blade to Zeffer's neck.

“You are... the worst, most sniveling little fuck...” growled Aki, drawing the edge of the blade along Zeffer's neck, letting his blood to lightly drip out. “If I see you again, I will kill you... Clear your things, get the fuck out of my camp.” Aki stormed off to the stables and quickly mounted a chocobo and rode off toward Castellum Velodyna.

“Don't you worry Aki, you won't have to...” Zeffer laughed out, his body seeming to liquify and melt into the ground.

                                                                                                                            Mystis walked into the Castellum, finding it completely abandoned. Wind rushed through the bridged fortress, as Mystis felt along the floor. Their fingers wiped across a smear of blood, finding it long dried and flaked over.

“What happened here? This blood is at least two weeks old,” Mystis spoke, rubbing their fingers together. “What do you thi-” Mystis started looking back toward where Jaelyn and Peryha had been, but were now missing from sight. “Jaelyn? Peryha?” Mystis asked, standing up to their feet. The silence of the fortress hung over Mystis and filled them with dread. “Wh-where are you?” Mystis' voice echoed off the iron walls, as they followed the blood stain. The orb hanging from their belt slowly gained heat, and vibrated softly against their hip. Mystis rounded the corner, spying the body of a company scout. Their skin hard turned pale and shiny, with black and purple crystals sticking out from their back. “Oh shit...” Mystis let out, backing away from the corpse as the orb started to smoke. A faint cackle echoed throughout the fortress, as Mystis ripped the orb from their belt. Mystis rolled it as hard as they could, sending it down the bridge. Mystis had only a moment to run before the orb detonated, throwing their body to the wall as small flames and embers burned on their coat.

“Cast of shadows...”

Mystis groaned, their entire body burning with pain as they coughed out a mouthful of blood. Tears streamed from Mystis' eyes as they dragged themselves along, blood spewing out from the bloodied stump of their now missing leg.

“...cast their shadows...”

Mystis looked up to see a black mass boil out from the iron floor. The liquid mass collected together and took the shape of Zeffer. The liquid faded completely as Zeffer stepped forward, cackling and giggling as he watched Mystis squirm and crawl. “... all across the land. Blood and oil, stain the soil, flow from forth this hand...” rhymed Zeffer as small black and purple crystals dripped from his hand. “You're looking quite pitiful like this, but you'll soon be ready... young Keter...”

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[yuri-cocaine]

what the water gave me

She wanted to see how the royal palace shone at night. She wanted to get out of the Quarter, walk along the salt shore of Loch Seld, see the stars for once instead of a night sky bruised orange from streetlamps. Ever since the magitek distillery was installed, everyone who worked in the Ducts was laid off, and the passage to the waterways was empty. Anko squeezed through a gap in the gate and darted past stacked crates and old tarp. Dust motes floated golden around old lanterns.

She ran past her usual haunt in the sewers, picked the lock on the door around the bend, and down a spiral staircase to the saltwater well. Anko knew that there was a break in the grate at the bottom of the well, which led to a tunnel out into Loch Seld. She was going to find this tunnel, swim to the surface, and behold the outside world for the first time.

Anko had just pushed past the broken grate when she realized her mistake. The tunnel was longer than she thought, and dark too. Her lungs strained and burned as she pushed out into the dim green light, the brine stinging her eyes and nose. She sank to the bottom, and her hands felt wildly for something to grip and pull herself up to the surface with. But there was no surface, just a rock face, and her limbs seemed to weigh a tonze each. She took a gasp out of habit and choked.

Anko didn’t remember strong arms looping around her waist and bearing her back the way she came. When she awoke, she found herself lying on a towel by the side of the well and staring up at moths flitting about an old gas lamp.

“So,” said a bored voice. “Escaping, are we? Going to have to send a team down there to patch up the grate. Or maybe I could just throw a cover of the well, be less work that way.”

Anko turned her head and spotted an exhausted Imperial emptying water out of his boots. Even his third eye seemed to have bags beneath it. Forgetting her tiredness, Anko leaped to her feet and confronted him.

“Well? What’re you gonna do then? Throw me in gaol? Stick a sword in me?” Anko spat. She held her grubby chin high. “Just so you know, I wasn’t escaping. Truth. But I got every reason in me to jump back in the water and drown rather than get taken away by you. Bet I could swim faster than you. I messed up earlier, but I could.”

The Imperial guard sighed deeply. He emptied water out of his other boot and said, “Run on home, girl. I haven’t got the time or the energy to drag every gutter-churl to the dungeons. Consider this a warning, and don’t let me catch you in here again.”

Anko scowled, silently promising she’ll be back, and raced away. She did come back a week later, and found that not only did the Imperial not cover the well, but also the broken grate wasn’t fixed either.

That was then. This was now.

She filled her pockets full of stones. A fire crystal strung from a bootlace hung from her neck.

The first person who noticed was a janitor, a Highlander woman so old and bent she could barely push her mop across the floor. She frowned when she saw the girl climb the ladder and move up the scaffolding, and then her confusion turned to terror when she saw the girl stand poised over the Velodyna gorge.

It had been almost six years. The tower over the Velodyna Bridge was nearly finished. Anko had dreamt about this moment almost every night. Voices shouted below her.

Who sucked their souls back through gritted teeth? Who crawled broken and heaving along the rocks? Who drained the blood from their veins? Who would have this mutiny?

She jumped, and the crystal beat like a heart.

-----------------------------------------------------------

Aisling awoke, vertigo in overdrive. Anko’s voice echoed in her head.

The Sandsea was as bustling as ever, but there was a certain loneliness to it now that much of the company had left for Gyr Abania. Aisling rather liked serving drinks to patrons, for it meant she could try a new persona each time. Yesterday she was a country lass newly come to the city. Today she would be a silent and mysterious woman from the depths of the urban tangle in Ul’dah who Knows Much and Tells Little.

When Sol Cheza arrived to take over her shift, Aisling shut herself in the library, poring over every tome and handbook on Gyr Abanian herbs she could find. She had hacked into the database of Castrum Oriens to copy their maps of the Fringes and the Peaks, and she marked where vegetation was lushest and sent everything to Arae’sae Evlo. Aisling traced a finger along the ribbon that was the Velodyna on the monitor screen.

She wondered what happened to Anko’s body. Did those researchers haul her up from the riverbed with a net, cut a lock of hair to take as a sample, and then dumped her back into the river? 

One day when the Velodyna dries up in the sun, a hundred thousand skulls would be laid bare to bleach.

Aisling made a list of Gyr Abanian fish, sourced her references, backed it up into a tomestone, and sent it. She kept an eye on Gilly’s position, a blinking red dot on her screen. There must be a way to trace Garlean warmachina signals in the field, she thought.

Late afternoon sun shone through the curtains. Even with ice and water shards kept in boxes all over the room to cool down the monitors, it was still swelteringly hot. Aisling’s hair draped over her neck and fell down her shoulders. She sighed, tapped her fingers on the desk, and gathered her hair up into a ponytail. Then she snatched her katana up from the floor and sliced the ponytail off.

Locks of hair fell to the floor. She swept them up, threw them away, and decided it was time for a break. A quick pause for water, maybe coffee, and then it was back to work.

But instead she made her way downstairs into the basement, stood on her tiptoes in just her smallclothes at the edge of the tub, and dropped into the water. Aisling stayed underwater, listening to the flow, savoring the ache in her lungs as three minutes passed. She imagined fierce currents, a rocky bottom, a whirl of light and streams of bubbles. It must have been cold, she thought. Cold and bright and loud.

Aisling came up when she couldn’t take it anymore and gulped deep breaths of air. She pulled her clothes on again without drying and sloshed back upstairs, leaving a trail of wet footprints. She left a puddle on her keyboard and smeared water across the screen.

Two years now since Anko had leapt off Castellum Velodyna into the water below. Aisling put her thumb on the spot where she guessed she fell, pressing hard against the screen until the pixels flickered and her thumb made a dent.

She reached for her linkpearl and started to call Arae’sae and ask him to throw a few wildflowers into the Velodyna for her sister. But then she stopped, thinking of the fire crystal in her pocket that beat like a heart, and put the linkpearl away.