Valiant

[Valiant #29: Almost Normal]

Log Date: 9/23/12764

Data Sources: Feroce Acceso, Kiwi

The moon is full tonight.

We’re out over the barrier islands, training, training. Ignoring that we have school tomorrow, that there’s homework due. It’s easier for Cherri than it is for me. She has to wake up at seven to get to school. I have to wake up at five to make it to seminary on time. But this is the best time for the team to train, just past midnight, and over the beach, where the constant crashing of waves drowns out the sound of the team sparring, and the sand makes for softer impacts than the ground on the mainland.

Some nights it feels pointless. Cherri is better at this than the rest of us, but maybe that’s the point; she’s good at being Starstruck, and she’s trying to train the rest of us to be good as she is. That’s what I tell myself, and that’s what I try to believe.

But then I find myself lying in another impact crater with Cherri pinning me down, and I can see her grin by the glow of her regalia. Exhilarated, wild… out of control. She gets a thrill out of the power, out of using it, out of feeling like she’s in control, in charge. Which is probably why she’s the team leader. But something in me knows this isn’t quite right.

There’s the seeds of something dark brewing within that exhilaration.

Yet I don’t say anything. I never say anything. Because I’m shy, and I’m awkward, and I have a crush on Cherri, and I want to pretend I’m not seeing what I know I’m seeing. And even when she’s kicking my ass down the beach, I like it, because I get to be near her.

She pushes off my shoulders, laughing wildly as she tosses her head back. “C’mon, Feroce! Are you even trying?” She looks back down, planting her hands back on my chest. “You’ve got just as much power as me. Why don’t you use it?”

But something happens on those last words. Something seems to glitch, and for a moment, it’s not Cherri sitting on top of me — it’s another girl with green hair and wildfire eyes. Then it’s Cherri again, only to glitch back into the green-haired girl a moment later. I feel something rising up within me, some suppressed knowledge bubbling to the surface, until it surfaces with a single word.

Kiwi.

Panic builds within me as I realize I’m reliving a corrupted memory, and the person atop me keeps glitching between Cherri and Kiwi. Even though I know I’m dreaming and I’ll wake up soon, I can’t fight off the building horror as I realize that the expression on their faces is the same. Wild, exhilarant, thrilled…

Powerhungry.

I jerk upright in my bed, heaving a starved, desperate gasp. It’s dark in the room; I can’t see anything. I twist on the mattress, fumbling for the bedside, but I can’t remember where anything is with the panic that I’m in, and I fall out of bed, struggling to kick free of the covers tangling me.

Feeling around among the things that I’ve knocked off the bedside, I find the case for my Crescendo buds, and struggle to snap it open, yanking them out and stuffing them in my ears. As soon as I hear them turn on, I gasp out a desperate order.

“Adagio. Adagio For Strings. Somnus Regent.”

As the ponderous opening notes of the composition start up, my desperate panting starts to slow down. I curl up on the floor, still tangled in the covers as I listen to the sonorous, melancholy rising of the string instruments while the world slowly comes into focus around me. I can see the outlines in the room now, illuminated by the faint light coming from the clock on the wall; I can see the shapes of the things I’d knocked to the floor, scattered across the ground beside my head. And on the wall, I can see the light from two of Nichoyae’s three moons, pressing through the curtains. Through a gap, I can see a sliver of one of those moons.

And it is a full moon, just like the moon over the beach on that night so many years ago.

Event Log: Feroce Acceso

Nichoyae: Marchidium

9:51am SGT

“Feroce? Hey, wake up. Are you okay?”

I jerk awake with a start, blinking rapidly, and tense up for a moment when I see Kiwi is crouched in front of me. I relax when I realize I’m awake, and reach up, rubbing my eyes as I look around and see morning light streaming through the balcony window of my hotel room.

“You okay?” she asks again.

“Yeah. Yeah.” I say quickly.

“You sure?” she says skeptically. “Most people sleep in beds, not sitting on the floor, leaning back against the wall.”

“Yeah, I’m good, I just… had a nightmare. Didn’t sleep well last night.” I say, squeezing my eyes shut for a few seconds before opening them again. “What time is it?”

“Almost ten in the morning. It’s not like you to sleep in so long, and you weren’t answering your phone, so I figured I’d check in on you.”

“Sorry I worried you.” I grunt as I start to push off the floor. “How’d you get in my room? The door was locked.”

“I’m a Mask Knight. I just flashed my runemarks and told the hotel staff to unlock your door so I could check on you.”

“Seriously? Don’t you need a warrant for that on most other worlds?” I remark as I stand up.

“Law enforcement has to go through the courts.” Kiwi explains, standing along with me. “Mask Knights are national security, so we get an exception.”

I roll my shoulder, wincing when I feel how stiff it was. I’m going to regret not sleeping on the bed last night. “Guess that makes sense.” I concede. “The meeting with the Council was today, right? At twelve?”

“Yeah. Do you need to get cleaned up before we go?” she asks, glancing over her shoulder at the bathroom.

“Took a shower last night. Just need a fresh set of clothes.” I say, heading for the small suitcase at the foot of the bed. “Just give me some time to brush my teeth and I should be good to go.”

“You’re a vampire, though. You don’t eat food.” Kiwi points out as I start picking through the few changes of clothes I picked up when the Nyroc made its refueling stop.

“Still need to brush my teeth and take showers.” I reply once I’ve got my clothes, heading for the bathroom. “We don’t get dirty as fast as humans, but we do still get dirty. It just builds up slower.”

Kiwi folds her arms and leans against the doorway as I close the door to the bathroom behind me. “What about shaving? I never see you shave.” she asks through the door.

“Don’t need to. I got my last shave during beautification.” I answer as I start getting out of my nightclothes.

“Beautification?”

“It’s the process vampires go through right before baptism.”

“You gotta explain this shit, Blueberry. I’m a spec ops soldier, not a scholar.”

“Alright.” I say, unfolding the jeans and hopping into them. “Baptism is when a human gets turned into a vampire. Your physiology locks in at that point — the state your body is in when you transition into a vampire is how you are going to look until the day you die. So, to that end, beautification is the penultimate step in becoming a vampire — it is preparing your body to be in the best physical state possible before you start the process of baptism. A lot of beautification is stuff that takes months, like working out, getting in shape, making sure that any medical issues or physical deficiencies are taken care of. But some of it is cosmetic and taken care of in the final hours before baptism — like getting your hair trimmed or getting a final shave so you don’t spend the rest of eternity battling facial scruff that keeps growing back.”

“So you got a shave right before you turned into a vampire, so you’d never have to shave again?” Kiwi muses. “Well that’s pretty convenient. Come to think of it, I don’t think I’ve ever seen a vampire that’s got a scruffy face.”

“Yeah, most male vampires spring for the last shave before their baptism. Nobody wants to spend the rest of eternity shaving every two or three days. Saves you a lot of time in the long run.” I say, pulling the shirt on and opening the bathroom door. “And that’s why you never see me shave. This is how I looked when I was baptized, and it’s how I’ll look until the day I die. Give or take a little bit of trim on the hair.”

“I like it.” she says, poking my cheek. “Scruffy kisses are okay but smooth kisses are better. Pity I’ll never know what a scruffy Songbird looks like, though.”

“Doesn’t look like much.” I say, bundling up my nightclothes and tossing them back towards my before, before I step back into the bathroom to turn on the water and grab my toothbruth. “Pretty much just look like a scruffy murderhobo. I’m better off smooth.”

“I don’t believe it. I think you’d look good with a bit of scruff.” Kiwi says as I start brushing. “But just a little bit. Once it gets into beard territory, I call it quits.”

“Mmm.” is all I can say to that while I’m brushing. Once I’m done, I wash out my mouth, then wash my brush. “Beards don’t do it for you?”

“Hard pass on beards.” she says, pushing off the wall as I step out of the bathroom. “So, I was thinking. Once we’re done sticking it to the Council, why don’t we take a swing around town? I can show you all the best spots, we could have a nice dinner on government dime, then go clubbin’ after that.”

I’ve got questions about the rest of it, but the suggestion of going clubbing is what draws an uneasy smile out of me. “Ah… maybe not the clubbing. I’d be down for the rest, though.” I say, grabbing my longcoat off the rack and starting to put it on.

“Oh c’mon, that’s the best part!” she cajoles, swinging around me. “Like, Marchidium’s nice enough during the day, yeah, sure, museums and ethnic restaurants and pretty parks and all that shit. But the nightlife? This place lights up after dark, Blueberry. So many of us bring the mixed heritage of our Maskbearers with us, and there’s so much diversity here. This is where we can be ourselves, without worrying about others judging us for being Masks. This is our homeworld; we can be out and proud about what we are, and we don’t have to hide it like we do on countless worlds across the galaxy.”

“That’s great; I don’t have anything against that.” I say, pulling my arm through my other sleeve. “But these nightclubs are gonna have music, right?”

She shrugs. “Well yeah, it’s a nightclub.”

“Loud, pounding music that you can’t ignore or avoid.”

“Isn’t that the point?”

I roll my shoulders, making sure my longcoat is fully settled. “Alright, so let me get this straight: you want to take a sonic sorcerer to an establishment with relentless pounding music that you can’t block out or avoid.”

The realization starts to dawn on Kiwi’s face. “Ohhhh… okay yeah, I see what you’re saying. That wouldn’t be fun for you, would it.”

“Oh no, it’d fun.” I say quickly, checking the inside of my coat to make sure my kit’s all there. “But you might not like what happens to me in those kinds of places.”

Kiwi tilts her head a little, squinting like she’s not sure what to make of that. “…what happens to you in those kinds of places?”

I open my mouth, pause, think about what to say, then settle on “Let’s uh… let’s just say things can get a little… crazy.”

She leans in at that. “So what you’re really saying is you get a little crazy.”

“Well, ah, yes…” I say, averting my eyes. “Crazy, yeah, and weird, and then if it gets out of control, I start turning other people crazy and weird, and it just keeps feeding itself, and then you, ah, end up with stuff like. The Talingrad Incident.”

At that, she leans back as if to size me up. “…I’m not seeing how that’s a bad thing?”

“I think the civic order department for Talingrad disagrees.” I point out. “And besides, we’re here to make a good impression on the Council, right? Tearin’ up the town having a wild time won’t exactly sell them on our good behavior.”

Kiwi pouts at that. “Yeah, I guess… fine. Lunch after the meeting, then we’ll take things from there?”

“Works for me.” I say, heading for the door. “Quick question, how does your seat of government feel about concealed weapons?”

“Eh. I think in principle, they’re supposed to care, but, like. All of us can use magic.” Kiwi says, shrugging as she leads the way out into the hall. “It’s damn near impossible to keep weapons out when anyone can fire up their runemarks and try to ruin someone else’s day. Nobody’s gonna care you’ve got a stunner and a couple hilts tucked under your coat.” At that, she looks back at me, sizing up my battered longcoat. “Speaking of which, you’re pretty brave, wearing that to this meeting.”

“Not sure anyone would recognize me without it.” I reply as we head for the levitator shaft. “It’s what I’m wearing in all the wanted posters and the publicity pieces that Drill’s put together.”

“Well, you need a new look. One that isn’t falling apart at the seams.” she says, reaching back and flicking a brittle piece of melted crysteel off the shoulder of the coat. “Whatever Fashionista puts together for you better look good. Can’t be having you look like the local mercenary murderhobo.”

I smirk at that. “And if it doesn’t look good?” I ask as we step into the levitator shaft.

“Then I’m taking you shopping, and trust me, you don’t want that.” she says, tapping on the shaft controls once they flicker to life. “Now let’s go give the Council a piece of our minds.”

Encyclopedia Galactica

The Council of the Maskling Republic

The Council of the Maskling Republic, known simply as the Council to both citizens and outside observers, is the governing body of the Maskling Republic. Composed of nine elected executive officials, they fill the role that a president or prime minister would within an equivalent democracy, providing leadership for the nation, helping set the legislative agenda, and responding to crises when they arise.

The structure of the Council makes it unique among executive offices; where other democratic nations typically have a single individual to serve as the chief executive, the Maskling Republic has nine such executives. The reasons for this are grounded in tradition, but also have practical benefit. The nine-executive structure is modeled after the Lord of Masks and his nine aspects, a symbolic representation that harks to the metaphor of disparate personas needing to work together to form a functioning whole.

Beyond the symbology, however, there are practical benefits to this structure. The weight of the executive office and its many responsibilities can be divided among the Council members, and permits the executive office to attend to multiple state or legislative obligations at once. Because the power of the executive office is not vested in a single individual, the likelihood of an authoritarian rising from the executive office is severely curtailed, as other Council members would likely act to prevent it. The power and impact of attempted assassinations are also greatly reduced; the loss of a Council member will not hobble the executive office, and even in the event of multiple assassinations, the surviving Council members can continue to govern the nation.

This unique executive structure does come at a cost; because the executive office is composed of multiple individuals, unilateral decisions are impossible, and most executive actions must be supported by a majority of the Council. As a result, several issues which would be quickly decided by a single chief executive take considerably longer to be decided by the Council. Each Council member must have a chance to weigh in before a vote is taken, and deliberations that would otherwise happen very quickly in a head of a single individual are sometimes dragged out in the deliberations amongst nine.

Though the structure of the executive office has its detractors, the stability of the institution and its insulation from aspiring autocrats are frequently cited as proof of its value. Relative to other nations and societies that have single individuals as their chief executives, the Maskling Republic has proved extremely resistant to authoritarian trends, in part because its executive office does not vest massive power within a single individual who could, with sufficient popular and legislative support, warp a democracy into an autocracy. There are some scholars which attribute this not to the structure of the executive office itself, but national antipathy towards the system of governance that existed prior to the Council, when the Maskling nation was ruled by a series of Masklords, in whom the collective will of the Maskling race was vested, granting them vast power akin to demigods. The mechanism for a Masklord to be selected still exists within the Maskling government, but it is kept only as an emergency measure in the event of an extinction-level crisis. While surveys show that some Masklings are nostalgic for the days of Masklord rule, the majority prefer Council rule, when given a choice between the two.

Event Log: Feroce Acceso

Marchidium: The Consulary

11:56am SGT

“Cutting it close as usual, I see.” Forecast says, the remark aimed at Kiwi as we crest the top of the stairs leading to one of Marchidium’s government buildings. It looks like he’s been out here for a while, standing at the top of the steps with his hands tucked in his pockets.

“Hey. You said twelve o’clock.” Kiwi retorts. “It’s…” She pulls her phone out to check the time. “…eleven fifty-seven. We are officially early.”

“The meeting starts at twelve o’clock.” he says. “You should’ve been here at least ten minutes before.”

“What about him?” Kiwi protests, motioning to me. “He was almost late too!”

“Songbird gets a pass because he was relying on you to get him here on time.” Forecast says, turning and walking towards the large, domed building before us. “And Songbird’s meeting with the Council does not begin until twelve thirty. So he is actually on time.”

Kiwi and I exchange looks as we follow Forecast. “Wait, what do you mean, Songbird’s meeting?” Kiwi demands. “I thought we were meeting the Council together.”

“The Council would like to speak with each of you separately, so they have broken the hour into two thirty-minute meeting blocks.” Forecast answers, his polished shoes clicking over the polished stone as he strides into the consulary. “It is not up for negotiation, so you may as well save your breath on your forthcoming complaints.”

“That’s bullshit!” Kiwi complains anyway. “What, are they afraid that if we go in there together, they won’t be able to tell us no?”

“We both know your oration is not nearly that compelling, Kiwi.” Forecast says. We’re quickly through the lobby and into one of the halls leading further in, the receptionist working behind the desk barely giving us a glance. As we go, I noticed that there are Maskling guards posted at some doors and some halls. “The Council would like to speak to each of you without either of you influencing what the other will say. Please do your best to behave and show restraint.”

“Restraint, my ass.” Kiwi mutters. “Shouldn’t Songbird have counsel present during the meeting? Just to keep him from getting into trouble?”

“He is not the one I’m worried about getting into trouble.” Forecast answers as he slows towards a door in the middle of the hall that’s staffed with a couple guards. “Do your best to be polite with the Council. You know how things go when you get mouthy with them.”

“If they don’t like my opinion, maybe they should let me join the Valiant so they don’t have to keep hearing it.” Kiwi gripes just before the doors open. Within is a circular room, with an elevated table ringing the sides, and Council members seated behind it at equal intervals. Kiwi starts to step in, then pauses, turns back around, and leans up to give me a quick kiss. “This won’t take too long. Check out the garden across the hall; you don’t have to stand out here for half an hour.”

“Alright. Be smart.” I say, brushing a hand over her arm.

She nods, then steps into the room, with Forecast following behind her. The door closes behind them, leaving me alone in the hall with the guards. Pivoting around awkwardly, I idle my way over to the doorway on the other side of the hall, which opens up to show a garden courtyard with a tall statue in the middle. Slipping into the room, I tuck my hands into the pockets of my longcoat as the door closes behind me.

It’s a nice little space; it looks like all sorts of plants are cultivated in here, and the ceiling is made of glass, to let in natural light. Most of the flowers are the type you’d see in a temperate climate; it looks like there’s be an effort to grow a couple of tropical cultivars, but they don’t seem to be faring too well. Artificial streams gurgle through many of the conjoined flowerbeds, a landscaping choice that provides water for the flowerbeds that they pass through.

Roaming through the courtyard, I pause in front of the statue in the center. I’ve noticed that statues are a frequent feature of public Maskling buildings; the ones that always caught my attention were the dais statues with the seven manifestations of the Lord of Masks arranged in a circle. This one wasn’t one of those, though; it was of some woman with shorter hair, casually posed in a jacket and jeans, with her hands tucked into her pockets. I can’t quite put my finger on it, but there’s something distinctly scrappy about her, like she would fight god over the last cookie on the plate, consequences be damned.

“Feisty little foxy full of grit and charm and moxy…” I murmur. The words come out on their own; I don’t even realize what I’m saying until I’ve said it, and afterwards, I raise a hand to my mouth. Those aren’t my words, but I recognize them from somewhere, from a song I heard a long time ago, lost and buried down in my playlists. It’s lingering there on the edge of remembering, but just out of reach.

“Do you worship her too?”

The voice right next to my ear has me jolting away, nearly losing my feet as I twist around to see that a woman’s snuck up behind me. Short— short? Yes, maybe, just a little under five and a half feet, with pale, pale blonde hair and a black uniform with white highlights. Not far behind her are two other women in similar uniforms — twins with dark blue hair, and frosted white tips.

I start to lower the defensive arm that I’d brought up to put between me and her. “I… what? Worship? No, I’m… I’m Anayan…” I stutter, still trying to gather my wits as I look around the room. There is another doorway on the other side, I can see that, but I hadn’t seen any hint of these three before now. They must’ve been dead silent when they were sneaking up on me.

“Oh, that’s a shame.” the pale blonde says, and it seems like she means it. I saw the actual flash of disappointment that crossed her face when I said I was Anayan. “Viktier is a fun goddess to worship.”

I glance at the trio, then back at the statue. “Is… that…?”

“That’s Viktier, yes. The goddess of defiance and the wife of the Lord of Masks.” the blonde says, turning to the statue. “She is important to Masklings. Since the Lord of Masks is our creator, that makes her our mother.” She looks back to me. “I’m Vakalahi, by the way, Vaka for short, and these two are Xivé and Raph. We are Mask Knights, much like Feather.”

I give them a look. “Feather…?”

“She goes by Kiwi now.” one of the twins says to Vaka.

“Oh, that’s right. It’s always something new with her.” Vaka says, reaching up to scratch along her jaw. “And you are Songbird, of course. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.”

I offer a feeble shrug in return. “I get that a lot.” There are some times when I wish that people didn’t recognize me on sight.

“You are very popular here on Nichoyae.” one of the twins says. “You helped us get our Cradle back. And you are an outcast in the galactic community, which is an experience many Masklings can relate to.”

“Well, I promised Kiwi I’d help her. I keep my promises.” I say, tucking my hands back in my pockets.

“Yes, we heard that Kiwi is very attached to you.” Vaka says, clasping her hands behind her back as she wanders a little nearer with an apprising look. “That since she tangled with you, she’s stopped burning through handlers.”

Red flags start to go off in my head. I didn’t know much about Maskling culture or politics, but I did know that Kiwi’s problem — her tendency to drain her handlers in order to overcharge herself — was not a problem other Masks had, nor a problem that she or her team liked publicizing. If Vaka and the twins knew about Kiwi’s unique method of tangling, it meant that they were entrenched in the levels of government where they would have access to information that the Maskling public did not. “Why does that matter to you?” I ask guardedly.

One of the twins snorts. “Aside from the fact that she kept killing perfectly capable Masklings? Our species has a hard enough time without losing people to one of our own.”

“Mostly curious.” Vaka says, her bluish eyes sizing me up. “How did you do it? We all knew she was a hellcat; she just couldn’t stop eating up her handlers, no matter what kind of person she got paired with.”

“Maybe that was the problem all along; we were pairing her with Masklings.” the other twin says, and at this point I think I know which is which. My guess is that the one that’s currently speaking is Raph. “Maybe the answer is that we should’ve been pairing her with non-Masks.”

“No, no, that’s not it.” Vaka says, leaning to the side as if to get a different angle on me. “I bet if you had her tangle with a different non-Mask, she’d burn through them just as fast as she burned through her Maskling handlers. There is something… different about this one, I just can’t pin it down.” She leans in a little closer, staring up at me — which doesn’t bother me until I see a flicker of patterned light within her eyes, which causes me to look a little closer. I hadn’t noticed it before, but…

She’s got runemarks tattooed into her irises.

I back up a little at that realization, and the realization that those flickers of light mean that those runemarks are active. She’s using some kind of magic at the moment, but it must be a subtle sort, since I don’t notice anything different going on. The location of the runemarks was unnerving as well; I’ve seen Masklings with runemarks around their wrists, shoulders, ankles, necks, and even a couple that have it wrapped around their skulls, but having runemarks tattooed into your eyes was on a whole ‘nother level.

“Did you three… need something?” I ask uneasily. This is starting to feel less like a random encounter and more like they had been deliberately seeking me out.

“Answers, mostly.” Vaka says, still watching me intently. “See, you managed to fix Kiwi, and we want to know how. There’s someone who’s very interested in that answer.”

“Okay, fair enough.” I say mildly. “You mind telling me who that is?”

“We are not at liberty to say.” Xivé says almost immediately.

Ah. So that’s how it’s going to be. “Then I’m afraid I’m not at liberty to tell you… anything about Kiwi, really.” I reply.

“Kiwi is not like other Masklings.” Raph says. “She is… different, is one of the nicer ways of putting it.”

“Broken, malfunctioning, are some of the other words we’d use.” Xivé says. “There are others like her, but none of them have it quite as bad she does.”

“Which is why we want to know how you fixed her.” Vaka concludes. “Because there are some other Masklings that might benefit from that knowledge.”

I find myself taking another subconscious step backwards as the trio drift closer to me. Normally I’d be fascinated — maybe concerned — about the implication that there are other Masklings like Kiwi, but the way these three are coming at it is strangely intent. The pieces start clicking together in my head; if these three know Kiwi this well, chances are they’ve worked with or alongside her in the past. Which means that they might be at her level, and if they’re at her level it may be because they’re not all too different from her.

They’re not asking on the behalf of other Masklings that need answers.

They’re asking because they are the Masklings that need those answers.

“Y’know, I think I should go take a walk around the building.” I say, taking another couple steps back as my hands reach to brush back the edges of my longcoat, so I can reach for my ninjato hilts and my stunner if I need to. “Get a bit of fresh air and all that…”

The twins move without warning, their hands coming out from behind their backs, and I can see their wristmarks are active and glowing as both of them sling what look like rings of blue light at me. I start to jerk backwards on instinct, but the rings catch around my wrists and lock into place like manacles; both twins raise their hands towards me, and the rings jerk upwards, pulling my arms with them as I’m yanked forward by some attractive force. Vaka reaches up, grabbing my face with one hand as I stop short in front of her, and I’m unable to pull away because of the glowing manacles around my wrists.

“I’m sorry about this, but we really need to know how you and Kiwi are managing to tangle without killing each other.” she apologizes, and now I can clearly see the pale golden runes tattooed into her bluish irises — they’re much brighter now. “It’s extremely important.”

The twins start moving around the sides, pulling my arms in opposite directions to keep me restrained while the circles of runes start to rise off of Vaka’s eyes. It feels like there’s a magnetic force tugging at me, pulling at my gaze to keep it locked on her, while pressure starts building on my mind, behind my skull. She’s trying to get into my head, likely to extract information from it.

Unfortunately for her, Challengers were trained for exactly this sort of thing.

I pretend to try and turn my head away, and when Vaka uses her grip on my face to try and turn it back towards her, I whip my head forwards, bashing her right in the face with my skull. She immediately lets go of my face, staggering backwards, and I feel the pressure on my mind disappear, along with the magnetic pull. Twisting my head to the side, I lock eyes with Raph, who seems like the less feisty of the two twins, and hit her with the smolder. With as much blood as I’m burning on it, it hits her like a truck, and the tension almost immediately bleeds out of her, the ring around my right wrist fading and almost petering out.

“You wanna go open that door for me?” I ask her, nodding to the door that I’d originally come through.

She shakes her head dizzily, but starts walking backwards towards the door anyway. She only makes it a few steps before I feel the ring around my left wrist yank, and I lose eye contact with her as Xivé yanks me towards her. I turn my head around just in time to catch a right hook to the face, impacting hard enough to drop me on my back as my legs fly out beneath me.

I hit the ground with a grunt, and even though I just want to lie there and get my bearings back, I keep moving and roll over, flipping my hood over my head as I do so. I can feel Xivé’s manacle yank at my left arm again, tugging me towards her, but my right arm’s free to reach inside my jacket and flip open the pocket I keep my Crescendo earbuds in. I manage to get them tucked into my ears beneath my hood, right before someone grabs it, and I find myself being yanked up to my knees by Vaka as she uses her other hand to grab my arm and hold it down.

“Ya got me pretty good there.” she huffs past the runnel of blood dripping from her bruised nose as she shifts her hand from my hood to my throat. “A real fighter. I can see why Kiwi likes you.”

“Shuffle.” I grunt past the new grip around my neck.

Vaka squints at me as Raph shakes off the last remnants of smolder and starts making her way over, taking over holding onto my arm so Vaka doesn’t have to. “What?” Vaka demands as my earbuds start to shuffle through my entire music library.

I make a face as a slow jazz romance song starts to play. “…shuffle Crunch Time.”

Vaka’s eyebrows furrow. “If you’re trying to distract me, it’s not going to work. Now please, stop resisting. Give us what we’re looking for and this will…”

Her voice starts to disappear under the crunchy electronic bass starting to pump through my earbuds, and I close my eyes as I feel the magic glow to life in my veins. A calm falls over me; it’s the calm of being in my zone, of knowing the power I have at my disposal. At the back of my head, there’s a part of me that’s already backtracking, realizing that going straight for the Crunch Time playlist might’ve been overkill. I’d curated this playlist for raw power, and that’s what was starting to build up within me. It was exhilarating, reassuring, all too easy to get caught up in the confidence and surety that came with such power. The temptation to get lost in it was tantalizing — the same kind of addictive thrill that Nova had gotten hooked on, the same craving that Kiwi got when she got overcharged off our bond.

It was the risk you always took with wielding so much power, and it was too late to walk it back now. All that was left to do was embrace it, and try not to let it eat you alive.

I can feel Vaka grab my face with both hands, her thumbs trying to peel open my eyes so she can probably use her eye-magic to force her way into my mind. I resist it for a second, then snap my eyes open; sure enough, she’s glaring down at me with her iris runes alight. But when she sees my eyes, the black sclera and the solar-blue glow, she hesitates, pulling back slightly. She can tell something’s different.

I grin up at her as the song’s intro winds up into an empty climax, and in the silent half-measure before the beat drops, I whisper the title.

“Sunbuster.”

They don’t have time to react; the moment the beat drops, I release all the pent-up energy I’ve been holding in. It explodes out in a snap second, an aquamarine shockwave that craters the floor around me and slams into Vaka and the twins hard enough to send them flying clear across the courtyard in all directions. The magical manacles shatter, as does the glass dome over the courtyard, blasting shards up and out into the sky as I get back to my feet. The clubbing music is still pumping through me, already refilling the backlog of power I’d expended just seconds ago.

Looking around, I see Vaka getting to her feet ahead of the twins; rather than being angry, she’s grinning. I can see rune circles glowing to life beneath her uniform, more than I’ve ever seen on a Maskling before: circles around her wrists, on her shoulders, around her neck, a single large ring of runes lifting off her back. The twins are starting to do the same, and I rock back on my heels, realizing they’re coming back for more. Biting my bottom lip, I grin and curl my hands into fists.

If they like having their asses handed to them on a platter, they’re welcome to come back for a second serving.

Xivé is the first to get after me, throwing another ring of light to clamp onto my wrist, and this time locking it down with hardlight chain that she yanks hard, almost knocking me off my feet. I get my hand around the chain, though not to pull back on it; instead, I sent a pent-up pulse of raw power straight back along that connection. She doesn’t let go fast enough, and the pulse blasts her clear back against the wall, the chain disintegrating as she’s knocked out.

As satisfying as that is, it’s cost me my focus on the other two, and I pay for it with something unpleasantly electrical slamming into the back. My battered longcoat soaks up some of the impact with its combat weave, but the muscle-locking pain of getting hit with a lightning bolt is irritatingly familiar. Staggering a bit, I look over my shoulder to see Raph circling around behind me with electricity snapping around her orbiting wristmarks; drawing the residual electricity into one hand, I ramp it back up to dangerous levels by feeding it the energy spilling out of me, then sling the lightning right back at her, amplified tenfold. The thunderous crack is audible even through my earbuds, and Raph barely manages to block it, splitting the bolt so it instead splashes across the wall and the flowerbeds behind her.

Any followup I had planned disappears when I’m picked up by the back of the coat, and thrown across the courtyard at the statue of Viktier. I manage to angle myself so that hitting it doesn’t hurt as much, and release a pulse of energy at the ground to slow my fall. Shoving back to my feet, I see Vaka charging me in what looks like a suit of powered hardlight armor — all golden, glassy translucence. I duck under her first swing, which takes a chunk out of the statue, but she’s clever — the second swing is already coming in from the other side and nails me hard, sending me flying across the floor of the courtyard.

Rolling back to my feet, I immediately find myself caught in a headlock from behind by Raph, who blitzes me with more electricity. I can’t help seizing and convulsing at that, and the music pulsing through my earbuds goes on the fritz; I know that I can’t let her do that again, so the moment the electrocution eases off, I double-fist a pair of energy pulses at the ground, launching myself into the air with Raph still hanging on. Once we start to fall, I repeat the maneuver, but this time aiming it towards the shattered ceiling, reversing direction so that Raph is caught between me and the ground.

Based on the breathless grunt and her loosening grip around my neck, it seems like that’s enough to get her to tap out.

Rolling off her and stumbling back to my feet, I look around just in time to see Vaka right up on me and already getting a handful of the front of my shirt. She doesn’t hesitate to lift me up and slam me right back down, and the fractured floor is neither comfortable nor forgiving. Admitting only a muted grunt, I grab the arm that’s pinning me down, channeling all of my power into my forearms and hands. The glassy gauntlet protecting Vaka’s arm starts to crack and splinter, blue light flickering over my hands; realizing she’s in trouble, she yanks me up and tries to throw me across the courtyard.

But she’s got me now, and I don’t intend to let go.

Instead, I amp up the pressure on the gauntlet, every bass beat in my head delivering another pulse of force. The gauntlet shatters, the hardlight exploding into magical dust and leaving her forearm exposed; grabbing it, I twist in place and yank Vaka over my head, slinging her at the statue she just tried to throw me at. The rest of her armor protects her, but you can see cracks run through it as she falls on shoulders and scrambles to get back around to her feet. I pelt across the courtyard towards her, but she holds out an arm towards me, and the familiar sensation of displacement ripple shoves me back several yards. As I work on regaining the lost distance, she jackhammers her surviving gauntlet into the statue’s ankles, taking out chunks of stone, then fires a piton into it and gives it a mighty yank. With the sound of cracking stone, the statue snaps at the ankle, toppling over towards me.

On another day, I might’ve dodged out of the way. But on a day when I’m amped up and I’m cranking out more power than a small fusion core?

I can afford to pick fights with environmental hazards.

Gathering all the energy I’ve got in one hand, I whip it up to meet the statue as it falls over on me. The sudden discharge shatters the statue like it’s made of glass, chunks and shards of stone blasting up and outwards in a spray of shrapnel and debris.

Which makes it all the more impressive when Vaka comes flying through it, leaping towards me with the intent to crush me flat; I dance backwards as her powered boots slam into the broken ground. What I don’t expect is the piton that she fires at me; I grit my teeth as it rips through my shirt and skin, lodging in my ribs. Giving a yank, she pulls me in while gearing back her gauntleted arm for a haymaker, but I skid to a halt just short of her and catch her armored fist. Still channeling all the power at my disposal into raw strength, I twist her arm off to the side, then hammer her torso armor with heavy, powered punches that send fractures racing across the glassy surface and force her back. After bracing her feet against the ground to stop her backwards slide, she lunges straight through my punches, grabs me by the shirt again, and yanks me forward to slam her helm into my face.

I’m dizzy and stunned for a moment, but once I come back around, I plant my hands on her pauldrons, yanking her forward to return the favor with a bass-boosted headbash that shatters her helm on the spot.

Impressively enough, she doesn’t let go, though she staggers in place, clearly jarred by the massive blow. Blinking unevenly, she clenches one eye, the iris runes in the other one glowing brightly, and looks right at me; I see a flicker of light, and then all the sudden, heat in my left eye, followed by intense, lancing pain. I shout, jerking my head away and breaking the gaze, and as I do so, I feel a scorching line of heat raze across the side of my skull.

Son of a bitch, she’s got a laser eye.

I can feel the heat starting to burning through the side of my head, and I don’t even think; I just act, funneling all the built-up power into my hands and clapping them together. It goes off like a thunderclap bomb, blasting us away from each other, my shirt ripping as Vaka’s grip on it remains steady even as she’s thrown across the courtyard. I land hard, blind in one eye as I struggle to get to my feet; my head is pounding and I can feel steaming blood dripping down my face. I don’t know what the damage is, but it feels like she boiled my left eye in its socket and it hurts like hell. The fact that I can’t even close that eye is probably a testament to how much it’s swelled up as it heated and burst.

Letting the thumping beat of the music keep me steady, I glare across the courtyard. Vaka is starting to get back to her feet, though she looks unsteady; blood is dripping from her ears, and I think I burst her eardrums with that thunderclap. I start to curl my hand into a fist, ramping up the power I’ll need to throw down with her; I’ll have to finish this quickly, because I’m pretty sure I’m running out the clock on this song and it’s going to reach its coda pretty soon.

But before I can, someone goes hurtling past me. It’s Kiwi, and she launches herself into the air, fist geared back so she can come down on Vaka with a meteor punch, knocking her flat against the ground she just got up from. And then kicking her while she’s down, for good measure.

I lower my hand, blinking as Kiwi armors up her leg with a green hardlight shinguard, and keeps kicking Vaka about the abdomen. It’s only few seconds before a crimson tether races past me and latches onto Kiwi’s back, yanking her away from Vaka; looking to the side, I can see Forecast walking past me with his arm outstretched, wristmarks active and reeling Kiwi in. As he grabs her shoulder and pushes her behind him, I reach up, pulling my earbuds out; the sounds of the courtyards start flooding back in. At the same time, I feel the magic within me sputter and die out, now that I’ve no longer got music pumping through my skull.

And I immediately regret it, because without that music eating up my attention, I’m very much starting to feel the burning pain of getting one of my eyes laser’d into a molten mess.

I shove my earbuds in my pockets, bringing a hand up to try and cover the eye and keep it from being exposed to the air, but the moment my palm brushes against it, it sends an excruciating flash of pain through my skull. I hiss, pulling my hand away slightly even as I hear voices in the background, and turn to see people standing at one of the doors of the courtyard. Judging by the formality of their attire, they’re likely the members of the Council, and beside them, I can see the guards that were standing outside the door of the Council room. It takes a moment to click, but…

I suppose, between blowing the roof off the courtyard, playing lightning tag, pulverizing a statue, and releasing an explosive sonic boom, we were making a lot of noise. I just didn’t notice it because I had my earbuds in the entire time. Frankly, I’m surprised it took them this long to come see what was going on.

“Hey! Hey. Feroce? Are you okay?” I can feel hands on my shoulder, on my chest, and I look back around to see Kiwi in front of me, checking me over. She reaches up to grab the hand I’m holding over my left eye and move it away, and immediately winces when she sees what’s underneath. “Sweet Sylak…”

“That bad?” I rasp, trying to make a joke out of it, but it hurts too much to be funny. Even when I try to smile, the motion of my face aggravates my eye socket, sending another jolt of pain through my head, and I immediately drop the attempt.

Her brow furrows in concern as I brace myself on my knees. “Feroce? Are you okay?” she asks, gripping my shoulders.

“Hurts.” I grunt through gritted teeth, trying to focus on willing the blood in my body up to my head so I can speed up the healing process. Being as it’s a heat injury, though, I’m worried it’s going to take longer than the normal slash-and-stab stuff does.

“Okay. Hang on.” All the usually lightness and casual attitude is gone from her voice; it’s unusually focused and terse as she turns to the Council members. “Hey, can we get a medic over here or something instead of standing around staring like a bunch of tourists? One of your pets tried to burn his eye out of his skull! Aren’t we supposed to be treating allies better than this?”

“Songbird’s not going to be the only one that needs a medic.” I can hear Forecast reply tersely, from another direction. He’s probably checking on Vaka and the twins. “With the injuries sustained, it’s probably best that we get them all to the Marchidium Hospital instead of treating them here. Nobody’s going to die, but they have definitely given each other a beating that will require medical attention.”

“No.” I rasp, mustering the strength to stop bracing on my knees and stand up straight. “Stay on schedule. I will meet with the Council if they are done with Kiwi now.”

Kiwi gawps at me. “Are you insane? Your eye is literally boiling out of your skull right now!”

“I’m a Challenger. I’ve had worse.” I grunt, fighting through the pain to turn towards the Council members. “I am ready to meet if you are done with Kiwi.”

It’s clear from the looks on some of their faces that many of them have never seen some of the uglier consequences of combat. “The meeting can wait. We will reschedule, so you can receive proper—” one of the Council members begins.

“I told you that I am a Challenger. I have had worse.” I interrupt him, even though my head is pounding and I’m in a lot of pain right now. I can feel the blood still dripping down the side of my face, some of it curving by the corner of my mouth, but I keep my intact eye fixed on the group. “This is more important. We can meet now. I would like to know why you are not allowing Kiwi to join the Valiant.”

Most of the Council is clearly uncomfortable with my intent stare. One of the senior members clears her throat, speaking up for the others. “The meeting will be rescheduled for later. We will like to know what happened here first, which will involve speaking with those who were involved after they have received medical care. Feather, will you please see Songbird to the hospital? Forecast will be responsible for the S-Twos.”

I can feel Kiwi move in beside me, taking one of my arms and putting it over her shoulders. “I’ll get him to the hospital. Once they discharge him, I’m taking him home.” She glares over her shoulder, presumably at Vaka. “I want him where I can keep an eye on him. I’d rather not have anyone else trying to get their grimy mitts on my handler.”

“We will send someone to follow up and once Songbird has been discharged from the hospital.” the lead Council member says, before motioning to the guards with them. “Please see them to the parking lot and ensure they have an escort to the hospital. Lights on, to ensure they get there quickly.”

The guards nod, following us as the Council members move out of the way so we can access the door. Despite wanting to, I don’t look over my shoulder to see how Vaka and the twins are faring. Instead, I allow myself to lean on Kiwi as she helps me out of the courtyard.

“Your coworkers leave something to be desired.” I grunt quietly, doing my best to keep the pain in my head from dropping me in the middle of the hall.

“Tell me about it.” she mutters. “Does it at least explain why I am the way I am?”

“Yeah, it’s starting to make a little more sense now.”

Event Log: Feroce Acceso

Marchidium: Kiwi’s Penthouse

4:13pm SGT

“Shit’s gonna be a little messy because I didn’t expect you to be coming over this soon.” Kiwi says as we reach the door of her penthouse in one of Marchidium’s housing towers. “So don’t judge me, okay?”

“I’m sure it’ll be fine.” I reply as she presses a hand to the door. A circle of runes glows to life on the center of the door in accordance with her wristmark, and it splits open. “It’s probably not as bad as some of the roommates I’ve had.”

Kiwi gives me a dirty look. “You’re supposed to reassure me, not compare me to your ex-roommates, you lunk.” she says, stepping into the penthouse. I follow her in, having to turn my head to take in the interior, since I’m wearing an eyepatch over my left eye.

It’s a nice apartment, as can be expected from a top-floor penthouse. From what Kiwi’s told me, unique units like herself, or Vaka and the twins, are allowed to have unallocated penthouse units in the capital. One of the perks that comes with their service, apparently. In this penthouse, it looks like there’s a small kitchen, but a large living room with a big entertainment center in the middle of the couch arrangement. A door on the other side of the living room presumably leads off to the bedroom, and there’s a small pool out on the balcony. Since it’s still early spring on Nichoyae, the cover is pulled over it.

“You’re welcome to anything in the fridge or pantry. The government keeps the cabinets stocked with cooking supplies, though I don’t usually cook.” Kiwi says, heading over to the kitchen and setting down the medications that the hospital had discharged me with. Brushing some crumbs off the island countertop, she winces at the dishes in the sink, and retreats from the kitchen. “I know you mostly just stick to blood though, so I’m going to run out and grab some of that from the pharmacy. I figure you probably burned a lot of that during your fight today.”

“Just a bit.” I admit, reaching up to gingerly brush the eyepatch the hospital had given me. My eye hadn’t been salvageable, so the hospital had opted to knock me out, cut my eye out, and let it regrow fresh. As operations and treatment went, it was pretty simple. All I needed was time, blood, an eyepatch, and a whole hell of a lot of pain medication while it was growing back. I was pretty doped up right now, and I wasn’t feeling all too verbose.

Skipping past me, Kiwi starts snatching up clothes off the couch — a shirt, then sweatpants, a bra, and more, bundling them up as she goes. “I’ll grab your stuff from the hotel they were having you stay in. After that I have to report to Forecast, but I should be home once I’m done reporting to him.” Chucking the clothes into her room, she quickly closes the door, then spins around on her heel, coming over to snag me and pull me over to the couch, where she can sit me down. “You lay down, take it easy, and get some rest, okay? The doctor told me delicate organs like eyes take longer to regenerate, even for vampires, and that it’ll probably go faster if you’re sleeping.”

I blink up at her with my functional eye. “You’re being very nice to me.” I slowly observe after a moment.

That seems to take her off guard, and her mouth quirks at the corner, forming a sympathetic, lopsided smile as she strokes my cheek. “You’re an adorable little Blueberry when you’re drugged up.” she says gently, then leans down to kiss my forehead. “Get some rest. I’ll be back soon.”

With that, she turns and heads for the door, pointing to the kitchen as she does so. “Your medication’s over there, and the doctor said you should take some soon. The stuff they hit you with at the hospital is gonna wear off in the next hour or so, and you’ll be in for a world of pain if you don’t ease off onto some of the painkillers they gave us.”

And with that she steps out, the door closing behind her. I just sit there, staring at it; after a long moment, I look around at the rest of the penthouse. Everything’s quiet and still.

I don’t feel like resting, at least not quite yet.

Event Log: Kiwi

Marchidium: Kiwi’s Penthouse

6:42pm SGT

“Hey Blueberry, I’m back.” I say as the door opens for me, and I step in, lugging Songbird’s suitcase behind me and a bag from the pharmacy in my other hand. “I got you a pint of blood from the pharmacy. I didn’t know what you liked, so I just got you the basic stuff that they had on tap. Also this shit’s pricey, like holy hell! Don’t you guys have like discounts or something if you’re…”

I trail off when I realize something’s different. Sounds different, smells different, looks different. As the door closes behind me, I look around the penthouse and realize…

It’s clean.

The floors have been vacuumed. The furniture’s been vacuumed. The dishes in the sink have been cleaned, dried, and put away; the counters have been wiped down. The entertainment array is on, with soft, relaxed lofi playing background. And there’s a warm, sweet smell, like…

I zero in on the table in the corner of the kitchen, where Songbird’s slumped in one of the chairs with a platter of fresh blueberry muffins arranged in the center of the table.

“What the hell…” I mutter, leaving the suitcase and walking over to the table to grab Songbird’s shoulder. “Hey! Feroce! Are you alright?”

He jerks upright suddenly, blinking blearily and confused. He looks around, like he doesn’t know where he is, then sees me, and stares owlishly with his surviving eye. “Must’ve fallen asleep.” he mumbles after a moment.

“Yeah, no kidding.” I say, setting the bag on the table. “What’s all this? Did you clean the entire penthouse while I was gone? I told you to rest!”

“Couldn’t sleep.” he says, rubbing at his eye. “I figured you’d be hungry when you got back, so I made you muffins. I would’ve done soup or curry, but the medication’s got me all weird and I wasn’t sure I’d be able to follow a complicated recipe.”

I stare at the muffins. “You… made those… for me?”

He nods.

I don’t know what to say. It’s not the first time a handler has made food for me, but it was usually a morning-after, post-sex kind of thing. This was… different, and I couldn’t describe it except that it made no sense. Breakfast muffins, after sundown, made by a drugged-up, barely-coherent one-eyed vampire who should be on bed rest.

What an absolute, charming idiot.

“You’re supposed to be resting, not cooking and cleaning.” I mutter, reaching out to take one of the muffins and sniff it. “What are you, some sort of battle maid? You went from kicking ass to baking muffins in less than six hours.”

“I guess.” he yawns as I take a bite of the muffin. “Sierra would like that. Battle maids.”

“Shit, this is good.” I say, staring at the muffin. It’s light and fluffy, with little pops of flavor inside and a rich, crunchy sweetness on top. “Are these real blueberries? And what’s this crackly stuff on the top?”

“Yeah. There was a bag of blueberries in the freezer, along with other fruits. The stuff on the top is brown sugar. If you sprinkle some on the top before you put in the oven, it caramelizes while it’s baking. It’s something I learned from my mum.” he says, poking at one of the other muffins on the platter. “Would you like some milk to go with that?”

I glance at him. “…we have milk?”

He stares blankly back at me. “Well… yeah? You can’t make muffins without milk.”

My gaze swivels to the fridge. “…not gonna lie, I haven’t even checked the fridge since we got here.”

Songbird doesn’t move for a moment, like he’s processing everything at a delay. Eventually he pushes up out of the chair, sways slightly, and makes his way towards the fridge. I know I should tell him to stop and relax, to take it easy like the doctors told him to do.

But I don’t.

I watch him as he snags a glass out of the cabinet, grabs the milk from the fridge, and pours some for me. He comes back over to give me the glass, and I sip from it as he’s putting the milk back in the fridge. I know he’s the one that’s recovering, and I’m supposed to be the one that’s taking care of him… but I like this. I like being taken care of this way, not as a prelude to anything in particular, but just because it’s something he decided to do for the sake of it.

“Do you want butter?” he says, straightening up with a stick of butter in hand.

“Oh.” I say, taking a look at my muffin. I’m halfway through it already. “Might be a little late for that.”

“Can put it on your next one, if you’ll have a second.” he says, clicking open the utensils drawer and reaching for a knife, then pausing as if something had suddenly occurred to him. “What are S-Twos?”

I blink at the sudden question. He is just all over the place when he’s drugged up. “Ah. You’re talking about Vakalahi and the twins, right?”

“Yeah. Someone called them S-Twos…?”

“It stands for Series Two.” I say quietly. Not much point in trying to dodge it. “They’re a special kind of Maskling that the Republic uses for high-value spec ops.”

“Are you an S-Two?” he asks, picking a butter knife out of the drawer and pushing it closed.

“No.” I say even more quietly.

He cocks his head at me. “They wanted to know why we’re tangled. Said there where other Masklings like you that needed the kind of connection you and me have. But I knew they were talking about themselves.”

“Yeah, the S-Twos all the way through the S-Fives are similar to me.” I admit reluctantly, setting my glass down on the table. “They’ve all got… problems with tangling. Not as bad as I’ve got it, but they all have a hard time keeping their handlers alive.”

“Must be why they wanted to know so bad.” he says, coming over and sitting back down at the table. “Vaka was trying to get into my head. I didn’t know Masklings could do that without tangling.”

“They usually can’t, unless they’re psions. Vaka’s got iris runes, though.” I say, eating my muffin down to the edges. “I nailed her in the face for you. Pretty sure I gave her a black eye since she burned yours out.”

“How does that work? Iris runes.” he asks, snagging a muffin from the platter and cutting it open. “Like… how do you put them on your irises? Does it hurt?”

“It’s a process.” I say, eating the last of my muffin and licking my fingers. “Kinda like an operation, or a surgery. They use a special kind of laser to etch the runes into your iris. Super delicate, super precise. They get you drugged up and immobilized beforehand, so there’s no twitching or anything like that.”

“Hmm.” is all he says to that, as if he was working it through his head, absorbing it through the fog of medication while he methodically butters the muffin’s inside. “And it lets you shoot lasers out of your eyes.”

“Well, that depends on what runes you get.” I say, picking up my milk again. “But yeah, Vaka can use her iris runes to do the laser-eyes trick. And try to break into people’s minds.”

“But you don’t have iris runes.” he observes. “Why is that?”

I fold my arms. “Certain types of runes or rune configurations are restricted. They denote rank or responsibility. Iris runes are reserved for elite units, because they allow for visual spellcasting — you don’t need your hands, you just need to be able to see.”

He stares for a moment, then offers the buttered muffin out to me. “Like your shoulder runes. You said that you got them because you were promoted.”

I look at the muffin, hesitating, then decide I am hungry enough for a second one and take it. “Yeah. Like that. Except iris runes are usually reserved for elite unit leaders or others like that. Forecast has iris runes.”

“I see.” he says, looking away after a moment. “Has the Council rescheduled the meeting?”

“I’m sure they have. Forecast said he’d let me know when.” I say, biting into the muffin and trying to figure out if I like the smooth saltiness the butter adds. I decide that it does, since Songbird made the muffins. “I can see about showing you around Marchidium while we wait for your eye to regrow. The doctors said it should be back in as little as forty-eight hours.”

He doesn’t answer, staring at the the window in the kitchen that looks out over the light-speckled skyline of the capital. I mark it up to him being hazy and drugged up, and finish my muffin in comfortable silence; it’s only as I’m licking the crumbs off my fingers that he suddenly speaks. “Did I go too far?”

I glance at him. He’s turned his gaze from the window, staring across the penthouse at the entertainment center, and his pupil is dilated, like he’s locked onto something. When he doesn’t elaborate, I lean in a little. “Songbird?”

“I didn’t even think when I put my earbuds in.” he says, still staring off into nowhere. “I just… acted. The moment the music hit me, my brain just… went away. All I knew is that I had power and I wanted to use it. Needed to use it. I didn’t even stop to think about the consequences, or how brutal I was being. Maybe that was a product of the music. Sunbuster is a banger of a track.”

“You fought them off without killing anyone.” I say, draining the last of the milk, then setting the glass in the sink and moving back to him. “You showed plenty of restraint, all things considered. Yeah, they’re a bit roughed up, but now they’ll think twice before messing with you again.”

“I let the power control me, not the other way around.” he murmurs. “Can’t let that happen again, that’s how Nova fell—”

I clamp a hand over his mouth, keeping him from finishing the sentence. His gaze finally leaves the middle distance and moves up to me.

“Don’t. Be. Afraid of power.” I say slowly, making sure to emphasize each word. “You aren’t Nova. You’re a good person. You’ll use it the right way, because you’ve seen what happens when people use it the wrong way.” Reaching down, I take his hands, tugging him to his feet. “Now come dance with me.”

He follows me to up and out to the living room, hands falling, if a little unsteadily, into the classic slow-dance posture you see at high school dances across the galaxy. I think he’s a little off his balance, being doped up on drugs and limited to just one eye, but he’s able to sync himself to the relaxed rhythm of the lofi playing in the background. I lace my fingers through his, not intending to push him further than that gentle, easy sway — this is nice, and calm, and I don’t want more than this right now.

“We’re almost normal.” he remarks after a little bit of time spent quietly swaying together.

I can’t help giving a bitter smile at that. “Almost.”

He doesn’t reply right away. “Do you ever wish you were normal? Had a normal life?”

I have to take a moment to think about that. “Sometimes. I figure it would be boring, but. I could do things that I don’t get to do right now. Like stay in one place, or go where I want, when I want… not have to take orders from someone else, live my life the way I want to…”

“Normal people still have to take orders. Mostly from the people that cut their checks.” he says. He seems to be more lucid, coherent when we’re like this. There’s not as many delays in his speech as there was when he was sitting down.

“Yeah, I guess so. Grass always seems greener and all that.” I concede. “What about you? You probably wish you were normal, don’t you.”

“Not… normal, I guess, but… I wish I’d taken a different career path.” he says, his brow furrowing. “I followed Nova into the Challenger program, but if I could go back and change that, I’d want to be an artist instead. Maybe a musician or a singer, if I wasn’t good enough to draw for a living. I don’t like hurting people, fighting people. It’s not what I wanted to do for a living.”

I curl my fingers against his chest. I’d always known he was averse to fighting, but this was the first time he’d ever told me why. Combat was something that he was good at, but it wasn’t something he wanted to do. “You’re good at being a hero, though. Good at helping and protecting other people.”

“Yeah.” he sighs. I can tell that the compliment doesn’t make him feel better.

“Well, if you don’t want to be a hero, a warrior, then why do you keep doing it?” I ask. “Why don’t you go chase your dream and become an artist?”

“I’m not good enough to make money as an artist. I work too slowly. Too much of a perfectionist.” he answers. “I’m good enough to make it as a musician, I do know that much. I’ve done it before, and being a sonic sorcerer gives me a leg up on a lot of other musicians. But at the end of the day, I stay with the Valiant because people need me. Ridge needs me, Renchiko needs me, the rest of the Valiant need me… and because I took an oath to protect and defend the galaxy and its people. I have a duty to the greater good; I can’t just turn my back on that.”

“But wouldn’t you be happier doing the things you love to do?” I point out softly.

“Yes. I would.” he admits. “But life is rarely fair or kind. For one reason or another, whether it’s their fault or not — and it’s often not — most people in the galaxy don’t get to do the things they love to do. They do what they have to, either because they have to pay the bills, or because other people are relying on them, or because it’s the right thing to do. And in between those things, they do their best to find moments or little snatches of time to chase the dreams they’ve had to give up, or to do the things they love.” He repositions his hand on my hip, as if conscious of how it’s slipped since we’ve been slow dancing. “If you measure your life by whether or not you got to chase your dream, there’s a pretty big chance your life will be measured as a failure — because most people don’t get to chase their dreams. Well actually — let me rephrase that. Plenty of people chase their dreams. Only a few of them get to live their dreams. So you have to be able to look back on your life and say ‘I didn’t get to do what I wanted to do, and I didn’t enjoy what I had to do. But what I did made the galaxy a better place, and gave someone else a chance to live their dream’. That’s why I stay with the Valiant, and keep on doing the missions. I won’t get to live my dream. But what I do will give other people the chance to live theirs.”

I press my lips tight at that. It all makes sense, which is what I hate about it. It makes sense, so it’s hard to argue with it. I don’t want it to be true, even though I know what he’s said is true, painfully true: that only a rare, lucky few get to live their dreams, and the rest of us…

We just have to settle for something less.

Letting go of his hand, I slide my arms along his shoulders, wrapping around his neck and pulling him a little lower. Brushing my lips against his, staring into that gentle crimson ring, so willing to fight for a better galaxy. Even if it means giving up the life he wanted so that others can have the lives they dreamed of.

“Well, if you can’t have your other dreams… let me be your dream.”