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[Sekot]

You're all developing your stories, your worlds, your characters well. I felt that there was an end game planned, or at least sketched out. But they were short, underdeveloped. Therefore, our next prompt is one to get us moving, to focus on a particular end and develop your characters more. This will be more explicit of a prompt to help you along and hopefully get those creative juices flowing.

Your next prompt is: Overcome.

Conflict essentially drives a story, there is always an adversary. Whether that be another character, or a life event, or the character themselves, there is something we struggle against or with and eventually overcome. Or succumb. Win or lose, your character must face a decision point. It does not have to be The Climax, but it must be significant to your character's overall development.

Stipulation: You must utilize the character you did in Round 2, as well as another character from that same round. So another character from Round 1. Any character will do, but the interaction must be meaningful to your MC in some way, must be a part of the conflict.

You have one week. August 30 at 0000.

[Allya]

Helen

Day of Awakening 4036:

My memory is a stained-glass window. I see only colors of my former self, perfectly crafted and easily shattered. Like everyone else, it was Catch who helped tease the fragments from my dreams and solder them into an image of me. Some pieces fit better than others. I am a soldier. That piece is red and sits at the center of my being. I knew magic once but the details are bursts of blue at the edges of who I was. There was family who are fashioned together in a ring of yellow around my heart. And there was war, that black, cold metal that separates the pieces of me but also binds the puzzle of my form and function.

Now I am Cymera. We who sit atop Rêve in floating ships of fire and metal and see what the others do not. We have removed ourselves from those below so we can delve deeper into this new magic, so we can wield the Hands that shape this world. I write this because I fear a truth that we ignore. All magic comes with a cost. I feel these Hands reaching into me as I bend them to my purpose. We are changing and soon we may be lost.

- Captain Helen MacDonald


My call light blinks red, turning me from introspection to duty. The journal gently closes as my hand leaves it to answer the call. “Go.”

“Ma’am, we’ve received notification from below. Catch has a new recruit coming our way. They say we need a deep dive.”

“When?”

“They will reach rendezvous at dusk.”


**Edit to add: I changed the Sky Runners to Cymera in this round because I came up with a better name for them. My motor heads are now SmokeHounds. I also had little time for editing on this draft due to my schedule. I expect and apologize for mistakes.!**

“Thank you. I will go.”

“Ma’am?”

“That is all.”

It has been over a 1000 days since the last recruit was sent skyward. Most are sent to the SmokeHounds, some find their way to recruitment, others simply don’t transition well. Very few are worth the focus of Cymera. Fewer still survive it. I am not willing to risk this one.

I quickly dress in the fashion of the city dwellers, making sure to hide the visible changes to my form. Those flashes of metal beneath my skin and the circuits grafted in would startle a dreamer from their fog and draw the gaze of the Oculi to me. No need to draw unwanted attention. Best to slip down and back up without notice.

I quickly braid and pull my hair into an infinity bun. The style is too rigid for my taste but it will help me blend into the background. I thumb through my wardrobe until my hand settles on the newly created shift-wear. If the makers are to be believed, this will enable me to change my appearance at will on the ground and should hide my wings from view. I quickly slip on the clothes and slide a knife beneath the folds. Magic and tech are nice, but a little hardware never hurts. Lastly, I pin a broach to my outer cape. Fashioned in the mark of the Three, no one will give any notice to my little communication device.

I press it once to test the connection.

“Ma’am?”

“I am leaving through the back.”

“No transport Ma’am?”

“No, it’s been too long since I’ve stretched my wings.” And the less who know of this mission, the better. I fear not all eyes are friendly aboard our vessel. What other cause could there be for the many failures of late?

I press the control and the back portal opens with a quiet swish. The cold air rushes in and I pause a moment before stepping into the open air. There are some feelings that are worth the cost. The chill of the racing air, my weightlessness as I fall towards the ground, these feelings are worth the hours of pain I endured while willing the Hands to shape my wings. I drink in the feeling for as long as I can before spreading them fully and slowing my descent.

I am unconcerned of discovery so far from the city center. Our rendezvous is at the edges of the crooked wood where those who dream seldom look. The Ocs tends to keep close to their Temple and they long ago gave their sight to gain a more probing gaze. My wings ache thinking of the pain they must have endured to make that trade.

I scan below and find the heat signature of four waiting on the edge of the wood. It must be them. Circling closer and closer down I start to make out features. Their guide, an iamo, is standing in the shadow of the wood. His eyes follow my descent with marked interest. We have not tried to augment an iamo yet, though that is not due to lack of interest on their part. There are simply too few and they are needed in the wood.

Tank is immediately recognizable. His slim build hides the strength within. He stands just behind Oz and maintains a look of bored disinterest but I know differently. His eyes are scanning the edges of their surroundings for any hint of danger. He would die to protect Oz, the one who woke his sister, Tink.

Oz is giving instructions to the new recruit. She is listening intently and nodding where appropriate. Perhaps this one will be worth the trouble. She is a little thing, her hair still done up like every other student of the academy. Her gray eyes startle as I land in front of them. Dusting myself off, I extend my hand. “I am Helen, your escort to the Cymera.”

The girl looks tired. The wood is labyrinth of roots and limbs and they have been dodging the swarm all day. But she smiles as best she can and takes my hand. “I am Wren. Thank you for your help.”

Releasing her hand I turn to Oz, “Right then, have you told her the plan?”

He grins with that boyish charm of his. None of us are as old or young as we seem. It was one of the first things we discovered. So I am not fooled by the false exuberance he uses to hide his fear. “Why sure, Doll. We get her in, we get her up, and you lift her the rest of the way. What could be simpler?”


“And him.” I move my gaze to the iamo who steps out of the shadow in answer.

“I will come. The shadows will keep me safe.”

I’m not sure I agree with that assessment but the tone of his voice leaves little room for argument. “Just so we’re clear, my mission is to escort Wren.” They nod their understanding. “Right then, where’s the rendezvous?”

Tank speaks up, “Just over that far hill. Tink will land when I give the signal.”

Good. Tink is a bit eccentric but no more than any other Smokehound and she will get the job done. Tink and Tank are an odd pair but I am glad to have both on my side. The twins chose different paths, she gravitated towards all things mechanical while he followed my kind into the sky but they respect and work well together. It will be needed on this trip.

We close the distance in no time and stop at the rendezvous point. Tank holds out one hand and sends a slim trail of smoke into the sky with his mind. Tink appears a moment later but she does not arrive in one of her mechanical creations as expected. Instead one of the sleek, plum Phantom cabs descends before us and hovers just above the ground. The door opens silently and Tink pops out with a wide grin.

“Come one, come all!” Her boots kick up the dust as she jumps from the cab and swings her arm towards the door, inviting us inside. I can’t help but smile in return. There are so few reasons since I was awakened. Flying is exhilarating and the power we wield through the Hands is amazing but everything is clouded by the questions that remain. But Tink her ilk take a different view. They live for today and enjoy every moment. I envy the simplicity of that view.

“Tink, a cab?” Tank sounds a bit put off. “How did you snag it?”

Tink drapes her arm around her twin. “Don’t worry big bro, I got all the permission I need. And what better way to slip through the city unnoticed?”

Tank looks unsure but shrugs and climbs inside. The rest of us follow suit and soon we are all sitting on the smooth, black bench seats. Tink presses a few buttons on the side console and the door slides shut.
The seams disappear leaving a smooth one-way window in its place. She presses another button and we begin to move. I hope my face is still and does not betray nerves. Escorts into Rêve are even more difficult than the escorts out. The girl has been gone for a day. The Ocs will be out. They will be looking.

Wren

So much has happened so quickly. My head is swimming with questions. The world is somehow larger than I expected but smaller than I knew. These people who are now my friends seem devoted to finding answers but they have yet to tell me the underlying question. I believe they are keeping me in the dark to keep my dreams from being tainted but I cannot help but work the frayed edges of the problem as we travel.

I know now that the Hands can be controlled. I know that our memories are being hijacked. I know that most of us are still ‘dreamers’ as they call them, but there some, like my current companions, who are ‘awake.’ Those are the answers they have. But I think there are other questions they have yet to ask.

I stare across the cab at the twins. They are roughly the same size and build but Tank’s Smokehound gear makes her seem twice as large. The leather hugs her curves and the tools gleam in the low cab light. Everything about her from the blue mohawk to the tattoos running down each side of her head broadcasts her need to be seen as different. I look at my own clothes, the garb of the academy, and think about how all of dress the same every day. Gray tones, blend, don’t stand out. Is that part of the formula, part of the control?

My feet ache in my boots. It has been a long time since I travelled so much in one day. The others seem largely unfazed by the journey, especially our addition. Oz mentioned that she is a soldier and I believe it. Everything about her screams soldier. Truthfully, I’m somewhat thankful she has experience in a fight. I fear one is fast approaching.

The cab approaches the city’s edge and we start to climb higher into the air. Soon we are hovering in a “lane” roughly forty feet above the street, high enough to miss the lights or anything else that may line the walks below. I peer through the glass and look below. The scene looks just as it did the night before. People are leaving their work and heading home or to one of the bars on the strip. The lights in some silver towers are winking off while others flick on. Other cabs pass below, above and beside us in easy synchronicity.

“How do they know how to get around?” I feel like it’s a silly question as soon as it leaves my lips but it’s too late to pull the air back in.

Tank cocks her head to the side. “What do you mean, how do they know? It’s their job to know so they know!”

“I guess, it’s just,” I pause, struggling to articulate how wrong it all feels, “the Hands change things every night but the cabs always know where they are going. How?”

“I like this one,” Tank says as she slaps my knee and winks at Oz, “she’s a thinker!” She shrugs and sits herself back up. “I suppose they survey every morning but I’ve honestly never spoken directly with anyone from the Phantom Syndicate to find out.”

“Then how did you…” Tank puts a finger on her brother’s lips.

“Shhh big bro, sometimes it’s better not to know.” Oz raises an eyebrow but says nothing.

A moment later we feel the first hit.

The cab rocks forward and starts to power down. “Oh no you don’t!” Tank furiously punches at the buttons on the console and I feel the cab right itself ad begin to move again. The next hit comes from the side and sends me tumbling to the center. From the floor of the cab I see the buildings whirling around us. We’re spinning.

I close my eyes to keep from getting dizzy but find it’s only making things worse. As I reopen my eyes, I feel the third hit bash into our ride and I start to slide back towards my seat. We are going down! From my vantage point I see the cab’s reflection in the mirrored building to our right. We are nosediving towards the street below.

Tank does her best to wrest control of our descent but only manages to slightly mitigate the trajectory of our crash. We slam into the ground and the cab slides through a wall causing it to spin 180 degrees before coming to a halt.

I can hear the shouting outside and know we only have a moment before our attackers are upon us. A firm grip wraps around my wrist. “Right, it’s all gone to shit. Wren’s with me. You lot best get whatever’s on the other side of this door pointing the other way.” Helen pulls me to my feet and steps to the middle of the cab. “In three, two…”

A flash of light and sparks appears by the door and fills the cab with smoke. There are voices ad hands everywhere but I follow Helen’s lead. She has one hand on me and is using the other to guide her Hands. The builders push our attackers from her path and form a bubble around us. They swarm much like the wild swarm in the crooked wood but these are controlled by her.

I look back as she pulls me along and through the swarm I see the rest of our group fighting a strange conglomeration of Ocs and men in purple suits. We are moving quickly but I catch a quick glimpse of our surroundings. We are in the Temple! I’ve never seen it from the inside but the architecture is unmistakable.

“Shit, shit, shit.” Helen pushes through a few more Oculi that are attempting to block our path. “They’ll all be here soon. We have to get out of here!” She pulls me through the doorway and turns the swarm upon our exit, forming it into a wall that blends perfectly with the rest of the hall. Next she touches her cloak and her clothing changes in front of my eyes. She is now wearing the temple garb of the Ocs complete and even a covering over her eyes. The only thing that remains of her former garb is the broach of the Three.

“You are being escorted by me. Say nothing.” I listen. I say nothing. But I look. We walk silently through the hall and I keep my eyes on that fractal ceiling. I’ve seen the pictures but never really processed it before now. The pattern sparks a memory that tickles the back of my thoughts. It is a small tug but I know there is meaning here. I take as much of it in as I can while we walk.

Helen escorts me through another door and soon we are out on the street. In the distance, I can hear the commotion from the crash-site. Oz is yelling, Tank is hurling large blocks at their attackers. I pull away from Helen but she grips my wrist harder. “They know what they are doing. They have their mission. We have ours.”

I relent and follow. We wend our way through the back alleys. Helen changes her clothes again, this time she matches mine. I’m not really sure why. There is no way she can pass for a student. There is no one so old in the academy. Come to think of it, she is the oldest person I can recall seeing in quite some time.

“You know your way through the halls, right?”

It takes me a minute to understand. We are standing at the back entrance to my former home. “Yes. I know it.”

“Good. We have to get to the roof. The less we are seen, the better.”

I smile and nod. I will go along with her plan as long as she goes along with mine.

Aila

Today has been so strange. Well really, I guess it started last night. Why did we decide to go out to that club again? Everything has been so normal but as just felt a bit off. Escher greeted me in the dining hall as always this morning. We had the same conversations. We reviewed our scores from the exams. We ate, we laughed but something was missing. All day I have felt it. Like something or someone who used to be here is no longer. It’s like a whisper of a friend, a dream or longing that feels like it was once real.

I think Escher feels it too. The space between us felt larger tonight. There was a quiet where I feel someone else should be. But it’s always been us two. These thoughts make no sense and my head aches from even wandering down the path.

Still…

A knock at the door interrupts my thoughts. Escher wouldn’t be calling at this hour. “Go away. I’ll talk tomorrow.” Whoever it is can wait. The pounding in my head is growing worse.

The knock comes again, more hurried and definitely louder.

“Gods, what is it?!” I open the door and two people push past me. The older of the two pushes the button and the door closes again.

“Aila, great we have to go. Where’s Escher?” I stare at these two intruders. The younger of the two is talking to me like she knows me but I have never seen her before. She seems to know Escher as well. And something in me tells me to trust her.

“Escher went to the roof. He said he needed to think.” Which come to think of it is odd as well. He hates heights. He never wanted to go up when Wre…Wren! “Wren!” A torrent of memories come flooding back. That feeling a loss from a moment ago has been replaced with deep confusion. How could I forget my friend?

“Great! You’re back.” She tosses me my coat. “Now let’s go.”

My mind is swirling but I know this, my friend is returned. I am going to follow her.

We make our way to the back stairwell and begin our climb. The older woman takes the lead and sets a furious pace. Wren follows quickly behind but still trails her fingers along the tilework that lines the stairs. I can see those wheels in her mind turning and I glance at the tilework as we climb. It looks pretty but of little consequence to me.

My head pounds as I follow them. I keep running the same four words through my mind: I forgot her. How?

Wren

I am so relieved to have Aila back. Helen was furious when I told her we were not leaving without my friends but I know it’s the right call. Things are happening so fast. I need people I can trust as I start to sort out this puzzle. Besides, seeing my friends walk through a fog when I have the means to burn it off just feels wrong. I don’t understand how Oz and the others can just leave so many in the haze like that.

I trail my fingers along as we rush up the stairs. My body is moving in double time but my mind is moving slowly, focusing on the tiny details. We are missing something. I know it. I can feel my breath burning in my chest and I know that we are almost at the rooftop. We have been lucky so far. There were no Ocs in the hall and the other students paid us no mind.

We reach of the top of the stairs and I follow Helen through the doorway. Aila is close behind me. The door slams shut after her and we three are left standing in the night air with only the muted city sounds below as background. In the distance, I see a large explosion originating from the center of Rêve. It must be the temple!

A moment later Helen’s broach lights up and she presses it gently. “Here.”

“We are out! It wasn’t pretty but we’re out!”

“Good. Report back to Catch. We are Heaven-bound.”

I glance skyward and see nothing but the same polished black that has stared back at me each night. Helen seems sure of our destination. I do not share her certainty.

“Ah-hem.”

We three turn towards the sound. On the far corner of the roof we find Escher. He is surrounded by two Oculi who have looped their arms with his. This was why our climb was so easy!

I feel them speak into my mind a moment before their words are formed by his mouth. “You will return with us. You will be restored. You will not be harmed.”

So many feelings well within. I cannot go back and I cannot let my friends go back either.

“Wren?” Aila’s voice is shaking. I’ve had so little time to explain. I try to calm my voice before I speak.

“It’s alright Aila. We’re not going with them.”

“We are your protectors. Come with us.” Hearing them through Escher’s lips is so disturbing. How are they controlling him? If they can do that, what else can they do? I turn towards Aila, afraid. Then I feel the transmission begin. They are trying to reset memories again!.

Begin Transmission – Prophecy 036294…
Let the din of life surround us
Pull us in, apart and ground us
A chorus when the lost have found us
Sing it then; your voice resounds us
As we begin the end confounds us
Seeping in to fill around us
Breathing sin lest heaven drown us
And in the spin the glow astound us
It’s only when our words expound us
Can the medium unbound us
Assail the din, lest it redound us
And claim the win for those who’d crown us
As we reach toward futures passed

No! I will not have my friend’s taken from me again. In my mind I reach inward and seize upon the Hands that flow within me. They were injected by Oz so they must be a part of me. I will them to replicate and flow into Aila and Escher. I push them outward in my mind and into my friends. I see them forming a bubble around my friends and bringing them to my side.

Inside me is a universe. Those around me seem so small. Distantly, I feel Helen’s surprise. She may be screaming. It is like a fly buzzing in my periphery. I understand Aila and Escher’s surprise but feel detached from it. The transmission is my main focus. The Oculi released Escher as I pulled him towards me. They move to me with clenched fists but it is their minds that are attacking. They are trying to work their way in to me. They want to understand. Their words are so soothing.

“Come with us.”

“We are here for you.”

They are not lying but they do not speak the truth.

I push back at them with my thoughts and watch as they stumble backwards and over the roof’s edge.

Aila and Escher are floating beside me. They are unconscious. What have I done?!

I feel my resolve slipping.

Helen’s fingers lace into mine. And my ears register her shouting though it seems so far away. “Just a few minutes longer. Hold them!” She means my friends. I can’t let them go.

Before me I see Helen use her free hand to direct the builders. They create a staircase into the sky. We swiftly walk up and each step disappears as our feet move to the next. We travel higher and higher into the night until the city below is a distant twinkle. Only the beam light from the Temple reaches as high as we.

My resolve is starting to falter. I fear I will lose my friends. I have been focusing on the step before me but now I glance upwards again. Finally, I see it! The ships of the Cymera are there! Helen grabs my hand and pulls me onto the deck. Next she pulls the bodies of my floating, unconscious friends.

“You can release them now.”

I nod in understanding and let go with my mind. My body collapses in exhaustion. I feel sleep coming for me whether I like it or not. Before my eyes close I glance one last time at my former home. From up here I see it, Rêve is alone. Outside the ring of light there is nothing but the crooked wood in every direction. And I see something else as my fingers move in the pattern of the stairwell tiles: The city is shrinking.

I cling to the thought as the black fills my mind and I give over to my dreams.


***Edit to add that I have changed Sky Runners to Cymera and motor heads to SmokeHounds from my last entry because I like the names better. Also ran out of time for editing the second half of this so I apologize/expect mistakes.***

[The Counter Cultist(Sawyer)]

Zosime watched as Knight-Commander Evan Peterson and Knight-Corporal Rose Creed argued. Specifically she watched their faces. Evan’s bearded visage hid his anger better, but it was still there. Rose’s was more plain. What with that very clear scowl. And there was pain mixed in. That was in her eyes. Zosime could see it, clear as day. Each word she yelled to the knight-commander wasn’t an argument. It was a plea. Zosime felt for the girl.

“I’m done discussing this Rose. Stand down. That’s an order.” Zosime watched the girl start to say something else. But the Commander turning away took the fight out of her and she walked away in a huff. Zosime watched her for a moment, before stepping up to the Knight-Commander. She turned and watched as he magically ignited a cigarette and took a few puffs. Zosime didn’t think she would get used to that anytime soon. How flippant these people were with their use of magic. Sparta of her time had been much more reserved.

“Give me your thoughts Zosime,” Evan said between drags. “Everyone else is.” Zosime stayed silent a little bit, staring out at the building that the police had set a perimeter around the building. A building she recognized from books as a Catholic church. The negotiator was sitting off near the entrance, talking with his officers. Her eyes finally fell on the Knights. Rose sat by herself, simmering over a cup of hot coffee. While the rest all just stood there in full armor. Waiting. Finally her eyes fell on Evan again. She scanned him up close. The subtle hint of anger was gone. She saw something else there now.

“You’re worried,” she said, looking back to the building. “Worried about Cole and his friend.” It was true that she and Rose had come out here to meet Cole and his friend Angel. Go to a bar, Cole had said. Or some other social activity. Instead they found a police line forming around this church. After not being told anything. Rose had called the Knight Commander out here. And so here they were.

“You know you’re the first person to actually say that.” Zosime watched the man as he spoke. This close she could see it clearly. The way he tried to stand up straight, but seemed oddly slumped. Like he had the weight of the world on his shoulders.

“The police think I’m here for glory, refuse to ask us for assistance. Rip, my XO, thinks I’m a crazy bastard for calling the boys out here. Rose thinks I’m just in this for the reputation. But no, I am worried. Worried about Cole, his friend, and this whole damn city. I grew up here. I fought tooth and nail to leave Boston and come here to command.”

“Maybe also worried that you are still here for the wrong reasons?” Zosime took a sick pleasure in doing things like that. Saying something and watching the person she said it too scramble to find an answer. To her chagrin, Evan did not break his composure. In fact he smiled.

“Yes. Because I’ll be honest it is a neat feather in my cap if I make this outpost what it once was. Probably put me on the shortlist for High Command. Maybe be the job that nets me Lord Commander or even Grandmaster. So I worry that I’ll forget what I really came back to this city for.” With that he finally turned to Zosime. Looked her straight in the eyes. Zosime did not consider herself a sentimental person at all. But as she looked into Evan’s eyes she felt like weeping. Because beneath the anger and frustration, the sorrow, the anxiety. She could see it. Hope.

“To save it.” With that cheesy one liner out of the way, the Commander turned away at the sound of his name. Zosime watched him go, before turning to go to Rose.

Much like Peterson, Zosime did not know Rose very well. Most of her time in the new outpost after her forced transfer had been spent with Cole or Knight-Captain Ripley, who she thought she had more in common with. So as she approached, she tried to get a read on the kind of person that Rose was. In this situation, however, it was hard. The way she gripped her styrofoam cup, just tight enough that it wouldn’t break, betrayed anger. But the thousand yard stare she was giving the negotiator, and by extension the Commander, betrayed a sort of agony that Zosime had seen before. It had been in her father’s eyes when her brother had died.

“You should try to relax a little,” Zosime said. The scowl on Rose’s face only soured further. As if the reproach was unwelcome. “It will do Cole or Angel no good to have you unfocused.”

Rose seemed to fall back at that. As if Zosime had pushed or punched her. She saw the girl loosen her grip on the cup a little. Zosime allowed a little smile to come up to her face, and she took a seat on the car hood next to the girl.

“Sorry Zosime,” Rose said, “I’m just really high strung. I know Cole. I know he’s planning something stupid in there that could get him or Angel hurt…” Zosime looked over to Rose as she trailed off. Watched her carefully as she mentioned Angel’s name. The slight reddening of cheeks. Zosime watched her for a minute. Then it clicked.

She had feelings for the girl.

“I’m curious how you feel about her. You two haven’t interacted much is my understanding.”

Zosime watched as the blush deepened and spread. She couldn’t help but grin. She had once known a young Athenian couple that had danced around their feelings for each other. Whenever they were near their faces had always turned the same shade of red as Rose’s. Zosime found it adorable.

“I m-mean, only a couple of times. But if you met her Zosime you’d understand. She’s this beautiful delicate little thing. And beneath that shy tiny exterior beats this huge heart of gold. It’s hard to not be friends with her.” Zosime chuckled a little bit, and tried to stifle it. Too late though, as it did escape. She couldn’t help it. The way Rose was describing this girl was too much.

“What’s so funny?” Zosime looked around looking for an excuse. This being a hostage situation made options scarce. So deflection would have to do.

“Nothing,” she said. Finally her eyes fell on the Knight-Commander. Walking towards them. With purpose. “Looks like the Knight-Commander needs us.”

Both she and Rose stood up. She looked back to see Knight-Captain Ripley and the squad of Knights coming up level with them. She turned to eye the Commander again. Something was wrong. The worry she had correctly identified was much more plain. He eyed them, each and everyone. He pulled another cigarette out and lit it, taking a few drags.

“So, good news,” he said between drags. “The police have officially asked us to step in and oversee the situation.” There was murmur of approval amongst the gathered Knights behind Zosime. She looked over to Rose to see that the girl definitely had a weight lifted off her shoulders. A look at Captain Ripley told her all she need however. No smile. So sign of relief. From what she understood, Ripley and Peterson were very old friends. Both knew the other the best. She turned her eyes again to the Knight-Commander. Waiting.

“And the bad news?” Ripley stole the question from her mouth. There was another pause as the Knight-Commander stared each of them down.

“The situation is much more complicated than we thought. It’s not just Pricefield being stuck in there. It’s also the hostage taker. She’s one of our own. Knight-Captain Helen MacDonald.” The murmurs turned to gasps of surprise. She thought she heard a few Knights utter exclamations of ‘no way,’ or ‘that’s not possible.’ She herself spoke up.

“What do we do now?”

“We wait,” the Knight-Commander said. “Plan an entrance that doesn’t get anyone killed, and we do our best to make sure Helen is taken down non-lethally. If it can’t be avoided however, you all know what to do.”

“Ummm sir, you might want to look behind you.” Zosime herself looked past the Commander as the Knight spoke. And her heart soared. Walking down the steps of the church were a whole line of people. The hostages. Cole at their head.

Rose was the first to run. Zosime and the Knight-Commander followed suit swiftly after. Both reached Cole just seconds after Rose, who was fussing over him. Cole shook her off and saluted the Knight-Commander.

“As you were Cole,” Evan said. “What the hell happened that all of you were let go?”

“Where’s Angel?” Zosime looked at Rose as she spoke. She smirked a little at the subtle sign of a blush. But when her eyes fell on Cole the smirk disappeared from her face. He looked quite anxious at the question.

“We may have a problem,” he said.

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Angel did not consider herself to be a very spiritual person. Her adoptive parents had been Catholic, but they had never really pushed their faith on Angel. Angel had tried to seriously follow Catholicism early in her teen years, but had not really found much solidarity in it. Still, she went to Sunday Mass for her mother’s sake. And even after leaving home she still went every so often, usually holidays. There was actually a comfort she only found in the Church. Someplace where she could think to herself in peace. Somewhere she could be safe.

Safety that had been shattered, by the sound of a gun. The sound of screams. And ushering into the front pews. Now she was a victim. Again. She sighed as she watched madwoman with a gun pace back and forth. She was on the phone with the police. Speaking quite loudly.

“...no you don’t understand! I will only speak to Knight-Commander Evan Peterson. Get him there and get him on the line, now!” She had a fairly thick Scottish accent, and judging from the gray and blue camo jacket she was some kind of military.

“You should just surrender now my dear,” The priest spoke up from the pew in front of Angel. “To the police and to God. There is still time for forgiveness now.”

“There’s no forgiveness for me Father.” The woman said, setting down on the steps of the altar. Angel watched her carefully, keeping an eye out for her to make a move. She wasn’t sure if she could handle the poor priest being hurt. Father Calderon was a kind, gentle man, critical of his Church’s faults and open to people it normally cast out. He was also a very skilled chess player and would often invite Angel to play with him on the infrequent occasions she did visit.

“Why Peterson?” This new voice came from Angel’s right, and she turned to see her roommate and friend Cole Pricefield speaking up.

“He’s the only one that knows what I’ve done, the only one that’ll listen.” She said, standing up and crossing over to Cole and Angel’s pew. She could see the woman’s facial features much better now, particularly the green of her eyes. She could also see a name printed on the right breast of the jacket. McDonald. Right below the name was a familiar sigil. A silhouette of an angel with two crossed daggers behind it. The woman was a Silver Knight.

McDonald eyed Cole, looking him up and down. As he was wearing the exact same jacket she knew what he was. The franticness and panic in her eyes was gone, briefly, replaced by some sort of admiration or mutual respect.

“I’m sorry you had to get caught up in this Brother.”

“Don’t be,” Cole said. Angel watched as he looked away from McDonald and towards the altar again. “Bad things just seem to fall in my way lately. If anything I’m sorry that something drove you to do this.” McDonald seemed shamed by his words for a moment. But she shook it off and turned away. Rose looked down to watch Cole again. She knew the look in his eyes. Silently, she closed her own and focused in word. Drawing on the energies of the void around her. When she opened her eyes again, the world was still the same. Yet, different. More color, more energy. What she was seeing was the emotions of everyone in the room, all represented by a vibrant aura around them. Most people in the room were a quivering light blue. A sign of fear or anxiety. Except for three. The priest, who was a flowing gray. Calm, serene. Another man, near the priest shared the same aura.

Then there was Cole, who was a bright static red. Which confirmed Angel’s fears. He was deliberately planning to rush the woman. Possibly get himself hurt. Angel looked down to her own aura. Light blue, quivering faster that most others. She could feel her heart pounding out of its chest. God, this was all her fault wasn’t it? She had come out to the church late, giving Cole cause to come and get her. She was the reason he was here when McDonald had come into the room and shuffled them together. It would be her fault if he got himself hurt, doing something to protect her and everyone else.

Not again. She wouldn’t just sit here and let him get hurt again. But what could she do? Besides the empathy her own skill at magic was a little sub par. She had her focus, yes, but she couldn’t manipulate fire without a source, her skill at water manipulation was non existent, and trying to move one of the pews to attack McDonald would be too obvious.

“God dammit,” she thought, “out of all the natural Talents I get stuck with empathy. What good is seeing and manip-”

She interrupted her own thought process. And felt like slapping herself in the face. There was something she could do. Silently, she focused a little more. On Helen. She let the aura vision fade and instead focused on the emotions themselves. She almost felt like weeping. The woman had been through a lot. She felt pain, she felt sorrow.

Guilt. Guilt was at the forefront. She could work with that.

“H-hey!” She called out opening her eyes. She could see Cole looking at her in her peripherals. God she hoped he wouldn’t get too mad at what she was about to do. McDonald finally turned around to face her. Her eyes raised, gun lowered. Angel took a deep breath and steeled herself.

“Look, I know y-you don’t want to hurt a-anyone.” Angel did her best to control her stuttering. Difficult. But she steeled herself and continued on. “But all these people, it’s just an accident waiting to happen. Some idiot who wants to be a hero will do something stupid.” Even though her eyes fell on Cole, she really wanted to look into a mirror.

“I assume you have a suggestion then,” McDonald said. Her stance seemed to loosen up a bit. Good. She was getting somewhere.

“Let all these people go, keep one hostage.” She took a deep breath. “Me.”

Cole exploded, predictably. He was sputtering all kinds of obscenities and words for a minute before finally getting his composure. As for McDonald, she merely looked more confused.

“She has no idea what she’s talking about,” Cole finally managed to spit out. “I’m more of a use to you than some little Fae girl.”

“You’re in South Quiet Mountain,” Angel interjected, “specifically in the Fairy Garden. If the police let a little Fae girl get hurt, they would never hear the end of it.” God why was she still doing this. Cole was right. He would just be as good as a hostage.

No. She would not let a friend get hurt again.

McDonald considered her words carefully, before ushering to everyone with the gun.

“She’s right. You all can go.” Her eyes fell on Cole, and she let the gun fall on Angel. “That means you as well Brother-Knight.” Angel watched Cole. She knew he was considering his options. Gently she laid a hand on his arm. Looked him in the eye and nodded as he turned to face her. Finally, he sighed and got up. One by one the others followed him. The priest stopped to give her the signs of the cross as he passed. The last was the other stranger with the serene aura. Black coat, dark hair. Piercing blue gaze. The last Angel thought looked familiar. But as he walked away Angel’s mind returned back to McDonald. Now she was in this mess, she needed to talk her way out of.

She decided the guilt was still the best bet. So she stood up with her hands up. McDonald raised the gun up again. Angel could feel the panic come up again.

“Sorry if I st-startled you,” she said. The sight of McDonald’s stance loosening up again gave her more confidence. “I just wanted to pray at the altar. Do you mind?” McDonald kept the gun up for another minute. Finally, she nodded, and lowered the gun. Angel mouthed a thank you and stepped out. She made the sign as she approached. Then knelt and silently prayed. And contemplated how exactly she was going to get out. Choosing what she would say carefully. Any wrong word could get her into more trouble.

“How did you become a knight, if you don’t mind me asking?” She didn’t look back to McDonald, just kept her eyes forward on the altar.

“Why do you want to know?” Angel almost swore out loud. She wasn’t sure what to follow up with. Quickly, her mind raced, trying to piece together the right words to say.

“I’m just curious,” she finally settled on. A pitiful choice, she thought. So she quickly made up another follow up. “I know my friend back there joined because of his family. Another friend of ours for the same reason. I was wondering if all Knights were like that.”

“Not at all.” McDonald said. Good, she was getting somewhere. “Some join because they think they’ll make more of a difference than they would in the military. In my case, I actually wanted to join the Royal Marines. But until last year women weren’t permitted. Even if they were mages. So I decided to join the Knights instead.” Angel allowed a smile to come to her face. Good. She was getting somewhere.

“I take it you must’ve known Knight-Commander Peterson then. Your superior?”

“Ha, he wishes he was always my superior. Truth be told he was in the same training unit.” Angel looked back from the altar in confusion. From what she knew, Evan Peterson was American. McDonald seemed to recognize the expression on her face, and quickly clarified.

“His dad was on the Silver Council; Archmage for ten years. God rest his soul. Anyway, he requested Evan be put on the London training block. Evan didn’t like it at first, wanted to be here in Quiet Mountain I guess. Meeting me and the Grandmaster’s son put his spirits right though. We were thick as thieves all through training, and after.” Angel’s smile grew wider as she continued to pretend to pray. She could feel the levity and pride rising in McDonald. She decided to risk a potential bad topic.

“Did you see any combat?” Guilt flaring up again. With sorrow. McDonald left the question unanswered for a while. The pregnant silence between them was all Angel needed to know. Perhaps she had overplayed her hand.

“W-We did,” McDonald said. “Iraq. Evan and I did some stupid heroic bullshit, and we ended up being the first pair of Knight-Corporals promoted straight past Lieutenant to Captain. After that, it got a little screwy. Will, the Grandmaster’s son, started working towards Knight-Commander-hood before Evan. Speaking of the devil, he decided to accept a position in Japan. Said he always wanted to see it. Was only supposed to be a few months, but he fell in love and decided to stay there.”

“And you?” Another pregnant silence. The guilt growing larger than before.

“I...stayed in London, and worked on hand selecting my own little squad for any future engagements. Then the September attacks happened. And we ended up being approved for duty in Afghanistan. And then…” She stopped. Angel looked back towards her. Focusing, she turned the aura back on. Dark blue mixed with hints of green and yellow. Guilt and sorrow as she had sensed. But worse than she had been guessing at.

“...what happened in Af-” Angel trailed off, as she noticed something else. A bit of gray, coming from behind McDonald. Breathing deep she turned the aura off.

Creeping behind McDonald, was the Man in Black. The one that had saved her a week ago. The one that had killed everybody. She gasped. Unfortunately, McDonald seemed to notice this reaction and glanced behind her. What happened next, happened fast. McDonald yelled and threw a fireball or something at the man. Then she rushed up the altar and grabbed Angel. She yelped as McDonald whirled around her and wrapped her one arm around her neck. And whimpered as she felt the gun being pressed against her back.

The Man in Black didn’t seem deterred by the fireball. He had thrown up an arm to block it and shook the resulting flames away. The sleeve of his jacket didn’t seem the worse for wear. In the next instant he pulled one of his guns from inside his jacket and pointed it right at Angel and McDonald. A tense silence passed. Angel did her best to read the emotions. Panic had overtaken McDonald. But she felt nothing from the Man in Black. In fact it almost seemed like he was some kind of void in her senses.

“This doesn’t have to end bad Captain.” The Man in Black’s voice wasn’t like before. No modulator that made him sound like some kind of demon. No it was a normal voice, with some kind of English accent. Gentle, but very flat. It almost soothed her anxiety. Almost.

“I agree,” McDonald said, “put the gun down and then I won’t have to hurt this poor girl.” Angel looked at the man. Begging him with her eyes for him to stand down. But he just stood his ground.

“We both know you’re not going to hurt her.” Angel just sat there, silent as the man talked, praying that he wasn’t going to take too many chances with her life. Or ability to walk judging from where McDonald was putting the gun.

“I could say the same about you asshole,” McDonald spat back. “You’re not going to shoot through her.”

“I won’t have to.” Angel still couldn’t get a read on him. But the lack of change implied very heavily that he wasn’t lying. And since she knew this man had no qualms about killing, she knew she had to formulate a way to make sure MacDonald made out alive. So she did the only thing she could. She decided to start talking again.

“You were telling me about Afghanistan,” she managed to get out. Despite McDonald’s chokehold on her. “What happened in Afghanistan?” McDonald’s grip tightened.

“Why would you ask me this now.” Angel’s mind raced as she searched for options. There really only was one. The truth.

“I’m an empath McDonald,” she said, “I may not be much of a mage overall but I’ve always been good at reading emotions. Too good. Sometimes they creep in.” No need to tell the whole truth she decided. That she had been deliberately searching through McDonald’sfeeling.

“I could feel guilt pouring out of you,” she continued, “as we got closer to Afghanistan. What happened in Afghanistan?”

“It doesn’t matter!” McDonald shouted. Angel felt a spike of anger with it. And the gun came up and was drilled into her head. “You’re gonna stop asking. And you, you’re gonna put the gun down, or I’m gonna blow this fucking fairy’s head off. Do you want her death on your conscience?”

“You couldn’t fathom the amount of death on my conscience.” Again, Angel felt no hint of a lie. Whatever this man was implying, he definitely believed it. “And I stand by what I said before. You’re not going to shoot her. Now, maybe you should do what the girl says, and tell her what happened to you.”

“Oh, so suddenly you care now?”

“Not really, but the girl seems to think she’s onto something. If I’ve learned anything in the very long time I’ve been alive; it’s that you always trust an empath’s feelings.” Angel blushed, but took her cue.

“Please, just tell me. Is Afghanistan why you’re doing this. Is that why you want to talk to Peterson?” There was yet another pause. The three of them stood there. Angel felt a few tears come to her eyes as the gun stayed pressed to her temple. And then, it loosened. She sighed a breath of relief as the gun fell. She did not feel it pressed against any other part of her body.

“I, I lost everyone.” McDonald said. Her voice was shaking. “We were on a routine patrol, an IED blew. By the time the gunfire stopped I was captured and the rest of my squad was dead. The capture didn’t last long, the enemy transport was hit by American forces and I was rescued. They declared me too hurt to continue and sent me home.”

“I’m sorry,” Angel said. The tears were flowing more. The guilt was back, and sorrow was there. Sorrow that she felt firsthand, as McDonald felt it. “I can’t imagine.”

“I can.” Angel shot the Man a dirty look. He only shrugged, keeping the gun up. Sighing, she returned her attention to McDonald.

“Why do this now. Why take hostages, why put on this show to see Commander Peterson?”

“It should be obvious,” the man said, “she wants to die. Except not really” Angel searched through McDonald’s feelings further. She dug deep and she dug far. And there, she found it. A sorrow so great, right at the woman’s core. It actually made Angel wish she would put the gun back to her head. But despite this, she also felt something else. Hope. Angel became aware of a sniffling sound behind her. Then McDonald’s grip loosened, and Angel found herself able to squirm away. She positioned herself between the Man and McDonald, and turned around.

By the time she did, McDonald had already fallen to floor, the gun laying right next to her. Angel knelt down and put a hand on her shoulder. Doing her best, she shared the load of the woman’s pain as best she could. Her own tears returned, falling gently to the rhythm of McDonald’s own.

“They sent me back. To recover. I’ve been seeing the same therapist since I got back in twenty-oh-nine.” Angel listened as McDonald recounted her story, trying her best to use the woman’s emotion to understand the memories. The pain attached to them.

“But it didn’t help,” McDonald said. “Every time I’ve fallen asleep for the past eight years I’ve seen the face of each man and woman that died under my command. And this entire time I’ve known I should’ve died with them. I decided to do one thing. See Evan. But since I’ve been to this city, he’s been too busy. Something about killers.” Angel turned to shoot the Man in Black another dirty look. Another shrug. She gritted her teeth a little bit, trying to decide if she should say something, but decided against it. Instead she returned her attention to McDonald and her story.

“I wanted Evan to let me back into active duty. I knew he was a Commander now, despite the struggles he’s had over the years. I knew he understood loss. I wanted him to do something about it. And when he couldn’t see me, I lost it. I’ve wanted to end it all, but I knew returning to service might give me a chance. I knew he was building a team. And if worst came to worst, I’d commit suicide by cop.” Angel grimaced, as she spoke.

“With all due respect Captain,” The man said from behind her. “This is a load of bullshit, and reads like some sappy story that the author simply ran out of time for and needed to wrap everything up in a bow.” Angel wasn’t sure if she should try to slap him or not. He needed to be more respectful.

“You’re right.” McDonald said, wiping a few tears away. “Truth be told, even if Evan let me back into active duty who knows if I’d feel better. My therapist always said I just wanted to get back at it so I could die. Paranoid, traumatized me thought he was calling me a coward for not just putting a gun to my head. Which maybe you are.”

“You’re not,” Angel had started to say these exact words. But the Man in Black had stolen them from her lips. “Believe me. True cowards take that way out. You’re still alive.” McDonald didn’t respond again. Just sat there, nodding. Angel turned to see the Man putting the pistol back into his coat. Then he turned to start walking towards the Church’s side exit to the garden.

“Hey,” she called out, sort of screaming on the inside that she was an idiot. “Thank you.”

The man stopped in his tracks, and turned to face her. From here she could see the eyes under his hood. Piercing blue. One and two came together, and Angel smiled.

“I didn’t take you for a church goer,” she joked. Truthfully, she found the idea of a dangerous killer going to church quite hilarious.

“Some habits never die. Catholic guilt for one,” the Man said, lowering both hood and mask. As Angel expected. The same stranger with the serene aura that had sat next to the priest. Obviously he knew she knew. “You shouldn’t be thanking me by the way.” She gave him a quizzical look as he spoke. Unsure of what he meant. “I mean, you did whatever it is you empath’s do. Made her open up.”

“I didn’t manipulate her,” Angel said, “I’m too afraid to try doing that. I just read what she was feeling and tried to get her to open up.” It felt weird, talking about McDonald while she was just sitting behind at the altar.

“Well, If I’m being honest, you’re talking skills need work. If anything you’re just lucky she seemed open to it. Still you did good. I hear the Knight branch here needs a negotiator. Maybe you should have a go at it.”

“Seems odd that a killer would know about Knight business. Also odd that he would go along with a talk them down plan rather than just shooting them.” The man chuckled at that. Angel, still reading surface emotions, thought she felt the flicker of levity rise above the serenity. Only for a moment though.

“Look, whatever conceptions you have about me, they’re wrong. I don’t kill innocent people. The Knight-Captain here, she’s just a woman in pain.” His eyes broke from Angel’s for a moment, and he seemed to stare off into the distance. As if he was remembering something. Angel tried to reach deep to see what she could feel. But nothing. Simply serenity.

“I know what that’s like. So she gets a pass. A chance at redemption.” A banging sound came from the foyer. The Man looked back.

“Sorry to cut this short, but I’m sure the police are about as happy with me as they are with the Captain here.” With that he went to go again. Angel jumped down after him.

“Wait,” the man sighed(quite audibly) and turned around again. Angel flinched at the gaze he gave her. Some sort of bastard mix between annoyed and angered.

“I don’t suppose I could get your name.” The gaze was swiftly dropped in favor of a little half smile. He raised the hood again. The mask followed. Stepping backwards, he uttered two words.

“Alan Troy.”

“Freeze!” Angel turned to see three figures approaching. Two she recognized. Cole and Rose. The sound of door being forced open made her jump and she turned back to just catch a glimpse of ‘Alan Troy’ disappearing into the garden. Cole ran past her with the Knight she didn’t recognize. While Rose just stayed and wrapped an arm around her shoulder.

“Are you okay, he didn’t hurt you did he?” Angel barely heard the question. She just smiled and nodded at Rose. Rose nodded back and ran after her friends. Angel turned back around to see more Knights flooding in. One in a more elaborate outfit was kneeling in front of McDonald. Sighing, she sat down in the nearby pew, letting go of her empathy. She nearly shook off another Knight who came to ask if she was fine. Another thought had her call him back.

“Hey, how did you join the Knights?”