Halfway through the second month of the spring season, Mildred requested to join Sheeva on at least one of her outings. Sheeva agreed with the negotiation that it would be on a day of her choosing, unwilling for the paths of the children she fostered and the family that boarded her to cross. It would be one less point of contact for Llyud to use to manipulate her into something. Hopefully.

As they moseyed around in the red-brick and cobblestone-mosaic plaza after purchasing what they needed for dinner in the evening from Camilla’s produce stand, Sheeva paused at the space where the amputee usually sat and painted, fidgeting with the coin she wanted to flick into the man’s hat from afar. She found it made her cheerful to donate to him, and if Mildred were to ask why, Sheeva told herself she would fib as well as she could, unwilling to share her secret. Perhaps she’d just seen “a flock of pretty birds” or an “adorable cat,” she deigned as her excuse.

However, the hardworking man was not sitting here today, yet all his supplies and creations were. A large canvas depicting a lustrous, panoramic view of Roussell’s hillsides with a couple miniature paintings, one of a fountain and the other of a gothic church framing the lower corners were propped against a crate of blank canvases. Sheeva looked around some more, spotted a sign, and stooped down to read it.

Back in a minute, it read, though he usually took care to pack up most of his belongings before taking off, even if it was just to hop on over to try to woo Camilla. Eyeing the display, Camilla was there helping a customer, but the one-legged man was nowhere nearby.

Her worry grew when she found the overturned pot of water he used to wash off his brushes, the puddle soaking and ruining a canvas that had been used to portray a lovely mountainside view. Sheeva quickly picked it up and shook it gently to preserve the rest of the masterpiece, set it aside, then stooped to pick up the oakwood handled, Sleipnir tail-hair brushes scattered on the ground. It appeared he left in a hurry and knocked over his things...or was dragged off and kicked them in a fury.

She jerked her head around as she scoured the plaza for a group of guards carrying off a one-legged, screaming man. She could not imagine Brom had done anything wrong aside from accidentally losing his balance and clambering into another shopper, and even then, most would help him stand fast, smile, and pat him on the back to send him on his merry way.

“You’re breathing fast. Something the matter?” Mildred asked.

Sheeva jumped briefly, having forgotten Mildred was there. Sheeva reached so Mildred could resume holding on to her arm.

“Y-yes. Someone isn’t here that normally would be.” Sheeva answered, looking towards the other stands, hoping he was somewhere else in the plaza.

“Perhaps they are just away on a break for the moment, or it is their day off,” Mildred suggested. It did not work, and Sheeva’s state remained the same.

As Mildred heard a wooden thunk coupled with a regular step approaching somewhere from the right, she brought it to Sheeva’s attention, and a mass of relief quickly replaced Sheeva’s panicked state. A wave of cheer followed, and Mildred smiled.

“You’re here, Miss!” The man’s voice called out, ecstatic.

“Brom.” Sheeva sighed, feeling the drop of her shoulders and lax of tense muscles in her back. “I thought something had happened to you,” Sheeva admitted, feeling foolish for her worry. “But, it is nice to see you walking. Good.”

“It’s thanks to you! You donated the most, you know! Couple that with my earnings, and I had enough to pay for my leg!” He barked, lifting his pant leg to show off the sleek, false limb. Sheeva dropped Mildred’s grasp and crouched to examine it.

She did not understand how the machinations worked, but it appeared that a set of rods and tightly-wound springs helped to keep the leg straight, and as he squatted, the knee bent as a real one would. A metal screw held the upper and lower leg pieces together, secured with a wooden washer and bolt. The curvature to mimic a calf was impressive, and the foot piece even had toes. And, tucked on the ankle-piece was the signature she had come to recognize as Tazaro’s from her visits over the last month.

At first, she would only visit to bring him food at his mother’s behest, but as she witnessed the gradual progression of the Stargazer and his warm, cheery state as she showed up on the hatch, her visits became more frequent, but “only” to listen to the music sounding from the manual record-player amid the sounds of tinks, plinks, and the occasional, frustrated “you lump of fuck!” Tazaro would swear when something didn’t cooperate with him that always caused her to giggle.

“My next big purchase will be a brand new pair of shoes!” Brom beamed proudly, a grin on his face. “I think a green pair of boots will do nicely! Or maybe, I’ll mix-n’-match ‘em! Aha!” He added with a booming, gleeful laugh.

“So this is where you go every morning, Sh–

–Ah, yes, well-I, I needed information.” Sheeva cut Mildred off. She had not given her name to the people she didn’t deem necessary, outside of Mildred’s home and the military barracks in the southeastern part of town.

Sheeva crossed her arms and stepped away from Mildred a couple steps, trying to collect herself before allowing Mildred to retake her arm. Using the time to allow herself to feel whatever it was without shutting herself down or dismissing her rare moments of peace or joy left her mentally exhausted. Still, it was getting easier to do as the weeks went by, and the reward far outweighed the work, finding a closeness to the others that she hadn’t felt since leaving home.

“I have something for you, Miss. A token of gratitude. Custom-made small so you can carry it.” Brom insisted with a chuckle, forcing something into her hands wrapped in cloth. “And you’re holding it now, so you have no choice but to take it! Hah!”

Sheeva felt her eyes widen with bashfulness and looked at it, confused. It fit easily in her hand, about a five-inch-by-five-inch, thin, light mystery item. She figured it was a tiny canvas, not something she’d seen in his stock. Carefully, she unwrapped it, tucking the cloth away for later use should she need it for something.

True enough, it was a painting on a small canvas, and she stared at the oil-painted portrait of herself. Her face held a passive expression, with a slight curl to her thin lips, orange eyes smiling at the viewer. She paused at the sudden realization that everyone that she had met while wearing a disguise would have a different view of what she looked like. Mildly unnerved with her discomfort, she pulled the fabric out of her pocket and wrapped the portrait back up.

“Thank you. I will cherish this.” Sheeva said meekly, relieved that the gift was something she could easily carry with her. She tucked it under her arm, trying her best to hide the pleased-with-herself grin threatening her stoic face. Brom beamed at her and stooped down to pick up the water-pot he had knocked over in his hasty departure, having to brace himself with a hand on his stool. He was not used to specific actions yet, and it would likely be a while until he was.

Satisfied that she was calm enough, Sheeva stepped toward Mildred, took her hand, and wrapped it around her arm.

Mildred tilted her head curiously at Sheeva’s emotional state, as there was a battery of feelings exuding that left Mildred dizzy as she saw swirls of fuzzy white, light red, blue, and green. Respectively, fading panic, some embarrassment, mild confusion, and overwhelming joy, and considering the palette was primarily red and green, Mildred understood that Sheeva had likely meant to keep her generosity a secret.

“Out of the goodness of your heart, you helped that man?” Mildred questioned as they walked away towards the center of the plaza. More red swooped over the palette, and Mildred nodded to herself, her previous assumptions confirmed. Sheeva stopped and sighed.

“I help those who help themselves. Or otherwise cannot, for lack of knowledge and teachings. Their gratification is...” She felt her eyes lift in cheer. “Pleasant.” She answered, looking around for the children. After more trial-and-errors, they learned that she could track whether or not any of the people who’s components she had sealed into the spellwork had left the house through a tingle she felt in her arm. Since she had planned to bring Mildred to the plaza today, she wondered if the children had followed her instructions to stay away, still unwilling for their paths to cross.

While she and Mildred meandered their way back to the Chorea’s home, Sheeva’s eyes continued to scan the streets in search of anyone resembling Llyud, confident that Tazaro was still in the workshop since she hadn’t felt a tingle in her arm from the blue Morning Glory since earlier in the day.

“Thank you, Sheeva, for joining me today,” Mildred smiled. Sheeva huffed in amusement at the woman’s sense of humor, and opened the gate as they stepped towards the front of the house. The garden in the front yard was doing quite well, the rogue tomatoes in their plot cooing like babes as they slept in the warm, midday sun.

“I do believe you were joining me, Mildred. But, you are welcome,” Sheeva answered.

“Would you stay for coffee?” She asked, seeming eager for company. Sheeva looked over her shoulder at the setting sun. She hadn’t meant to spend all day at the plaza or the bookstore, and wanted to make up for the loss of time.

“Ah, well…” She faltered, thinking of an excuse.

“How about dinner? I’m making Zuppa Toscana, again,” Mildred offered.

The smile cracked on Sheeva’s face, and her stomach growled, ever ready for the meal that she later admitted to Tazaro was “delicious-as-fuck.” It seemed to surprise him so much, the flabbergasted, impressed look on his face was well worth it.

“Hm,” She chuckled. “You certainly drive a hard-bargain,” Sheeva smiled, shrugging off Abraxas to sling it on the coat rack by the shoes.

As she assisted in cooking the meal, Sheeva took note of every ingredient they prepared, wanting to teach the same recipe to Joseph, Arc, or Sophia, who all had seemed to take well to cooking or baking, and had found a recent joy in the art.

“May I ask you about your heritage? I’m still curious as to which god or goddess has blessed you.” Mildred asked, washing the dark-green, vibrant kale off in the sink before handing it to Sheeva to chop, as a final, last-minute addition to the stew once the potatoes were cooked.

After having read up on the twelve gods, Sheeva began to understand more and more that, if any of them had “blessed” her, it had been Abraxas, the god of magic and chaos. Naming her sword after the god had purely been coincidence, considering it was a name she had heard before arriving to the temple, and had associated it with the man that carried her there like a sack of potatoes.

“There is nothing to–

–As I said before, Sheeva, I am not frightened. I am simply curious.” Mildred insisted. She smiled reassuringly, her light marigold eyes lifting with cheer. Her short, grey-streaked, auburn hair waved around her face, and the wrinkles around her eyes curled. “I may not understand the depth of hatred you have for one, or perhaps both, but I know what I see, dearie.”

Two weeks ago, Sheeva would have sternly reminded Mildred to not call her “dearie,” but today, she was too tired to fight, kept awake over the last couple of nights by nightmares. These were nothing new; like allergies with the turn of the season, Sheeva was plagued by reminders of Rose’s death, given that the fateful day was coming up soon. She couldn’t even consider celebrating her birthday, unsure what she might even do.

“My biological mother is Cruinian. I was born in the capital, Torde, on the coast in the northeast,” Sheeva explained. “When I was five, she–

Her hands shook and became clammy, feeling a sadness on behalf of her deceased siblings. She set the knife down on the cutting board and stepped away from the counter.

–she drowned my sister in our bathtub, stabbed my brother to death, and attempted to choke me to death. I…I took the knife she killed him with and drove it into her arm. It seemed to bring her to her senses, and she then abandoned me to an orphanage, where I stayed for three months before…” she squinted in thought as she fought to recall the man’s face. She couldn’t remember much, only that he was tall, thin, and had a long name: Arsenic-something, though she understood it was just a young child’s brain trying to fill in the gaps of what it didn’t know. “Someone rescued me from all that, and brought me to Vivroa, then to the steps of Malfa Temple.”

“Oh!” Mildred gasped, causing Sheeva to shirk back, unsure of how to take the sympathetic response–she didn’t generally go about telling people of this dark side of her past. “Oh, you dear, sweet child!” Mildred insisted, pulling her into a hug that made Sheeva freeze.

“How can a woman–a mother–do that to her own children? I can’t–I couldn’t even fathom doing that to my darling Amara as an act of mercy when she was terminally ill!” She stated, tears in her eyes.

Sheeva struggled to get some distance.

“Mildred, please, don’t,” Sheeva insisted, though her voice was a mere whisper, caught in the tightness of her vocal chords as they ached with sorrow. “It’s–that’s enough. I’m-I am…it was almost twenty years ago. Besides, I…I am…more than that, at least. Rose taught me–showed me so. She believed in me when I couldn’t do it for myself.”

“That’s how a mother should behave towards her children. I believe Rose loved you, dearie.”

Sheeva frowned.

Yes. She told me so. It was the last thing she ever said to me before she died, and I yelled at her for it, like a damn brat. Sheeva thought, crossing her arms and leaning against the counter.

“Would you tell me about Amara? I…thought it rude to ask before.”

Mildred sighed, and Sheeva felt bad for broaching the subject as the sad expression spanned the normally cheerful woman’s face.

“Alright. Amara was my ex-husband and I’s firstborn daughter. She was a lovely child, always playful. I’m told she looked like me and that Tazaro looks more like his father.” She smiled briefly before the smile faded. “When she was seven and Tazaro was five, they became ill with a violent flu, and it wasn’t just our children who got sick, either. This flu swept across the country like a plague. It was originally ‘Wellington’s Flu,’ but after so many deaths, they called it–well, unfortunate, but they called it the ‘Red Paralysis,’--because of the reddish skin one gets with the fever associated, and after a while of being untreated…or if you can’t get enough medicine, eventual full-body paralysis follows. When you whole body becomes paralyzed, you cannot…”

Sheeva sighed, familiar with the fear of being shocked to suffocation.

“You cannot breathe, and you suffocate. I’m sorry. That’s…that must have been horrifying.”

“My ex-husband tried so hard to make it work. Long hours at work. Selling every possession he could spare for change. But, because so many children fell ill so quickly, there wasn’t enough to go around. We finally managed to get our hands on some, and with so long a wait for the next delivery from Raynak, we had no choice but to split it between the two. Tazaro was lucky; he only needed a couple of doses, but Amara was older, and bigger. She needed more than we had. By the time we were able to get the next delivery in from Raynak…she had already reached a point of no return. Eventually, her liver shut down, followed by her kidneys, and her body could no longer sustain itself. Giving her death was the hardest decision we ever had to make, Luka and I.” Mildred explained, clasping her hands together and letting them hang.

“When my time comes, I do hope I’ll get to see my dear, sweet Amara playing on Fidelia’s Beach. It would be nice to see her running around with such energy!” She said with a smile. Sheeva briefly wondered what she was referring to, then remembered a snippet from the book Tazaro recommended to her.

Fidelia’s Beach was, supposedly, the place where departed souls traveled after death to be judged by Fidelia’s scales, and would either be accepted or rejected depending on…whatever the scales weighed against.

Though she herself didn’t believe in such a thing, the idea that she might get to see Rose at the end of her days was a comforting thought.

The timer on the countertop, fashioned in the likeness of an egg, interrupted their gloomy conversation, and Sheeva poked at the potatoes with a fork. They were not yet done as she tsked and reset the timer for ten more minutes.

“You were going to tell me about your father now, weren’t you?” Mildred asked.

Sheeva held back her sigh, somewhat hoping she could have gotten away from it, though she should have known by now that she had a glacier-in-a-volcano’s chance of escaping any conversation with Mildred.

“Tell me, Mildred: What do you know of the legend of Ta’hal?”

Mildred blinked, confused about the sudden question.

“They’re...celestial beings created by the god Abraxas in his attempt to overthrow the throne, aren’t they?”

Sheeva nodded.

“Yes. That’s about all that I’ve heard, as well. They were created by Abraxas, but they were also a way to pervert the other god’s creations: us. Sferrans. They further propagate by making deals, and those said to have made deals amassed great power before meeting their demise.”

Mildred nodded.

“That’s right; yes…but, do they truly exist? No one has seen one for–well, hundreds of years, now.”

Sheeva couldn’t agree with that, given the circumstances.

“They exist. My father is one of them–or at least, as my birth-mother would tell me–and disappeared shortly after I was born, with no notice. Given what he is, I believe now that he was captured, but…she always made sure I knew what I was, and personally held me accountable for his disappearance.”

“If...if I didn’t know better, I’d suggest she was figurative, but with the way you appear to me, I believe she was telling the truth. I, I almost didn’t believe they were real.” Mildred whispered in disbelief.

“Your gods exist, do they not?” Sheeva asked, feeling somewhat irritated, though she understood she was simply on edge, uncomfortable with the immediate future.

A silence fell over the two, and Sheeva busied her maddening thoughts in contemplation. She wondered if, now that Mildred really knew what Sheeva was, if that was new grounds for her to be kicked out. She sat back and sighed, recalling how the family she had stayed with roughly four years ago had acted similarly.

In Sheeva’s defense, it had only been after she had bared her wings, never mind the fact it was to save their child from falling out of a tree and to their death. Still, as many times as she recounted it, she could not imagine letting herself allow the curious child to die.

“Where do you stand, now that you know?” Sheeva asked, ready to hear Mildred’s dismissal.

“Well, I’ll be right here, Sheeva Jules. And I hope you would, too.” Mildred answered. Sheeva jerked herself straight and turned to face Mildred, eyes wide with shock.

“I’m serious, dearie! Do you think I care how you were born? Or even what you look like? I’m blind! You could have horns and wings and a tail for all I know! Besides, after everything that you’ve done for us–and apparently, random strangers–I am happy to associate myself with you,” She insisted, reaching for Sheeva’s hands, which Sheeva allowed the woman to take, stunned.

With this admittance, Mildred’s head spun as a slur of emotions hit her, as though she were looking through a kaleidoscope with all the colors of the rainbow and spinning the turn cap at rapid speed.

Mildred coddled Sheeva as she heard weeping and felt tears wet her hands.

It had been a long while since Sheeva had wept this way–bitterly, blissfully, and dreadfully–but all the while, Mildred did not shy away nor push Sheeva away, and instead, clutched the distraught woman to her chest and whispered soothing murmurs as she smoothed out Sheeva's hair.

“But if you are determined to leave, dearie, at least stay for dinner,” She chuckled.

“Feh!” Sheeva barked as a complimentary laugh at Mildred’s commentary.

“This must be where Tazaro got that smart-mouth of his." Sheeva admitted with a gentle laugh and humbled smile. The sincere statement drew out a flattered chuckle from Mildred, who pulled Sheeva close for a light peck on the forehead. Or at least, what she must have thought was Sheeva's forehead, ending up almost kissing her nose instead if Sheeva hadn't turned her head last minute.

"Feel better, dearie?" Mildred asked.

"Yes, ma'am." Sheeva sighed.

Interrupted by the timer again, Sheeva hurried to it and shut it off, then looked at the soup in the pot. Figuring that the potatoes were done by now, she grabbed the colander of chopped kale and poured the stuff in, stirring all the while to distribute the bitter green stuff.

“I’m certain this is done. If you don’t mind, I am going to eat, take a nap, and then head out for a while. I need some time to…recharge,” Sheeva announced softly, the burn and swell of her eyes something she was grateful Mildred could not see. Mildred tapped the back of Sheeva’s hand and nodded.

“Yes, you should. Go do that. Take all the time you wish. When you're out and about, why don't you visit Tazaro? Take some of that soup with you.” Mildred suggested with a smile.

After helping Mildred and herself to a portion and placing the leftovers in the refrigerator, Sheeva ate her soup while she headed for the room she stayed in. With the door firmly locked, she opened the window and poked her head out to allow the fresh air to cool her heated face, then sat down at the desk to finish the rest of her food.

Satisfied that all was calm, Sheeva shrugged off her bag and draped Abraxas over the bedpost. She drank deeply from her water pouch before untying her hair from her red ribbon and piling the treasured ribbon on the bedside table. She stripped to her underwear, unraveled her chest bindings, and crawled into the bed.

The sheets were cool against her skin, and as she curled up with her back to the wall, she hugged the pillow she slept with. Her eyes still burned in misery, and she allowed herself to cry more, covering her mouth as well as she could as she began to laugh, highly confused with herself as to what could possibly be so funny. The budding well of thankfulness in her chest grew as she calmed, grateful to have people to confide in.

******

Dusk colored the sky as the sun began to set over the buildings in the east, and Sheeva watched from the rooftop.

She felt a massive tingling in her wrist and watched the green sigil glimmer beneath her long-sleeve shirt, signaling that either the children were entering or leaving the shoddy house. For their safety, she hoped it was the former. She hadn’t felt anything in the blue sigil for the workshop since Rin’s usual departure time, and she checked her pocket watch. Tazaro must have been too occupied with his project and “two hours easily turned into six,” or he had left sometime during her deep sleep. Or, as Mildred often suggested, he'd fallen asleep on a cot stored at the workshop.

The nap she took had not been kind to her, and Sheeva still felt sluggish, even after two cups of tea and some stretching.

Curious to know for sure whether Tazaro was still in the workshop, she plucked clumps of moss from the shingles of the roof and piled them, placed her hand, and formed a bright, yellow bird with black markings. While she had not been able to examine the particular bird closely enough, it was one she had seen often in Roussell’s outdoor arboretum and botanical gardens, something Sheeva frequented when she allowed herself the time. She hoped the bird would not seem so out-of-place.

She tapped it on its little forehead and closed her eyes. When Sheeva opened them, she found she was staring at herself, able to register a distinct hue of color in her hair that she usually would not through her own eyes. She avoided her eyes, but not before noticing black specks dotted amid the red of her beveled-plus irises, the specks being something she could not see otherwise, nor had she cared much to; looking in her own eyes had always been something creepy to her, even without this particular spell.

Ordering the bird to take off, she lay back on the roof as she vicariously watched the people below, smiling to herself when she could see a string of ants trailing around on a discarded piece of bread by the baker’s shop. Thankfully, she did not share the bird’s sense of taste, something she learned through firsthand experience when Sheeva had first begun to play with the particular spell. Still, Sheeva shuddered as she recalled the way she had gagged so hard she vomited when a spider tried to wriggle its way out of the bird’s throat. Cassie had never let her live it down, among many of their other shenanigans.

Serpents were fun to mimic, finding it neat that she could sense things by their heat signature. Targeting things through heat was something that she wanted to work with outside of this particular spell but found it intensely complicated. It was much more difficult than freezing water into ice or evaporating it into steam, and she wondered if it was out of the scope of Sferran’s biological functions.

Dogs, drooly, smelly, and happy as they were, were her third favorite simply because of their heightened sense of smell and, admittedly, their general carefree and explorative nature. She only created dogs when she had the material, safety, and the desire to be unconcerned with reality for a few precious moments.

The workshop’s hatch was open as it usually seemed to be lately, and Sheeva ordered the bird to dive into the attic through it. She immediately picked up the scent of pine, cedar, and termites and hoped she could control the hungry thing well enough to prevent feeling more of the wood-boring things buzzing around in her stomach.

Not surprisingly, Tazaro was entranced with his project, face showing intense focus as he held a screwdriver between his teeth and attempted to secure what looked like a large mirror in place.

She had to admit, she was impressed, considering it was a bare skeleton the last she had seen it. The machine itself had begun to take formidable shape, though as she tried to look at the blueprints, it appeared only half-finished from what she could tell through warbled, wavy lines of the bird’s eyesight.

She swooped up to the makeshift bird’s nest Tazaro had made, still unaware that Sheeva had anything to do with the yellow bird that would come and go as it pleased. When Tazaro swore creatively, Sheeva chuckled to herself, deciding to add the unusual phrase to her growing repertoire.

Tazaro looked up as the bird chirped in a way that mimicked laughter and smiled at it.

“You’re late.” He called out, closing a panel to the machine and sliding underneath it on his scooter board to fidget with something.

“Thought you’d become a cat’s lunch, you little feathery fuck,” Tazaro grumbled endearingly, giving a scoff and a smirk.

Tazaro finished tweaking the piece he was working on and pushed himself back out from underneath it to bask in the last of the sunlight that streamed in from the open hatch as he stared at the ceiling in contemplation of something. A blush formed on his cheeks, and he smiled at his thoughts.

“Don’t suppose you can deliver a message to a, uh, cute girl for me, could you?” He asked with a daydreaming glint in his eye. Sheeva huffed, dismissing the statement; whoever it was, it certainly couldn’t have been her.

“Pfft! What would I even say?” He asked himself, frowning at unspoken answers and slipping back beneath the device. “If you were a cluckatrice, you’d be im-peck-able?” He suggested, laughing at himself. “Actually, that one’s not too bad,” She heard him mutter to himself seconds later.

Satisfied that he was alright and safe, Sheeva ordered the bird to fly back outside, barely hearing Tazaro give a sarcastic "nice talking to you, too, you feathery fuck.” Closing her eyes to dismiss the literal bird’s-eye view, Sheeva waved away the spell.

After watching the eventide glow die into the darkness of a starry, moonless night, she climbed back into the window of Tazaro’s old bedroom. She grabbed her bag and Abraxas, and as she headed for the front door, Mildred called out to her.

“There you are, Sheeva.”

Sheeva stopped, then sighed, wishing to still search in a bar she had missed the first time she’d run through the Eastern Quarters.

“I have some soup heating in a pot for Tazaro; there’s a container on the countertop that was going to put it into. Would you mind taking it to Tazaro for me?” She asked.

Sheeva nodded, having forgotten she had somewhat agreed to do such a thing.

“Ah. Yes, ma’am,” She agreed, figuring that the stop wouldn’t take too long, especially if she were to fly. Obliging the request, she located the container, poured the now hot soup into it, screwed the cap, and stuck it in her bag next to the extra cheese rolls she kept from last night’s dinner with the children, having taught them how to bake the first thing Rose had taught her to bake.

“I will be going, now, Mildred. I should be home late.” Sheeva dismissed herself, heading to the front yard. Instead of heading through the front gate, she snuck around to the back, unleashed her wings, and with a giant, heavy flap, took to the sky and glided above the rooftops on mid-spring thermals towards the workshop.

Conveniently enough, the hatch was left open; Tazaro had not retired to sleep for the evening nor left for the night. She landed on the edge of the roof, then crawled towards the hatch, and froze as her hand pressed down on a button, triggering the ring of a bell from the inside.

******

Tazaro looked up from the last-minute changes to some Stargazer pieces, wiped at his brow, then took a swig of water to quench his parched throat. Thirstier than he thought, he downed it. A gust of wind blew in from the hatch, bringing with it some droplets of rain. He sighed, hoping that the rains would go away soon, but likely, they wouldn’t, not until the scorching airs of summer dried everything up into a hardened crust.

He checked the clock on the wall. It was only ten. Maybe, if he could push through the next five hours, he could make some decent headway on the project by midnight. He had nearly cleaned out Rin’s supply of tea in anticipation of staying up late, but the only thing it’d seemed to do was make his heart race and hands shake.

As he measured the second mirror’s space for the third time, he found he needed to shave it down to fit again. Annoying as that was, at least the part he’d ordered was too big rather than too small.

The bell he’d affixed to the hatch sounded, and he looked up, stomach fluttering with butterflies. She seemed embarrassed to have been caught, red-faced as she swiveled her legs to dangle over the opening before dropping down.

“Welcome back. Told you I’d put a bell up there. I have a door, you know.” He greeted her.

“I should have known you would hold to that,” She answered as she slipped off her backpack, untied Abraxas from around her waist, and set them gently against the rail of the loft.

“At least I had something to warn me this time; I’d be pretty upset if I broke this mirror.” He stated, jotting down the measurement he’d just taken and setting the piece down carefully. “It took forever to get here, and I don’t want to have to order another one and wait.”

“And, uh, I’m glad you stopped by. Mom, Tyler, and I got something for you–for your birthday.” Tazaro stood, brushed himself off, and sauntered to the workbench.

Sheeva blinked, surprised, then fished in her pocket for her journal. Cracking it open to the calendar inside, she found that it was, indeed, her birthday.

“Oh. I completely forgot. I, I didn’t realize the date today. But–you did not need to get me–" Sheeva began, cutting herself short when Tazaro chuckled and began to speak.

–’course we did.” He interrupted. She closed her mouth, her modesty fighting to shine through. The unguarded smile broke on her face as she failed.

Sheeva watched him shuffle some things around on the large counter, muttering to himself about how “messy he was,” and fought a laugh. She stepped closer to look at the jumbled mess. Tools, pencils, and other various items she couldn’t recognize were strewn about.

“How do you find anything?” She asked. He paused, self-conscious.

“I’m not usually this chaotic. I’ve just been so…hyper-fixed on that back there.” He tilted his head to acknowledge the almost-finished project. “Believe it or not, I know where most things are here. Why or how, I couldn’t begin to tell you, but I do–and don’t move anything because then I won’t know where anything is.” He rambled in his awkward state. As he realized it wasn’t making him sound any less disorganized, he dropped his head, lips pursed in annoyance.

“Besides, you’ve seen my room, so you know I’m not messy.” He defended himself, taking a moment to tidy up the workbench. As he grabbed it, he sent a glare towards the socket extension he’d been looking for hours ago. Papers crinkled in his hand as he shuffled them together. He then grimaced at himself, realizing he had created even more work for himself. He would need to sit still and separate them out again from their now jumbled mess. A flap of the blueprint was raised suspiciously, and as he lifted it, he saw the corner of the carefully wrapped box.

“Ah–here it is.”

She took it from him, a tired, small smile at the simple gesture. The wrapping was a thin, silky sheet of lavender fabric, and it tickled her hands. Sheeva untied the twine holding it together, examined the string for a brief second, then bunched it up and stuck it in her pocket, along with the folded, lavender fabric.

Tazaro didn’t dare to point this oddity out. Instead, watched her open the box apprehensively, and he wondered if she thought they had placed something in it that would spring out and attack her. He jokingly called her out on it and did not miss the shift of her eyes. She opened her mouth to say something, then tutted.

“I did not think you would, no, but,” She chuckled at a far-off memory. “Heh, I know someone who would. And did.” She smiled in fondness and shook her head. “Anyway, this isn’t spring-loaded, is it?” She asked.

“No, you’d probably kill us.” He joked.

“Mm, think I might. Slowly, too. Death by mandragora nectar seems appropriate.” She threatened with a smile that unnerved him. Tazaro’s face fell, as he didn’t know enough about plants to know what hellacious effect mandragora nectar held on people. Maybe, it was a disturbing paralytic.

“Um…what the hell is a mandragora?”

She looked up at his worried muttering and studied his face, now pallid and appearing horrified.

“You do not know?”

“Sorry, no.”

Sheeva pursed her lips in embarrassment. The harmless joke had been taken too much as a serious threat.

“Ah. Well, it’s a...carnivorous plant that lures prey with sweet-smelling nectar. Unwary prey will drink the nectar and fall asleep. It scoops them up into its giant pot-belly with long poisonous tendrils and dissolves and devours it over time–Like a gigantic pitcher plant. Mandragora nectar is useful in the field for poisoning bait or sabotage. I am sure Vincent uses it all the time in his profession as a doctor. You should ask him about it.”

Tazaro’s eyebrows raised in interest.

“And you know this because you’ve...done it?”

Slowly, Sheeva nodded.

“I laced my weapons with the stuff before fighting a rabid lupine for a bounty.” She cleared her throat, fighting the awkward silence that followed.

“Anyway…” Sheeva directed her attention to the box, pulled open the flaps, and peered inside. Varying grades of whetstones bundled together, as well as a container of salve and medical supplies, rested inside.

“Thank you. These will be handy,” she commented, setting them down while turning her attention to the last thing that hid in the box. Upon grabbing the bundle of cloth, she knew what it was the instant she felt the weight of it in her palm, and with a hopeful gasp, she gleefully looked at him before carefully turning it over in her other hand to hastily unwrap it.

The silver pocket watch, with a brand-new chain, a shimmering polish, a careful detailing of the lyndworm wrapped around the cover, and a new, red-ruby in its eye socket, shined back at her in the light.

“Wow!” She exclaimed in a manner Tazaro never imagined. “Wow, it’s-it’s like it’s brand new!” She smiled, then held it to her ear, filled with even more joy. “It’s even ticking again!”

Tazaro hummed sheepishly, though fully pleased with himself.

“Open it,” He managed past the swooning frog in his throat.

Sheeva clicked it open, eyes searching in hope for a refreshed, good-as-the-day-it-was-written note with teal ink and Rose’s handwriting, but what she found instead was a teal-colored engraving in Rose’s handwriting, with the words previously memorialized on the paper etched into the back of the lid.

This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

Wherever you go, dearie, my love is always with you. ~Rose

The words became instantly blurred by tears, and Sheeva clamped it shut and ducked her head down as she clutched the precious thing to her chest and shamelessly sniffled.

“Thank you,” She whispered, barely audible that Tazaro was able to hear it. He cleared the knot of guilt for accidentally making her cry from his throat.

“You’re welcome. It would have been ready sooner, but I wanted to see if I could find someone to engrave that for you. I’m glad I did; I think it matches her handwriting exact–

He stopped as she rushed forward and hugged him with her arms around his middle, not expecting the gesture at all. Getting over his initial surprise, he hugged her back, aware of her trembling while she still sniffled and whispered her thanks.

Sheeva found herself further pacified by the warmth of his torso against hers and the security of his arms around her frame, and, too star-struck by her gratitude to move, she settled her head against his chest. His heartbeat was strong, though frantically beating, and the rumble that sounded as he gave a content hum surprised her as it tickled her cheek.

Wishing to compose herself, she pulled herself out of the hug and cleared her throat, all the while pinning the pocket watch to the edge of her pocket and slipping the thing inside. The brief cold metal cooled a spot on her thigh before it warmed up, and the weight of it in her pocket made her feel whole again. Pleased to check the time at her own whim again, she retrieved it from her pocket and clicked it open, then smiled at the clock’s face as it read back the current time: 10:23.

Sheeva felt suddenly aware of being watched, and she snapped the thing shut and turned her attention to Tazaro. His arms were crossed, though a lovely, wide smile spanned his face and curled into his citrine eyes, alight with pride and joy.

“You, you really do take pride in your work, Tazaro. I, I really can’t thank you enough,” she stated, then blinked as she realized that, even though it wasn’t much, she had the money she’d been saving for when she finally decided to leave, though the previously agreed “lease” had been outdated for about a month.

She reached into her pocket for her coin purse.

“Here, take this,” She insisted.

It brought him out of his pleased stare, and he took a step back.

“No, no there’s no need to–

–but, you must! I cannot not pay–just take it!” She urged, trying to shove it into his hands, because then he would have to take it.

Keen to this custom, Tazaro immediately raised his hands above his head with a cheeky smile.

“Oh-ho! Nope!” He grinned. “I won’t accept that,” He teased, aware of the burning blush on his cheeks at their proximity to Sheeva’s as she stood up on the tips of her toes and tried to stretch up to thrust the coin purse in his hands.

The air between them was electric, and warm, and he couldn’t lie; he was incredibly tempted to throw out something as cheesy as requesting a kiss as payment.

Finding that she was unable to reach, even if she stood on the tips of her toes, she settled back down and looked at the stuffed coin-purse in her hands. Compared to what it’d been when she first started saving, it was now so jam-packed, her hands looked like doll hands in comparison.

“Sheeva…” Tazaro paused to find his voice amid the fluttering of his heart in his chest. “Don’t, uh, worry about it. Really. Seeing your smile is enough.”

Sheeva pouted, feeling weird that a smile would be “enough.” With a relenting sigh, she looked to her bag, wondering if she had anything else to offer. Recalling the dinner Mildred had requested she drop off, she felt a little better.

If money wouldn’t do, a nice gesture would have to.

Sheeva headed for her bag and sifted the gifted items in carefully, taking a moment to add the medical supplies to the smaller satchel she kept them separated in. As she headed back over to the Stargazer and sat across from him, she carried the bundle of leftover rolls she had baked and handed one to him along with an apple and the container of soup.

“Here, some dinner. I-I figure you forgot to eat, as you said you do.” She insisted. He took it, wondering when he’d said such a thing, then smiled.

“Oh, that was a joke. Ah, well, mostly. Sometimes I do, but...” Tazaro trailed off when Sheeva gave him a knowing look. “Thank you.”

Tazaro took an awkward bite of the roll to avoid saying anything else ridiculous. The mouth-watering taste of cheese hit, and he looked at the savory bread, interested.

“Oh, these have cheese inside? Neat! Where did you get these?”

“I made them with our dinner last night.” She answered, turning the apple in her hand as she took another bite.

“It’s good! Funny, I thought about swinging by Mom’s house for dinner. Apparently, I should have.” He complimented, taking another bite. She gave him a mildly confused look, then blinked in realization.

“I didn’t eat dinner at your mother’s. No, I, uh, fed Josef and the others. Those children I told you about. I have been trying to teach them to care for themselves until the orphanage is built. Maybe even after, should they need to leave.”

Tazaro played with a bit of rosemary between his teeth, taking in her confession. He smiled, eyes lifted as her level of care etched itself deeper into what little he knew. Glancing at her, his mild swoon subsided as he saw the darkened look in her eye. She’d stopped nibbling on the apple, a thousand-yard stare on her sleepy face.

It was something he’d seen on Tyler and Rin’s face on the odd occasion, and it worried him.

“Sheeva?” He called out to her. She sucked in a breath and blinked, then looked at him.

“Yes?”

He paused, thinking of something to say, ask, or do to justify bringing her out of whatever memory had taken hold. He braced himself.

“Why would they need to leave? What do you think would happen to them?” He asked.

The glowering look on her face grew as she picked at the hem of her long-sleeve shirt, the apple still firmly pinched between slender fingers.

“As I said before, my early childhood was full of neglect, but it goes much further than that. Among the other unforgivable things that my birth mother did, I was abandoned at an orphanage in Torde. They did not care for us at all. Used us for cheap labor or kicking posts. Likely sold some of us to labor in the mines. I don’t...remember much else, only much pain and suffering.”

Tazaro's stomach churned, and he found he'd lost his appetite.

She forced a bite of the apple.

“Be grateful for your parents, Tazaro. They love you as Rose…loved me.” She insisted with a lonely sigh. She sat back and heaved a sigh, then set the unfinished roll down, disinterested.

“Would you tell me about the kids you’ve taken to?” He asked, hoping that it would lighten the bone-chilling ambiance of the room. “How are they doing?”

“Josef is the oldest of the bunch. Says he is sixteen, though you would not be able to tell. Living on the streets has hindered his growth. Has a fondness for sweets, mischief, and picking people’s pockets.” Her eyes squinted in disapproval. “Being the oldest, he has assumed responsibility for the others. I’ve tasked him with watching over the others even after they get into the orphanage. Hopefully, that will help him realize that he cannot afford to be caught and will abandon his criminal ways.”

“Sophia is thirteen, Arc is eleven. They are siblings, and they certainly fight like siblings.” She said with a small smile, recalling her rival’s face. “But in the end, their loyalty to the other will pull them through. They don’t let anyone else pick on the other, as I imagine siblings do. My rival and I never did, bizarre as that is to know...and say.”

“I doubt that ‘Nook’ is his real name, but he doesn’t speak much–though he makes his point when he does. Unfortunately, he has horrors in his past that haunt him, including the death of his own family at the hands of bandits. He is flighty, quick to hide, hence the nickname. He is at least as old as Arc, though I am not sure, and although he is well on his way to becoming a responsible teenager, he has a toy soldier he covets.”

Given the proper training and drive, she wondered if Nook would someday make a damn good assassin. She kept the thought to herself and took another bite.

“Despite me telling them not to associate with anyone on the block, they made a new friend. Cecilia. I caught them all playing in the backyard together–apparently, she climbed the fence. I know I can be a little…paranoid, but until Llyud is taken care of, I am uncomfortable, and…I worry. Perhaps, I am being unfair in asking that they refrain from making friends with other children their age,” She mused, glancing at the soup by Tazaro’s knee.

Seeming to notice, he slid it towards her.

“Help yourself,” He assured.

Sheeva smiled, and grabbed the spoon to deliver a bite.

“Yelena is the youngest. I believe she is five. I have been trying to teach her to read. She has a collection of picture books she treasures. She reminds me much of myself when I was around her age, at least, as far as childhood innocence goes.”

Sheeva would coddle Yelena, offering to brush and braid her hair. Sheeva had taught Sophia to do the same so that, when she left, Yelena could have the simple comfort of being cared for.

“Yelena calls me ‘mother.’ I suppose it’s better than hearing ‘miss’ all the time, but it is still…odd.” She slowly nodded to herself as she thought about it. Sheeva imagined that was how Rose must have felt the first couple of weeks Sheeva called her that.

“Definitely an odd thing.” She confirmed with a small smile.

“Wait, they don’t know your name?” Tazaro asked.

“I try not to give my name unless I have no other choice.”

“Not the artist, nor those kids, huh? That’s cold.”

Sheeva shook her head sadly.

“It is for their safety as well as mine.”

Tazaro responded with an awkward “oh,” and reached for his glass of water. Expecting it to be filled, he put a little force into picking it up, surprised when it was lighter than he thought. He looked at it, wondering when he’d finished it, then realized it was an old glass. Making a face at himself, he set it down.

“Good craftsmanship for the painter’s prosthetic. I recognized your signature.”

“Uh...thanks. It was a fun project.” He accepted meekly. “He went on and on about you, you know–not in a, uh, romantic way; I think he likes the lady at the produce stand. Anyway, he said you donated a lot to him.”

“Yes. He does. And, yes, I did.”

“Where did you get the money?”

“‘Help wanted’ requests. You’d be surprised how many people pine for pets who are simply getting attention from others a mere three doors down.” She scoffed. “Though, the man I beat up from Northside made a nice, significant contribution with the money I pilfered from his undeserving pocket. Other than that...hustling. People don’t expect a woman to throw darts or arm-wrestle. Pity for them. Profit for me.” She smirked.

Tazaro snickered at her statement, finding that he’d like to join her on one of her outings just so he could say he witnessed her stellar feats.

A calm silence fell between them, and Sheeva finished her apple, picked up a roll, and gave it a light squeeze. It was still puffy but cold. She took a bite of the bread roll, letting go of a dissatisfied hum.

“These are much better when warm. The cheese inside gets nice and gooey.” She muttered, a bashful smile at her statement.

Tazaro’s mouth watered at the idea of melted cheese nestled in a soft roll, then blinked as a thought came to him.

“Hey, do you have more of those? I can place them by the furnace downstairs.”

Sheeva turned and looked at him, surprised. She hadn’t seen a set of stairs suggesting anything about a bottom floor when she’d come in the first time, though to be honest with herself, Sheeva had been too busy looking at the items on display, and, when...visiting otherwise, was somewhat restrained to the loft since she figured Rin wouldn’t take well to a bird in his shop.

“There’s a cellar?”

He stood and brushed himself off again, then held out a hand to help her up. She didn’t take it, and stood up herself, grabbed a couple more rolls out of the bag, and followed him down to the first level. A painting hung on the wall depicting a group of men, including Tyler with Jax at his feet and the owner of the shop, Rin, with a decorative ribbon folded beneath and a fancy coin hanging off the side.

Squadron 73, It read. Sheeva wondered what war the men had fought in. Given their age, perhaps they’d all assisted Tarrakk in their defense of Cruinia’s ill-thought onslaught.

She finished the descent and toward the back room, where Tazaro had opened a door. He reached into a matchbox and grabbed one, struck it, and lit the wick to an oil lantern. He held it above his head as he disappeared down the stairs, not noticing that Sheeva had hesitated at the doorway until he had stopped halfway.

“You’re allowed down here, you know. There’s nothing dangerous. Maybe rats if you’re hungry.” He teased, turning to look back up at her. She shot him a scowl, grabbed a nearby pot, and propped open the door.

“I do not generally eat rats, Tazaro.” She growled. “And even if I did, it would certainly not be one from a city. Those things are filthy and spread disease.”

“And generally, I’m teasing you.” He shot, surprising himself. His stomach flipped as he told himself that teasing her this way seemed easy. Tazaro ruffled his hair as the bashfulness spread across his face, cleared his throat, and stepped further in, pausing to set the lantern on a stone countertop. He turned the dial to lengthen the wick and illuminate the room a little more.

Stone walls lined the foundation, a support beam here and there, uncovered cross beams supporting the floor above. The cobblestone flooring caused Sheeva’s boots to click on them as she forced herself into the room, and she tapped the toe of her boot on the floor in nerves. She huffed, unwilling to look up and around.

“Here.” She called, the rolls held in her outstretched hand. Tazaro pulled his attention away from the memorial tapestry that covered a spot on the wall Rin had damaged in a rage at something. He took the rolls, and she backed off to stand by the steps, seeming highly uncomfortable about something.

He did not dare call her out on this one, having an unsettling feeling that it had something to do with the orphanage. Instead, he headed toward the furnace, wrapped the rolls in a clean scrap of cloth, and then set them atop the furnace’s metal. He peered at the coals through the grate. They were still glimmering but had already begun to die and whiten in places.

Tazaro shuffled his hands in his pockets, running the fabric of them through his fingers as he paced to amuse himself while he waited, mindful to not ram his shin on the anvil in the dim light.

“Why would you keep a blacksmithing furnace in the basement and not outside?” Sheeva asked.

He looked back at her. She still had not moved from the bottom of the stairs and had practically melded into the wall.

“Dual-purpose. Besides fixing our own pieces if we need to, we heat the shop in winter. Unfortunately, we blew through a lot of wood during the one we just had." He paused as he began to wonder just how much they'd burned through, then shook his head.

"Anyway, these pipes direct the flow. The one on the left leads straight to the roof to let out the smoke. The one on the right splits into each of the rooms. There is a lever you can pull to let the heat in. We don’t use the furnace to make changes to pieces in summer unless we absolutely need to; the heat’s insufferable.”

“Oh. That’s clever. We have nothing like that at home. At least, not without subversion of the temple walls.”

Tazaro checked the rolls, took them off the furnace, and cradled the bundle in his arm while reaching for the lantern with his free hand. Sheeva hurried up the steps, slid the pot aside with her foot, then shut the door behind him.

“Is your temple on some outer-rim island? Furnaces that disperse heat like that have been around for at least a decade now.” He asked. Sheeva huffed at him, feeling mildly insulted.

“It is not. It actually sits near the Urul-Maizen pass.”

“Uh, ‘Scuse me? I’ve lived here most of my life, and I’ve never heard of a temple in the mountains.” He called over his shoulder, grunting as he pulled a lever next to a metal pipe that ran to the ceiling from the floor. A grate opened, spilling warmth into the room.

“Oh, I see how that works. That is clever.” Sheeva stated, taking one of the rolls as he handed it to her. “Ah, but no, likely, you wouldn’t. It’s hidden.” She answered, taking a bite.

“Huh. Like, hidden in the side of a mountain or something? That would be kind of pretty, actually.” He mused, shuffling himself up on the workbench to sit. He cleared a spot to his right, motioning for her to sit next to him.

She stuck her roll in her mouth to hold it while she pushed herself up onto the counter.

Tazaro pinched the roll in half and pulled it apart, thrilled when the sound of crisp crust crinkled in his ears, and when he took a bite, he smiled.

“Mm. Heating these up was a good call.” He pointed out after plucking a string of cheese apart with his fingers and sticking it in his mouth.

He took his time, savoring the creamy cheese amid fluffy bread, the occasional crystalized spot of salt or flake of rosemary pleasing to his taste buds.

Sheeva did not answer, too busy enjoying her own roll.

“Will you show Mom or me how to make those? Or is it some, uh, temple secret?” He grinned. She gave a soft smile.

“For being blind, your mother is an amazing cook. I suppose I could do that before I leave.” She agreed.

Tazaro felt his face fall a little at the mention of her taking off. He stuck the last bite in his mouth to free his face from its expression.

“After you’re done with Llyud, where will you go? If you find him in some other town, will you, uh…” He paused, a small ignition of hope welling in his chest. “Circle back through Roussell before going to your temple?” He asked.

Sheeva looked at him, somewhat surprised.

“Is that an invitation?” She asked, mildly annoyed with his ambiguity.

The smile broke on his face, and he heaved a breath.

“Um, yeah–yes.” He cleared his throat. “Yes, it is.” He admitted, biting his tongue, anxiously waiting for her response and watching for her expression out of the corner of his eye.

He saw a small smile and lift of her eyes as she muttered a surprised “huh” and took a long drink from her water pouch. She closed it, frowned with a thought, and fiddled with the cap.

“Thank you, Tazaro. I appreciate the invitation, but...that depends on whether or not I survive the encounter.” She didn’t look him in the eye, sure that she’d crumble with the anger that would likely follow on his face from her confession.

“What? Sheeva, if you die, what’s the point of exacting revenge?” He growled. Sheeva brought her eyes up to meet his gaze briefly. Sure enough, his brow furrowed with anger. Unable to further witness the look of disappointment, she dropped her head again, a wistful, apologetic look on her face.

“I have been chasing this for years, Tazaro. I am...I am tired. I have done nothing but run myself to death. I have nothing to my name. No legacy. A handful of allies, yes, but also an army of enemies. If-if I’m not wanted for something in one town, I’ve been hated and run out of another.” She explained. Her expression hardened, and she shook her head.

“No...this needs to be done. If I don’t, Llyud will simply kill someone else; it could be one of the children I’ve taken to, could be your mother, or Tyler, or even–she hesitated here, finding her stomach churned at the thought of Llyud torturing Tazaro to death.

She tsked at herself; she would feel terrible if Llyud had anything to do with any of their deaths.

“Well, even you. I’ve gone to great lengths to keep you all safe, and I’ll be damned if I let him get the best of me again.” She insisted, reminding him of his fragility and herself of her resolve.

“If I do die, consider it a final admonition. A parting gift for this undeserving world.”

He did not even know what he could possibly say. Sheeva sounded so sure of herself that Tazaro had a feeling that nothing, not even staring death in the face, could break her determination.

Tazaro hummed in contemplation and stared at the project he’d been trying to finish as she reminded him of her ambitions, twisted and solitary as they were. He found it strangely humbling that she would be so resolute about people she hardly knew. She had only been staying in Roussell for a little over two months.

Needing to fidget with something, he picked up a random tool at his side and twirled it around his fingers, like he would do with his pencils when trying to draft ideas.

“I do hope you will be done with that before I leave,” Sheeva admitted, pointing at the work in progress. Grateful for the change of subject, Tazaro tethered to it.

“Yeah. Should be. How long until you, uh, do that?”

She thought for a moment, surprised that she would consider slacking a few days to stretch out her visit if need be.

“I still have the Northside to finish. The Northside is taking me a while; there is a lot of crime there. I find myself beating up criminals more often than actually searching.”

“Heh. Careful with that–people might think you’re a superhero. Would you like us to sew you a cape?” He cracked, snickering at his wit. Sheeva chuckled softly and waved the idea away.

“No capes. They could snag; the last thing I need is to hang myself from a gutter while soaring from roof to roof.” She stated casually.

He smiled and chuckled at a thought.

“Speaking of roofs, you’re gonna have to show me how you keep getting onto this one. I, uh, could fix a ladder to the hatch if you don’t feel like being wildly acrobatic.”

Sheeva stared at the half-finished project, weighing her options.

“If I show you, will you keep it a secret?” She asked. He chuckled, wondering if this was her way of flirting, but when he registered the heavy tone of voice and glanced at her expression, he found it to be serious. Tazaro blinked slowly, tilting his head in curiosity. He briefly recalled her saying something about flying, and his eyes widened the more he thought about it.

“Yes. I will. I mean...I’ve kept my mouth shut about everything else, haven’t I?” He asked, hoping to alleviate her nerves.

It did not work like he had hoped.

“What is that phrase you use when you swear on something? On the dead man’s grave?”

This threw Tazaro for even more of a loop.

“Um, well, yeah, but it’s more a thing my friends and I–

–I would ask of you to swear on that, then, Tazaro Chorea. Swear that you will never tell a soul.” She cut him off, seeming tense and so shockingly stern, Tazaro stammered for a second. Wanting to ensure he was really willing to sign up for…whatever it was she was about to show him, he took a deep breath.

“Ok…Sheeva Jules,” He started, feeling funny about using her full name. Still, it was all business, now, so he supposed it wasn’t too out of place.

“On the dead man’s grave, I swear it. I will not say anything, to anyone.” He promised calmly.

Sheeva believed him, from the evenness of his voice to the nod he gave as he spoke his convictions, and it filled her with gratitude. Clearing her throat of the nervous brick, she shed her jacket, dropped it at her feet, and closed her eyes in focus.

Tazaro watched as two gigantic, white-silver feathered wings slid out from her back. She lifted and stretched them, sighing in relief at the nice pull of the spinal muscles around her upper back and between her shoulder blades. When they lowered, the arches of the “elbow” covered her shoulders. The length of the wings crossed at the small of her back, and the tips looped around her calves, end feathers barely brushing the dusty floor.

“What the–by the gods!” He rambled, shoving himself off the counter and onto his feet. His legs trembled, and he stepped to the side to examine the elegant addition from another angle, mind-blown. “That’s-that’s amazing!”

“Can you–you can actually take flight?” He asked, pausing at her side. “I thought you were kidding!”

He stumbled back as she stretched out her wings so quickly the air rushed past his face, then watched as she flapped them. He covered his eyes as dust picked up and heard the flutter of the Stargazer blueprint behind him as it flapped with the short gust of wind.

He looked up, watching her hover there, a giant wingspan keeping her afloat as they flapped in a steady beat. As the skin of the wings caught the air, she glided in a descent, then dropped back to the floor. Standing straight, she tucked the wings to rest and fold against her back in what he guessed was a comfortable manner.

“I don’t believe it! They’re real? This isn’t some kind of trick?” He asked. She looked over her shoulder at him, surprised to find his face alight with wonder and fascination.

Fully enthralled, he approached her with a grin on his face.

“Can I touch–oof!”

Sheeva jumped and stepped back when he stepped forward, reaching for the left wing tucked back against her shoulder. She blocked his grasp by slapping his hand out of the way, pushed him away with a rough shove of his chest, and stepped out of range, eyes wide and hairs standing on the back of her neck.

“Don’t!” She hissed, panting as she trembled with her adrenaline rush.

Tazaro held up his hands.

“Sorry! I, I’m sorry, I suppose that was rude.” He blurted immediately. “I-I-uh, didn’t even think about–He stopped, and looked at his hands, wondering if the nervous sweat and natural oils on his skin would tarnish the feather’s effectiveness. “Wait, do you have oil glands like birds do?” He asked, then scoffed at himself. “What the fuck am I saying–this is nuts!”

“Well, um, yes, I do, but,” She softened and dropped her hands. “My apologies, I thought you were aiming to, uh, attack.”

“Me? No, I would never! I just–I can’t believe they’re real.” He blathered, then blinked as it dawned on him that someone had.

“Wait, attack? Who hurt–

–The people in Midna's Overlook. I already told you of how I came to be there. When I came to after my initial drugging, I was caged in an Iphsium den and found my wings plucked bare. They had originally planned to keep me as a slave or a prostitute, but I suppose when they stripped me of my clothing, they found the space where I fold in my wings–like cats do with their claws. They used my primary feathers for quills, powdered the other feathers to mix in their drug, and sold it, falsely prophetizing it as an aphrodisiac or panacea.”

“Are you serious? That’s insane!” Tazaro spat. Sheeva looked up, surprised to hear the anger in his voice.

“Who the fuck does that? Those bastards were presented with something pretty fuckin’ cool, and their first thought was to destroy it?” He ranted, pointing at something random. He huffed a few staggered, riled breaths, and began to stride to and fro, shaking his head, a baffled expression plastered on his face.

Sheeva gaped at him like a fish for a few seconds as her brain took in the information. The scowl he had on his face was genuine, and with the way he paced the room, she almost smiled at his emotional state in her own pleasant confusion. She found that she liked the way his eyes gleamed, alight with his passions.

Fully surprised with herself and with him, Sheeva cleared away the knot in her throat and uncrossed her arms. She held onto one arm for comfort.

“Tazaro?” She called to him, hoping to bring him out of his state.

“What?” He asked curtly, still fuming by the way his lips pursed together in a thin line and his hands crossed, then uncrossed, then crossed again in his indecision.

“You…really think they’re ‘cool’?” She asked, wanting to veer him onto a more positive subject, as he, Mildred, and Tyler seemed to encourage her to do.

Tazaro settled as the question sank in, fast breathing slowing down as he took in the suddenly endearing stance. The blush on her cheeks sold it all, and it made him melt. Any anger he felt died and arose as that familiar whirlpool of butterflies, breathlessness, heartflips, and cold feet signaling the crush that was now so overwhelming, he almost couldn’t stand. Vincent called it; Tazaro had it bad, much as he attempted to tell himself otherwise.

“Y-yeah,” He stammered, then huffed, annoyed with himself. “I mean–of course, I do. I mean…it’s not every day you meet, uh, a-a badass woman that looks like a…a Valkyrie,” He defended, waving a hand as though he could conjure the words he struggled to say out of thin air.

“Wait, wait–” He paused, realizing something. “Are you a Valkyrie? I mean, you got the sword, the wings, the beauty–everything.”

At this, Sheeva snorted and shook her head, and a sheepish smile spread on her face. She covered her mouth with a graceful hand to hide it.

"Val’kiriya?” She asked, mildly surprised he would refer to something from a fairy-tale. “You are trying to be silly." She decided, attempting to deflect the spark of hope igniting its way through her chest, particularly at his addition of “beauty” on his list of comparisons.

"No,” He stated adamantly. “No, I’m being serious.”

Fully taken-aback, Sheeva stared at him for a moment, pleased with the budding gratitude in her chest. Taking an apprehensive step closer, then another to close the distance enough that he could reach, she arched a wing forward.

“Here. I’ll-I will trust you, then, Tazaro.” She whispered, deliberately grabbed his hand, and set his hand on the wing.

The wing itself was surprisingly warm to the touch, able to feel the heat radiate beneath the initial layer of feathers. His fingers tingled as he felt the soft downy beneath the neatly aligned, overlapping sheath of secondary and primary feathers. He watched, amazed at how they shifted to accommodate his fingers as he gently moved them with the feathers’ grade. He let his knuckles graze the rigid rachis of a particular feather that kept it attached to the wing itself–like the barbules of a reptilian scale–then gently pressed a split together that appeared in the vane of the feather he worked between his fingers. When it locked together, he grinned with childish glee.

“That is so neat. It’s, it’s exactly like a bird’s wing.” He muttered, mesmerized as his hand continued to discover the new appendage.

“So-so this is like, the upper-arm, right?” He asked, trailing his hand along the first, long bone connecting directly to her shoulder.

Giving her wing’s humerus another firm grasp, he noted just how much it really was like an extra arm, and as he shifted his fingers through her feathers again, the divine tingle of the down-feathers and thick, devious texture of interlacing vane tickled into his palm. He gently lifted the wing and ran his hand along what he likened to the radius, ulna, and metacarpals in an arm, then down the primary set of feathers, mesmerized by their structure and texture.

“I, I think I have one of your, uh, feathers in my room,” Tazaro admitted, finding the sentence couldn’t have sounded any more weird if he’d heard it said back to him in a foreign language. “Gods be damned, that’s a weird fucking thing to say.”

Sheeva chuckled at something with a sheepish smile.

“You almost saw me that night.”

“Really?”

She huffed, and shook her head in embarrassment.

“I thought I saw Llyud walking out of a bar and along the street. I gave chase, then realized I was chasing shadows when I stumbled on a dead-end. I heard someone walking close-by, panicked, and flew up towards the fire exit ladder. When I saw it was you, I followed you home so that I could ensure you would be safe.”

Still stunned into silence, he found himself gazing in her eyes, which were not looking back at him. The sudden, heavy desire to kiss her hit him, and as hard as he tried to quell it, Tazaro could not. It was his turn to tremble, and he sucked in a breath as he felt his face heat again.

“Hey, Sheeva?”

With a gentle tuck of his finger beneath her chin, he brought her eyes to meet his, wanting to memorize her face. That cute, smooth-cheeked face, now tinted pink with a blush across her cheekbones. Those bow-shaped lips that betrayed her stoic nature with an adorable pout or peaceful, passive, slight smile, now parted in a gasp. He’d miss seeing those ruby-colored eyes that pierced with admonition, and even the teariness of them from her bittersweet smile.

“Any, uh, other secrets you’d like to share with me?” He felt his lips pull into a smile as his heart fluttered.

“O-oh?” She stuttered, surprised. With the way the warm glow in his eyes shined, cheerful and eager to know, it made her thrilled to spill the secret she’d had the hardest time containing.

When she gave an uncharacteristically girlish giggle and dropped her head out of the crook of his finger as her face turned beet-red, he slowly dropped his hand to hers, grasping it gently to encourage her closer. Intuitive as she was, it seemed she was still extremely shy beneath the tough-exterior, and it made Tazaro’s heart want to pop out of his mouth.

Ho-ly fuck, that’s adorable.

“You caught me, I guess. I can actually do magic,” She admitted.

Tazaro blinked, jerked out of the romantic-anxious whirlwind he had been in as his brain short-circuited.

“Uh–” He choked.

“I, um…” He slowly realized there wasn’t an apology necessary here, but wasn’t entirely sure what to say, think, or do.

“Wut?”

As a glimmer of light illuminated her face from below, he looked down. A sparkling, shimmering orb hovered above her outstretched hand and radiated light, and he gazed at it, mesmerized.

“What is that?” He asked as he reached out his hand to touch it with a finger, then withdrew it sharply as though it had bitten him, even though it hadn’t, finding the orb surprisingly warm to the touch.

“An orb of light!” Sheeva explained cheerfully, and though Tazaro was still staring at the orb, he picked up on the giddiness in her voice.

“Light?” He repeated, and reached out to touch it again, accidentally squishing it between his finger and Sheeva’s palm. Realizing so, he quickly lifted his hand with an apology to the thing whether it was sentient or not, amused at the springy bob it gave as it bounced back into its hover over her palm.

“Holy shit.” He whispered breathlessly.

It flickered and faded, and feeling a sway of exhaustion, Sheeva stepped away and rubbed at her eyes.

“I can’t believe it,” Tazaro murmured in sheer befuddlement.

As the realization that he had been extremely forward hit, Tazaro crossed his arms and scratched at his chin, a funny smile creeping onto his face. He bit his tongue as he struggled with the awkward swarm welling within, wanting to apologize profusely. Somehow, he began to doubt she had picked up on his cues, considering her first answer was to admit to magic and not to lean into a possible kiss.

“Ah, Sheeva, I’m sorry for–He stopped as she yawned, seeming disconcerned with his advances. If they had been unwelcome, she certainly didn’t seem to be showing so, and he trusted that, if there had been a problem, she would have undoubtedly told him so.

“Nothing to be sorry for. I told you, didn’t I?” She assured with a soft smile.

He crossed one arm over his middle and propped his chin in a hand to hide his bemused smile with his fingers.

“Ahem, right.” He responded.

She wiped at her eyes, then yawned again, strode to the counter beside him, grabbed her canteen, and drank from it deeply, as though excessively parched.

“Is…that light-thing draining to do?” Tazaro asked, wanting to entertain something other than anxious thoughts.

“Mm, not really draining, no, but I am too tired to hold it for long. Other spells are much more taxing,” She answered, grateful she had simply shown him a low-cost light spell rather than a mid-cost firebreathing spell that would have left her much more dizzy.

“I haven’t been able to sleep well lately, otherwise it wouldn’t be much of an issue.”

Head still spinning from the tornado of emotions battering him for the last few minutes, Tazaro shakily paced the room to ground himself.

“Wow,” he muttered, then shook his head at his foggy thoughts. “Sorry, I, I need a moment,” He explained his breakaway. Needing a drink, himself, he headed for the kettle, poured a cup of the remaining tea, then sipped. It was long cold, but he couldn’t care less. He held onto it with both hands as he stared into space at the floor in a disoriented haze.

“So, to answer you from earlier, I’m…not a Valkyrie. I’m a Ta’hal-Sferran.” Sheeva corrected.

“Huh?” He asked, turning to look at her. She chuckled at his stunned mannerisms, then sauntered over to the wall he stood by. Her wings were still out, and he curiously observed how they moved with her, seeming to sway to-and-fro with a slight bob at each step.

“My father was a Ta’hal.” She stated simply.

“What? I thought they were extinct!” He blurted. Sheeva huffed.

“So did your mother. So did anyone else I’ve told this to,” Sheeva pointed out.

Tazaro eyed her curiously, and as he looked at her face, he did happen to notice how sharp her eyes were, pupils showing as beveled plus-signs, with an unnatural rounded pointiness to her ears. Aside from close examination, he still wondered how she would not exhibit the long claws and sharp teeth often used to depict the evil things.

“How, uh…” He wasn’t sure how to voice his question in a way that was not unrefined.

Sheeva, blushing, gave him a judgmental side-eye before looking away. It should have been obvious, since he had thought her to be of mixed race before.

“How else do Sferrans reproduce, Tazaro?” She deadpanned, avoiding his face.

“Uh, that’s not what I was going to say! No, I was just trying to figure out how you don’t seem more…” Tazaro sighed, lost for words.

Maybe he had had too much caffeine.

“Terrifying? Monstrous? Villainous?” She suggested, stepping back.

“What?” He shot immediately.

“No, none of those things! Just exhibiting more characteristics of a Ta’hal–you know, claws and teeth and…stuff.”

Because, surely, they were both experts on things that hadn’t been seen in upwards of a thousand years.

As he realized what words she’d offered to put in his mouth, he squinted his eyes at her in disapproval at her assumption. She stared back, surprised by the annoyed look on his face.

“You think I’d just consider you to be some kind of monster? It’s terrible, and it’s bullshit. I think you're–well, I think you’re great, you know.” He announced as she calmed.

“You’re resilient–you don’t take crap from anyone, and you’ve been so adamant about doing the right thing while still searching for that guy,” He added with a smile. “And, you can shock people with a fist or break a femur with a kick. That’s amazing and frightening, and fucking awesome–if you don’t mind my saying so.”

When she stared at him with a slack-jawed look, he almost laughed at the expression. She regained her composure and cleared her throat, unsure how to take the compliment.

As her eyes threatened to close from tiredness again, she took a deep breath and headed for the wall. She pressed her palm to it, muttered something, and a sigil flashed and faded. A blue light spread along the walls, across the ceiling and floor, then down the other walls. A soft blip sounded that tickled Tazaro’s ear, and he scrunched his nose at it and rubbed his ear.

“This one will wake me if an enemy tries to breach the barrier. The one I had before is only useful when I’m awake.”

A perturbed look spread on his face, and he jerked his head to her.

“Uh, what do you mean, ‘before?”

Sheeva sighed and drew up her sleeve. An array of colorful sigils rested in her arm.

“Protection spells. They alert me if someone passes through. I’m still developing this one.”

“Oh, my gods, that looks painful! Did you-did you carve these into your skin?” He asked, concerned as he looked back at the designs in her arm. He reached out to touch one, then stopped himself.

“Wait, that’s not going to mess with anything, will it? Or–or, like, make the spell disappear or something?”

Sheeva smiled at his curiosity and concern, and shook her head.

“No. It seems permanent; at least, until I dispel it. And no, I did not carve anything. They branded themselves in likeness to the sigils I carved in the walls.”

“Oh.” He held up her arm, her hand in his, and traced the red design with his finger, wondering if it was tangible, raised, like a scar would be. Instead, it was soft, like a tattoo. It depicted a top-down view of a rose, though it was the only one of the four on her arm he recognized; flowers weren’t his thing.

“This one is for your mother’s house. It was the second one I placed. It is a rose...because it seems that mothers who give a damn about their children are similar. There is a corresponding sigil on the top of the front door frame. Tyler and your mother are still home; no one has left.” She stated. Tazaro watched as the green one flashed, and he figured it was another type of flower.

“Hm. One of the children has either left or arrived. It’s awfully late, though. Josef better not be stealing again.” Sheeva muttered, more to herself than for explanation.

“So, the stoic warrior-girl has a fascination with flowers. Cute.” Tazaro teased, a light smile on his face as he continued to examine the sigils. Sheeva huffed to brush it off, though he still caught the tint of pink on her creamy cheeks.

“It’s a Zinnia. They are tough and drought-resistant. Resilient–Like those kids.”

“I assume the blue one is for this place?” He asked. She nodded, looking at the sigil. It was a blue-star morning glory because he was fascinated with the stars, but she would not tell him that, not wanting to be further teased.

“The corresponding sigil is etched into the underside of Rin’s front desk. I figured the both of you would be less likely to notice it, plus it is a permanent fixture. It will not be moved and render my work useless…unless one of you finds it and decides to scrape it off.”

“Wait, how did you get–

–I picked the lock. Before you ask, the yellow daffodil is yours and Vincent’s. It’s on your balcony rail.” She stated shamelessly.

“So…you really go to lengths to keep people safe,” He attempted to smooth his own discomfort with the idea that she seemed to keep tabs on everyone.

Sheeva pulled her hand away and wraveled the bandage back around.

“It’s necessary,” She dismissed.

“I am going to try to sleep now. You do not need to worry about waking me. I can muffle the sounds with a spell.”

She turned back around, walked over to the cot, withdrew her wings, and lay down in it, leaving a bemused Tazaro standing in the middle of the room. Fully embarrassed with himself, he stared at the project for a moment in stun, amused with the comical misunderstanding. Unable to quell the laughter bubbling within, he hurried to the cellar, shoulders shaking as he struggled to hide his snickers.

Once in the cellar, Tazaro’s stifled chortles as he descended the stairs turned to barking laughter at himself. He would never tell Vincent or Micah about this awkward encounter; they would never let him live it down.

“By the fucking gods, Tazaro, you’re an idiot!”

He wasn’t sure if he was imagining it, but the fact that she hadn’t said anything towards not being interested in him ignited the sliver of hope in his chest and alleviated any sting of rejection.

Drained from the evening and wanting some shut-eye, himself, Tazaro headed back up to the loft, pulled the sleeping bag down from the shelf, and crawled into it on the opposite side of the room, and fell asleep in minutes.