- - - — Ten years ago — - - -

Harmony watched Alexander from across the table in thoughtful silence, fingers on their marble lips. The minotaur mirrored them, a hand rubbing at his chin and the other hovering over the chessboard sitting between before him, face drawn in heavy concentration.

"Oh, damn it all," he muttered, and made his turn. Rook to B-8.

Yellow eyes snapped to his, completely indiscernible, until in a graceful arc Harmony's hand came up and moved the white bishop piece.

Checkmate, though the fairy didn't say so. Instead they watched Alexander as he stared down at the board and mulled on his next move.

Eventually he did notice. His nose flared, expelling an almost visible puff of hot air, and one of his great arms came up as if to hammer down on the table.

Harmony didn't flinch, merely looking at him, and after a brief internal struggle Alexander huffed again, lowering his fist. Instead of violence he chose drink, turning to the miniature barrel of wine at his side, taking it up, and downing the whole thing in one massive chug.

Finally he slammed the cup down with a wooden thwack.

"Human games are too infuriating," he said sourly.

At this, Harmony's lips quirked into a grin. Behind them, thin transparent wings flitted with amusement, yellow like their eyes and glowing with majestic looping patterns.

"I quite enjoy them," they said. "You must be clever to win."

"It's no wonder I never do, if that's the case," Alexander grumbled, crossing his arms.

"I appreciate your brave attempts. It's hard to find anyone else willing to play."

Alexander shrugged. "I don't particularly like it myself, but my little brother's wife has an interest in humans."

"Ah. Looking to impress her?"

"Well, I'd like to try." Alexander looked away. "They should be getting here any minute."

Grin dipping to a soft smile, Harmony reached over, white hand resting reassuringly on Alexander's forearm. "No need to be so nervous, my friend. Would your namesake worry so over a family reunion?"

"My namesake spent all his time at war, then died immediately after," the minotaur said, voice dry. "I imagine he never had to deal with family reunions."

"You'd know more than I." Harmony stood up, robe uncurling around them and hanging like a curtain over their thin body. Wings fluttering, the fairy went around the table and put a hand on Alexander's shoulder, patting it lightly. "Come, let's walk. We'll meet them below, if they're so close to arriving. The journey down might settle your mind."

Alexander didn't like admitting he needed anything, much less a calming walk, but it was Harmony saying it as lightly as ever, so he let himself stand and follow.

They walked out the door to Harmony's quarters, where they'd been playing, and were met with the day's usual bustle.

This close to the top it was hard to avoid the endless row of jogging messengers that constantly made their way to and from the Crow's Nest, the rookery where Scout reports would be flown in by raven messengers, collected by Seedling runners, then archived by Saplings and their Oakling leads.

One look up and, gazing through the thin blanket of leaves overhead, Alexander could see the black birds flapping in the air, sometimes alone but more often in groups of inky blurs, a roll of paper tied to their legs.

Harmony too rose into the air, though only a few inches, hovering alongside him as they waded into the crowd.

The Seedlings made way for them, not having to be told to give room for passing Councilmembers. Alexander nodded at a few of the workers, wind spirits mostly. Most nodded back, shoulders squared, though when Harmony looked down to grace them with a friendly look they blushed and grinned back wide, slowing to enjoy the moment.

It was quite the walk down—half an hour, since they weren't in any particular hurry—but Alexander did find himself calming some. At least he did, until they came into the entrance chamber and found Silviamon of all people there at the base of Halcyon's stem, bossing around some of the Seedlings crowded around the flower.

Seeing them come, the four-armed forest demon waved the workers away with two left hands.

"Every day we have more hopefuls," he said, not bothering to greet them and bothering less to note the frown Alexander sent him as a result. "Always something to do, of course. There isn't a level on this tree without some dusty corner. Still, it's a lot of names to keep track of, and a lot of paper to do it."

Harmony was just as quick to jump into business. "There's always that idea of mine," they said, wings stilling and settling them on the ground.

Silviamon smiled sardonically. "I'm not sure how much longer I can keep telling you I know nothing of computers."

Harmony's smile turned cheeky. "At least once more."

The forest demon shook his head, and for once Alexander agreed with him if only a little.

"How much electricity exactly would it take to power one of those things?" the minotaur said, skeptical. "How much gasoline?"

"How many more trees will we cut to stuff our file cabinets with?" Harmony said. Neither Alexander nor Silviamon could respond, and the fairy sighed. "Don't be so dogmatic, you two. If a bit more damage now can lessen much more damage later, the choice is clear. We have access to new tools, so let us use them."

A Seedling faun came up to Silviamon, eyes snapping back and forth between the three of them, and when he spoke his voice came softly and shakily. "Councilman, sir... Ah, level twenty-two was asking about the recent Utah reports. It seems they've been... misplaced?"

Saying this took all the courage he had, and once he was done the faun just looked down and stared stubbornly at his hooves.

Silviamon reached up to rub his forehead, and Harmony looked up at Alexander, both of them amused. It was rare to see the demon so put out.

"Have they checked the—" Silviamon stopped, waved an impatient hand. "Actually, never mind, I'll just go since I'm clearly the only competent one here."

The faun flinched, and now Alexander's good humor left him, but before he could say anything Harmony stepped in. "Be easy, Silviamon. The boy's just a messenger."

"I wasn't talking about him, was I?" Silviamon sneered, though his voice didn't carry the same edge it had before. He frowned, thought something through, and now he looked over at Alexander, staring at the minotaur for a long moment. Finally, his smirk returned. "What? Did my comment on competence hit a nerve?"

Eyes glowering and teeth grit, Alexander surged forward, but Harmony stopped him with a stern hand just long enough for Silviamon to turn and stride away, snickering all the while.

Alexander stood there, huffing anger, and the Seedling faun stood there too, knees trembling, until eventually Harmony sighed and urged the worker away.

"You'll have to learn to get along someday," Harmony said.

Alexander snorted, hands slowly uncurling. "Tell that to him, the bastard..."

"He only teases you because it proves so effective."

The minotaur grumbled at that, but once again he couldn't find any real response. Instead he looked around at the general chatter, all the Seedlings and Saplings passing this way and that, some on carrier snails, others fluttering in the air through clouds of fireflies.

Probably not the best thing for a boss to lose his composure in front of all his subordinates, and though Harmony didn't say it he knew it was as much on their mind as it now was on his. That was the benefit of experience.

Then, there at the entrance, Alexander saw a familiar sight come in, one that dampened what little remained of his anger. The same bull head as his sitting atop a smaller frame, though one that still towered over most of the crowd, so much so that it received its share glances.

Two pairs of beady eyes met across the pavilion, both minotaur brothers looking at each other with a measured gaze that seemed to reach through as many years as it now did distance.

Alexander was not the first to smile, though he did try an awkward one himself when he saw his brother do it. As the space between them closed, he noted the lithe figure walking beside the other minotaur, a green-skinned nymph with resplendent orange hair, her peaceful countenance bright against the soft glow of fireflies.

Once they were close enough to reach out, neither minotaur did. They merely stopped and stood there, looking strangely at each other for a long moment, then another...

Eventually Harmony coughed into a pale hand. "Alexander, I assume this is the brother you've told me about."

"I... Right." Alexander gestured to the other minotaur and his wife, presenting them. "My brother Bellerophon, and..." He trailed off, having momentarily forgotten the name.

"Grace, my wife," Bellerophon said, and looking at Harmony his smile slackened. "Though please, just call me Bell. And this," he stepped aside, and behind him stood another minotaur, one much smaller. A child, black eyes large and nestled on fluffy fur, with small nubs pointing out his temples instead of horns.

"This is our son, Joseph," Bell said. Gently, he pulled the boy forward. "Here, son, say hello to your uncle."

Joseph, not a very heroic name as far as Alexander knew, but now wasn't exactly the time to criticize. Instead Alexander bent down to look at the child with as kind a face as he could manage. Little Joseph did not say hello, glancing up once and then immediately looking down at the floor.

Alexander's smile turned shaky again, and even Bell looked embarrassed, but Grace put a hand on Joseph's head and rubbed it affectionately.

"He's a little shy," she said. Looking now at Alexander, the nymph held her hand out. "It's nice to finally meet you, Alex. Bell has told me so many stories!"

Alexander stared at the hand, blinking, before slowly replicating the motion. Her hand, small and soft, disappeared within his own, and the minotaur felt the sudden and terrible fear that he might crush it by complete accident.

Still, Grace held nothing but trust in her eyes, so much that all of Alexander's worry over the whole meeting slowly melted and then cooled into a tight nugget of shame. How many years of this had he missed, and for what?

The thought drew his eyes back to his brother. He let go of Grace's hand and, after some hesitation, held his own out to the other minotaur, gaze low. "Bell... for what I said back then—"

A hand closed around his, similarly stout though nowhere near as callused. Alexander met Bell's eye, and there he found the same compassion he'd learned to miss.

"I forgive you, Alex," Bell said, and without any more preamble stepped forward to hug him. "You big fool, how could I not? And I'm sorry myself, for letting us go on like this for so long."

A second, two, three, and then Alexander finally felt a self-conscious to be doing this in such a public place. He coughed, patted his brother's back a few times, then pulled away, though their hands were still clasped warmly.

Both straightened up, Bell smiling and Alexander smiling too, though sheepishly, and Grace stood there with her hands clasped over her mouth, small tears glistening on her eyes, and Joseph looked up at the two older minotaurs with with some wonder, and for the first time in too many years Alexander found a memory he hoped to keep with him forever.

Harmony somehow remained there with perfect poise, looking in at this familial scene from its periphery, allowing it for a few more sweet moments before finally stepping in and making their presence known once more. "I suppose you'll stay with Alexander. He can show you both around. And as for the little one," now they looked down at Joseph, who hid behind his mother's legs, "I'm sure we could find him some playmates."

Grace nodded and thanked the director. Soon enough they walked up the ramp out of the chamber, Alexander fully settling into his role as host and Bell laughing easily. Harmony begged off—they'd spent enough time away from work as it was.

Joseph, holding his mother's hand, looked around at the massive hall, the glowing flower stem that rose up through the ceiling, all the commotion of the busy space, letting himself soak in its novelty.

- - - — MKII — - - -

Far away from the World Tree, a woman entered an office which she noted had not changed since she last saw it.

A row of bookshelves flanked either side, and the light from the large window at the back would have cast warmly on them if the room hadn't been so empty of other furniture. For all the open space—and there was plenty of it—there were no sofas, no coffee tables, no extra chairs, nothing that spoke of a need to satisfy human comfort.

There was only the dark wooden desk at the very back, the maroon leather chair behind it, and the singular green leather chair on the other side. Walking into the room and towards this sole evidence of occupation, unencumbered by anything else, made one feel the length of the journey, and the books all around the walls seemed to either spy at visitors the whole way or threaten tumbling over them.

But, again, Mara had seen it all before. She walked through the corridor, long ebony hair bouncing impatiently with each step, and reaching the green chair she settled into it, crossing muscular arms. Her face, high cheeked and with a clear jaw, tightened impenetrably, lips drawn thinly and chin jutting forward.

Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

"Here I am," she said, voice sharp against the silence.

Opposite her on the maroon chair sat a man who had looked jovially on her from the moment she stepped inside, green eyes sparkling at some internal joke. His suit fit tight on a thick body, one built from an active past hidden by countless years of signing paperwork. A round face topped it, not flabby but heavy at the neck. Hand coming to rest on a landline on his desk, he gave Mara a small smile.

"Welcome, old friend, " he said. "Would you like coffee? Tea?"

Her eyes bore into his, stern. "Let's make this quick. I have two kids at home."

"Of course," he said, pulling his hand back. It met the other and, fingers intertwined, came to prop up his chin. "I understand. I have a child of my own, now."

"Oh, I've heard, and I'm sure it's a very loving relationship." Each word came as a block of sarcasm.

The man chuckled, some people were just too unpleasant. Not taking his hands out from under his chin, he gestured with his eyes at the yellow file folder sitting apart from the neat pile of papers on his desk. "Take a look."

Somewhat put out that her venom met such stalwart resistance, Mara took the file, opened it, flipped through the papers inside.

The man watched her scan its text, saw as her trimmed brows dipped, her lips curved in distaste. He saw also how her eyes, usually dark, lit up with interest. Got her.

"... What exactly do you get out of this?" she asked softly.

The man's smile remained, though now it seemed absolutely frigid. "A controlled rupture."

Mara closed her eyes at the same time that she closed the file, holding it tightly on her lap. "You're horrifying."

"Oh please, let's not pretend like you care about that now."

"I do." Mara leaned forward, glaring at him, as unbothered by his indifference as he was of her anger. "I do, En. Now I have a family. I... I know how it would feel to lose them. How can I do that to someone else? To so many?"

"The same way you have for years," En said. When she kept glaring, he sighed, leaning back on his chair, hands coming to rest on a prominent stomach. "Don't think me absolutely heartless, but this is what must be done. And your hands are already drowned in blood, Mara. What's a few more lives, at this stage of things?"

She still glared, though now her eyes left his and looked down, as if at herself. They sat silently for a moment, until finally her brow eased, and her face fell with tired regret.

"I'm not your only option," she eventually said.

En waved at her words. "Come now, Mara. You know I respect your former employers, but I'd rather keep this one in-house. They're a lot more expensive, and a lot more risky. All it takes is another one to run away and spill secrets like you did."

Confronted again, Mara just shook her head, fingers coming to rub at her temple, and for the first time En felt the beginnings irritation. He could tell she already saw his way of things, and now only hesitated due to... what? Some newfound sense of morals? A few years mothering and she was already this out of practice?

Still, these things sometimes required tact. En took a calming breath and felt his bitter feelings, brief as they were, blow out with it. Looking at Mara again, he put as much sympathy into his expression as he could get away with, and reached for the file. Seeing his hand come, Mara stared at it, unsure, before he asked again with a gesture and she gave up the folder.

"Mara, we've worked together this long," he said, taking it. "I know you don't like me, but I also know you trust my judgment. Trust me now when I say that this—" He waved the file in the air. "This will get the ball rolling. All those pieces we've set, all our hopes... this will bring them to fruition."

She was about to respond, so he continued before she could talk herself out of saying what he already knew she'd say.

"It won't happen immediately," En admitted, stopping her short. "It might take years to see the result of your actions, and in the moment it will feel cruel. But it's what must be done for a better future. For your children." Pausing, he gazed at her from across the desk. "The Corps as it is now, it's too fractured, too disorganized to do the job it's meant to. Everything we've done has been to build a safe world. A stable world. You still believe in that, don't you?"

They looked at each other. Then, Mara dipped her head, and En felt a little more relieved than he probably should have.

"... I do," she said, and head bent back toward the ceiling she closed her eyes and sighed again, shoulders drooping. Mara gave it some more time, letting her decision settle in. "Fine. I'll do it. But," she pointed a finger at En, "on one condition."

The man had expected this or something like it, and nodded. "Anything."

"This is the last thing you ask me to do." Mara looked down at him, head still bent up, like she couldn't even be bothered to face him fully. "After this, I'm done. Forever."

That made En pause. Looking away, he mulled on it, lips drawn into a tight grimace. He knew as well as her that she'd only come now due to her own sense of duty; if not for that, anyone he sent after her would wind up in a morgue, assuming there'd be anything left to bury.

Well, some things couldn't be helped.

"I'll be sorry to lose your services," he said. "But I accept. Consider this your final mission."

"Thank god for that," Mara muttered, and still not facing him she got up and leaned over to snatch the file from him. "Can't exactly say it was nice to see you again, you coldblooded bastard."

En smiled again, and this time it didn't take any effort on his part. "On that we'll have to disagree, as we do with so many things. It's made me feel perfectly nostalgic. I might have to host a reunion with the whole old crew."

"Just don't bother inviting me."

She left, and En watched her go, smile still in place. Mara had changed, but thankfully not too much, at least not where it counted. A heartening thing to know.

He pushed back on the desk, chair rolling out, just enough space for him to swerve around and face the window. Sunlight met him, and En leaned back, eyes closed, enjoying the warmth of things falling into place.

- - - — MKII — - - -

The forests around the World Tree brimmed with occupation. Tree houses hung above, connected by a chaotic network of short planks for small gaps and rope bridges for larger ones, and every other trunk had a ladder for the benefit of those who couldn't fly, which made up a minority—those without wings mostly stuck to huts and grottos on the ground.

Pixies floated down to chat with their neighbors, gnomes waddled up and down a long dirt trail along with leprechauns and beastmen of all sorts, some carrying packs, others facing up to enjoy the sunlight that made it through the branches. Animals joined them—foxes, weasels, deer, squirrels, gigantopod snails and their more mundane brethren, even a few perfectly docile bears—all as much a part of the community as the Greenkin.

The sheer variety of it had taken Joseph by surprise. His own home village wasn't particularly small or lacking in wonders, but any corner of this settlement could top it easily.

Still, as amazing as it was, he couldn't let the sight distract him from his real purpose here. Standing behind a tree, his eyes scanned the crowd and frowned at the shadows until eventually...

There! Joseph pulled back, breath hitching and back flat against the trunk as he slid down to sit, hands hugging his furry knees. Closing his eyes, he imagined the brief silhouette he'd seen pass by completely unaware, getting lost in the mass of bodies.

At least he did, until a lofty voice spoke up beside him.

"Got you."

Eyes opening, Joseph's head snapped to see the elf boy he'd been hiding from standing right there, staring contemptuously down at him. He opened his mouth to say something, whether to share his surprise or disappointment he wasn't sure, but before he could get the nerve to do it the elf boy left, off to find some other target.

This was fun. Joseph tried to convince himself of it as he stood up with uncertain hooves and walked out into the open. There, a bit off the path, he saw a small crowd of other kids—little satyrs and nymphs and a couple of bogeys. All the ones who'd already gotten caught, like him.

Not too far he saw the parents, just the few who'd been saddled with keeping an eye on them, sitting on a leafy table nearby and glancing over at the kids in between their talk. His own parents weren't there, still getting the tour from his uncle at the World Tree.

Jenny waved as he came to join them. She was nice and didn't mind how little he talked. The others had given him funny looks when he replied to their greetings with a quiet stare, then eventually started rolling their eyes at him, but at least no one had kicked him out of the game yet.

"Jahdiel's pretty good, right?" Jenny said to him. "I think it's an elf thing."

Elves were rare enough that Joseph had never met one, so he wouldn't have had much to say even if he had the confidence to say anything. Jenny seemed to take his silence as agreement, though, and kept up the one-sided conversation, telling him for the third time about the carrier snails, and about the fireflies, and about how Jubilee was starting in a week so he and his folks should stay for it if they weren't going to already.

Joseph let her talk, since it was nice to have someone pretend like he was normal for at least a while, and as the minutes passed by more kids trickled in until eventually the whole group had been found and they gathered once more to start another round.

They were just getting ready when Jenny, still chattering on, mentioned the Eco-Scouts, "actual humans" who came by the World Tree, as she put it, "every once in a while."

"Mr. Ronald died," she was saying, not sounding particularly mournful, or maybe she was too much in the groove of talking to actually feel the weight of her words. "He was the old Scout boss. My parents say they're getting a new one soon, but Mr. Ronald always gave me candy so I dunno if anyone else's gonna be that nice."

Standing nearby, Jahdiel snorted. "It's lucky that the old one died. If they're smart, they won't get some other human."

"But all the Scouts are humans," Jenny said.

"Yeah, that's bad enough." Jahdiel shook his head at them, poor confused children. "The rest of you Greenkin don't know how things work, but elves are smarter. Humans are the bad guys. They'll kill you if you let them find you."

He spoke sagely, as if repeating the moral in a storybook, but it fell a bit flat as none of the other kids really knew what to say. Clearly he'd thought about it plenty if he could speak so confidently, or maybe his parents had talked to him about it more than theirs ever had. At least, that was the case with most of them.

"My mom likes humans," Joseph said, the words coming out on their own.

The others turned to him with mild surprise. As for Jahdiel, the child elf merely scowled at him. "Then your mom's an idiot," he said, eliciting some gasps.

Now Joseph felt some sort of energy bubble up between them all, an invisible tension. I'm supposed to hit him, he realized, or shout or something. But instead of picking either option, Joseph just shrunk into himself. The expectant silence stretched on uncomfortably, until Jahdiel raised his chin and looked away, dismissing the other boy.

"You should let her know, Dimple," Jahdiel said. "Never trust humans, ever. Tell your mom before she ends up dead."

Dimple. The other kids glanced at him, some with grins they tried to hide, snickering into their hands. Even Jenny sidled a bit away from him as they started picking out the next finder in their hiding game, and after a single day of having something like friends, Joseph—or Dimple, for that's what they would refuse to stop calling him from then on—felt well and truly apart from everyone around him.

- - - — MKII — - - -

Night came shortly after. Alexander and Bell sat down on the bench outside the former's hut, each with a mug of ale on hand, waiting for Grace to come back with her son. She'd begged off to do it shortly after they'd come inside and Alexander started pouring drinks, rejecting all of Bell's requests to come with.

Nothing like a solitary stroll to really take in the sights, she'd said, though clearly she just wanted the two brothers to get some alone time together.

Alexander slapped Bell on the back as soon as she was gone. "You found a good one, brother," he said, chuckling when the other minotaur grinned with blatant pride. "Said so in your letter, but meeting her in person I see all your words fell short."

"I've been lucky," Bell said, shrugging.

The two took a long gulp each, then stared up at the moon bright and blue in the sky. The World Tree stood tall taking up half the night with its thick shadow, a million leaves glittering in the dark and surrounded by with vague swirling clouds of light. Then, Bell nudged his brother's arm.

"So," he said, smile growing toothy, "chess, was it?"

Alexander choked on his drink. "Oh, shut up," he said, pushing a chuckling Bell away.

Earlier, Alexander had obviously brought up his recent education in human culture, if what little he'd learned about their games could be called that. Grace had listened with a pleasant smile as he stammered on about chess and how he was just about the second best player in the whole ELD, and it was only once he paused a full five minutes later that she admitted she had no idea what chess was.

"I thought she was some kind of human expert," Alexander grumbled, making his brother laugh louder.

"She just likes them, Alex," Bell said. "Knowing all about them is a different matter."

"Sure, make me feel even more foolish." Alexander shook his head, then gulped down the rest of his drink, putting the empty mug on the table with a sharp tap. "Where's the interest, anyway? Humans are nothing special."

"It's her old home," Bell said softly. "There was a human girl who went to see her often, back when she was still bonded to her tree. Somehow the girl could see through the Veil."

Alexander hummed. "A rare thing."

"Children have an easier time. But eventually the girl grew older, and the Veil started closing in. By the time she was an adult, she couldn't see Grace anymore, and had probably forgotten all about her."

"So this girl, she was nice?"

"She played with Grace often, and was kind." As he went on, Bell's voice turned sad, and he had to take a few sips of his drink before continuing. "She doesn't talk much about it, Grace. It pains her. Can you imagine, being forgotten after knowing someone for years?"

Alexander glanced at him somberly. As gently as he could, he grabbed his brother's shoulder. "I never forgot, Bell. I could never forget family."

Bell looked over with a small smile. "I know. Even if I wasn't the warrior you thought I should be—"

"That doesn't matter anymore."

"Even then," Bell stressed. "I knew you were too good-hearted to hold onto petty grudges."

Lip trembling, Alexander nodded and gave his brother a pat. Some feelings were too true for words, and Bell could see his brother had realized this after receiving a few more silent pats.

For Alexander's benefit if nothing else, Bell raised his mug. "I'm getting a refill. Want one?"

"... Yes," Alexander said. "Yes, if you would. Thank you."

Bell took both cups and made to rise, but before he could a booming echo slammed against the sky, and something bright as the sun suddenly exploded into being some ways behind the trees, washing them in a thick wave of heat.

Screams followed shortly after, and for too long Alexander and Bell both sat there staring in complete bewilderment as fire bloomed across the forest, red and furious, turning all to ash and plumes of thick, black smoke.

Then, as abruptly as the flames had come, Alexander and Bell jumped to their hooves, the latter tossing the mugs carelessly on the ground.

"Grace," the latter said in a loud whisper. "My son!"

"Stay!" Alexander shouted, and without looking back dove right into the trees, heading for the blaze. He didn't go far before noticing that Bell followed right behind him, and he turned his head with a thunderous glare. "I said stay, damn you!"

"My family is somewhere in there, Alex!" Bell said, glaring just as furiously. "I'm going to find them whether you want me to or not!"

Alexander was about to snap back, but another boom sounded out, followed by more screams. The few Greenkin out and about nearby all ran in the opposite direction, heads bent back in horror. At least they are sane, Alexander thought, but kept his silence, running as fast as he could.

Bell kept up behind him, if barely, but there was only so much the elder minotaur could worry about him. Whatever this was, Alexander knew, it hadn't just come from nowhere. Someone was behind it. And whoever they were, he'd make them regret it.

- - - — MKII — - - -

Moments before, Mara stood just off the path, seeing all the Greenkin around her, all the unexpectant faces of workers coming home after a day well spent.

Her dark hood hid her features, though she'd gotten her fair share of curious eyes. No one had tried to stop her and ash who she was. However this night ended, that was a mistake she knew the ELD would never repeat.

Slowly, she breathed in felt the cool night air fill her lungs. Her hands came together with a soft clap, and in that moment Mara saw from the corner of her eye what looked like a mother and son.

She paused, looking on as the green-haired woman knelt down and talked to the bull-headed child, meeting his eyes, lips parted for words Mara couldn't hear. The child couldn't look his mother in the eye, too ashamed of whatever he'd done.

Mara imagined herself back home. She'd be able to hide her own shame, when it came time to look her own kids in the eye and make them see what they'd done wrong. Somehow, she'd be able to do it.

Knowing this, she breathed out, and fire flew.