Mahala fell back into the car with deep rasping breaths. She hadn’t fallen face first into the seat — Luck had caught her, as he always did.

Her father was waiting at home. Thank Nothos.

“What happened?” Luck barked to the front of the car.

“S-Some maniac ran right across the road! Th-There was no way I could’ve stopped in time!” the chauffeur spluttered. “Oh gods… did I kill her?”

Luck frowned. He propped Mahala up and elbowed the door open. “Stay here, my lady.”

He stepped out of the motorcar, slamming the door shut behind him. His black eyes swept over the road while Mahala rocked in her seat.

In a blink, a dark figure appeared behind Luck.

“Luck!”

A blade pressed to Luck’s throat. He stilled.

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“No point to having a spatial awareness compass if you can’t react in time, Unlucky,” a voice sneered. It sounded identical to his own.

Mahala rolled down the window, relieved to hear it. “Shuteye, is that you?”

Behind Luck was a mirror copy to him — a homunculus. Like all homunculi soldiers, he shared the same face as Magus Tibalt Kinderum. This one was dressed in the same coat at Luck with matching heights, broad frames, black eyes, and half-masks. The difference was seen when he folded his switchsword and shrugged back his hood, hair shaved close to his scalp and revealing the scars marked across his face to his left temple.

“My lady,” said Shuteye with a bow, his voice low. “Apologies for the mess.”

Luck stepped in front of the motorcar and inspected the woman they had hit. A faint groan emanated from her direction.

“Not dead,” he announced. He grabbed the woman by the arm and dragged her to her feet. “What are you running from, miss?”

“From us. She’s been caught moonshining, out of her own bathtub, no less,” Shuteye answered for them. “Been chasing her little circle for two weeks now. These bastards are getting more conniving by the day. They’re getting their own women involved.”

“They’re distilling alcohol? With what?” Mahala asked, curving out of the car.

Shuteye placed a hand on her shoulder, gently pushing her back inside the car. “Stay where it’s safe, my lady.”

“How many of them are there? Is it a gang?”

Shuteye chuckled. “I won’t let it get that far. But best you run along. We’ve closed all the roads around this street to box in the remaining members of her operation, so a queue will be forming.”

“If it’s closed for everyone, I should stay put too.” Mahala sat back and folded her arms. “Not even my father is above breaking quarantine measures.”

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“I’d hate to keep the Lady caged in with these crooks. At least let me spell you out of here,” said Shuteye, leaning into the window.

The moonshiner was tossed at Shuteye’s feet with a yelp. Her tangled hair fell over her sobbing face. Mahala tried to catch a look at her, spotting a part of the moonshiner’s open blouse and short skirt showing a pair of scraped knees.

Mahala’s nose scrunched up as she cringed back into her seat. Obscene.

“Don’t forget your job, Shuteye,” Luck said, his voice coiled with tension. “The Lady is my charge.”

“And a bang-up job you’re doing with that,” Shuteye drawled in a scathing tone. “Blind as a mole, slow as a slug. You can’t even manage long-distance teleportation. It’s a miracle you’re keeping a job.”

Luck’s hand twitched near the hilt of his switchsword. “Keep this up and I’m going to put you through a wall.”

“Oh yeah? Show me,” Shuteye snickered.

The moonshiner began crawling away — until Shuteye spelled invisible walls around her without so much a second glance.

Luck drew slow, steady breaths, his fists balled so tightly the leather threatened to burst at the seams. His black eyes looked darker than ever, locked with Shuteye in a staring contest. Shuteye maintained his gaze as he tilted his head back, still casually resting against the motorcar. His hand remained offered to Mahala.

She coughed loudly. “Shuteye. Your offer is kind, but I’d rather you save your magic in case you need it. Luck, we should find somewhere to wait until the roads are open.”

The two homunculi continued to glower at each other, but eventually Luck’s hands relaxed and Shuteye pushed off from the motorcar, grabbing the moonshiner.

“We won’t be long, my lady,” said Shuteye with a sweeping bow, so different from how he spoke to his own brother.

“Be safe!” she called back.

A blink, and Shuteye teleported away, criminal in tow.

The chauffeur anxiously drummed his fingers against the wheel. “S-So… where to…?”

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Inside a small coffeehouse, Mahala browsed the various pastries in the counter display; flaky breads stuffed with raisins, nuts, or shredded coconut, and a selection of candied strawberries, apple, and orange slices. She picked two wooden skewers with strawberries coated in caramelised sugar with soft bits of nougat between them.

“How much?” Mahala asked, reaching into her purse.

“No, no, we couldn’t charge Lady Pesh for a treat!” said the girl behind the counter. She held out the two skewers with a flushed face. “Please! You already do so much for us all!”

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Mahala gave her a rehearsed smile in return and accepted the skewers. The coffeehouse was thankfully bare, with only a couple of patrons having asked her for a handshake and a few words.

Luck sat in the corner of the shop, hunched over a table tucked away in a booth.

It would have been safer to eat inside the car, but Mahala could not help herself. The coffeehouse invited her deeper into its quaint sitting area with its warm scents, adorned with velvet cushion chairs, and playing a cool jazz track from the radio.

Outside, a public loudspeaker fought to be heard over the radio. “Attention, Capital citizens. Please be vigilant with symptoms of the wyrm plague…”

Far better to be indoors.

“Luck!” Mahala called, holding out a skewer. “Have you ever had one of these before?”

Luck stared at it. “I don’t believe so.”

“We had these all the time back in my hometown,” Mahala said wistfully, sitting across from him. “Last summer, Adelei and I tried to make these ourselves and we failed miserably.”

She bit into a strawberry, crackling through the sweet coating and into the sour, chewy centre. Luck stared at her. She hid her mouth behind her hand.

“D-Did I get some on me?” she garbled, her cheeks burning.

“No. Apologies, my lady. I was thinking about something,” he said. She offered him the second skewer again but he shook his head. “Not good for a soldier’s diet.”

Mahala doubted that, recalling the other homunculi happily snacking on sweets and jerky, but didn’t push him. She happily tore through the snack, sliding each piece off the skewer and into her mouth, relishing in the chewiness of the nougat between the crunch of the crisp shell of the candied strawberries. Thank goodness they had picked a corner, or she wouldn’t have been able to enjoy them half as much.

The lack of others staring is what made Luck’s intense expression stand out all the more.

“You’re going to make me embarrassed if you keep watching me eat,” said Mahala, this time without stuffed cheeks. “You’re sure you don’t want something?”

“Apologies,” he said again. This time, he fully turned his head from her, scanning the coffeehouse. Or at least, she thought. The black scleras made it difficult to gauge his line of sight.

He had his hood down for once, showing short hair sticking up and fuzzy from the friction. The wrinkled heavy brow, half-mask, and fully black eyes were most certainly from Tibalt Kinderum, though. Most Pomolish men didn’t realise the mask was part of his face — the chitin faceplate concealed his mouth underneath. While many homunculi made some slight cosmetic differences that could differentiate them, Luck didn’t adhere to the same habit. Mahala didn’t need him to. She knew her Luck.

She swallowed down her fruit, mulling over her companion. This is probably about…

“You and Shuteye don’t get along, do you?” she said. “You should make up. You are brothers.”

Luck sighed, slouching slightly. “I wish you didn’t have to see that. I acted discourteously. Please excuse my language earlier.”

Mahala touched his shoulder, hopefully mimicking the same way he did for her.

“It’s alright,” she said.

“Shuteye was right though. He could have sent you straight home with an advanced spell,” Luck continued.

Mahala offered him a tired smile, her cheeks sore from her usual celebrity ones. She hoped he didn’t mind.

“If I had just gone home, it would have meant leaving you behind. And we wouldn’t have found this wonderful shop. Besides, I’ve spent time today with children and with Adelei, so it’s nice to enjoy this treat with you.” Mahala took a confident bite out of the second skewer. “So please don’t tell father I’m spoiling my dinner. Or that I didn’t get him one of these.”

That finally earned a small chuckle from Luck. His smile reached his eyes and he sat up straighter.

“Of course, my lady,” he said. “...Thank you.”

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His glove barely tickled her skin, but it sent a small shock to her heart. He had never touched her face before. Never needed to. She felt hyper-aware of everything at the brief moment. Her lips, still sticky with sugar. She could feel his body heat even through the thick layer of the leather glove. And she felt, even with his dark eyes, that he was staring right at her. If Adelei hadn’t pointed it out, she wouldn’t have thought anything unusual about him.

Was it the scleras that unsettled Adelei? Nothing reflected in his gaze, no hint of light, but the way his wrinkles creased around them like a smile felt… comforting.

Luck blinked, realising he had touched her face, and retracted his hand.

“Apologies, still distracted,” he murmured, averting his gaze.

Mahala’s cheeks grew hot. “I-It’s fine. Did I have sugar on my face? I can’t walk around like that in public.”

“...Yes. Don’t worry, it’s gone.”

She wiped her face with a napkin just to be sure. He had just been helping her, that was all. Nothing to be flustered about. If only she could tell that to her rapidly beating heart.

A heavy thump at the window broke her thoughts. Mahala was the only one that jumped. Several fists banged at the glass, screams echoing through the air. She no longer saw her motorcar, the road, or the houses. There was only fire as people screamed, banging on the windows with desperate bloody fists, broken nails, and feverish eyes as they desperately tried to escape the fire.

“HELP US!” they screeched.

“NOTHOS!”

“LORD PROTECTOR, PLEASE!”

“MERCY, GOD! MERCY!”

A forktongue shrieked above her, so loud it rang in her ears, deafening all the rest.

Mahala choked, her body locked together, unable to tear away from the hellscape.

“L-Lu…” she rasped. Get me out of here.

A shrill chime cut through the ringing. Her chauffeur stepped into the coffeehouse, cramming his cap over his head, shivering from the afternoon chill.

“Um, milady. Radio says the roads are clear now,” he announced.

Her eyes flitted back to the window; the fire gone, the street empty. The two other guests were still giggling amongst themselves like nothing happened. The girl behind the till stole a few glances at Mahala’s direction, her face even pinker. Luck was calm and collected.

I’m not there. That’s not here. The taste of candy melted from her mouth, dripping through her teeth like ash instead.

And then it was sweet again, Luck rising from his seat, offering his hand to Mahala. “We should return home then. You still need to pack for your trip to the quarantine zone.”

She gripped his hand tighter than she remembered but he said nothing, escorting her until they reached the car. She felt a little more aware of how close they were as they walked, close and looming like a shadow. For half a second she wondered what it would be like to be held by him.

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Don’t be silly!

He was her bodyguard. A soldier born to keep the peace in Pomolin, homunculi of the Pale Magus, and she was the Lady of Pomolin, responsible for serving her people just as her father, the Lord Protector, did.

The motorcar passed by the town; aligned with tidy rows of narrow buildings with autumn trees littering gold-brown leaves on the street.

She saw the moonshiner from before impaled in the town square on an upright spear, two men on spears next to her. Blood trickled down the moonshiner’s face from the single gunshot she would have received. A small crowd had quickly formed around them, gossiping amongst themselves about the drama that unfolded for the past hour.

“Stay sober, stay clear-minded!” a constable roared, pointing at the bodies. “This is the price of your vice!”

As per the Lord Protector’s mercy, the criminals were set alight as a priest stepped forward with a prayer. To burn away everything but the soul was the final dignity all men deserved.

In the corner of her vision, she spotted another homunculi on the roof of a shrine. She blinked, and he was gone. She sighed and sank deeper into her seat.

Thank Nothos the Capital’s safe again.