Weeks passed and Kodak fell into a new rough rhythm. Taking care of the girl, sleeping with her on his chest and waiting for the moment each night, or moments if he was unlucky, where she’d wake him. All said having a child around was hard, but less awful than he’d expected. Winter was dull. Long. Now he had someone to keep him company as he sheltered in the house, someone other than his fathers ghost.

Before settling in for the season he’d gone out one last time. Riding Dice to the same clearing, searching the same damaged carriage he’d run from days ago. Inside, by the other bench he’d found a box. Some strange metal device with a timer on it and a little indent about the size of his fingertip. The timer was long, nearly two years at this point, but counting down every second. He dreaded the day the timer hit zero, dreaded what other surprises he would be responsible for. A silent girl and a mystery box, he laughed to himself. The sound came out more dry and bitter than he’d hoped.

Kodak had finally finished carving out a crib for the nameless girl. It took longer than he expected, it was the small embellishments he kept adding: a maker's mark, hanging toys from above to swat at and plush cushioning below. It was winter though, so he had the time. Before he’d finished it he realized, in an epiphany that made him feel fully foolish, that it would go unused.

The girl was silent even now. He couldn’t leave her alone without some way to wake him. So she’d keep sleeping near him. He’d completed it anyway, it was a shame to leave a piece of work like this undone. Maybe when she’s older… his thoughts trailed off as he admired his work. There had been peace in the carving, and he’d felt filled with purpose and direction. As if he was finally doing enough for this strange girl child that had been thrust into his life.

Sometimes he resented her for it.

For the way she devoured his time. For the work he had to put in, every day endlessly worrying over her. But mostly for the way she cut his grieving short. For the way she interrupted the long season of salvage, of imagining how his father would have ridden with him, how his father would have cast. How his father would have taught him things he’d already learned so many times that they were rote, but he’d let him teach one more time just to see the spark of pride in his eyes.

Sometimes he loved her for it.

For the relief of moving on. The relief of something to fill his days with.

The snow steadily fell down and Kodak and the girl spent each day quietly.

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Maggie was furious.

She’d just returned from the front and her head was still running hot. As a Sister she’d fought many times this past year but it still sat in her like fire. She wasn’t like the other Sisters who could flirt with the recruits and act like they were out for a picnic when they were at war.

At war, she snorted. Today they’d only fought the gulls.

Mean spirited things, moving in aggressive packs and joining in on any conflict near their territory. They were scavengers, scouts and monsters all rolled into one. They had a huge wingspan, the tips stretched out would go farther than the tips of her fingers and they reeked of blood and garbage. Fair enough though, that was what they ate after all.

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Today she’d seen one rip a flying pressure mage straight out of the air. “Hawking them”, they called it. It was grotesque. He’d crumpled around its filthy beak. Maggie shivered, the sound of his bones snapping and his wail replaying in her head.

The bird hadn’t lasted long after that. She’d seen it, grounded it and from there the powder did what it did best.

Even in victory the battlefield made her restless, mean even and it didn’t help that she was the best. It didn’t help that when she showed up they won. She still had the dreams. She still hated the front.

She’d moved up the ranks quickly, her natural talent with powder incantations was what had marked her for the order originally and that talent bloomed.

It bloomed in heat and blood and war.

Being the best meant that she saw how everyone else failed, it meant that she saw the front more than any other Sister. Being the best meant that she had the space even when cleaning up a battle to remember the life she missed. Her husband, Kai. Well… ex-husband, and their daughter. Their baby girl. She saw them everywhere. Even in the smell of the powder, so similar to the scent of him after a long day's work.

He’d been a firefighter. Fascinated with stopping flame in odd ways. Hells, others would tell her that he was an odd man. He’d had this theory that fire, like people, needed to breathe and that by cutting off its air it would die. She grinned. Even now, just the memory of him made her laugh and smile. His strange antics and theories and studies had filled their home with paper and scribbled notes.

The memory of him, knowing they were safe, would be enough. It had to be, that was the oath she swore to her Sisters. The oath I was made to swear. Maggie grimaced and clenched her gauntlet tight, feeling the pressure of the metal joints pull against the back of her hand.

No matter how odd people said he was, Kai was good at his job. So good that it got them noticed. Got them invited to high society, and eventually someone recognized her for what she was…

Maggie unclenched her hand, the recruits were throwing nervous glances her way. They often did. She was too intense, they said. One of them told her that even when she left the front, it was like the front didn’t leave her. The poor child thought that was aspirational.

She sighed and tried to unclench her jaw as she slowly slipped her gauntlets off. Delicately pulling each joint out of the tight steel was a lengthy process unless she wanted to pinch something, but it also helped her reset. The cool of the late afternoon air against her hands was refreshing. She paused for a minute, just feeling the freedom in her fingers and not thinking. Blissfully not thinking.

She began to idly bounce a brass casing between her knuckles. It was a powerful instrument of magic, but had still become a habit whenever she thought about her past. She knew it wasn’t dangerous without the incantation, and it was something to do with her hands, something less threatening than clenched gauntlets.

She used to play with coins like this when she was young, when they had few and had to fight for every dollar. As if she was showing off!

“Ha!” Maggie laughed dryly.

She wondered what she was showing off now.

She was so deep in her thoughts, in her familiar ritual, that she didn’t notice the lieutenant headed toward her at first. Zane. He was nice. Usually less formal than he was supposed to be, and she liked that. Probably because he always seems less scared than the rest. They’re all so stiff around me.

Command sent Zane to debrief her whenever they could. She’d been a bit prickly with some of the earlier officers they’d sent. Their formal speech, treating her like some kind of royalty or administrator. She hated it. Ha! A small smile flitted across her face as she looked up at him. The fact that he’d been assigned to her felt like a small victory, a little concession she’d forced command to make to who she was before.

All it had taken was a little magic. Her eyes crinkled up at the memory of the first stuttering officer they’d sent her way. He’d tried to tie her down with formality, but she’d burnt those bonds before he could leash her. She’d burnt him too. He was a mouse of a man who didn’t realize that she…

She was a monster.

Zane was better. He knew what she was, no illusions. Just no fear. He was a bit of a drunk, and loose with his lips as well. He told her more than he should about command, and she was sure he gossiped about her to them too. But she liked him anyway. He was himself around her, and that was more than most could say.

“Ahem.” He sounded nervous.

Maggie met his eyes and saw tension stretching his face taught. The fear and worry and something she didn’t recognize in Zane staring back at her. Not fear of her - that she was used to from others and would spot instantly, this was just fear.

“Ma’am”, he paused again, and swallowed loudly. “I have… bad news, I’m so sorry.”