Thaw came onto Valen like an avalanche of warmth and colour. Remnants of snow slipped off roofs and puddled in the streets, were swept away by the increased foot traffic of merchants and tradesmen flowing in from the countryside. Caravans had crossed the passes and brought the roar of life from every corner of Vas.

Events of the Night of Descent still lingered in the minds of many as Quistis noticed on her final rounds of Valen. Falor’s battle with Cinder had become the stuff of alehouse legend, told and retold with a thousand new embellishments by people who were there, weren’t there but had heard, or whom simply parroted whatever version had caught their fancy.

Some of them were quite creative.

She featured in some, though she hadn’t ever laid eyes on the fabled sorceress.

Valen had been the longest station of her career to date, aside from Aztroa Magnor itself. It was time to leave it behind and be redeployed. Falor had received communication from the Empress herself that they were to return to the capital and prepare for a different service.

He’d not mentioned what it was. Or where. But there would be a period of respite and retraining in Aztroa.

This was her final round of Valen. She took the time to have a cup of tea with Laric and wish him well, passed by the nameless place she and Falor frequented for a last cup of coffee, and even accepted to spend some pleasant time with Lucian. If she were a more sentimental woman, she expected she would feel at least a bit weary of change.

Instead… well, what did she feel?

Worried. Terrified. Weary indeed, for many different reasons.

She allowed herself some private thoughts as she climbed the stairs to the Fortress where the rest of the cell mustered. Her sister was… somewhere, being someone Quistis didn’t know. She was still blood, even with everything Aliana had told her of Dreea’s work for the Empress. That, more than anything, Quistis felt as a failure of her own. She shouldn’t have pushed as hard as she had, shouldn’t have encouraged such ambition, should have seen the signs earlier on…

But she hadn’t. And until Aliana contacted her, she’d thought her sister safe, doing their family proud in service to the Empire. More fool she.

Guilt twisted in her gut as she rested upon one of the open dais overlooking Valen from the Daylight Wall. Neptas crested past the blue mountains, warmth streaming across the thawing land. Quistis’s hands were cold and she blew on them, achieving nothing.

Mertle made preparations according to the plan. She would make her way to Aztroa. Quistis herself had written the invitation for lady Tianna of Aieni Holding to join the Storm Guard in the capital as a prospective recruit. Part apology. Part recognition. All interest on the Empire’s side to ensure there would be no repercussions from winter’s blunder on the part of the Aieni Holding.

Falor hadn’t been happy when he’d signed the document. He’d stared at it for a long time, grumbling unkind things about Rumi’s role in all of it. In truth, Rumi had done Quistis a service with her meddling. It allowed her to argue on behalf of Tianna, as even the mind-skinner had to admit the woman could be an asset. Properly trained and guided—a role Quistis was more than happy to take on herself—she could probably end up leading her own cell some day.

Still, she was bringing Mertle in terrible danger. Lucretia and Deidra would be following the same route to Aztroa, doing what they knew best up to there: sowing doubt, opening eyes, striking for change.

Valen’s red roofs shone in the early morning light. She’d miss the sight. Not the smell of smoke and ash… maybe even that, a little. Aztroa certainly was no perfume by comparison, but its stenches had fewer implications.

Ten years in Valen. A drop in a deep bucket of time, but too much. It made it easy to forget the rest of Vas wasn’t as kind or as quiet.

A gust of chill wind cut through her as she finished the climb up the side of the wall. Her boot had sprung another leak and puddle water seeped into her two pairs of socks. Every other step squelched to her great annoyance. It helped banish her private musings ahead of reaching the muster.

“Ayo, Captain.”

Vial fell into step with her as she neared the main courtyard. He had a grey rucksack on his shoulders, and a brand new atagan clattering on his hip.

“Taken a shine to Barlo’s weapons, I see?” She’d also picked up a fresh staff from the nighttime bazaar. She had it wrapped and carried it hung on her back. It was ashwood and lighter than her old.

“Aye. Figured I’d get a proper blade for wherever we’re sent next.” He gave her a side-glance. “Where are we going next?”

She shrugged as they joined the press of early busybodies, “No bloody clue. Falor’s keeping mum.”

“My gut says we’re going to the Twins. It’s been too quiet there. Never a good sign.”

She grunted a response. The Twins hadn’t been quiet by any measure of the word, but Falor had already sent a cadre of mages there to deal with the garrison’s commander’s requests. They’d yet to get word back about the situation.

Vial whistled a tone-deaf tune as he walked two steps ahead, opening up the way for her. They headed for the gate. She’d already packed earlier—not that she had much to pack—and her chest would be among the first things sent through. She’d seen enough of the Fortress for ten years that she didn’t feel the need for one final stroll on the draft-strewn corridors.

Her affairs were in order. She’d passed on her responsibilities to a pinch-faced man of Valen’s constabulary, drafted her reports to Diogron and the rest of the Council, and handed over all cases that had been taken up by the Guard. Strictly speaking, they hadn’t had this as a responsibility, but after a year of waiting around for Cinder they’d taken over random parts of the city’s protection just for something to do.

You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

Funny how much something had ended up needing doing.

The muster was nearly complete. Falor had a cell of a hundred able-bodied men and women spread across Valen. They were all gathered here now, in the courtyard, at attention while Barlo inspected the ranks. Less than a hundred, but some had simply made the transition to Valen’s constabulary. Families had been established here, children born, roots dug in.

Quistis did not envy those that chose to remain. Valen was quiet now, but it wouldn’t stay that way for long. She knew that much of what was coming.

Ahead, the gate stood ready, its tar-like portal glittering in Neptas’s first light. Barlo sent groups through, checking names off his list. Falor was on the up-raised dais next to the gate warden, overseeing his men.

She joined him. He wasn’t wearing his white regalia for this last day as Valen’s protector. Instead, he was dressed in rough-looking civilian clothes and wore thick-soled boots fit for long marches. It was as if he was prepared to be redeployed the moment he stepped through the gate, orders effective immediately. For a brief instant she worried of her own choice of boots.

“You’ve started early,” she said by way of greeting. “Can’t wait to get back to Aztroa?”

“The men are eager to go back home.”

“Most of them were going anyway mid-summer.”

“Rotation was this year?”

She nodded, “Time flies.”

Something in his eyes said there was more he’d like to speak of, but kept back. He’d been doing that all winter and by now she’d gotten used to the long silence. Deidra had brought word of plenty of things that would weigh down on Falor as a commander of the Storm Guard, so she expected this was just one more of the Empire’s many matters.

She spied Rumi and Aidan within one of the final groups that Barlo sent through.

“Still angry at them?” she asked.

“Hmm?”

“Rumi and her claw.”

“No. But they’re not really mine, are they?” He had his warhammer head down on the floor, pommel resting against his calf. “Rumi’s made that clear by not following the chain of command. Mother is welcome to her spy.”

She’d always considered Rumi a way for the Empress to keep an eye on things in Valen, but hadn’t ever heard it from Falor’s own mouth. There was a hint of bitterness there.

Barlo was left alone with Vial in the courtyard, the last group gone through. Well, no time like now.

After a brief Valen salute to the gate warden, she turned and walked down the stairs towards the other two.

“Shut it down.” She stopped mid-step and turned to see Falor still there, arms crossed, as the warden signalled to his men. The gate shut down with a hiss of escaping steam, its low thrum dying into soft echoes.

“What’s going on?” she asked. “Why aren’t we going through?” This wasn’t part of the plan.

“We’re not going to Aztroa,” Falor said as he shook the warden’s hand and saluted by both the Imperial way, and Valen’s own. “We’ve a different assignment.”

Oh no. Panic flared in her chest for a moment before she could suppress it. Mertle would already be on her way to Aztroa. The plan was to meet up there in disguise and Quistis to introduce her to contacts and support within the walls.

This wasn’t part of her plans!

“Wh-what do you mean? The Empress called us back. I saw the order.”

“She did.” Falor jogged down past her, his warhammer on his shoulder. There was a smile on his face as she hurried to join.

“Then what’s going on?”

Barlo rubbed his hands as they joined him. Vial’s confused glance met hers. “All good, Commander. Everyone’s through. No stragglers.” He turned an eye on Quistis. “’Side from th’ obvious.”

“What’s going on?” Vial asked, looking from her to Falor and then to Barlo. “Where we going?”

Barlo hefted another rucksack and offered it to Quistis. “Took th’ liberty, by the Commander’s order. Yer chest’s gone ahead.”

A second package he handed to Falor. All of a sudden, it made sense to Quistis why the commander wasn’t dressed in his Imperial regalia. He’d planned this.

Of course he had…

“We’re not going to Aztroa, I gather?” She was uncomfortably aware of the leak in her boot now, and realisation dawned grimly.

“We’re not, no.” Falor grinned and his eyes glittered with mischief. “We’ll get there. Eventually. For now, we’ve got a different matter I aim to look into.”

They all followed him down from the gate’s platform, into the courtyard, and down the long steps heading towards the elevators.

“You knew?” She threw an accusing glare at Barlo.

“Aye. Sworn not to tell. Y’know how he gets.” The vanadal walked with his usual confident gait, head held high, eyes on the horizon.

Vial followed in their wake. She saw him casting one look to the gate, then to the fortress, ended his ruminations with a shrug, and fell into step with Barlo. He had no family in Aztroa proper, nobody waiting for him to show up from his long deployment. His face showed quiet acceptance of this new development.

Quistis hurried and matched Falor’s long strides.

“So where are we going actually? The Empress will have a whole litter of kitten when she won’t see you at the muster.”

“I’ve sent word. My mother’s temper will blow and Rumi’s probably going to get punished in some way for the surprise.” He shrugged. “Why do you think I haven’t nailed her hide to the wall in the first place?”

“You were planning this.” It wasn’t a question, but grim realisation that she’d been blind. Egg on her face.

“Aye.”

“Where are we going, Commander?”

He grinned wider. A ray of bright thaw light caught in his dishevelled hair.

“We’re going on an adventure, Quis. I aim to see what’s at Drak’s Perch.”

“…the prison?”

“Aye. Let’s see how we treat our prisoners, shall we?”

And like that, the playful glint in his eyes was gone, replaced by something blood-chillingly angry. Quistis dropped a step back, but followed nonetheless. Each other step squelched.

Mertle would be on her own. She prayed the goddess guided her.