Crow sat in the stadium once more, eyes drawn to his sister like iron to a lodestone.

She seemed to catch him every time, as if warned by a sixth sense, yet appeared content to say nothing. Apparently expecting Crow to begin their talk.

Of course she did. Astra wasn’t one to back down, and she was proud enough to see being the first one to break their silence as just that. If they were to speak, Crow would need to start.

The middle of the stadium was no place for that, he decided. Even in the relative silence following the attack, it was too loud to permit conversation. Too public. Distance felt like a poor substitute for walls between them and the prying ears.

That their teammates sat so close was the final dissuasion. It all seemed reasonable, to Crow, and yet so too did he feel he was being a coward.

The thoughts sat in his head while he waited for the Sieve’s ceremony to begin. Perched like hawks on the lookout for food, leaving a shiver to occupy his neck.

It was a relief when someone emerged from one of the great tunnels, conjuring a roar of applause from the crowd with their very presence, then redoubling it as the face and form of Karma Alabaster became recognised. Crow found himself cheering along with the others, the woman’s sight reassuring him somehow. Harkening back to the ceremonies he’d sat through before warring Immortals had left the city ruined.

The Princess smiled, melting Crow’s heart and almost drawing him forwards in his seat. Beauty grown, not withered, by its lack of exposure.

By the time she was at the centre of the stadium, all voices had died down. Killed by the woman’s comportment, her authority remaining unimpeached even as she grinned like a girl.

Crow stared along with all other eyes, silent and expectant as he waited for her to reveal the rules for the remaining proceedings. For the final stage of the Sieve.

Alabaster didn’t keep him waiting for long.

“Hello!” She called out. “And welcome to the last orientation of this year’s Sieve. I hope all of you are as excited as I am for the finale to this bet-breaker of an event!”

She waited patiently for the responding cheers to die again, golden eyes scanning the crowd as she did. Not for the first time, Crow found himself wondering what she searched for.

“It’s been a difficult time, this year,” Alabaster called out, “Filled with trials and tribulations that few could have expected, and none would have wanted. Doubtless you’ve all noticed the new security precautions outside this very stadium.”

Crow had, at that. Police, Sieve staff and plenty of men who seemed simply to have been handed cudgels and ordered to keep watch. All facing off against a mass of bedraggled protestors so furious and grimy that he was unsure whether fear or pity was more appropriate at the sight of them.

“-However, the Sieve’s organisers have assured me they’re turning their full attentions towards ensuring the final days of this contest are as smooth and perfect as can be. Now without further ado, let’s get into the meat of the matter.”

Another delay came, as Crow had expected, from a quarter million cheering voices ringing out from a thousand different directions. It made his head throb no less than ever.

If it bothered the Princess, she gave no hint. Merely stood; waiting, smiling. Speaking only when the volume had halved, then halved again.

“Firstly, and perhaps most importantly, the following tasks will all make use of the same rule set. A single one on one battle between a single contestant from each of the two competing teams. No victory conditions save the defeat of one’s opponent, no prize to win except the largest.”

Crow’s stomach sank at that, mind immediately turning to Amelia and Rajah. Battles between individuals were not to his team’s favour.

“Secondly.” Continued Alabaster, silencing a tenth of the voices with that alone, “Only one member from each team will be competing in this final stage, chosen before it begins and disallowed from substituting themselves out.”

Ice filled Crow’s guts even as a hopeful fire raged around it. He kept his face straight, eyes forwards. Still he saw Astra’s concerned glance towards him.

“Finally, there will be only four more tasks in this stage. Two for each team. The two teams currently in first and second place will compete against those currently in third and fourth respectively, the winners of these tasks will compete with one another for a final instalment of additional credits. As will the losers, for a smaller one.”

There was more, Crow knew, but it barely registered in his mind. Ears seemingly full with the sound of his own thoughts as he went over all Alabaster had said.

He’d saved up just a hair over six thousand credits already, enough to take home a small fortune’s worth of relics at the Sieve’s end. But barely even two thirds the amount he’d need if he were to win the Eclipse’s Nectar.

Two more tasks were ahead, and by the way things sounded at least one would yield a far greater prize than any other. He had no way of knowing how much he stood to win, but the opportunity alone was enough to set his mind in stone.

Crow would compete for the final stage. He couldn’t allow anything less.

Whatever it took.

Lavastro had barely sat down in her quarters when a knock dragged her back up, snatching her towards the door on feet moved by irritation. She barely hid the expression before flinging it open to reveal Pyrhic standing beside the Wrathman.

“You have findings to report?” She asked, stepping back and gesturing for them both to enter. They did so, not speaking until the room was closed off once more.

“We do, koros Kaiosyni. Though I can’t say how much of it is worthwhile.” Answered Pyrhic. Lavastro listened carefully as the dula recounted their discoveries and actions, taking note of a detail every sentence.

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She took a moment to move through the information one last time after her servant finished, then spoke.

“I believe you acted wisely, coming back here after all. I’ve heard of this gang, though never sought out any details regarding them. Put the word out to our remaining spies and they should have directions for you by tomorrow.”

Pyrhic nodded her concurrence as Lavastro continued.

“It seems dubious to me that these gangers are the true puppet masters. More likely they’re being put to aiding this conspiracy by another. Serving as a front to obfuscate the ones truly responsible.”

Again, Pyrhic nodded.

“I had come to that same conclusion, koros Kaiosyni. Might I point out that one capable of slaying Tamaias would surely have the capacity to daunt a group of common criminals.”

“One capable of merely hiring a combat oriented Immortal would, too.” Lavastro mused. “It’s best to avoid leaps when drawing conclusions. This is nonetheless worth investigating, excellent work. Report back to me tomorrow before you leave to investigate further.”

Pyrhic beamed at Lavastro’s praise, yet there was a strain behind the woman’s expression. Her spirit seemed to have thinned after the day’s events, mind tasked by something hidden beneath the surface. Lavastro watched the woman leave, fighting her concern.

More lives are at stake here than my servant.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the clearing of Kleidra’s throat.

“There’s something on your mind, sergeant?”

The Wrathman’s dark eyes seemed almost black as he studied her, lids hooded about them, face twisted into the perpetually cruel mask he seemed to wear in place of expression. He studied her for moments more before speaking, not hiding the bitterness in his voice when he did.

“You know Pyrhic was almost killed today.” He said. “Half a dozen men attacked us, all at once. She hid while I fought them. Likely spent the minute my scrap lasted certain she’d die.”

Lavastro saw instantly where the conversation was going, anger bubbling up at the realisation.

She held herself fast.

“Yes, that is unfortunate.”

“No.” Snapped the soldier, stare turning to a withering glare. “Unfortunate is what you describe bad luck as. It’d be unfortunate if she were walking through this corridor and attacked while doing her standard duties. It’d be unfortunate if her home were broken into by those bastards. This wasn’t misfortune, it was her being placed directly beneath the Goddess’ arseholes while she took a shit.”

“You would blame me for her trauma?” Lavastro snapped, feeling the anger double within her. “I provided her a bodyguard- my bodyguard- for this very purpose. I did everything I could to keep her safe.”

“Everything except avoid sending her into danger in the first place.”

“Everything except avoid my duty.” She answered, forcing herself to remain calm. “It’s something Pyrhic would remind you of, were she here.”

Lavastro saw emotion dance across the Wrathman’s face, twisting the muscles beneath in a fascinating rictus of rage, fear. A dozen others too. Oscillating between them with a pendulous consistency and meteoric speed.

“You don’t know anything about duty.” The man finally answered, spitting the words out with a contemptuous fury. “Not really. All you’ve done for your nation was done from the top of a pedestal.”

“Stop.” Lavastro answered, already pushed past hiding her rage. Letting its unmasked intensity serve as a warning.

It seemed not to register.

“Oh go on, Princess. Give your orders. Bark them down onto the rest of us while we’re bleeding and dying to keep your nails from being chipped. Ancestors know there’s none but you who could sacrifice so much for such valiant work.”

Lavastro didn’t notice herself moving. It seemed to surprise the Wrathman, too. One moment she stood, listening to the soldier’s mockery and fighting her own temper, the next her battle was lost. Legs a blur beneath her, wind suddenly rushing in her ears.

She crashed into him without slowing, driving him backwards a half dozen paces and feeling the two of them stop only as his shoulders hit the wall.

The Wrathman’s face was tight with exertion and anger, eyes suddenly ablaze and teeth suddenly clenched. Lavastro’s grip about his lapels was one of iron, and as close as they were she was reminded like never before of the half foot difference between their statures.

But still the man pushed back, seizing her wrists and contesting her strength with his own. Still she felt her limbs pried from him one inch at a time.

Her rage mingled with awe at a man’s prowess, and before Lavastro knew it she was considering the use of magic, eying him in search of weaknesses she might attack.

“You know nothing about me, you fucking imbecile.” She hissed, feeling her strength redoubled and forcing his arms back anew.

The pressure drew a grunt from him, but his strength remained untapped.

“You think desperation and fear are something unique to you and your mudboot friends?” Lavastro continued, vision disappearing beneath a crimson curtain as she struggled. “That none outside of Wrath could match your misery? You betray your own ignorance.”

Kleidra’s efforts switched from overpowering to dislodging as he began to writhe, first one direction and then the other. His strength was more than a match for Lavastro’s, without magic, yet their position gave her more leverage by far.

They remained locked in place, her temper still burning, voice still projecting flecks of venom with every word.

“You’ve never had to put on a performance for people who’d sooner gut you than shake your hand, have you soldier? Never had to smile and pretend not to notice as a hundred thousand fools call you savage and barbarian while you speak. Never been forced to show half the skin on your body just to captivate the attention of those too fucking stupid to care about anything else.”

Kleidra seemed to grow weaker, and Lavastro dimly wondered whether exhaustion was robbing the man of his prowess. She could manage no more thought than that, finding it disappearing behind the same fog that obfuscated her other cognition.

“You don’t walk this world wearing a face not your own, stitched onto you by cutting knives and soothing voices so that you might be sweeter to look at.”

The words left Lavastro as a whisper, memories strangling her voice as they rushed to the surface. She ignored them as much as could be managed, continuing to crush the man against the wall. Unsure even of what she intended by the action.

It was shortly after that the burning coals of her anger finally died down enough to bring control back. Lavastro stepped away from the soldier wordlessly, not meeting his carved flint eyes.

Neither spoke for some time, silence leaving Lavastro focus aplenty to spare on her regrets. It became clear to her in an instant that anger had driven her to reveal too much by far.

“Get out.” She said, voice soft with regret and hard with anger.

The soldier hesitated, moving only as Lavastro raised her eyes to affix him with another gaze. He practically fled from her sight.

There was a peace left in his wake, thick and unbroken. A wretched kind, to embolden a thousand miserable thoughts within her.

She could recall dozens of matters that demanded her attention at that very moment. Knew that there was no time at all for a break. Still she sat, and still she stared aimlessly at the ceiling.

Thinking back to the scalpels and magics that had shaped the flesh of her body. Tried to recall her own face, how it had been without the coating of artifice to give it beauty.

Lavastro moved her mind from the topic by force, reminding herself again that she focused on an irrelevance.

She had been born that day, bequeathed with purpose and legacy. There were no regrets to be found in it.