The capital city of the empire fell just as quickly as St. Keres had been burned to the ground. The southern third had been burnt to ash and anyone left within it reduced to dust.

Isa was a pitiful existence. She had been born and lived a life blessed with talent. The golden-blonde hair falling from her head and rubies in her eyes had been thought as a gift from above, as when the young Isa uttered her first cry, her entire hometown went quiet in reverence of her coming.

However, not all things came easily to the young Isa. The young scholar found herself disturbed by evil. A country ruled by fools and leeches was no more a country than a rotting corpse of a nation. It could only be burnt to the ground, with all offenders alongside it, before something beautiful could be born anew.

A singular purpose made itself known to Isa in the form of her best friend. Innocent and idealistic, Aya Nachbaur stood on the same pedestal that Isa did through ingenuity and effort. Such a person was the only type that could shake the foundations of Isa’s being. Aya’s vision for a world free of evil was a marvelous sight within Isa’s mind.

The two built a city together. A city of tempered glass, with a shining beacon in its center to guide any aspiring scholars that thought to make the journey. There, centuries of progress were made in a few short years. Aya’s meticulous planning and design was a perfect match for Isa’s endless aspirations, and as their paradise expanded, so did the citizens that had learned to look to them for guidance. Before they knew it, Aya and Isa were the rightful rulers to a nation. A modest one, consisting only of a metropolis in the desert, but a nation nonetheless. For the first and only time in her life, Isa felt free. Free of the evils that plagued the world, their city alone was the diamond that had shed all impurities.

It hadn’t even been given a proper name before war erupted along its borders. A dispute between a traveling party of wealthy northerners escalated into a skirmish, leaving dozens dead on either side. In spite of the obvious consequences of pressing the matter further, Isa refused to bend the knee and apologize to the far larger northern empire. The north’s warlike nature had already caused it to swell far larger than any of its neighbors, but such an opportunity only led to a full mobilization of northern troops. Their goal was the destruction of Isa’s paradise.

It was after months of brutal battles that Isa came to a realization. Alongside Aya, the two led their miniscule forces to victory after victory, but even so, the two were only human. Their superior quality as a country of learned scholars was only so much in the face of an endless northern army. This was made especially apparent after a shattering of the void-star, which imbued the enemies with a bloodlust unbecoming of any living thing. Seeing the frothing, blood covered mouths of half dead men hurling themselves at Isa’s flames, taught Isa the one and only rule she understood. Only those with power hold the right to ideals.

Aya, knowing the war was lost, sought peace, knowing the terms of such a peace would be one-sided. Yet it was still better than losing everything. Isa wanted to fight to the end, razing everything she could see in the process. Here was the one and only time Isa and Aya fought each other, and the only time Isa ever felt the bitterness of betrayal. The woman she’d built her life with defeated her and cast her back into the void-star, in which Isa drifted for an eternity. Like a leaf floating on an endless sea, she brooded over the betrayal, the sinking in her heart, and as the void dyed her hair and eyes black, her heart turned black by her own volition.

Being freed from the void-star and back into the world was a curious development for Isa. She was an army with no leader, a dragon with no head. Her heart would never again be moved by a person. Only her lingering feelings of hatred and affection drove her forward.

“Old man, bring me a cup of tea. And before that, remind me of the progress on finding those accursed nobles.” Isa sat on a throne far too large for her body, but the crown of fire on her head caught the eye better than any of the ornate carvings in the chair.

“Very well, my queen.” Friedrich shuffled back and forth in the throne room, taking care not to look Isa in the eye. “We have exposed even the most distant blood relations of the disgraced empire’s royal line. The ones who have been found are currently in the pit. What shall we do with them?”

“I’ll leave you to take care of them.”

“I will have them executed and their bodies hung on the walls as an example to those that defy us. Will that suffice, my queen?”

Isa narrowed her eyes. “Don’t dirty my palace with a bunch of stinking corpses. You should be strung up first for the crime of suggesting such a horrid idea. Exile them somewhere I won’t see them again.”

“A place where they will surely meet their doom in time?”

“No. Somewhere that won’t bring harm to their families.”

“How merciful, my queen. Your compassion will surely warm their hearts.” Friedrich had witnessed, both with his own eyes and through messages from the archive, that Isa was a brutal and heavy-handed person. Seeing her loosen her grip in such a way was a surprise for him.

“Your age-ridden brain must be crawling with confusion, wondering why I don’t just rid myself of them.” Isa said, crossing her legs and resting her head on one hand as she sat.

“Hah-” Friedrich’s face-filled with fear for just an instant-reverted to its calm demeanor almost instantly. Age had given him a keen sense of danger. “Pardon my insolence.”

“Wasted lives do not simply bloom anew after culling. I could burn them up in a glorious flame, but what good would that do? I may only be killing their future offspring, one of which could prove…remarkable.”

“A wise decision, my queen.”

“Which is it, you old fool? Do you want them dead or not?”

“I-”

“Spare me your answer. Time has robbed you of your thoughts, of your own heart. Truly, you have nothing left to care for in this world. Your descendants dead, you find yourself stranded alone, serving whoever sits in this seat. Truly a curse of the long-living. You have been blessed with a long life only to see your spirit wither away before your body does. No matter. Make yourself useful and procure us some tea while I discuss matters with my…more forthright servants.”

—

Emily and Akari stood quietly far to the corner.

“She’s going off on him.” Akari snickered. The stain in her skin had reduced to a blue-purple tint, only noticeable under bright sunlight. By a miracle of fate, Akari’s body was intact and full of life, inhabited not only by her, but Echen, Isa’s puppet.

“Three months ago she would have forgone the scolding and roasted him like a pig on a skewer.”

“Are you worried?” Akari asked.

“Of course. Viv and Lilac have been locked up somewhere only Friedrich knows. Until we discover where, we cannot afford to go against Isa’s orders.” Emily stared blankly at the floor. She was obligated to serve Isa not for her own sake. Somewhere deep within a crevice of her mind, a thought appeared. The empire’s past ruler had been every bit as bloodthirsty as this girl, if not more. Unlike the main ruling line, Isa revered the Academy. The Academy could be called the legacy of Isa’s best friend. Under any self-interested perspective, Isa was a far more appropriate ruler than Kirill ever was.

“Can you fight Isa? Would you be able to overpower her?”

“Most likely not.”

“How about with the two of us?”

“Careful, woman.” Echen’s mouthless voice whispered to the two of them.

“Let us wait for now. The winds of fate could shift and we could find a better opportunity to act later.” Emily suggested. “And sir Echen, we have no plans to usurp our leader at this moment. I would humbly request you do no harm to my friend.”

“We will see.”

Akari knocked at her forehead with the sheath of her sword. “Can’t you leave my body? Go inhabit a vase or a statue or something. I won’t do anything as long as Viv’s still in danger, so you can let me go.”

“Vases and statues offer no option of movement.”

“Then go back into a suit of armor!”

“The suit of armor you destroyed was no ordinary armor. It held a mechanism to give me my freedom. Now that it is destroyed, you will lend me your body when it is needed. Those were the terms of our agreement.”

“One hell of an agreement you forced me into.”

“Pay it no heed, friend.” Emily put a hand on Akari’s shoulder. “We will surely find a way out of this. We can count it as good fortune that neither side in this conflict wants our heads.”

“You two!” Isa called from her chair. “Everyone else, gather around!” she yelled to the otherwise empty throne room. “I have important news. We have found ourselves a new ally.”

A conspicuous stain in the center of the room, bright red. Almost as if someone was killed and their body lifted straight up to avoid leaving a trail. A frothing pool of blood churned and boiled. A man emerged. His eyes were spheres of crimson and cracks pulsing with malice ran down his face, leaving his complexion fragmented. His faded robe and hairless head reminded Emily of Friedrich’s aged body.

“I..am Oum. Sorcerer of blood, they call me.” He spoke with a slow rhythm, scanning the room between each word. When his gaze met Emily’s, a crooked smile revealed a row of blackened, receded gums with coal-black teeth protruding from each side.

Emily’s eyes went wide with shock and hatred. Standing before her was a man who’d taken advantage of the uprising to bring an untold amount of suffering. The faces of scholars and friends alike, who’d taken up the task of crushing the uprising, turnt into masses of formless flesh by his hands.

“How! The fate of Grey Harbor was sealed. You should have died, along with all of the other traitors in your camp.” Emily’s hand clenched a fistful of golden fire, ready to unleash it.

“I am one with the blood. One! As there is blood, so shall I be. You cannot kill me, mage-woman.”

“Isa!” Emily turned her head away from the sorcerer. “Why have you brought him here? He is an enemy to all that is good. He would sooner devour every soul in this room before serving a master.”

“Calm down, mage-woman. He and I share a common goal. He put a curse…a sign of certain doom upon the heir to the Sveshen line.” Isa calmly stood up and approached Emily, crouching down to peek at her anguished face. “Besides, are you not a traitor just like him?”

Emily was silent.

“It was so. I devoured his flesh, turned it to blood. It ate, and today it eats. Every day, devouring and consuming more and more. Surely it has eaten its way to the bone. A meddler! A meddler interrupted my feast.” The sorcerer named Oum vanished into a pool of blood and appeared again, pointing a crooked finger an inch from Emily’s face. Oum’s face shook with uncontrollable anger and dark bits of spit and blood shot from his mouth as he spat at her. “You! You interfere with my work. You continue to protect that man. Even now! My queen, you have a traitor in your midst.”

“Mage-woman, it appears there is something you have yet to tell me.” Isa smiled and placed her hand on Emily’s chin. It was soft and warm, as one should expect of a child’s hand. And yet it was hot, like the metal surface of a heated pan, growing hotter and hotter until Emily swatted the hand away.

“It is true. I protected his High Excellence from a curse.”

“Well then, do your duty! For the sake of your companions, your children. Release the protection, for the sake of your academy and for yourself. Free yourself of the chains of obligation to that man. His death should mean nothing but good news to you, should it not?” Isa gleefully said. Emily clenched her teeth.

“I cannot. His protection lies in a bracelet I provided him, of which I cannot dispel unless I touch it with my hand.”

“But you provide it with your power, do you not?”

“I do.”

“I could kill you right here and end his life.” Isa said coldly.

“Do it! Finish the man! Give him to me!” Oum screamed and clutched his face.

“No.” Isa unleashed a swirl of white, swallowing Oum in its torrent. He cried out in pain as the room filled with the smell of burnt meat. When Isa’s flame subsided, charred bones were all that remained of the blood sorcerer. The bones shuddered before a pool of red swallowed them up. Oum reappeared, more agitated than ever.

“Why? Why do you protect him too? My queen, I don’t understand!”

“This woman’s life is valuable to me. What is a home without a family? Nothing but a pile of wood. I would permit you to kill that Sveshen exile, but not at the cost of this woman’s life. Find someone else. But know that if you take the life of someone I treasure, I will throw you into the sun.”

The wide double doors to the throne room burst open. There was a doll. Her outfit was similar to that of Emily’s, a tailed robe and pointed hat which covered most of her head. What stood out most to Emily, however, were her breasts, already large but appearing even more voluptuous by the doll’s crossed arms which pushed them up further.

“Is that…” Akari stammered.

“Yes.” Emily whispered back.

“I don’t recall her chest having that shape.”

“Coming of age is a beautiful thing.”

“My queen!” The doll gave a bow. “Reports of a caravan of sarassin entering our borders from the south. And with them, four humans and an abyssal.”

Isa paused for a moment before speaking. “Excellent. And among them is our Sveshen exile?”

“Indeed, it is so.”

The girl’s display of reverence to Isa was enough to take Emily aback. Isa’s entry into the capital was left unresisted by the academy, especially with head’s backing. There was no reason to disrupt it. Even with this in mind, their readiness to shift allegiance left a sour taste in Emily’s mouth.

“Assemble a unit and bring that Sveshen heir to me, alive or dead.” Isa issued an order.

Oum shook again and rushed at Isa, stopping shortly before a wall of white flame blocking his path. “Let me join them! A second chance, my queen. The humble Oum, who commands the blood of the earth, will surely carry out your will. A second curse is ready, one which that woman-” he glared at Emily. “Will be unable to stop.”

“Very well.” The wall of flame between them died away. Isa turned back towards the doll, whose head was still bowed to the floor. Her hair was a dark red, and its curls stretched no farther than her shoulders before curling back up. “Matrie, was it?”

“Yes.”

“Matrie of the Nightshade, assemble whichever dolls you see fit as well as this-” she pointed to Oum. “And do your duty. If anyone stands in your way, do not hesitate to annihilate them.”

“My queen! Outgrowths swarm the southern territories. Such a task is likely to result in great casualties.”

“I thought better of you, Matrie. You and your comrades are the very symbols of power. If you are so lacking in confidence in your abilities, I could have you join those in the pit until you find some hidden in the dirt.” Isa said, mocking the girl.

“It will be done. Matrie, of the Nightshade, at your service.” The girl rushed away, never looking up even once.

—

We stayed in a sarassin war camp. Exia’s soldiers rushed back and forth across the border, leaving in the mornings and returning in the mid-afternoon with cartfuls of wood. Slowly a tall barrier surrounded our clearing at the edge of the forest. When asked about his feelings on clearing the trees of his home, he remarked that if such measures saved the life of even one soldier, he was sure his ancestors would forgive him for it.

“For you, sir.” Exia handed a trio of opened letters to Kirill. They were each marked with a different seal with slightly mismatched sizes.

“Placing your hands on my things without permission,” Kirill said, pulling the contents out of their envelopes.

“This is my war camp. It would be a security hazard to leave anything coming in unchecked,” Exia said.

“No enemy would bother with such a petty method.”

“Until they do, and you are dead. Precautions without foresight lack meaning.”

Sitting patiently in Exia’s lounge, listening to him lecture Kirill, I fidgeted. Exia’s personal quarters, in spite of being a temporary installment, was expansive. His tent alone had several rooms, a study, and a lounge, all held up by a system of pulleys, stakes, and cords strung into corners and along the walls. Maria was next to me, similarly keeping an ear turned to their conversation. Soon I could no longer contain the restlessness in my legs. I stood up and turned towards the two.

“Please, tell us the contents of the letters!” I requested loudly.

“The Merchant’s Guild, the Sunset Kingdom, and the Sovereign Alliance have all recognized the situation. While they will not be providing aid, we’ve received word that they will respect your position should you be reinstated.” Exia proclaimed. “I sent word to them shortly before we departed our Great Tree.”

“Nothing more than opportunistic rats.” Kirill muttered.

“They will be your allies, come the day of your return.” Exia informed him. “Not every ruler will take kindly to your…rough manner of speech. It may do you good to learn from the women in your party. Anastasia especially speaks with a politeness that soothes the heart and calms the mind.”

A flush of blood running up from my heart was making me hot. He’d given a plain compliment to a girl like me. Only with Maria closing her hand above my mouth were my cries of embarrassment stifled into silence.

“Hm. I will heed your words.” Kirill looked down and sat at the seat before Exia’s desk. “So? Is that all you came to tell me?”

“Before we start, I believe we’ve been blessed with a few eager individuals waiting to join in. Anastasia, Maria, apologies for keeping you waiting. This discussion pertains to you two as well.” Exia motioned us over, and we also took a seat beside Kirill. In the dim oil-lamp light of the tent, The fire-red scales on Exia’s snout were as bright as ever, flickering with each pop of fire in the lamp’s wick.

“This is not all good news. Take it from a leader whose domain stretches hardly a stone’s throw away from where he was born, those who support you will quickly turn their backs upon a changing in the wind.” Exia said.

“What do you mean?” Kirill asked.

“Your army was wiped out by a domestic threat, one unrelated to the uprising that ended last year. Anyone looking in from the outside would see that your once-fearsome military might is not what it once was. Taking your territory back will require not only a defeat of your enemies, but a changing of hearts. Something to prove to the world that you’re still capable of holding your own. Especially the Sovereign Alliance, from which the war-torn Sveshen Empire has only been protected only because of the presence of the Great Trees. They won’t hesitate to roll across the southern desert and into your front yard if they feel like they can take something from you.”

“So you’re saying we need a show of strength.”

“Precisely. You must defeat the girl in the white dress completely and convincingly. If not, you could be facing fifty thousand gold-hungry barbarians who can breathe fire at your gates.”

“I do believe that goal would be achieved by closing the void star.” Maria said. “That was our original goal.”

“Ah yes, the void star. An incredible artifact left behind by the great scholars of the past. I have something for you all.” Exia retreated and returned with an old-looking wooden box.

“I talked to a contact in Aya’s tree regarding this mission. They have provided us with something of great value.” Exia removed a glass dial, containing a few needles. Instead of an arrow pointing north, instead a distinct symbol was etched in three different directions. “The needle here-” Exia held it close to our faces. One needle, engraved with a circle and two lines criss-crossed through it, spun around slowly as Exia rotated it with his hand. “Will point you to the key of Aya’s stone gate.”

“So it wasn’t lost.” Maria said. “The archive had claimed the key was lost, and so we were at a dead end.”

“Make no mistake, this compass is carefully guarded. The void star is a device of raw destruction should it be handled poorly. No one shall know of the key under normal circumstances. Coincidentally, I must return their box of baubles and trinkets in the exact condition they were lent to us, so take care not to damage it. It could severely damage our relations with Aya’s tree.”

Maria rolled her eyes. “You really have diplomatic relations with everyone, don’t you?”

“Such is the life of a trader. It is for your benefit as well.”

“What will we do about the overgrowths?” Maria asked.

“Most of them were destroyed when the girl in the white dress set fire to St. Keres. A blessing in disguise, it seems. She has a name. Isa of the White Flame, she’s called.”

Hearing the name stirred an old memory, back when I was still living in my father’s manor. An old script detailing artworks made in remembrance of important events. A particular artist, hailing from the south produced a piece of a woman holding a dead friend in her arms. The painting was titled “Isa’s last breath”. My mind shook at the thought of someone who shared the name, but it seemed to hold little significance. People of the past were dead. Their influence extended only to their deeds while they lived.

“Isa of the White Flame. One of the founders of the Academy shared a similar title. But her flames were gold, not white.” Maria said.

“It seems to be a coincidence. Think nothing more of it.” Exia said.

“Why are you mentioning this?” Maria asked.

“No reason.”

“Spit it out, lizard. A blind man could see you hiding something.” Kirill urged him.

“You truly will not give it up, will you.” Exia sighed. “Mail from the three nations I mentioned earlier are not the only letters we’ve received. The Academy has also sent their regards.”

Maria nearly jumped out of her chair. “What did they say?”

“Their allegiance lies with the girl in white. If I offered up your Emperor, our safety would be guaranteed and the girl in white would honor any pre-existing agreements between our nations.”

“So why have you not betrayed us? It should be easy with a man of your resourcefulness.” Kirill stood up from his chair.

“Perhaps you can call it a sense of duty. Or a sense of foreboding, an unshakeable impression that a greater future awaits should I side with you. Regardless, you must head south. Your journey is not over.”

“We could also head north and fight this Isa, kill her where she sits.” Maria suggested.

“Maria! We may be strong, but we could not stand up against an army of dolls. Your comrades were all formidable, were they not?” I asked. Perhaps it was due to my experiences in Margaret’s Welcome, but even the thought of taking a life brought a sickness to my stomach. For some, it was natural. Maria’s expression didn’t flinch, even under dire circumstances. I could never be like her. In the end, if I was given a choice, I would prefer not to fight.

“I am strong. So are you. You defeated Exia in single combat, twice. If we must, we can face them.”

“But we mustn’t! We have a choice. To heal the void star, and then everything will return to normal.”

“Exia, how much do you know of the void star?” Maria’s attention turned away.

“Only as much as the scholars at Aya’s tree have informed me.”

“Would mending the void star defeat Isa and the overgrowths running amok in the south?”

“Perhaps. It was told to me that the void star is a doorway, an untrodden path to another world. Anything touched by it is marked, and surely will be swallowed up by the endless void. We need only to bring it back to health, and all that came out of it will return without fail.”

“Wait, did the abyssals not also come from the rift?” I asked. I caught sight of Canary with the captain from a crack in the doorway. As we spoke, he was riding on the captain’s back as the two wore a long coat, forming what appeared as a single tall man.

“They did.” Exia said.

“And why did they not return to the rift when it was first mended?”

“I’m afraid I don’t know. As I am sure you are aware, they seemingly emerged from nothing. Perhaps it is a mistake of history to judge their existence as a product of the void.”

“So we will not have a chance to fight this Isa.” Maria said dejectedly.

“I am afraid not. Are you looking to die?” Exia asked.

“No, the opposite. I am looking to live. It does not matter. We will mend the void star as we have been tasked. As long as Anastasia believes in this goal.”

“I can do it!” I puffed out my chest. “The thousand-tailed serpent is on our side. Nothing will be impossible for us.”

“Quite remarkable. The sarassin stand behind you, Anastasia. I hope you will prepare to depart soon. Supplies and provisions will be handled by me, but your hearts and minds will also need the resolve to finish what you have started.”

—

The sarassin-a race of scaled reptilians who lived in the forest west of the Sveshen empire-held the thousand-tailed serpent in great importance. It was their legendary creator and ancestor. My ribbons had felt a connection to this serpent when I first laid my eyes on its dried-out bones beneath Margaret’s Welcome. The skeleton of the serpent acknowledged me as its master. My final battle against Exia was decided by the serpent’s whims.

Its power waned as the distance from Margaret’s Welcome grew. The skeleton itself, too massive to move by normal means, could not be taken out of the forest; as my ribbons struggled to press further my connection with the snake was too weak to produce a reaction. The only proof of my pact was a single tooth, kept in a pouch beneath the top layer of my dress. If I needed the serpent’s power of creation once more, my ribbons could act as a one-time vessel to manifest its power.

“So, you will mend the void star with the serpent’s power.” Maria’s gold-yellow eyes focused on the tooth held between my fingers. “You truly are amazing, Anastasia.”

“So are you. You found your reminiscence alone, without the help of anyone from the outside. It’s a symbol of how strong your convictions are.”

“I see it differently. Most days, when I wake up I only feel one thing in my heart. I want to see you by my side, safe and free from harm.” Maria’s arms curled around mine and she rested her head on my shoulder. “I cannot call that conviction.”

“Enough with that, Maria.” I shook her off as gently as I could. “But hearing that makes me happy.”

“From a scholar’s standpoint, your ribbons are anomalous. Power can hardly exist outside of one’s body. Take myself, for example. Ice craves a structure, a form. And even when it has been given one, it quickly crumbles if I break my focus for even a second. You are different. Power flows through the ribbons freely. They are as much a part of you as the hair on your head.”

“I’m sure there’s plenty of dolls in the academy who can do what I do.”

“None that I’ve seen.”

“So, who did you see then? Surely there were amazing girls left and right.” I twirled a curl in my hair. While most had described it as light and pink-tinted, I felt as if the ends had recently become a little yellowed. It could be the exposure to sun, but I made a note to more carefully cover my hair on sunny days from the day forward. Especially in the south, where the sun’s glaring rays could easily cook an egg on a rock.

“Most of them, no. But there was one.” Maria pondered for a moment. I was surprised. Maria was always cold and refused to speak of her studies, and the last I’d asked of them, she had gotten quite upset. The new scenery and time away from stressful events had perhaps thawed some of her frozen feelings. “Matrie of the Nightshade.”

—

The institution for the education, and administration of magics and other forms of power unrelated to contemporary technology was referred to as the Academy. It was an arm of the Sveshen war machine, feeding it soldiers with far greater power than a typical conscript. They were called dolls. Only women were permitted within the Academy. It was a convention linked to the Academy’s founding, but Sveshen males were preferred performing roles disconnected from the arts and techniques taught within. It was also rare for a male to manifest the same type of power necessary for existence behind the Academy doors. Maria was a student. At only fourteen years old, she had painstakingly written out an application from the confines of her home village with the sponsorship of Anastasia’s father. Her acceptance was a bittersweet development for the household.

Maria was motivated. She rarely returned to her dormitory, only to sleep. All of her time was spent in a training hall. Learning to fight, either through the ice which flowed through her veins, or the fists which hardened with blow after blow against wooden posts. One such day, she was engaged in training. Her mind was clear. Maria sent a frozen flower petal straight into a wooden pole, cutting a deep gash into the well-worn surface. To cut, deeper and deeper, until an enemy’s heart was pierced and they died without resistance. Maria’s heart aspired to reach such heights. With such power, she would hold her head high as she stood beside Anastasia.

“Impressive. Very nice.” A voice called from the opposite end of the training hall. It was calm, confident. The girl stepped into the light. Her hair was dark, curly. Compared to Maria’s eyes of faded yellow, this one’s eyes were filled with emotion.

“Matrie of the Nightshade stands before you. And even offered you a compliment.” Matrie’s pointed hat tumbled to the ground as she bowed. She used one hand to cover her flushed face as she scrambled to place it back on her head. “What is your name?”

“Why do you need it?” Maria asked.

“Play along with my idle whims. I have already told you mine. It is only proper that I know yours.”

“Maria. Maria Petrov. Pay me no heed. I have no business with you.” Maria said.

“You are young. Young for a doll. The tears on your uniform show me the path of your life. Unremarkable, dwindling into obscurity, yet fighting tooth and nail to become something greater.” Matrie paid no heed to Maria’s words, and continued her approach. Soon she was standing right before Maria, making their difference in size clear. Even under the pointed hats signature to their uniform, Matrie’s head nearly reached the peak of Maria’s hat. “And smaller. Yet, we are classmates. In one sense, I should be your senior. In another, we are the same.”

“The difference in size will be no matter. I won’t lose to the likes of you.”

“You will take the title of Pristine?” Matrie uttered in surprise. “You train like you intend to. But there are many standing in your way. Including myself. Explain to me, how would you snatch victory from my hands?”

“Like this.” A razor-thin petal found itself a hair's width from Matrie’s neck.

“Wait! I am not trying to be hostile. Do you seek strength, Maria of…” Matrie paused. “Excuse me, but have you earned a title from the head?”

“Not yet.” Maria withdrew the blade back to her hand, where it melted away. “But I intend to receive one.”

“Was that a frozen rose petal?”

“It was.”

“It’s beautiful. You have a unique brilliance to you, Maria. Maria of the Rose Garden. How about that? I think it fits you.”

“You think nothing of my ice? It could kill you where you stand.” Maria said coldly.

“Let’s stop that for now. But your cold attitude is also what makes you lovely. Don’t lose your edge, Maria of the Rose Garden. I have a meeting with the head later today. If you would like, I will bring up a title for you.” Matrie put her hand on Maria’s shoulder. For the first moment since she’d stepped into the training hall, she felt a pocket of warmth in her hand.

“You do not have to do that. You have no reason to.” Maria pulled her shoulder away.

“But I want to! It’s a shame that your name does not have a fitting title alongside it.”

“Do what you want.”

“Then I will!” A deep purple flower erupted from Matrie’s palm. Each of its five petals twisted and swelled as it grew. She plucked it out of her hand with a grimace. “A gift.”

“A nightshade. That is the origin of your name.” Maria observed the flower in Matrie’s fingers. A dangerous plant, its potent toxins could kill a human in mere minutes.

“That’s right. A pretty flower for a pretty girl. Place it in your jacket, or behind your ear, or wherever you’d like. May we meet again, Maria of the Rose Garden. I look forward to our battle, if such a thing comes to pass.”

Matrie was already beyond earshot to hear Maria’s attempt at saying thanks.

—

“I watched your duel with the ninety-eighth. I appreciate your restraint at the end.” the Academy head, known as the Lady, was turned away, looking out the window. She was searching for something. A bird, a wild hedgehog searching for morsels, a successor prowling among the bushes. None of these things appeared to her in the frozen tundra. The head’s study could feel quite lonely at times.

“Your words honor me, Lady Wehrhardt. It was only proper. Unnecessary injury should be avoided when possible.” Matrie responded. She stood behind Emily, standing at roughly equal height as her. Matrie couldn’t help but edge her footsteps to the side until Emily’s face came into view. Ageless and perfect as usual, the carefully guarded secrets of maintaining her youthful looks were among many within the Academy head’s mind.

“The rest of the staff were planning to call off the selection of the Pristine this year.” Emily informed her.

Matrie’s face clouded for a moment. Thoughts of her meeting earlier that afternoon sprouted in her mind. “Is such an act allowed by your policies?”

“In years where one doll demonstrates her clear superiority over others far before the date of the selection, it can be called off.” Emily said. She waved a finger and a large image appeared in the window, the figure of a woman. Her hair was short, and her build stocky and muscular. Bandages covered the knuckles on each hand and the academy jacket was worn as a cape, fluttering in the silent wind of Emily’s projection. “This is the sixty-fifth Pristine, Erestine of the Iron Hand. She was an instructor when I was still a student. In her year, her closest competitor had been injured in an accident, so the selection was called off and she was given the title by default.”

“Please excuse my words, but I cannot accept such an arrangement. It would be unfair to the others.”

Stolen novel; please report.

“Oh? And you consider it fair to crush a dozen classmates in mismatched combat?” Emily asked. “I am not trying to be rhetorical, it is a genuine question. Do you consider it a better arrangement?”

Matrie paused. Her strength was unquestioned throughout her class. Among anyone Emily had seen, not one doll had been able to see through the strategy Matrie employed when fighting. Her speed and reaction were unmatched, as well as her ability to turn the air toxic to anyone who breathed it in. Her structural control of plant matter was something even Emily considered worth learning from.

“I sense you have a challenger in mind.” Emily smiled. “Am I incorrect?”

“There is one girl. A late entry.” Matrie said.

“Tell me about her.”

“She spent the morning driving a frozen flower petal into a wooden post.” Matrie said.

“Oh? That’s impressive. Ice is quite the challenging path of study, especially for beginners. And she was already controlling it with precision, I take it.” Emily speculated. “Crystalline structures are typically avoided by us here, as the difficulty of working with the rigidity is insurmountable for many. Including myself, until a few years ago. I was floating down a half-frozen river in a paddleboat when I noticed the ice coiling into shapes as I passed by.”

“She could be strong.”

“As strong as you?” Emily asked. “I’ve never seen you impressed by another doll’s skill before.”

“I want the chance to prove my superiority.” Matrie said.

“A natural feeling. I too wanted the chance to fight Erestine, but alas the differences between our ages was too great. I did take my title as seventy-eighth, however. So I suppose we stand on equal footing.” Emily reminisced about the events of the past. The truth was, by the time Erestine had crossed paths with Emily, Erestine’s abilities were far past her prime. Such a fate was more common among the dolls who relied on fusing their physical abilities with their craft as opposed to pure practice of magic for combat.

“Were there any students strong enough to challenge you?” Matrie asked.

“Of course. A dear friend of mine, who fought with a sword. She had a peculiar trick about her swordsmanship who made her particularly troublesome. But given that I won, I suppose I could be called no less troublesome than her.” Emily chuckled to herself.

“So, would you allow the selection to proceed?”

“Without a doubt,” Emily said. “Well, I am not entirely certain I can sway everyone, but it should proceed unimpeded. I’m glad you could find a match, Matrie. I really am.”

“I would like to take my leave now.” Matrie turned to leave. The glassy top floor, adorned with strange contraptions of gears and pulleys, was hardly a fit with the rest of the Academy. It set Matrie’s hair on end. Matrie preferred wood and shrubbery. A last thought appeared in Matrie’s mind. She’d nearly forgotten to ask. “One more thing.” Maria turned back around.

“Hm?” A steaming cup of tea had appeared in Emily’s hand, as well as a wooden stool on which she sat.

“This girl, she has not yet been given a title.”

“I would have thought someone remarkable to be acknowledged by you to be already making a name for herself. Oh, the thought of giving someone a title is exciting. I do not believe I have been given a name. Who is this girl?”

“Maria Petrov.”

“Ah, I have heard that name before. A girl hailing from the north, with quite a strange past. It is appropriate that she speaks the language of ice. Her surname differs from her sponsor. Those tend to be the unusual ones. And? What about her lack of a title?”

“She is a notable girl. Her hair is light, and her eyes yellow like yours. Her attitude is every bit as cold as the ice she commands at her fingertips.” Matrie recalled the events of that afternoon. Even if Maria would never admit it, Matrie felt a connection between the two of them, as if they could become friends. Such a feeling was never wrong. “I would like her to be given one before the selection.”

“That can be arranged. And what do you propose?”

“Maria of the Rose Garden. She fights with flower petals made of ice. It is a fitting name.”

“Making no reference to her ice?” Emily asked. “It’s customary to link a title to a craft. Your nightshade, my lightning, it’s all in our title for a reason.”

“I still feel that it fits her.”

“I will put it under consideration, but cannot make any promises. Maybe a modification here or there, to give it a little extra flair. It’s been a good meeting with you, Matrie of the Nightshade. I look forward to your match with this challenger and whichever possible...contenders we may have overlooked.”

—

Maria sat alone in a banquet hall. She was used to the numbness of having no companionship. It was about noon, and pale sunlight shining through the window high above her head made the bowl of grains in her hand appear slightly more appetizing. Anastasia should be having lunch around now. She would wrap herself up in a blanket and make her way downstairs, tip-toeing past her father’s study to snag something from the kitchen. It wasn’t that eating with Anastasia’s father was unpleasant, but he was perhaps too talkative and one would find themselves with him for hours if they were not careful.

Maria’s heart ached at the thought of seeing Anastasia again. Her one and only friend, worth more than the whole tower of bricks and glass that Maria was imprisoned in. For two years, Maria’s studies did not permit her to leave. Only after graduation and a period of service would Maria be granted exit from her obligations as an empire’s doll.

“Do you have room for one more?” A familiar voice called out. Maria knew this woman. A few days past, an annoying weed had jumped out and interrupted the flow of her training. Maria picked up the bowl and ate furiously. She didn’t hear a thing. No one had called out to her, and whoever did would quickly leave after seeing that she’d been ignored. “Hello? Maria?” Matrie’s tall stature and developed bosom were in full view, across the table from Maria.

“Sorry, but that seat’s taken.” Maria said in between slurps.

“How about this one?”

“That one too.”

“That one?”

“Sorry, they’re all taken.”

“I guess I’ve got no choice then.” With a tray of bread and grains piled far higher than reasonably possible, Matrie sat directly beside Maria, who inched away as far as she could without falling off the seat.

“Seat’s taken.”

“Mariaaa-” Matrie wrapped her arms around Maria’s tiny body. This time, it was cold as ice. With a firm grasp of Maria’s chest and back, it was clear that no heat emanated from the girl’s body. “Cold.”

“Why did you come here?” Maria shook off the unwelcome advances and held her attacker’s face at bay with one hand.

“To say hello. Friends should greet each other from time to time, no?”

Maria relented. Matrie took a seat next to her, offering an extra bun to Maria. She’d just vigorously consumed a bowl of grains, after all. It was important to eat after training.

“So, you’ve come to disturb my peace.” Maria glumly stated.

“I wanted to know more about you. It’s said that imposing your craft upon the world is a talent reserved for a precious few. The ones with tremendous ideals, dreams, ambition. If you would allow me to indulge myself, I could say I am one of those.”

“Oh.” Maria coolly grinned. “So you would call yourself a dreamer. Someone who ignores what they see and reaches for the highest fruit on the tree, ignoring the fact that the ladder beneath them reaches not even half as tall. What sort of thing would such a person have to share?”

Matrie shrugged. “I want independence for the Academy. That is all. We deserve the fruits of our own labor, to be free from the petty squabbles of the empire. A title granted after a period of service? What a farce. If a title should be bestowed upon one of the scholars here, it should be granted by us, not a thoughtless bureaucrat who knows nothing of our traditions.”

“And you plan to achieve that with the title of Pristine.”

“I suppose. That title is the only one held by the authority of the Academy, and holds significance in the world outside. The head is Pristine, the seventy-eighth. And I plan to take that title. I’ll use it to establish a unit of political power, and with enough time, surely we will wrest ourselves away from the cruel embrace of our captors.”

“And are you ready to shed blood for that to happen?” Maria asked. To Maria, such an ideal was laughable. Not only unrealistic, but dangerous to anyone who might heed her words. The dolls formed only a component of its military hierarchy, and most of them had power inferior to Matrie’s arsenal. She was blinded by a misconception. The misconception that anyone could be like her, the thoughtless notion that humans were all born the same.

“Perhaps.”

“I find your perspective wrong. The strength of a doll is determined not by the ideals she holds. Instead, it is the strength of her wit. An ability to understand, and to produce something novel, something unknowable. The mind demands freedom, it bares its fangs at anything that might bind it to a rule. To force one’s own mind into subservience, that is what makes me strong. My mind holds no feelings of its own. And so, I cannot share your dream. Only one who knows nothing of the struggles of the weak can hold that ideal. ” Maria held out her hand. In it, a blue-tinted rose, fragile and cracked as if it were to break apart at any moment sprouted from her palm.

“So you will do nothing with the title of Pristine? After having my dreams cast aside I am expecting quite the impression.” Matrie asked.

“I will take it back home and show it to my friend.”

“Tell me about this friend.” Dissatisfaction was written all over Matrie’s face. It was saying, “You would rob me of my dreams, turn my prize into a token for such a pointless purpose?”. However, Matrie said nothing. Instead, she opened her mouth wide and swallowed a bun without chewing.

“She’s a noble with jade-like green eyes and skilled in dealing with ribbons.” Maria snatched another bun from Matrie’s tray and took a bite from it. “My best and only friend.”

“Just because your magic is cold as ice doesn’t mean you have to be too.”

“It’s true. I am lonely in this Academy. I have no one to speak to, not one to tell about how I miss my friends. Your presence isn’t unwelcome.” Maria said, looking into Matrie’s eyes, purple as an orchid flower. Matrie was a kind person. The way she spoke, the way she walked, and the way she smiled at Maria was blooming with warmth.

“Let me be your friend. We are to be here for a good while longer, yes? Would it pain you to have someone by your side?”

As if fighting against herself, Maria grabbed her own arm. She slowly reached over and tugged at Matrie’s sleeve, and pulled her just a little closer to where Maria sat. “I won’t lose to you.”

“Nor will I.”

—

The selection of the Pristine was a tournament. Only retired dolls and current students were permitted to enter. The goal was to incapacitate or submit an opponent without maiming them or causing any serious injury. The selection took place in a tournament hall on the third floor of the Academy, a space so large nothing else was built on the third floor.

Overlooking terraces surrounded the main section of the hall, on which hundreds of spectators stood. A particular area had been separated from the rest, as it was reserved for observation by the other Pristine dolls. On it, twenty-seven of the thirty-one living Pristine dolls stood. It was an important occasion. While a Pristine held authority from the title, it also came with one obligation: to attend the selection every year. Rules regarding this were not terribly strict, but most of the holders of the title respected the notion.

The aged Erestine stood beside Emily, crunching slices of a crisped potato. It was a common snack in the streets of the capital, but rarely did Emily see a doll with the backbone to eat something loudly in the tournament hall. As the competitors had yet to enter, the sound of crunching echoed along the hall, alerting every spectator to Erestine’s choice of snack.

—

“Maria, that was a great story. Hearing about your time at the Academy is quite exciting.” I said, poking at the flames with a stick.

“I feel as if the memory is blooming in my heart as I speak. It was not nearly as bad as I had thought.”

“Memories are often so. Simply sweet, or purely bitter. Even if the events that come to pass are rarely so one-sided.” The captain laid on her side, her face turned away from the fire. “Just like my service. There were plenty of bad spots, but with you two, it feels like a blessing overall.”

“So, Maria, I want to hear more about your change of heart. Was there something amazing in your time at the Academy that you wanted to share with us?” I bounced with excitement. Two years of Maria’s life, previously behind locked doors, had suddenly opened. A whole new side of Maria that I had never been able to enjoy was staring at me in the face.

“I suppose so. We will continue the story tomorrow. For now, I would like to sleep.”

—

Matrie was a fierce fighter. Her victories rarely came from raw power alone, even if she was superior in ability. Her nightshade was deadly in high doses, but just as she was strong, she was also gentle. She knew the limits of the human body. To force someone beyond that limit would mean death. With every branch, every leaf that Matrie called forth, she kept this in mind. For that reason, even among the strongest Pristine dolls, Matrie’s skills could be respected. Her compassion for her allies lost no ground to her search for power.

Maria was different. She fought with savagery and aggression unlike most. In spite of her small build, her training had turned her body into a weapon alongside the ice she commanded. She held the safety of her opponents in little regard, stopping just moments before causing them permanent injury. In similar fashion, her opponents’ weapons raked across Maria’s uniform and flesh underneath, leaving her bloodied after every bout. Maria’s ice was useful in these cases. Wounds that typically caused dangerous bleeding could be stopped at the snap of her fingers.

“That Maria's got guts, I’ll tell you that.” Erestine said. An empty bag of potato crisps was crumpled in her hand. Her hair was streaked with grey, but the muscles on her body had lost barely an ounce of their mass. “I wouldn’t be surprised to see her sneaking her way into the finals.”

“Does she remind you of someone?” Emily asked. It was a rhetorical question. Erestine’s body was covered in scars. She could be called an expert in efficiently avoiding mortal wounds, but more importantly, she didn’t believe in blocking something that couldn’t stop her. It was a recklessness stemming from Erestine’s absolute confidence; a certainty that her body would not fail. As far as anyone was concerned, she was right. Not a single time in recorded matches had Erestine been felled.

“Of course not. Her style isn’t a product of confidence, it’s a product of her lack of experience. She’s failing to ascertain the limits of her own body. To her credit though, she is small. You said she was fourteen?”

“Yes.”

“It must be hard fitting in when everyone is older than you. Maybe that’s why she’s trying so hard, even though she’s still got an extra year to take the title. Becoming Pristine will find you some friends. Hah! No worthwhile ones, though.”

“Her ice is truly a sight to behold. I can see why Matrie wanted to hold the selection this year.” Emily observed. “A blizzard of flower petals is an ephemeral sight I’ve rarely been given the chance to gaze upon. Quite unpleasant to be stuck in the middle of. Her craft is a work of beauty, but that makes me afraid.”

“Afraid of what? Becoming an artist?”

“Her lack of direction. Where will her travels take her when she leaves? A loaded cannon with no one to fire it can ignite by accident and sink a ship. It can be fired by anyone, at anything. And the rest of us will be none the wiser.”

“I don’t think she’s lacking direction. Whatever it is, she’s got a reason for it.” Erestine shook her head.

“I would love to discover that reason.”

“Why don’t you ask her?” Erestine chuckled. “You’re the head, there’s nothing stopping you from calling her into your study and asking her ‘hey, why are you here?’.”

“Not everyone speaks their thoughts. I’ve heard that she’s quiet and rarely speaks to anyone. Except for Matrie.”

“Then ask Matrie! See, Em, this stuff is simple. Just look at it like it is. There’s no need to overthink. Maria’s a mystery, sure, but you and I have solved a puzzle or two in our times. Give it a try.”

“We’ll wait till the end of the selection and see. Who is next, anyhow? I do believe we’ve already reached the semi-finals.” Emily perused a sheet from her jacket’s pocket. A few names had been scrawled here and there on a messy network of lines. “Matrie…and a fire user, Petra Sokolov. It appears that this Petra is a matchup to see. An average student, but remarkable in combat.”

“I always felt for kids who couldn’t take a test to save their lives, but throw them into a stressful situation and suddenly they turn into different people. Makes you think about how useful those tests really are.” Erestine looked at the two in the distance, their uniforms and pointed hats both a reflection of their matches thus far. Matrie’s uniform was still in perfect condition, free from tears or other forms of damage. Petra’s uniform was ragged and covered in black streaks of burnt fabric. “My money’s on Matrie,” Erestine nudged Emily on the shoulder. “What do you think?”

“I would not bet on the results of this tournament, but I would not be so sure. Fire has a tendency to spring to life when you least expect it.”

—

The match began. Maria watched from a distance, taking note of the figher’s movements, their expressions, and the looks in their eyes. It was important to study an opponent before fighting them. They could be showing a glaring weakness every bout, waiting for exploitation.

A pale violet mist expanded from Matrie’s body. From Maria’s position, the scent of a pungent spice filled the air. Soon the numbness in Maria’s nostrils alerted her of the mist’s true nature. The roaring orange flame forming a wide circle around Petra’s body consumed the mist that got too close and sent any remaining bits of the toxin far into the air. Petra’s position was solid. With enough flame, she repelled any incoming assault.

Petra was quick to approach Matrie, but as she picked up speed, it was clear she could not dissipate the mist as quickly as she’d hoped. It forced her to move slowly, and due to this Matrie could slip out of danger any time she found herself cornered. Maria observed it closely. It was a strategic implement not meant to incapacitate anyone but the most passive and powerless of enemies. Instead, it forced a concession. In this case that concession was Petra’s limited scope of movement.

Matrie’s right hand was strangely positioned behind her back. With every step backwards Matrie took, a stem sprouting from the hand gained a foot of length and blended in with the hard wooden floor. Petra was making progress, coming closer and closer. It wouldn’t be long before the flames started to lick at Matrie’s uniform, blemishing its perfect appearance with black streaks of soot. Matrie calmly hopped further and further back, paying no heed to the rapidly approaching edges of the tournament hall.

Petra dove forward to strike. Matrie counterattacked. The vine that Matrie had placed carefully with every step backward drove its way around Petra’s neck, quickly cutting off her flow of air. Petra fought on. She hacked away at the encroaching growth with her sword, but it was futile. It extended along her knees and back, from an angle no sword could reach. Her swings soon lost their speed, and Petra's defeat was clear. She hung unconscious from an upright stem of Matrie’s branches, held up only by Matrie’s mercy.

“Hm. An amateur forgetting her feet are the weakest point in her defense. Such is the fate of someone destined for the rabble.” Maria smugly proclaimed.

—

“Hah! Fire isn’t so strong, is it. Waving that sword around, what was she hoping to achieve? Strike true and straight with your flames, I say. No point in using a blade of steel when you can swing with a blade of fire.” Erestine threw another handful of chips into her mouth.

“That is why you are a Pristine, and she isn’t. Petra isn’t lacking in strength, but the application of her efforts require some consideration.” Emily said. It was a pity. To Emily, Petra’s defeat was largely a matter of course, but it wasn’t impossible for her to win. She made a mistake of looking to defend the mist at all, instead of striking straight for Matrie’s neck. Such a maneuver could be done, surely. Fighting Matrie was the same as running through a slowly closing doorway. There was a way through, but it required decisiveness. It was a trait Petra lacked in the end.

—

Maria’s semi-final opponent was a doll of notable calibre. Armed with a pair of daggers, her lightning-quick speed forced Maria onto her back foot for most of the match. The reality was, however, that Maria was never in true danger. She exploited her opponent’s lack of defensive care with expert precision, nailing them in the back, the shoulder, and the neck with a dozen flower petals before they submitted. Maria’s back ached from the leaping and dodging that she had done all match, but she shook it off with the hundred other sources of pain and discomfort accosting her body.

The selection was a bloody affair. Fighters did their best to keep themselves intact between rounds, but the wear was clear. Maria’s uniform was little more than strips of cloth, and with each step, what remained of her dress did little to protect her modesty. Not that she minded. She was there to fight. A doll was given two chances to become Pristine, once in her first year and once in her second. To grasp the prize in one’s first year was a feat. It was also a sign of disrespect. To say to a class of seniors, “Your title is mine”, and sweep them across the floor in combat, made Maria’s heart dance.

The moment had come. A deafening silence overtook Maria’s ears as she stared down her opponent. Perfect and untouchable, Matrie had not suffered a scratch on her body or uniform. Maria was covered in slashes and bruises. The fatigue from overpowering opponent after opponent wore on her mind, and even walking in a straight line was a challenge as each leg threatened to give way.

Matrie began the match by spreading her toxin. Again, the pale purple mist, a single breath which would render one unconscious, filled the air. This time, Maria had not the privilege of distancing herself from the source. She was in the thick of it; if she didn’t actively sweep away the noxious fumes with a ring of fast-moving petals she would quickly meet defeat. It was the same setup Petra had used, albeit with the mist-scattering means changed.

Maria encountered the same problem as Petra did. While she could defend against the hostile environment, it limited her mobility and movement. The constant exertion weighed heavily on Maria’s body; she was sure that she could not go on for much longer. Using her ice constantly chilled her body to the bone, and if she overdid it, she would experience a biting pain in the back of her neck. It was as if her body itself was turning to ice when each petal.

“Give it up, Maria. Your skills are impressive, but at least in this battle, I have the upper hand.”

Matrie slowly approached. A long branch grew from her outstretched palm, seeking a way through Maria’s frozen petals.

“Your upper hand means little. If you can flood the hall with your poisons, I’m sure no one will mind if I do the same.”

“You don’t mean-”

The petals released for a moment. For a fraction of a second, Maria was defenseless. If Matrie had wanted to take victory, this was the time. But Matrie’s focus on maintaining her chokehold on the arena muddied her mind. She was also shocked that someone might release their defenses without reason. When a cloud of frozen air burst from Maria’s hands, she felt a sense of danger for the first time.

But it wasn’t enough. Maria’s body had reached its limit, and no matter how hard Maria clenched her teeth, no more ice could exit her fingertips. The pale purple mist swallowed up her motionless figure, and while Matrie could make out the defeated expression on her face, she approached with caution.

With the branch on her right hand, she extended it to Maria’s face, seeking to knock her to the ground, and cement her victory. Such a reason was why they had not yet announced her victory. Maria stood on her own strength. Matrie’s branches enveloped Maria gently and sought to place her on the ground.

“It’s too late for you, Matrie of the nightshade.” The branch, frozen stiff from Maria’s clenched grip on its shaft, shattered to pieces. Maria leapt at Matrie, holding a frozen shard of branch in her hand and aiming straight for Matrie’s exposed neck.

“How-” Matrie gasped. She focused on evading the weakened Maria. No matter how powerful her short-lived revival was, all Matrie had to do was wait for the true end to come. No one could fight forever under these conditions, not even the one they called Maria of the Rose Garden. Maria was holding her breath. Her pursed lips and clenched teeth were an ample indication. Every doll had their limits, and Maria was far closer to hers.

Maria came in low and swept Matrie’ legs with a strength unbecoming of Maria’s small body. When Matrie realized what had happened, she had forced a new branch, rapidly covering with frost, around Maria’s neck. Just like Petra, Maria’s counterattack would prove futile. But one thing was different. Maria was behind her, while Petra had fallen in front. Maria’s arms were tightened around Matrie’s neck in turn, squeezing with every ounce of strength left in her.

“Give it up, Maria! You’re lost! You have nothing left!” Matrie whispered as she gasped for air. Maria was strong, far stronger than she had expected. Even as thorns shot from the sides of the branch and punctured bloody holes into Maria’s neck, she would not let go.

“This is your defeat, Matrie of the Nightshade. That I will win by strength alone is a testament to the power of my ideals. The ideals which you spoke of so lightly.”

Matrie attempted a response, but it was too late. The lack of air robbed her of her senses, and while her heart raced to keep her conscious, she fell into a deep slumber.

—

Emily paced back and forth within the confines of her study. Shadows cast by the spring sun over the Academy danced in circles at her feet. The selection’s conclusion had been difficult in a number of ways. With her prismatic vision, Emily saw everything perfectly. Maria had held her breath for over a minute to trick Matrie into lowering her guard, and used the last of her strength to defeat Matrie not by her ice, but by strangling her. It was a rare sight, to see a battle decided by the force of Maria’s elbow squeezing Matrie’s neck. Matrie also defeated Maria a few seconds later as the effects of the nightshade in her bloodstream quickly took effect.

Matrie, followed by a thoroughly bandaged Maria, entered the room through a small door in the corner of the study. Matrie had an awkward contraption on her neck, but was otherwise still untouched. A new uniform had been arranged for Maria, but that was not enough to cover the bruising and scabbed-over marks on her exposed face and legs.

“The ninety-ninth Pristine has arrived! Welcome to my study, Maria Petrov. Your match was incredible.” Emily greeted Maria with a signature show of enthusiasm, not because she had a particular desire to, but because this was their first meeting and she wanted to try her best at making a good first impression.

“I won. I told you, Matrie of the Nightshade, that I would emerge victorious.” Maria said. The news of her victory was enough to make the side of her face untouched by bandages beam with joy. It was an uncharacteristic look for Maria, one that she hadn’t worn since she stepped through Academy doors. Matrie, upon hearing so, sagged her shoulders and looked away. For Emily to call her here only to tell her that she’d lost was cruel.

“Not yet.” Emily said.

“Why? I won.”

“You also were defeated, no? In real combat, any passerby could have slit your throats easily with no resistance.”

“She went to sleep before I did.”

“But not by much. Because of this, I convened with the past Pristine dolls and the remaining Academy staff to consult them on this topic. Most of them agreed that it should be called a draw, even if you may have won on a technicality.” Emily explained. In the depths of her mind, she agreed with Maria. Victory had been hers, but throwing Matrie’s dominance over the rest of the selection along with how close the match had been convinced others that Matrie deserved something. It wouldn’t be fair to send her back empty-handed. “I’m offering you a choice. If you both want a rematch, then that can be arranged. Otherwise, a special exception will be made and Maria, you will be the ninety-ninth Pristine, and Matrie, you will be the hundredth.”

“I want a rematch.” Maria said. “This woman does not deserve the title she will be given otherwise.”

“Maria! That’s despicable! How could you say something like that?” Matrie protested. “I am more than happy with the latter arrangement.”

“It is decided then. Sorry Maria, but a rematch cannot happen without mutual consent.”

“Tch. Coward.” Maria muttered.

“You would lose such a rematch, and you know it!” Matrie shouted. “I wanted to be gentle with you because you already looked so hurt, and you took advantage of it!”

“It was combat! You cannot make exceptions for enemies in combat! I never asked for your compassion.” Maria shot back.

“Correct. I needn’t offer you my compassion, just like anyone else. Enjoy the rest of your time here, Maria of the Rose Garden.” Matrie stormed out of the room.

Emily sighed. “You didn’t have to say that.”

“But I did. A title is meaningless without a firm resolve to protect its honor.” Maria replied.

“A thousand titles are not worth losing a friend.”

“She is not a friend.”

“Not anymore, I see. Are you so bent on spending the rest of your time here alone?” Emily asked. Maria looked like a lonely girl. When she was resting in the infirmary, no one came to see her, and she spent three days looking out a window and playing with her frozen petals. It was Emily’s belief that friendly people like Matrie were important for the survival of such girls, else they live their lives in solitude.

“I don’t object to it.” Maria said quietly. Maria mulled upon the match many times as she recovered. It was true. Maria had seen Matrie’s friendliness as an asset, a strategic boon. Her reluctance to injure her foes led to her downfall. Such a fate was common in the real world.

“If you don’t object, then you are neutral on the matter, yes? Then go back and make a friend! Perhaps you will come to enjoy their company.”

“Is that an order?”

“No, but it is something I dearly hope you come to understand. Life is not meant to be spent alone.”

—

I sat behind Maria on the back of Kirill’s godsteed. The swampy marshland below, covered in patches of green and brown, sped by. I kept one hand on my hair to keep the wind from causing too much mischief, while keeping the other on the horse’s reins. Besides the occasional deafening blast of air from the godsteed’s batlike wings, gliding through the air was peaceful.

The one and only indication of his status, Kirill’s winged horses could cover great distances in a short period of time, but required a long period of rest after use. They would only be sufficient in taking us to the town with the key. The journey to Aya’s gate and the void star trapped within would have to be on foot.

“So, that was Matrie of the Nightshade. A fraudulent Pristine, but Pristine nonetheless. I have been hungry for a rematch since, but we never crossed paths again.” Maria explained.

“But you both made the finals as first year dolls, right?” I asked. “You could always have your rematch the following year.”

“The head barred us from entering again. Something about giving someone else a chance.” Maria said. “Sad, really.”

“I can understand why she would do that. No one wants to join a tournament they have no chance of winning.”

“They should just train harder then. Anyone too weak to fight is someone who does not want to fight.” Maria responded.

“I feel that your talents are blinding you. If you saw things from the less skilled doll’s point of view, maybe you would change how you see things. “

“You could be right. Life is hell for a doll who lacks the affinity for power. It is still hell for the doll who does not, but I am sure the quality of our respective hells is different. Such girls should curse their parents for giving birth to them.” Maria smugly said. It was an odd sensation, seeing her gleefully disparage her comrades in such a way. I could not bring myself to hate it, however. The way she looked down on everyone around her was an expression of her perfection. She remained truly perfect, unperturbed by the thoughts of common people. Feelings such as compassion were foreign to her, just as such things would be foreign to a blooming flower. A blooming flower only cares for the richness of its petals and the fruits of its labors, not the people who come by to smell it, or the blades of grass that barely reach a fraction of the flower’s glory. Maria was to the rest of the dolls as a flower is among blades of grass.

—

The rainforests of Iralsk were thick. Unlike the willow forests surrounding Margaret’s Welcome, thick, low-hanging branches obstructed our path. Even traveling by foot was slow and arduous, requiring constant clearing with blades and shovels. That was, of course, handled by Kirill and Canary. While the captain and Maria had bodies perfectly capable of undergoing the labors at hand, the men insisted upon the task.

“All..in the..pursuit of strength.” Canary’s legs gave way and he fell in a heap. His spiderlike limbs lacked the constitution of Kirill’s, but he quickly struggled to his feet and continued.

“Surely there is a path to take. Iralsk was a city like any other. There must have been one or two paths leading through this jungle.” I said, wiping a bead of sweat from my brow. Even after changing into light, breathable wear woven by the sarassin soldiers, the heat and humidity of the jungle was suffocating. The cries of tree-dwelling insects, a signature sound of the summers, played endlessly.

“This is the path to Iralsk. The jungle grows at a pace unmatched by anything in the north. A regular stationed force of soldiers was responsible for the clearing and maintenance of the road, but as things have completely grown over, they are long gone.” the captain explained.

“Have you been here before, captain?” I asked.

“Once. Back when I was about your age, I accidentally detonated a crate of explosives at a camp a ways west of here. They put me on jungle duty for six months. It wasn’t fun, but Iralsk is a fun place to spend your time off. It was, at least.” she furrowed her brow. “It might be late to say this, but you two have been strong. You’ve seen a lot on our way down here, and you might see more. I hope you’re ready for it.”

“The flow of the journey has helped. My mind is never given the chance to dwell on things, as we continue to travel. Even the most horrible things, when left behind, have become lighter in my memories.” I said. As we reached a small clearing, our efforts revealed a small section of paved stones buried below a layer of moss. My heart fluttered at the sight of it; in the midst of the raw wilderness the smallest sign of civilization was enough to excite me.

My thoughts turned to our search for the key. The dial in my hand wobbled and turned in my hand, but as its adjustments shrunk and eventually lost their significance, its direction became clear. We were headed in the right direction. Southeast, to the tropical city of Iralsk. The food, clothing, and culture were unique to the region, according to what I had heard from the others. Supposedly, its sweets made of ice were particularly popular, likely because of the relief they provided against the heat.

Exia’s scouts had been clear. There was nothing left of the city but ruins. It was completely overrun while its ill equipped military force had little ability to defend against an endless onslaught of monsters pouring from the void star. The voices of the dead likely cared little that the horde had been halted. Their home reduced to rubble, no closure would be found for any of Iralsk’s unfortunate citizens.

—

The key was left in a collapsed tower, under a pile of stone. So close to the completion of the first part of our quest, perhaps Maria was in the mood to help. A clear-white blooming lily, scattering all the rubble to the side, exposed a skeleton, its bones picked white by decay. Its skull had been crushed to fragments, and its jaw hung lopsidedly from what remained of its neck. The key was a disc of metal with a globe-like marble in its center. A faint blue light from the marble reflected off the edges of the key, making the shapes etched into its surface shift and bend as I turned it.

The destruction of Iralsk was apparent in the road ahead, and I had asked the captain if we could refrain from traversing its streets for the day. While we were no strangers to death, the sight of bones and dead bodies still caused my heart to race and goosebumps to crawl along my skin. Something like that was better to leave for earlier in the day, as I would have the whole day to adjust, and there would be a chance for me to sleep that night.

As we attempted to set up camp, a flash of light flickered behind Maria. It was momentary and fleeting, and just as quickly as it had appeared, a woman stood where it had been. Her dark hair and robust bosom were her most defining features, but the way her eyes focused on Maria’s back indicated that she surely held some prior relation with her. It was Matrie of the Nightshade. The faint black-purple sheen of her red hair and descriptive match to Maria’s earlier story made it clear that she could be no one else. The academy’s pointed hat, freshly ironed and free of wrinkles, shaded her face with a melancholic light. She wasn’t happy to be here.

“Maria.” she said. Maria turned to face her. There was still a notable difference in their heights, but Maria could no longer be called much smaller, maybe only a smidgen shorter. Matrie’s chest, however, still held a roundness impressive and far more eye-catching than Maria’s modest bosom. “It has been a long time. You are still as beautiful as ever,” Matria said. Upon saying that, she turned and shot me a cold look.

—

“A lot of things have changed, Maria. I hear you still refuse the title of the Rose Garden.” Matrie sipped her tea. Using wood and rocks, the three of us sat in a circle, using a plank placed atop two stones as a table. Matrie had apparently thought this occasion appropriate for a tea set, setting a small fire alight with her finger to brew it.

“It doesn’t suit me. That is all.”

“And you, Anastasia, I presume. It is nice to meet you as well.” Matrie bowed her head, but the look of disdain on her face was enough to tell me that I’d committed some offense in her mind.

“I am here for negotiations. I had a dream, Maria. A dream of our independence as the Academy, free to pursue our own goals. That goal is soon to be realized.”

“Does that dream extend to the dolls massacred in your taking of the capital?” Maria asked pointedly.

“That is unfair, Maria. You know what war is like. Choosing a side has its dangers.” Matrie’s expression drooped. “They have my sympathy. But just as they sacrificed their arms and legs to focus their power towards a war effort, their lives will be used for a greater purpose.”

“I never cared for them either. I am sure you’ve come not to argue about the value of the rabble.”

“Harsh as always. You are correct, but what we will be discussing is related.”

“State your business, Matrie. I already know it, but I know you prefer to make yourself clear.”

“Lighten up, Maria. Together, we can prevent further bloodshed and bring about a world which acknowledges us for who we are. All I need is your help. You have a person among you, someone of great interest to our leader. It would be better for you to hand him over to us than for me to try and take him by force.”

“Such a deed would sadden Anastasia. I refuse.”

Matrie thought for a moment before speaking. Maria’s worldview was completely alien to her. Nonetheless, she sought to understand it, and maybe reach her way into Maria’s mind. “Suppose it didn’t sadden Anastasia. Would you agree then?”

“Yes. Speak to her, not me.”

“Does it not frustrate you to be a puppet of someone else?” Matrie suddenly snapped. “Ever since the first day I spoke to you, only Anastasia mattered, not me, not anyone at the Academy. Is she the only one with the privilege to sway your heart?”

“There was never anything else. Your dreams are no different in your naked obsession with your ideal world. Instead of being beholden to a person, you are beholden to a thing. And tell me, Matrie. Do things hold dominion over people, or the other way around?”

“They do. We cannot hope to live our lives in service of another forever.”

“Service of another is the meaning of dolls like us. You are defective, thinking that you can exist as a puppet and its own master.” Maria finished her tea. In spite of the tension between them, it was still only a discussion. Maintaining composure was nothing for Maria. “Why are you so reluctant to speak to Anastasia? Are you so afraid that you’ll grow smitten by her words?”

“Fine. If it’s so important to you, we will speak. Anastasia, give us the exiled emperor. It’s for the best.” Matrie looked at me. Her eyes, unlike her hair, were a potent violet which bore deep into me as she stared.. Otherwise, they held a wellspring of feeling, and at this point, she was pleading with me. The consequences of refusal were clear. She surely hadn’t come alone. But the consequences of losing Kirill, a man whose words and sharpness of resolve made my heart flutter each time he spoke, seemed even greater.

“Without him, who will rule over the empire?” I asked.

“Isa will. She is a powerful and wise leader. She is surely a better fit to rule than that man.”

“But she isn’t the rightful one, he is.” I answered. “He will surely grow and become an even more suitable leader than her.”

Matrie sighed. Before us, it was clear that she only wanted to avoid conflict. Maria had said so. But her efforts to prevent conflict only lead her to us, a group surrounded by suffering and combat. Maria wasn’t honest with herself. She carried herself and spoke as if she was an empty vessel, only to be filled by what I had for her. But there was one thing that formed her character, independent of anything I had done. It was a love for conflict. Domination of the strong put a smile on Maria’s face. Maria would have the rematch she wanted. Three years later, and the two had grown even stronger than they were when they were fighting for the title of Pristine.

—

“You are sure. You are? They have refused our generous offer?” Oum whispered to Matrie. The two conversed privately on the opposite side of a hill, far from Anastasia’s camp. “Ha Ha Ha Ha!” He laughed. A hideous smile spread across his lips. Every opportunity to ravage and defile an enemy brought joy to his heart. It was a disease of the mind, something that everyone who had ever known him despised. Even so, his existence was convenient for those who offered him what he wanted, and so he traveled from state to state, a rogue force of destruction in war. “I look forward to our…battle with those girls.”

“I do not. Seeing Maria’s mind enslaved so thoroughly brings pain to my heart. I only wish to tear her away from her captor, but doing so would likely not bring her mind any closer to freedom.”

“Just kill her. Do it. That Anastasia. She would look better with her heart pierced and her bones broken. Then you can have Maria for yourself.” Oum peered into Matrie’s eyes. Her longing was obvious to him.

“That isn’t what I want. I just want her to be free.”

“Oh, you lie to yourself. Hideous! How hideous is the tongue that lies to the heart. You only want to be rid of Anastasia to mold Maria into your slave. She cannot be free. Her mind craves servitude, just as yours craves her at your side. What a pitiful creature that Maria is. I will turn her skin to blood, her bones. Then I can free your mind of her. Ha ha!” Oum taunted. Matrie immediately extended her palm. A low rumble came from the ground below Oum, and he found his chest pierced through by a thorn thicker than a free trunk, jutting from the ground like a spear pointed to the sky.

“I know this isn’t enough to kill you. But know this. Make an attempt on Maria’s life and you will surely find yourself made into an enemy. You may claim immortality in your fields of blood, but I will find a way to end your life. I will make you suffer, and writhe in pain as I sear your flesh until nothing remains. Consider this a warning, Oum of the blood fields. Make a misstep and you will join the tortured dead of Iralsk.”

Oum weakly coughed from his grisly perch. For a moment, his blood-red eyes went wide with fear before the husk of his body melted away and reappeared before Matrie. “Then find a way to take that man from them. You have none. None! You will fail your queen. And as your corpse rots, your dream will crumble away faster than your body does. I am not your enemy, mage-girl. I was felling armies before you learned to walk.”

—

Matrie approached the camp in the dead of night. The captain was staring at the smoldering campfire, struggling to keep herself awake. She was weak. Just by one look, it was clear to Matrie that she’d offer no resistance if attacked. The captain craned her head as a curious odor assaulted her nose, and in just a few moments, she fell unconscious. Her death would do no good. Only that man, Kirill, the heir to the Sveshen empire, had to fall.

The night was cool. The summer heat had waned and the insects which clung to the trees ceased their cries at this time of the night. The utter silence was matched by the darkness in the skies, lit only by the stars and moon. With the captain joining her companions in slumber, Matrie was alone.

Matrie had successfully removed an unconscious Kirill and filled his nostrils with the same sleeping substance when she had the whistle of a flower petal flying through the air. She felt a sting at her cheek and the wet sensation of blood. Maria had awoken. She had awoken, or she was awake this whole time. Regardless, panic overtook Matrie’s heart.

“I knew you would come again, Matrie. You always seek to get what you want without fighting.” a storm of frozen flower petals circled around Maria. Her golden eyes were radiant with confidence. It was a look Matrie had never seen before. There was no desperation, no hastiness, only a pure taste for blood.

Matrie retreated. Kirill was caught in a bed of branches extending from her left hand. She released a cloud of mist, her weapon of choice. It was the same toxin she had used to put the captain to sleep. If she could just escape, she would be successful and Maria would be unhurt. It was the ideal outcome. The way to accomplish her dream.

Maria sent a storm of petals to engulf the intruder. Matrie sent a web of branches underground, rushing to engulf Maria before she could react. But as the web surfaced to envelop Maria, she found only a hard floor of even more petals. It was a trap. Maria had control of far more petals than Matrie had ever seen, and she had sent only a fraction of them to attack Matrie, while the rest were used to block a counterattack. At the same time, Maria had released a pale blue mist, likely made of her ice, and none of Matrie’s nightshade would reach Maria. This was Maria at her true power, completely overwhelming and leaving nothing to chance.

And yet, Matrie did not give up. She had one more option remaining. The ability that gave her claim to the title of Nightshade. “I don’t want to fight you.” Matrie gave one last warning.

“It’s too late. Our rematch has already begun.”

Something that could certainly kill an opponent, and leave no other possible outcome was a rarity among the world of dolls. Such things required a great deal of power and lacked the flexibility present in other techniques. And yet, the beauty of Matrie’s nightshade was something she cultivated with great care, to proliferate toxins directly within the body, instantly bringing death. It could not be prevented. Using the true nightshade would mean killing Maria. At the final moment, Matrie rejected it.

Maria didn’t spare a moment as her petals forced their way through Matrie’s final defenses and pierced her heart. It wasn’t a close contest.

“You…I really was too gentle with you.” As blood trickled from the edge of Matrie’s mouth, Maria bent over her dying body and held out her hand. With all of the strength left in her body, Matrie grasped it with desperate force.

“I think I understood your dream. I will find a way to see it fulfilled.” Maria assured her. The sight of a dying woman was nothing new to her, but something in Matrie’s pathetic smile shook Maria’s heart.

“Thank..you.” Matrie’s chest heaved with effort. “I don’t think this rematch could be called a draw.”

“That’s true.”

“Was the rematch…worth it?” Matrie asked.

“No. I still feel nothing with this whole affair.” A tear fell down Maria’s face. It was a lie. The pain in her chest, while she’d yet to give a name to it, took away Maria’s breath. Her existence was a contradiction. She thought she’d relish in such a victory, but only emptiness greeted her.

“Hm. Good luck. I hope…Anastasia has an ideal worth fighting for.”