Andrei and Rhian

For as long as there have been Partisans, our stories have been shared across the six territories of Auditoria. We recall Tristan Darrow—the Strachan whose inherent gifts empowered him in rescuing five, fifty, or five hundred orphans from a blaze. The details do vary and the circumstances do differ, but Tristan Darrow is remembered singularly for his bravery—unwavering in the face of crisis.

What the stories don’t tell you is that Tristan was a bit of an arsehole, or that he spent most his life looking his nose down at the Barren folk we were blessed to serve. Those poor, regular children and their poor, regular parents. The stories don’t tell you that grand, heroic rescue ought to be replaced with fat, juicy promotion. The man was just doing his job. Most of us were just doing our jobs.

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It is said Tristan Darrow passed away peacefully at Palisade—home to the Partisans and the institution he’d served from breath until death. In reality, Tristan could never forget the screaming or the scent of burning flesh. For all those he did save, he couldn't let go of the guilt for failing those he could not. He hated himself for wishing such terrible things on all those poor, regular people.

Next time on the job, he froze in the face of crisis. Failed an operation and killed a dozen in the process. Last I’d seen him, he’d plucked out every single one of his hairs. Tristan Darrow died behind silver bars in that institution he served from breath until death.

Our stories have been shared across the six territories of Auditoria.

Most of them are three-quarters the way false. Around here, we prefer things three-quarters the way true.

- Andrei Strauss

- Rhian Sinclair