She woke from the same dreamless sleep she had known each night for the past week, and before anything else, as an impulse, sought the sword kept by the side of her bed. Stelmaria could scarcely recall when this habit had been formed. It felt as if she had done so her entire life, but of course she was not born with a blade in hands. Alert as soon as she opened her eyes, she quickly rose from bed, and reached for the clothes she had set aside the past night, readying herself for the day in instants.

The orphanage, she thought. That was when I first wielded a sword. Then, of course, she had kept it a secret from the staff, or at least she thought she did. Years had passed and now she doubted that they were unaware, but instead took it into consideration for her induction into the Rose. Young Alton always said she was stupid for keeping the sword under her bed rather than finding a hiding place somewhere in the woods where they would spar, but Stelmaria wanted her sword close, should she have urgent need of it upon waking. It was an attack in the middle of the night that saw her hometown butchered by diabolists, and though the orphanage was safe under the guardianship of the Blossoms, Stel was determined never to be caught defenseless again, driven into desperate flight.

Her quarters were quite unlike the old dormitories, though, so crowded and noisy. She had been given a bedroom of her own, spacious and comfortable, more lavish than even the royal quarters in the austere castle of Iserncredel where at two-and-ten she had been made the youngest kyneguard in history, even if mostly as a ceremonial office. Her years studying for her Efflorescence were but a lapse in the struggle she’d known all her life, which she would soon return to. In time this peace would be a distant dream.

Stelmaria tried not to become too familiar with this comfort. It was not for the sake of opulence that she had become a Blossom, so this was not to be her life. She was early to rise, and her one indulgence before carrying on with her day’s duties was to take a moment to inspect the bundle of letters stored within her nightstand. It had only been the past year that Stel finally felt safe enough to not need to carry the letters on her person at all times. Even so, every morning she made sure that each and every one was there.

A letter from Alton, taken to be a blacksmith’s apprentice in Greylin. Letters from the governess Ardialle and her advice for life far from Loclain. A letter from cousin Erno, the last family she knew to be living, whom she’d never heard from since he left Loclain in 1877, one year before Stelmaria was called by the Blossoms. Letters from her peers at the opera house she divided her time with along Iserncredel; in the end, it were sword and armor that fate had chosen for her.

The letter from Prince Lauryn, the scent of jasmine long gone from the pages, the flowers long withered. The letter from Princess Judithe, who praised only her voice and songs and not her strength and skill at arms. Dead, the two of them, and in her vanity Stel blamed herself for not being there to guard them. It matters not that the Gairning Host slew them through subterfuge. If I could not have saved them, I should have died with them, as did the kyneguard who burned or drowned when their ship was sunk. Instead she had been safe at Rosa Aeterna.

She stored the letters away, then set out for the day’s duties. The great halls wherein the Blossoms would feast were far too great for the diminished numbers that remained, the same as the massive kitchens now unstaffed. Stelmaria wondered if she would take offense at being given kitchen duties when she was a soldier, or if the Blossoms that worked there ever resented it. The Tower was to have only magical girls as permanent occupants, and having servants to clean and cook for them was seen as decadent in an unseemly way. The heavy grimoires containing the many regulations, principles, philosophies and practices of the Rose explained it as the need to avoid the Blossoms being seen as superior to the men and women they were sworn to protect, that if they had an extensive staff of servants they would be their own sort of nobility, and would court resentment. A courteous justification for keeping outsiders away from our secrets and treasures, Mariamu Eifor had said during class once, a statement which earned her a reprimand from their professor and as much laughter as uncomfortable silence from her peers.

Today she did not have to cook, for which the only people more grateful than Stelmaria were those spared her meals. At Rosa Aeterna they were expected to cook only rarely, as the Academy was not subject to the same absence of servants as the Tower of Rebirth, but many still did so, in the interest of sisterly companionship and of sating their cravings for foods they longed for, so far from their homelands. It quickly became clear that Stel had no talent for it, while Triella and Prishia became all the initiates’ delights, as well as Odarka’s ielfen delicacies, for those who could get over their prejudices.

Here at least the Tower was not so deserted, though it was still overlarge. Here a thousand Blossoms could be seated and feasted, and in better times that must be a great sight to see. Now only some sparse groups were scattered here and there, most of them faces Stelmaria oft saw in the Academy, but there at least they mingled with outsiders to their Order, and the conversations were always so loud and frequent and full of merriment - and concern in seasons of examinations and provings. Here, it was despondency that reigned amidst the magical girls, death and grief the prevailing topics.

Though thinking of breaking her fast on her lonesome with her sad plate of thin porridge and bland fish, she was beckoned by a familiar ensemble sat round emptied plates and cups. Erika Chantesse was the first to call out to her, waving and bidding her companions to be silent.

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“Come, Stel,” said Erika, “sit with us.”

There was no cause to refuse. Alongside Erika were Cecilia and Triella, Sieglinde and soft-spoken Lukia Alberta, whom she scarcely knew but by name.

“Good morrow,” she greeted them, but soon found them to be mirthless company. It was not just to break fast together that she had been invited to join. “There is a grimness to you. Is something amiss?”

“Ill news,” Erika explained. “Faustyna and Lunéciel both have confirmed it, and so we were discussing the matter.”

“Our losses have already emboldened our foes,” Sieglinde said. “The Gairning Host has raided some villages on easternmost Loclain, fishing hamlets for the most part. No great bounties to be won, but no resistance either. Some two thousand refugees have sought aid at the gates of Louerhaim, and Lord Auschar has sent troops to repel the invaders, but they’ll likely retreat back into their holes and bide their time.”

“That is their way, yes,” said Stel. “I take this to mean that we will expedite our journey to Loclain?”

“Just so,” said Lukia, whose words were so quiet that Stelmaria had to make an effort to hear them. “I’m aiding with setting aside funds and resources for such an expedition. It’s a costly affair, and most of our holdings within Loclain have been neglected for the past few decades.”

“Our predecessors supported a doctrine that valued mobility and speed of response, rather than permanent fortifications,” Sieglinde explained. “Loclain is too vast, and the Gairnites have been limiting themselves to skirmishes and raids rather than mass mobilizations. We have cause to believe that this won’t be the case for long, however.”

“How so?” Triella asked.

“Our sources indicate that the internal struggles of the Host for dominance have been resolved. Lesser warlords were either killed or brought to heel, and the scattered enclaves are threatening to unify.”

“How does the saying go about those lowlifes?” Cecilia asked, to which Erika was quick to respond.

“It’s our fortune that the Gairning Host kills its own as much as it kills outsiders,” she said. “Something to that effect. Demons are not particularly selective about sacrifices, so they’ll eagerly consume demon worshippers as well, and this has kept those savages busy getting each other killed rather than joining forces to kill everyone else instead. Rarely does a higher breed of fiend actually try to wage war against the armies of Loclain and the Rose.”

“Every time they tried, they were driven back to their pits,” said Stelmaria. “Even a beaten dog learns its place in time, but these mongrels always come back as soon as they sniff out weakness. Still, not enough time has passed for the Host to so swiftly begin making moves, so this must have been happening beneath our notice for some time now.”

“We know less of their practices and beliefs than we would like,” Lukia remarked. “Very rarely was a gairnman captured alive, and even less frequently has questioning yielded any result.”

“Animals have no culture,” said Erika.

“That may be so, but nevertheless, there is a logic to their internal conflicts,” Lukia continued. “Their seven Great Sects war among themselves to determine which is most fit to lead the Host, and we’d do well to take notice of which way these winds sway. As of Faustyna’s last reports, many and more have begun to march under the crimson banner of the Red Princess.”

“She is no princess,” snarled Stel. “Merely a bastard daughter of a bastard father, latest scion to a line tainted with the foul blood of treason. You do her an honor she does not deserve by calling her by that title.”

“What then would you have me call her?”

A corpse-to-be. Hanging by her neck or drawn and quartered would be ideal, but as long as she was dead the world would be a finer place. There was no doubt in Stelmaria’s heart that the order given for the killing of Judithe and Lauryn had come from that diabolist’s mouth.

“Names are of no consequence,” Erika declared. “Let us not lose sight of what is pertinent. Loclain is close and its perils, for the time being, boil beneath the surface. They have not yet become a crisis. And, to put it in no uncertain terms, we need experience. Our training still demanded two years of our time, but we cannot wait so long.”

“Hence we will complete your education in the field,” said Sieglinde. To Stel, this was good news - or, at least, as good as they could be given the circumstances. “Training of initiates falls under my authority, so I mean to see it finished. In distant yesteryears, our predecessors lacked the luxury of honing their skills far from danger and the field of battle, and had to learn as they responded to the myriad threats stalking them. That is the essence of our history. I refuse to believe that we are so much their lessers that we would fail where they succeeded with scarcer resources and more pressing concerns.”

“This Tower’s name was not idly chosen,” Lukia suggested. “Birth is a bed of agony and first breath is followed by tearful screams. Why then should we expect rebirth to be any less painful?”

“How eloquently stated,” Erika smiled, though her eyes still welled with her usual understated melancholy, her every expression of joy or mirth always seeming somewhat feigned. “What, then, is to be our path moving forward?”

“I had word sent to Agaepsonia to prepare for our arrival. We will muster our strength there, in the mountains of Loclain, and make it the heart of our operations once more. There is no better-defended bastion, no better place from which to make our presence felt. Let the Host rue their boldness and believing us weak, and let the world see that we are far from broken.”