Dawn was breaking once Evalyn dissolved her Mind Palace her pocket reality replaced with harsh silhouettes against mesmerising streaks of orange, violet and dark pink. Early morning, a time when the city’s night outran the sunrise while the day crowd still slept their final hours.

Around Iris were scattered shards of sheet metal and snapped iron scaffolding. Spreading out around her—as though she were the epicentre—were the remnants of the Wesper's warehouse. Evalyn stood beside her as her armour radiated a brilliant glow, refusing to lose to the sunrise. Her tree roots began to spread from her feet, meandering into wooden cradles as they spread across the former warehouse floor. A forest of wooden brush curled around them, stretching to every corner while sprouting bundles of foliage. Each cradle shone with a golden spark that blossomed into the form of a human, their knees to their chest and arms wrapped around their shins.

The golden lights shimmered like fireflies one after another; each spark another life. It continued, and Iris watched, mesmerised. Tens of people, perhaps even hundreds by the end of it all reborn with the break of dawn. Nameless still, but more alive than ever before.

“Three hundred and ninety-seven of them. Makes sense; feeding more than what was in demand would just be a waste of money,” Evalyn said. “This many, there’ll probably be enough room for them somewhere.”

The roots faded, and all three hundred and ninety-seven floated to the ground. Evalyn’s armour waned as she looked down at Iris, the golden mark on her cheek returning to dormancy. Three hundred and ninety-seven. Three hundred and ninety-seven were so many when laid out around Iris. She imagined a place for every single one in and amongst the city, but could barely picture it. Millions, that was what Evalyn had prepared herself for. The gravity of that scenario finally hit Iris, and so did the insanity of what she would have been asking of her guardian.

But as she watched Evalyn survey the cohort, three hundred and ninety-seven seemed to be more than acceptable. Evalyn had wanted to save them if there was a chance, that was now clear to Iris. A newfound layer of admiration in Iris took the place of what used to be an insecurity. She could trust Evalyn, trust her to be compassionate when the need ever arose.

“I’ll take care of Alis for now, but there’s someone here to see you,” Evalyn smiled, nudging her head forward.

Iris followed Evalyn’s directions and found a silhouette, almost engulfed in the shadows cast by the steel and concrete jungle. Jet black hair and a prim and proper figure, standing at attention no matter the time of day. Iris felt Alis’s weight lift off her arms as Evalyn picked him up. She couldn’t keep her attention off him, but Evalyn insisted.

“I’ve got him now. Just go and say hi. He’ll be here by the time you get back.”

Iris nodded and stood to her full height. At first a meek walk, her legs still weak from the ordeal. She had gone and done it, gone and done what she thought was right without thinking about anyone else. Not for the good of the country, not for the good of herself, but for the good of someone she thought was worth it.

Was she right? She wanted an answer. She wanted an answer so badly that she began to run. She began to sprint as her knees almost failed her several times.

Where had she drawn the line? How had she defined selfishness and selflessness? Had she given herself up to a worthless world, or did the small piece of it she tried to save mean something more?

Did it all matter?

No. Not for the moment, at least. Even if the military garments were coarse against her skin, squeezing the waist of one of her favourite people would never cease to elate her.

“Hey!” Elvera exclaimed as Iris’s small body rammed into hers. “Slow down, you went through a lot.”

Iris didn’t care.

“Elliot’s coming soon, all right? He’ll be here by mid-morning.”

Iris admittedly cared about that quite a bit, but Elvera seemed to catch the memo. Iris felt a hardened hand pet her scalp as the other pulled her closer. “Did you do it?” Elvera asked.

Iris nodded. “Almost.”

“Almost is good enough for now,” she said. “I’m proud of you, no matter what happened.”

“Who’s speaking right now, my grandma or the Lieutenant-General.”

“Just me, Iris. Just me.”

Iris watched from a distance as the sirens zeroed in on the scene. Police vans, ambulances, and even one or two personnel carriers surrounded the crowd as Elvera tended to an unconscious Alis. Iris held onto Evalyn’s hand as they watched from a nearby side street. Evalyn had tugged on her arm and asked to leave several times, but Iris refused. She wanted to go with him, see him through until he could smile again. If he ever smiled at all.

“I’ve barely talked to him,” Iris lamented, unable to look away.

“You’ll be able to. With Wesper gone, there’s a good chance he’ll be safe now.”

She watched as paramedics loaded him onto an ambulance, all the while fussing over his every wound. The sirens sounded again, and the van drove away.

She heard Evalyn sigh and raise a hand. On it was a ring similar to Iris’s, a small white beam emanating from the jewel in Alis’s direction. She slid it off and stuffed it into her pocket, ending another record in her career history. Iris looked at hers, the minuscule beam unsatisfied with being so far away from its counterpart.

“Keep yours on, Iris. Always,” Evalyn said. “Save him if he’s ever in a bind again.”

“You’ll let me?”

“…only if you tell me you’re going out first.”

Iris nodded, content with both Evalyn's consent and her newfound responsibility. They watched a while longer as each of the three hundred and ninety-seven were roused, checked for injuries, and loaded onto carriers. Their fate from then on was unknown to her, whether they'd prosper or not was no longer in her control. Come to think of it, it never had been, yet that was never the point either. To the people who had fought so hard to give them that chance, Iris hoped she had made amends, even if ever so slightly.

It had been a week since the fall of an incredible man. Wesper had not been stupid. Between the phone calls and the occasional meeting, it was at least clear he had his wits about him, albeit never in the right way. He had strayed in recent months, but his motives always fell in line with the rest of the movement's major actors. He was simply a lone wolf, harder to wrangle yet not impossible.

The man brushed past the hotel’s night-shift security, nary raising a finger while his magic did the work of subduing each one. Guards would look at him and ask questions, even threaten him with violence once those questions went unanswered. Yet, it never came to it. They would lower their weapons, clear the way, and the man would continue walking.

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Wesper had not told him everything, he knew that much. Besides the VIP’s location, Wesper had given up very little of his plans. It had made communication with Vesmos that much harder if all he ever got out of Wesper were one or two hints from the other end of a telephone line. But that didn’t matter now, Wesper was dead. If he couldn’t do it, Vesmos’s Experimental Weapons and Training program had no options to pursue further. They had pulled back their agents, and the Navy their fleet, albeit reluctantly.

Yet that was no reason for the man to give up on Alistair Harbourman entirely. If not for his value as a fighter or a plant in a resistance movement, then for the mere fact that he was there at Wesper’s death.

What had happened? Why had Wesper bared the full brunt of the Wishbearer? What made him so eager to fight until he was left with seven bullet wounds and nothing to show for it? Harbourman knew, even if it was just a clue.

The man waved another guard down as he entered the elevator, closing the metal grates himself and choosing his floor.

Wesper had been obsessed with the Wishbearer, seeing her as the shortcut toward a new world. An obsession he had developed based on mere rumours and hearsay, much of which the man himself knew to be false. Wesper had fantasised about it for years, and in the end had leeched off the movement's expansive global network to do so. He did not understand the futility of it and assumed someone as war-torn as himself would see his side of the story. He did not understand that the Wishbearer was someone who relished it and thrived in the broken world of today. He did not see her as the strongest symbol against the change they all fought for. Instead, he only chose to see another broken soldier whom he could sweet-talk with ideas of utopia.

And in the end, he had tasted her wrath. The man could only guess what Wesper could’ve done to provoke her. Endanger her family, no doubt.

Perhaps it had grown since the last time the man had seen her.

He reached his floor and stepped off, glaring at each guard that dared raise a hand toward him, wordlessly forcing them into submission as his leather shoes softly tapped against the hallway’s red carpet. He tugged on his suit jacket and massaged his gloved palms as he approached the door.

In the end, the man had been right. Wesper’s shortcut was futile, and there was only one way forward towards something meaningful. Something rather than nothing. They would continue searching, holding onto their widespread network and boundless power until the time was right to tear it all down in a feat not even the Wishbearer could match, let alone fix.

Despite the intrusion, the night remained quiet. He stood in front of Harbourman’s door, grabbing the handle and twisting.

Empty.

Alis’s door opened, and a familiar figure entered.

“Good morning,” the Lieutenant-General said as she entered. “How’s the everything?”

“Better,” Alis answered from his bed. He was able to move, albeit through pained breathing. He was on crutches and much of himself was still bandaged, however, the worst of it was healing. “What brings you here?”

The Lieutenant-General closed the door behind her but refused to venture any closer. She stood, hands in the pockets of her trench coat as she shivered slightly. “Don’t you get cold?”

Alis looked at the open window, gusts of chilling wind invading through the gap as the last of autumn’s leaves fell from their branches. “Now that you mention it.”

He moved to get up, but the Lieutenant-General strode in front of him and unlatched the window, sliding it closed. “That’s better,” she said, taking another moment to survey the cityscape.

“How’s Iris?” Alis asked.

“She wants to see you,” she admitted. “She can’t stop thinking about you.”

“When can I see her?”

“Today, perhaps.”

“Perhaps?”

The Lieutenant-General sighed and turned to him, leaning against the windowsill. “People don’t like you being in the country, Alis…Mr Harbourman. Even if they aren’t knocking at our door, Vesmos will use you as a point of pressure.”

The Lieutenant-General refused to meet his eye. He did not blame her in the slightest for she was just the messenger. It was the thought of Iris that pained her, as it did him.

“Is there anything you can do?” he asked, yet she shook her head.

“This isn’t something the Queen can help you with, either. If the push back against your asylum is too strong, I don’t know what will happen.”

She walked over and sat down beside him, the bed creaking softly under her weight. The sound was strange, coming from someone who wasn't himself. “So I want you to write her a letter.”

“A letter?”

“A letter. One now, and one every single month for the foreseeable future. Write her a letter and tell her everything about you.”

“What if I can’t afford stamps?”

“You won’t need any. We’ll take it as part of your intelligence report.”

“Intel…excuse me?”

The Lieutenant-General allowed herself to smirk a little. “You’re still interested in Vesmos's rebellion, aren’t you?”

“Yes, ma’am. Certainly,” Alis said, perking upright.

“You’re young, but not as young as Iris. In fact, both of you are wise beyond your years. If you agreed to enrol in the rebellion as our informant, you'd have the full backing of the royal antlers.”

The Lieutenant-General watched him for a response, yet Alis figured that she would not be wholly disappointed either way. He wanted to stay with his first friend as much as she most likely wanted him to, but what would that say about him? What debt would that repay as he faded into nothing while his closest friend bore the brunt of the world?

He had been wrong. He had been naïve and foolish. His black-and-white understanding of justice had been the leash Wesper had used to pull him down the wrong path. He had debts to pay, and mistakes to make up for. Stopping here, he would remain that boy for the rest of his life—a boy with an idyllic romance for rebellion that blindsided him to everything else.

His smug, all-knowing outlook, his imitation of how he thought those in power acted. He knew now that rebellions were no different to any other grab for power. Yet, if he wanted better, he’d have to invest in a hope the same way someone had for him. He'd have to take its faults in stride and stamp out the ones that would endanger the idea as a whole. He'd have to realise that it wasn't perfectly good, but not forget that it was better.

“The intel you’ve garnered for us has been indispensable, and there are people who would honour your plea in the case you choose to stay. There are people who will fight for you.”

“I know, ma’am, but I’ve already met all the allies I need,” he said, earning him a smile from her. “I want to let her know there was a point to saving me.”

“I’m sure she won’t care,” she said. “She’d be just as happy having you here.”

“Maybe, ma’am, but I wouldn’t.”

She nodded, accepting his resolve for face value. She neither praised nor doubted it but simply respected it.

“Pack up your things, then. We leave in an hour. Welcome to Special Operations.”

Iris mopped the last of the living room floor, finishing her routine next to the front door. She relaxed and leaned against her mop handle, sighing as she stretched her back. It was mid-morning and a week had passed since the incident. There had not been much to heal, but Evalyn had refused to let her back on the job without taking some time off. With Elliot back at the Steel Whale for the week, and Elvera returning to her own office, Iris was left incredibly bored.

Abhorrently bored, and painfully lonely. She wanted to see him again, at least to say hello. Maybe she’d bring him flowers, that was something people did for the injured. A get-well-soon card? Although she wouldn’t have the foggiest idea on what to write in it.

These thoughts would cross her mind incessantly like flies around fruit, and every time, she’d catch herself staring at the ring.

The faint line was moving. Barely enough to notice unless she held it level with her eyes, but he was moving through the city. She watched as he began to slow, moving at a minuscule crawl almost indistinguishable from a simple trick of the eye.

But then she heard footsteps from the other side of the door. Faint, still a way down the hallway but undoubtedly in the apartment block’s lobby. The time was too early so it wasn’t Evalyn, nor was she expecting anyone else home for the rest of the day. Sure, it could have been one of the neighbours, but a nagging idea pulled at her psyche that she could not bring herself to ignore.

She turned around and faced the door, still clutching the mop as the unlikely hope strangled her, tensing her fingers. A correlation she had no doubt foolishly conceived out of thin air. But she still held onto it, waiting for a knock on the door or a muffled greeting, to see his bruised yet standing self through the peephole.

But instead, she got a letter. Not a note, but a neat envelope that slid underneath the door. Signed A.H.

She dropped the mop, forced open the deadbolt and threw the door aside as the line on her ring whipped left. Its counterpart again, was slipping from its reach, beyond the limits of the small fading line. She wouldn’t let it, not again. Not this time. She knew instinctively this time would be the last.

She surged forward, magically extending her reach towards the drably dressed boy without a care for who might see. With her purple arms, she’d snatch him one more time as if it were her last act in life. She caught him and pulled him closer, dragging his feet along the carpet until she trapped him in her embrace. He was silent, and so was she. Only then did Iris notice how much taller he was than her, almost half a head. He was smaller, boyish, unlike anyone she had ever hugged before and certainly nothing like Elliot.

“You’re going,” she said, confirming a fact rather than asking a question. He nodded, solemnly.

“You believed in me, now I’ve got to prove you made the right choice.”

Iris didn’t fight it, although it didn’t pain her any less.

“Did you see my letter?”

“Yes.”

“One like that will come every month, so write back.”

“I will.”

“...keep living your way, Iris. I’ll keep living mine. Don’t let anything stop you.”