“As you said, when she’s stimulated into activating her magic, hair does disappear. But it’s not just her hair; this matter comprises her entire body. If I were to conduct an autopsy right now, I’d find everything I’d expect, but she isn’t a carbon-based organism. She’s like a Spirit almost perfectly mimicking a human, or maybe even vice versa.”

“So, she could use other body parts if she needed to?”

“Yes…but I wouldn’t recommend it. Everything is a perfect replica down to the nerve structure. Disassembling an arm would be like losing it. It would be too painful.”

“Can you trace it to its origin? Her magic.”

“Never mind magic; the way she absorbs Aether is too alien. We can’t figure out an identity without running more tests.”

“How long would that take?

“Months. What are orders from above?”

“I’ve been getting calls the entire time you were working. If tests are the alternative, there’s plenty clamouring for that too, but just as many are calling for her deployment.”

“They want to utilise her already?”

“Depends on how they take what you just told me. What do you think is best?”

The Aetherologist crossed his arms, resuming a debate he had clearly started long before Evalyn had asked him outright. In front of the two was Iris, unconscious on an operating table. The Aetherologist had conducted no surgery, but he had taken samples of hair, nail and skin.

Evalyn felt guilty and resolved to treat her before the Aetherologist readjusted his bone white beak and spoke up once more. The voice box fitted in his mask sounded more machine-like than the newer models Evalyn was used to.

“In my mind, biologically, she isn’t human; physically, she isn’t Spirit. It isn’t as simple as a human infused with magic like your situation, or even as simple as the weirdos in Aerilia with their fire.”

What he said was true. Evalyn was granted the power she had by a Spirit, and the users of Aerilian fire had been rewarded it through a hellish ritual. But Iris was that power. If she couldn’t be described as human or Spirit, power was the only thing that could describe her.

“But my concern is her mental state. If what you say is true, and what I’ve researched suggests anything, it’s something deeper than Schizophrenia or Aether-Influx. I’m afraid continuing tests and keeping her down in such an environment would only worsen it. And you see, I’m a coward. I don’t want to deal with it when the bottle finally bursts.”

The Aetherologist laughed off his own shortcomings, but Evalyn continued to think. Simply listing the pros and cons was no longer enough; she had to think carefully about what responsibilities it would put on not only her shoulders but all that came to raise and train her.

“What is her state if you were to take her as a human?”

“Well… she’s a normal, healthy girl. I can’t pinpoint an exact age, but she’s between nine and eleven biologically. Apart from her sporadic cases, she doesn’t seem to be in any consistent mental trouble.”

“What about as a Spirit?”

“Aether flow isn’t hindered whatsoever; she’s working fine and could probably live off of Aether alone for a week or so. Magic conversion seems to be doing no damage to her, and her output is only limited by her imagination. A bit like you, I’d say.”

“That’s worrying.”

“Yeah, especially considering the last thing I want to add.”

“What’s that?”

“Assuming her brain functions are that of a human, her age and the state you found her in suggests that her Amygdala is much bigger than ours.”

“What does that control?”

“Fight or flight. I may be mistaken, but that may shoulder some of the blame for her episodes. Unless she learns to control herself, her instincts might find it easier and easier to take over her rational thought process.”

“And combined with her power?”

“Being conscious of it might make her outbursts even worse. It would be like a violently unstable person who knows how to fight, or an insane Spirit who’s mastered their magic. So I’d say the best thing for her is learning to control it. The final call is up to you.”

“... I’ll be leaving with her in an hour, so make sure everything is finished by then.”

The Aetherologist smiled, satisfied with Evalyn’s choice.

“Good. The numbing magic will wear off by then. Take her somewhere nice tomorrow.”

Evalyn sighed, exasperated.

“Even if I did, she would not appreciate it as intended.”

“…”

“Candy bar?”

“Candy bar.”

Iris’s pace behind Evalyn was lagging, and her movements were sluggish. The streets had turned on their lights to stave off the darkness of the night, and the floating lanterns a few tens of metres in the air had replaced the stars. With the new lights came a new crowd, younger and dressed more extravagantly than the people Iris must have found herself accustomed to.

People in fashionable dresses enjoyed the nightlife and all the spoils the city had to offer. A world utterly alien to Iris. Evalyn looked on as Iris practically collapsed into her arms, eyes only half open.

“It’s only a bit more to the station. Here.”

Evalyn turned around and crouched down, pushing her rifle to the side.

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“Get on, hm?”

Iris, barely conscious, clung onto Evalyn’s back and let her do the rest, lifting her onto broad, capable shoulders. It was comforting and warm, too warm to keep her awake. The swaying motions and the constant chatter lulled her to lose consciousness.

“You’ll be just like them one day. I promise.”

Evalyn whispered to Iris, her soft cheek brushing up against hers, and Evalyn’s heart twisted. Something only her husband had ever succeeded in doing.

“Me? It’s not my scene, I guess.”

Through the night they went, with only the occasional older woman to point out the adorableness of the sleeping beauty on Evalyn’s back. It was an oasis in the bustling streets that surrounded them. Until now, Evalyn had never mingled with the nightlife unless she had to put on airs. She preferred her home. But now, it felt like she was walking alone without being alone. She was being kept company by an existence that threatened so many things, even threatened Evalyn’s very foundations of the life she led.

She oversaw this small life now, the small life that carried such big risks and unfathomable responsibilities. She had expected power, but nothing like what the Aetherologist had alluded to. Something that could rival her, that could contend for the title of most powerful. The small life on her back was a big hope and a bigger threat, to more than just her but to everything, to everyone.

“What am I going to do, huh?”

These thoughts entertained her head while her legs brought her to the small ferry port along the nearest canal. She walked the steps down to where the soft waves lapped only centimetres from her boots. She waited patiently for minutes as she aimlessly stared forward; the night’s sounds drowned out, and only the softness of Iris’s breath kept her company.

It wasn’t long before the ferry arrived. No matter how old they got, the city’s Fregola ferries were a staple of the canals. Spirits with rounded heads that cut through the water and iconic shells upon which the passenger cabin rested were always a welcome sight for any weary traveller. Evalyn greeted the Spirit as it pulled into the port, its oversized driver’s hat kept on its head by a thick rope tied below its chin. A man on the ferry welcomed her and extended the boarding raft over the Fregola’s large scaly flippers.

She sat near the front and placed Iris beside her, leaning against her shoulder. She watched as the conductor gave the Fregola the go-to, and she heard the whirring of the spiralled flippers behind her. The water sloshed against the windows of the ferry as she watched the conductor’s actions, soothing her to sleep as life outside the cabin and on the canal’s banks faded into another world entirely.

By the time Iris’s eyes opened again, she was somewhere else entirely. Her surroundings were lit only by the moonlight streaming from the open window above her bed. She sat up, realising Evalyn’s jacket was no longer on her. The gentle draught from the window met her hair and face, and she took in a sight that completely contradicted what she had seen when she first closed her eyes.

Grasslands stretched for miles before her, drifting like the sea beyond under the wind’s influence. Gentle mounds led her eyes to a small cluster of shimmering lights the size of her finger. Directly above her, stretching to the horizon, were specks of light, reaching across the blue of night, something she had never seen, never imagined existed. She racked her brain, wondering if those were unique to her room or if she had just failed to notice them.

Her room wasn’t built of the same white and brown bricks of the buildings she had seen or the concrete construction of Sidos City. She ran her fingers along the wall. It felt rough but more intricate than the concrete and yet more gentle than the brick of Excala. She recognised it as wood, the same stuff that had made up the beams of Evalyn’s office. Wood painted a creamy white.

She shifted in her sheets and looked at the rest of her room. A desk on one side. Papers, books, things that Iris was slowly learning and understanding. Another chair, the same model she had so adamantly abused in her office.

Speaking of Evalyn, she had fallen asleep next to her rifle, a wet towel over her eyes. Her previously intimidating look had disappeared, and in its place was a gentler appearance: a white knitted sweater and a long, green skirt. Even her hair was flowing freely now. Iris couldn’t help but stare.

It was only now that Iris noticed the noise in the room. Words, words that she was slowly beginning to recognise even better. Now every sound had a semblance of meaning and every few words she would understand, allowing her to piece together something of an image in her head.

She found the source of the noise. A slender box the size of her torso stood up on the bedside table, and even in the dim moonlight, she could see the brilliantly polished wood that furnished it. Across its broad side were grooves running up and down the length of it in unpredictable patterns, and as the sounds continued, so too did small blue lights make their way down the grooves from top to bottom. It was magic, like the magic she was so used to feeling. She could tell that.

“It’s a pattern reader.”

Iris jumped as Evalyn slowly lifted the towel off of the bridge of her nose.

“I thought playing a book for you while you slept would help speed up your learning. So? Did it work?”

Iris knew roughly what she was saying. ‘Book, slept, speed, learning, work?’ were words she could now string together. And a nod was her answer. Evalyn smiled faintly.

“Well, that’s good news then. Hungry?”

Another nod.

“Good. You haven’t eaten much today, have you.”

Evalyn got up and passed into the next room. Iris followed her warily, remembering what had happened the last time Evalyn had rounded a corner. But she was met with nothing of the sort. Evalyn gracefully passed a carpet surrounded by soft couches and a wooden dining table into an area cut off from the rest behind a bench. Above Iris’s head, the rafters were visible, but its visibility felt intentional rather than a sign of incompletion, adding to the beauty of it.

The atmosphere felt homely. Even to Iris, who recognised that the whole place smelt like Evalyn, it still didn’t feel entirely alien. She had permission to be here and was being welcomed.

“This…is nice…” Iris slowly blurted. She had no clue what the tip of her tongue was doing herself. Even Evalyn, for a second, looked startled but managed not to make a fuss over it.

“Is that so?” she asked, opening a large, silver, rectangular box the size of herself. ‘Frostbox’, it said on its left door in metallic letters, and the blue light emanating from within carried with it wisps of magic. “It used to be a secret meeting room for the heads of Special Operations and their special meetings. But once the Lieutenant-General made those programs more official, she didn’t need it anymore.”

Gibberish. Pure gibberish.

“You’ll meet her soon, though, the Lieutenant-General. It’s thanks to her you’re living here in the first place. She’s taking care of all the hard stuff for us, paperwork and diplomacy and all that stuff.”

Evalyn pulled a plate from the Frost Box, a sheet of foil over the top of it. Unwrapping it, Iris saw a small meal on it, already made. However, disregarding the presentation, Evalyn walked over to a set of rings on the bench across from her and pressed a button. The coils turned red in an instant, and Evalyn opened another cupboard, finding herself a pan.

As she did this, Iris watched, astounded by the amount of magic Evalyn was using; none of it being hers. Every single object that functioned in some way pulled Aether from a pipe connected to the wall rather than its surroundings.

“How does the magic…the…Aether?”

“How does the magic work? Oh, the stove?”

Iris nodded.

“Aether infusion. Only living things can absorb Aether, and only Spirits can use that Aether to create magic. But, if done correctly, other things like the stove,” she said, pointing at the pan, “and me,” she said, pointing at herself, “can be given a…blueprint of the magic.” She took the contents of the plate and dumped it into the frying pan, sending a symphony of pops and crackles through the air as she moved it back and forth over the glowing red rings.

“It’s the same with the Frost Box, a Spirit gives a little bit of their magic to a scientist, and the scientist uses it to create new things. But since I’m human, it makes things more prob-”

A soft sound came from the door, just faint enough for the two to hear. Iris, experiencing so many new things at such a fast pace, took it for granted, but Evalyn didn’t. Her attention snapped to the door, and she turned the stove off. Slowly, silently she rounded the bench, never taking her eyes off it. Another soft sound. It was the lock. The lock was gradually being forced open from the outside. Evalyn pushed Iris behind her.

“If I say run, you run. Do not try to fight.”

Her markings lit up, and shapes formed around the hand, keeping Iris away. The same sharp shapes that Iris had seen illustrations of, the ones titled ‘Armour’.

The lock finally clicked, and the door creaked open.