“Power, inside me?” Aerith stared down at her hands as if this power was hidden in their patterns. “I don’t see it.”

Laniakea laughed and took Aerith’s hands in hers. “It’s in there. You just need to draw it out. Close your eyes and picture a ball of light.”

“What color should it be?”

Laniakea was stunned by the question. It was not often she worked with children this young. “Uh, make it whatever color you like.”

“I like blue.”

“Now, you need to focus for this to work. Do you see the ball of light?”

“Yes, but it's in my head.”

“Good, it’s supposed to be in your head. That light is your center, your soul.”

“I thought people couldn’t see souls.”

Laniakea tightened her grip on Aerith’s hands and loosened it once she realized her frustration was manifesting physically. She wasn’t about to explain the symbolism and history of this practice to the girl. It would go over her head anyway. Teaching children is always so difficult, she thought, and ensured it remained a thought.

“Now empty your mind of everything other than that ball of light. Focus on the soul you have formed and only on the soul.”

Aerith scrunched her eyes and tried to increase her concentration. “This is hard.”

“If it was easy, most children like you could do it. Keep focusing. Be patient with yourself.” She knew those words were not just for Aerith.

The pair waited a few moments in silence before Aerith spoke up again. “What’s next?”

“Did you clear your mind?”

She paused before quickly saying, “Yes.”

“Are you sure? This next step won’t work if you haven’t cleared your mind.”

Aerith blew air out of her nose in frustration and wrinkled her face more. If the act of doing so really did increase her concentration, Laniakea had no right to complain. After a few more minutes of listening to the cold wind whistle through the branches of evergreens, Aerith relaxed her face.

“I think I did it.”

“Okay, now keep that image in your head.” Laniakea slid her hands away from Aerith’s palms. “Bring the ball of light forward in your mind. Move it around. Understand its shape.”

“It’s just a ball.”

“Think of it like it's in your hands. When you hold a ball you can feel how round it is. You understand its texture and surface.”

Aerith nodded and held out her hands as if a ball of light rested in them.

After giving the girl time to understand the soul within her mind, Laniakea put her hands on the back of Aerith’s shoulders. “Once you feel like you understand its shape.” She paused. It was always hard to explain this next part. Since she was not a Stellapuer herself, she never knew the exact feeling. “That ball of light is fragile. You are going to use that to your advantage. Tap the bottom or imagine a hole appearing. Only a small one. We don’t want it all flooding out.”

“I don’t get it,” Aerith said, her hands beginning to lower to her sides.

“Like a needle,” Laniakea hurried but quickly slowed her voice. “Take a thin needle and prick the bottom.”

Aerith resumed her creased face of concentration and raised her hands again to hold the imaginary sphere. A spark appeared and then another. Golden fire looped through the air only to quickly fade and gather again. Laniakea smiled but held in any exclamations of joy. It was still too soon to celebrate.

The sparks continued to increase in number, coalescing into numerous streams all orbiting one another. Aerith began to clench her fingers and squeezed the orbits towards the center. Shadows and brilliant light flashed in her palms until the flowing pathways compressed into a ball of light.

Laniakea squeezed the girl’s shoulders, and Aerith's eyes shot open. “It's not in my head anymore,” she giggled with unadulterated joy. “It’s real. It’s real.” She bounced up and down, the shimmering ball flickering in her hands. Suddenly it collapsed and went out.

“It’s gone,” she frowned.

The last time she had done this every Stellapuer knew what failure meant. No one openly celebrated their accomplishments. The celebration was to live another day. But now, to see a child so gleeful, it almost brought tears to her eyes. It was as a child should be, no matter what the world cursed them with. “You did it. You can bring it back. I’m sure of it. You know what to do, let's try it again.”

Laniakea’s words quickly changed Aerith’s demeanor, and within a few more minutes the girl held another radiant orb of light.

“Keep your mind still, and watch the flow of energy from your soul. Once it remains stable, we can move on to the next step.”

Aerith’s eyes glowed with ethereal light, filling her pupils and sparking with a power that was magnified through the whimsy within her. The shine was as bright as an afternoon sun yet soft as the moon’s glow. It held the steady uncessing pulse of a distant star and knew its shape within the darkness of a night sky. Yielding was not in the orbs' nature but neither was encroachment. This holy light knew its place among all the celestial wonders of the world. Yet even Laniakea knew, despite the light’s humble nature, it was greater than anything made by man or the ancient Titans. It was truly a power from a higher being.

“It’s so beautiful.” Awe filled Aerith’s every word.

“Like in your mind, can you shape it? Stretch it?”

Aerith pulled her fingers away from the orb as if she was guiding them through a small stream. The sphere slowly stretched into an ellipse. It wasn’t elastic, but the resistance gave the light a spring-like property.

“Just a bit more. Mimic the shape of a sword.” Laniakea recoiled at the violent comparison she had made. This child would hopefully not need such a terrible weapon. “Like a quarterstaff.” She knew the weapon could be equally deadly in the right hands, but the comparison seemed less eager for violence.

The light in Aerith’s hands was now about her height. Its luminosity was stretched thin like shafts of sunlight through thick fog. The little girl swung it around, watching as it shimmered in her vision.

“Try hitting the tree with your light,” Laniakea commanded as she approached the thick evergreen.

Aerith gladly bounded towards the trunk and awkwardly swung the staff of light into the solid mass of wood. Her staff hit the tree’s surface and dissipated. With nothing to stop her momentum, she went tumbling into the snow. Plums of white powder erupted into the air and drifted down to the back of her oversized coat.

“It didn’t work,” she pouted and kicked the tree as she rolled over. Her assault of kicks, against the unbothered evergreen, continued until Laniakea leaned over the frustrated child.

“Up, let's do it again.”

Aerith folded her arms and let a grumpy demeanor overtake her anger. “It’s too hard, and it's cold. I wanna go back.”

Laniakea offered a hand to help her back up which was quickly swatted away.

“I want to go back.”

The older woman sighed. “We can’t go back until you learn this. I know you can do more. Get up.”

“No!”

Without hesitation, she put her hands under Aerith’s arms and hoisted her up. The little girl went limp making it clear she wasn’t going to help with the process one bit. After more effort than should have been necessary, Aerith was standing on her feet again.

“You know the process, or do you need me to guide you through it again.”

“I’m not doing it.”

“I’m doing this for your safety so do it again.” Her voice trembled as she clenched her jaw. Old habits stayed with her no matter where she fled. “Again!” The word came out almost like the growl of a feral animal.

“No,” Aerith whimpered. Her eyes welled up with tears and she clutched her oversized sleeves.

Laniakea marched towards the helpless girl, militaristic fury in every step. Stopping just short of Aerith, she steadied her hand that trembled with anger. I won’t make the same mistakes. The memories kept flooding back as she stared at the delicate girl. Bruises she had inflicted. Tears she had brought forth. The dreams she had choked. Bonds she had severed. The children she had changed. It was all the kingdom of Obsidius’ fault. That kingdom had a madness about it. It infected every crack and crevice of the human mind. It made you forget who you really were. Forget you were human. For a time it felt good to forget. And all for what, she wondered. To find meaning that was lost so long ago. To make good on faded promises. Or was it all for love? Love. Her lip trembled as she took in the sight of Aerith standing in the morning snow. A girl unblemished by her. The one she had placed her hopes on restarting.

“Let's head back for today.” Laniakea’s hand was still as she let a smile grace her face.

Aerith hopped through the snow until she was by Laniakea’s side. “I wonder what’s for dinner.”

The little girl had already moved on. There was no grudge or hateful spite. Laniakea gripped Aerith’s gloved hand in hers. “Whatever it is I’m sure it will be delicious.”

Embla sat near the fireplace in a rickety wooden chair when Laniakea and Aerith entered the house. She threw down the needle and cloth in her hands. “You’ve been gone for so long. Where were you?”

Laniakea knew this question would come, so she had already prepared a response. “Out training Aerith. After that attack yesterday, I felt it was time for her to learn how to use a dagger.” It was close enough to the truth that she hoped it wouldn’t raise any additional suspicions.

It only took Aerith a few moments to throw off her oversized winter gear before she rushed to the fireplace. Her fingers tingled and embraced the radiating heat.

“Well as long as you two keep safe. I nearly thought my guests had left.” Embla picked up the cloth from the seat of the chair. “It would be a shame for a new coat to go to waste.”

Aerith leaped up from the fire upon hearing Embla’s remark. “Is it for me?”

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“Of course it is. Let's see how it fits.” Embla adjusted the coat around Aerith’s outstretched arms and carefully stilled the girl’s bouncy movements as she observed the length of each edge. Laniakea silently regarded the woman with great respect. Embla’s firm hand guided her with kind love but still obtained the results she desired.

After a few moments, Embla took the coat off and made a few markings with her needle. “It needs a few more adjustments. I’m sure to have it ready by tomorrow. Okay?”

Aerith nodded and bounded back to her sanctuary by the fire. Humming a tune Embla settled back into her rocking chair and continued her work as if nothing had interrupted her.

“How do you do it?”

“Oh, this? It’s quite simple. Takes a little practice and a few pricked fingers, but I’m sure you could manage it.”

“No, not that. The way you handle children.”

Embla set the needle and coat on her lap and folded her hands over the work. Her face softened as a smile flickered across her lips. “What is the trouble?”

Laniakea paused at the women's preceptive nature and then glanced at Aerith by the fireplace. She leaned in to explain the situation in hushed tones.

Embla nodded as if the situation was all too familiar. “Children aren’t very different from us adults when you think about it. Experience may have taught them less, but a child is learning just like us.”

Laniakea sat on the bed near Embla’s chair and arched closer to dedicate her full attention to the advice. The sounds of the crackling fire and the creaking of the house drifted into the background.

“They share similar insecurities and fears. You fear for her life no more than she fears for her own. The only difference is you know the danger more than she does. And because we know the danger better than them it is our responsibility to be a watchman for our children. But you know that. I can see how much you care for Aerith.”

Laniakea inclined her head in hesitant agreement. She was no stranger to taking on dangerous duties. That was not the problem. She knew her duty and nothing would shake that. “So why don’t our children believe the watchman?”

“Every child is different,” Embla sighed. “I cannot speak to only Aerith’s experience, but I can tell you this. Children are just people and should be treated as such, understood as such.”

Laniakea wanted to assure herself she already knew what Embla was saying. It was so obvious that it wounded her pride to admit she had been blinded for so long. She opened her mouth to speak, wanting to protest, and ask another question that could confound the woman. Letting the silence sit was ultimately the best option. Every conversation was not a battle for dominance. She had grown too used to that.

“You know her best,” Embla said. “There must be a reason she struggles with her confidence. For my Njal, he can be intimidated by Bjornik. He wants to live up to his father, but no one gets there when they’re nine. Sometimes I need to remind him of that. What is that struggle for her?”

Aerith is young and inexperienced, Laniakea considered. All children are, so there must be something more. Something deeper. The memory of her holding the crying child in her arms flashed through her mind. The vulnerability she had seen in the blizzard. Those tears were not my fault. Those tears were the memory of a mother forgotten, crystalized in sorrows that must have pained Aerith even today. A mother to her. The thought terrified Laniakea more than anything in the world. I can’t be a mother to her. I’m not fit for it. But Aerith needed someone there.

“I think I know.”

Embla acknowledged the realization by squeezing Laniakea’s rough hands. She let the affectionate warmth spread between their fingers before she removed her hand and continued tailoring the coat.

Laniakea decided against more training today and took to enjoying the heated cabin. Later that afternoon she let Embla teach her the basics of sewing. As expected, all it took was a little practice and a few pricked fingers. The pain didn’t bother her, it was nothing compared to her worst experiences, but developing the humbleness to learn did. She had been the teacher, the wisest in the room for so long that it felt unnatural to be in the other role. It took all she had to suppress her frustrations. Embla deserved that much at least. If the kind woman was still shaken up from the golden blood, she did not express it. Laniakea supposed it was her turn to show similar restraint.

The afternoon passed into evening and soon into night as the sun was swallowed up by the horizon. Thoughts of tomorrow's training drew ever closer. How will I teach her? How will I understand her? How will she know I care? The questions followed Laniakea into her sleep as Aerith lay an arm's length away.

The next morning they set off for the massive evergreen. Aerith proudly wore her new coat and no longer looked like an oversized duck waddling across the snow.

“Let's start with something simple,” Laniakea said as they settled at the base of the tree. “How about you make a ball of light just like you did yesterday.”

Aerith focused her thoughts, and soon, a luminous orb swirled into existence. She smiled at the orb in her hands, but her face did not hold the same unadulterated joy it had yesterday. The feeling was muted.

“Now let's try something different. It may be a little difficult at first, but I know you can do it. Let more light flow into the orb, but keep its size the same. Simply increase its density.” Laniakea realized the word may be unfamiliar to Aerith and considered another explanation.

She picked up a handful of snow and gently shaped it into a ball. “See this ball of snow. Right now it's not very tough.” As she closed her hand, particles of ice spilled through her fingers. Laniakea retrieved more snow from the ground and tightly packed it into a sphere. “But this ball of snow, although it's the same size is much tougher.” She squeezed the snowball again, but this time it held firm.

“Oh I get it,” Aerith exclaimed and swiftly resumed her concentration. The orb pulsated with new light until ripples began to form on the surface. The ripples bubbled out as Aerith pressed her hands against an invisible force. Violently the orb popped with a loud crack that reverberated across the forest. Streaks of snow steamed from the particles of white light that rapidly evaporated into the air. Aerith fell to her feet, shielded her ears, and twisted her face in pain.

Laniakea rushed over and knelt in the snow. “Are you okay? Where does it hurt?” I should have given you a warning.” Her hands floated in indecisiveness over Aerith’s shoulders. Would touching her aggravate her, or does she need someone to comfort her? A flurry of responses and outcomes flooded her head, suspending any help she could give the child in a web of self-doubt.

What do I do when a person is injured on the battlefield? The torrent of thoughts stopped, and the training she had engraved into herself took over. She unlatched the wooden pendant and guided the ethereal liquid into a halo around Aerith’s head.

The little girl’s eyelids flickered open as her hands unclasped her ears. A turquoise glow shone in her eyes as the halo accelerated and the pain faded. “It’s like the stars.” The words of wonder were echoed by Aerith’s relaxed body.

“How observant,” Laniakea said as she pulled the cosmic stream back into the jewelry. “This is the blood of Ori. The titan who made the stars.”

“One person made the stars?”

“Not just a person, a god of sorts, someone with greater power than any person could dream of.”

“Can I meet him?” A beaming grin appeared on her face that had been contorted in pain only minutes ago.

Laniakea affectionately rubbed her fingers through the white strands of Aerith’s hair. “Maybe someday.” It wasn’t a lie, but she knew the experience would be much different than what the little girl was imagining. The corpses of Titans don’t offer much in conversation. “Are you ready to start again?”

Aerith shrunk back. “I don’t want to.”

“This time we will be safe. You can pour the energy in slower.”

“I can’t!” Aerith slapped Laniakea’s hands away before they had a chance to make contact with her shoulders. “I’m. I’m scared. If I mess it up I don’t want to hurt you.”

Hurt me? Laniakea settled back on her heels as her cloak fanned across the snow. She’s worried about me? Aerith’s sniffles were muffled by the silent morning. The snow seemed to soften every noise, or maybe it was her shock. Children were quite the mystery. She would never know how Embla seemed to have figured it out.

“Aerith, no matter what you do. There is nothing you can do to hurt me. I need you to know that. I know how dangerous and scary these powers can be, and I know the risks that come with them. Do you understand that?”

Aerith raised her head and wiped the moisture from her eyes. “Yes. Do you really think I can do this?”

“I know you can.” The confidence in her words surprised even herself.

Getting up, Aerith brushed the snow from her pants and held her hands forward to hold the power from within. That power soon flickered to life. The cold mist from her breath twirled around the sphere and dissipated into thin air.

“Slowly now. Only increase it by a little. Feel its weight in your mind and your hands. Don’t try to hold onto something too heavy.” Laniakea watched carefully, ready to shield Aerith from further harm. She smiled as Aerith’s hair began to hover ever so slightly. A true star child, she marveled. There is still beauty in all the madness.

The sound of snow crunching behind her interrupted the humming of the light. Laniakea turned to face the intruder and was met with a mass of white fur only a few paces away. Was this the bear that attacked Aerith earlier? By cruel fate alone she wouldn’t deny the possibility. She took a wide stance and shifted her position to cover the child behind her. As Laniakea withdrew the dagger on her hip, the polished metal glinted in the sunlight. As if taking that as a signal to attack, the bear charged. Its speed was surprising for such a hulking mass, but she had to stand her ground. If the dagger didn’t deter it, she had other methods.

“Stand back,” she called out, hoping Aerith wasn’t too deep in concentration.

The little girl’s eyes shot open, and Laniakea felt the entirety of her back heat up with the warmth of a small fire. Her head was wrapped in a flash of light, yet the world stayed still. By the time she regained her senses, the bear was stopped in its tracks. Still dazed, the creature wildly shook its head before deciding to run back into the forest.

Without another thought, Laniakea whipped around to check on Aerith. The girl was unfazed and grinning ear to ear. Other than her trembling hands, everything seemed to be okay.

“How did you? What did you do?” The adrenaline was still coursing through Laniakea’s body.

“I poured more light into it, but it didn’t feel heavier. It was easy to hold.”

The density hadn’t changed but the luminosity had. She had seen it before, but the technique was rare and for military purposes, it had been deemed useless. But this little girl had protected her with it and saved her life with it.

“That was amazing. You should be proud of yourself Aerith.”

She scampered through the snow and latched onto Laniakea’s cloak. “Does that mean my training is done?”

The ecstatic face pulled at her heart as hard as Aerith tugged at her winter robes. “Can you cut down the tree?”

“No.” Her face turned sour, but it held no contempt. She let her hands fall from Laniakea’s garments and hopped towards the tree. Aerith spun around and when she landed sunk slightly into the snow. With an air of confidence, she pointed to the older woman. “But if I cut down this tree, you're making Roulaten.”

Laniakea knew the dish. It involved pickles wrapped in bacon and stewed with potatoes. She had had it once in Schäferstint, but why was Aerith bringing it up now? “How do you know that dish?”

Aerith paused, puzzled by the question. “I don’t know. It just sounded good.”

Laniakea decided to let it go. Another question for another day. “Then I promise to make you Roulaten, but only if you cut down the tree.”

“Then it's a deal.” A ball of light appeared in one of Aerith’s hands and quickly twinkled out.

Laniakea tittered at the strange show of enthusiasm. “Be careful. It still requires focus.”

The morning passed and the shadows of the forest moved with the sun. When they took a break for lunch, Embla couldn’t help but give a supportive smile at the change in atmosphere between Aerith and Laniakea. How the women could sense it remained a mystery to Laniakea. Training continued into the evening as the star above cast an orange glow over the icy landscape. It felt familiar to Laniakea, but it was a memory she couldn’t dwell on for long. They both slept well that night, especially Aerith, whose exhaustion seemed bottomless after the hard work throughout the day. Mornings folded into twilight and twilight into the night, yet the tree stood tall. Aerith’s light grew brighter and its hues matured. Its rays became shaper while Laniakea’s reprimands became softer. Bjornik went about his daily duties, even in the deep winter there was always something to be done. Njal greeted his playmate each evening with curiosity and excitement. Despite Aerith’s eagerness to share her powers, Laniakea had warned her against it. Instead, she shared stories of hunts she went on with the older woman. They were not all lies. A sense of responsibility had grown within Laniakea; one that drove her to provide occasional meals for the family. It was a comforting responsibility that made the cabin begin to feel like a home. She wondered how long it had been since she could call anything a home. Yet even with the feeling of belonging burrowing deeper, she knew the day would soon come to move on. It always did.

Bjornik brought his axe down and split open the wood beneath him. One clean crack signaled the attack had been successful. The satisfying sound had become the background to his deeper thoughts. Without thinking, he grabbed another log and followed through with the same motion. The morning air tingled on his cheeks as he blew out another breath, another split. He tossed the pieces to a pile on his left, and Njal rushed around the side of the cabin. Njal groaned at the evergrowing pile yet quickly gathered the wood in his arms.

Bjornik reached for more wood, and Njal awkwardly lifted the load he had precariously balanced as a thunderous crack erupted through the forest. Njal jumped, and the logs teetered from his hold until he gave up altogether. The sound made Bjornik pause and consider his surroundings. Embla stood in the door frame and looked frightfully into the distance. “What in Fraytja’s name was that.”

The realization hit Bjornik as he remembered the evergreen he had introduced to their guests. “Don’t worry. Probably an old tree that fell. They do that all the time.”

“Do they now? I’ve never heard one so loud.” With an incredulous look, she quickly shut the door behind her.

Njal began restacking the logs in his arms. “Was that really all it was, father?”

“Yes, just an old tree waiting to fall down. Everything needs time to rest, even the trees.”

After nearing the end of his pile of wood, Bjornik spotted two figures entering the clearing. A woman with brown hair held hands with a young girl who bobbed up and down. Their cheerful chatter made him grin. An emotion winked across the woman’s face he hadn’t seen in the two weeks the pair had stayed with them. She was proud, unbelievably proud.