Waking up every day was a miracle, nothing less. That’s what Dorothea Atlin thought as she outstretched an arm towards the ceiling and spread her fingers, examining the spaces between them.

Once fully awake, she sat up and folded her hands, bowing her head over them. “I give my thanks to Extremis for being allowed to live another day. Oh gracious God Zeal… Please help me continue to be strong.” She took a deep breath. “Everything will be okay…”

In less than an hour, the council of the snowbound nation of Sirpo would gather; Dorothea was the leader of this group. The elected officials were responsible for making major decisions for the neutral territory’s population.

After she had groomed and dressed, she promptly hurled herself back onto bed to just breathe. Her pulse was racing in anticipation, and she needed to stay calm. Several villagers, especially more recent refugees from the warring lands of Sacer and Ghuria, were talking more and more about getting involved in some way.

She could not let that happen.

“Thea!” A call, businesslike but still jovial, snapped her from her thoughts. The door to her house opened and slammed shut, and a long shadow soon passed over the bed.

Dorothea waved lamely. “Sharkie.” She’d known it was her friend based on the familiar brisk clomp of their boots. Besides that, no one else ever visited.

Shark Olyen grinned at her, flashing sharp teeth that glinted as brightly as the spark of mischief flickering in their maroon eyes. “Ready to go?”

Dorothea groaned and threw her arms up with false dramatism. “If I must.” She opened and closed her hands, fingers making light smacking noises against her palms. “Pull me up please.”

Shark laughed but complied, grasping her soft hands with calloused ones and pulling. “You’re so lazy.”

“I’m tired,” Dorothea corrected. “Tired of having the same conversation again and again.”

Shark smoothed her hair where it had become mussed in the back, smirking. “For such a total mess of a person, you clean up good.”

“For a trashy goblin, so do you.” She straightened their collar and brushed away long, silky strands of pink hair that got caught in the fur that lined it. “We have to keep neutrality, Shark. I don’t want to fight. The first Sirpoans came here so we wouldn’t have to war with the rest of them. What will happen to our people if we have to fight or get attacked?” With shaking words, she started to voice the thought truest to her heart. “I don’t want to die like—”

“It’s okay,” Shark interrupted firmly. “It won’t happen. Nothing will change.”

Dorothea took a deep breath and nodded, smiling weakly to convey her appreciation. “Let’s go.” With her mind made up and expression forcibly cleared of agitation, she stepped into the razor-sharp cold.

The constant frigidity that locked around Sirpo’s capital city, Iluna, made for a people that moved efficiently when there was work to be done and very little otherwise. The skilled hunters that sustained the people huddled out in batches, bundled with thick furs and equipped to bring in large hauls from lakes and mountains teeming with prey. Their lanterns would go on to bob like beckoning spirits in the distance come nightfall. The days were simple, peaceful. Dorothea intended to maintain them, no matter what.

“I’m focused,” she whispered as she and Shark entered the meeting hall that stood in the direct center of the city. As soon as representatives from across Sirpo’s small cities had arrived and were seated in their regular circle, Shark lounging behind Dorothea as her odd and constant guest of honor, she cleared her throat to start the proceedings. First, a traditional greeting.

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“Good tidings to all those of faith, and may it sustain them,” Dorothea said, touching three fingers to her heart, then her lips and lastly her forehead, symbolizing the unity of said heart, her words and actions, and her mind.

“With grace we carve the way forward,” the religious members of the council said in unison as they made the gesture.

Dorothea put her hands in her lap. “Good tidings to those who find faith within themselves.”

“Faith comes in many places.” The secular members made the same gesture, only backwards. This was meant to show that they, too, were in unity with their heart, mind and intentions even if they went about it differently than those that believed in the Pantheon of Old.

Dorothea took a deep, silent breath. “Nothing to do but get straight into it. We’re here to, once again, debate our neutral position.”

“Showtime,” Shark said with a soft laugh.

“It’s impossible for us to lend aid to either army,” one council member stated calmly. “Breaking neutrality puts all of our lives in danger. Picking either side to help means making an enemy of the other and opening ourselves up to attack. It’s far different from regular trade during peacetime.”

Dissent came quickly. “But we would gain the protection of whichever army we sided with.”

“Right,” someone else said. “Their battles have been getting closer to our borders, and we have strong evidence to suggest that spies have been planted in our midst multiple times. Even if we can’t pinpoint what either army is aiming for, we can at least be proactive.”

“Stop ignoring the most important issue, please.” A sigh followed this flat statement. “The Sacerians and Ghurians haven’t made any demands for Eternal Rosemary magic so long as our council leader here is tucked away here, but an alliance is a death sentence for any Atlin. Remember that when you’re voting.”

Appalled shock jolted through the room, but the facts were the facts. Dorothea’s time-bending magic was what kept Sirpo safe, just like her mother’s had before her. It was too powerful for either army not to utilize if they could grasp it.

It seemed like everyone else was too awkward to object until one man lifted his hand slowly; this was Sil, the man who had taken care of Dorothea when she’d been younger. He’d been right beside her, watching with the same helplessness the day her mother had… She shook the memories away.

“While I respect the legacy of the Atlins,” he began gently, “that isn’t the only issue here. Why are we only considering our own protection?” He glanced at Dorothea. “People are dying on both sides… Even if we pick one and provide minimal aid, that’s some deaths prevented.”

“It’s fine as long as we survive,” another scoffed after hacking out a laugh that dripped with derision. “They chose to get themselves locked into a war, and we’re choosing not to get involved, simple as that. We can wait for a winner and assist with recovery efforts if you want to feel better about yourself.”

“How can you be so callous?!” Sil demanded. “It’s been five years of this fighting, we can’t just keep sitting here and—”

“If I may…” Dorothea spoke underneath the rising heat of the conversation, but silence fell instantly. “We don’t have the supplies to assist both, and it’s clear they’re well past the point of calling a truce. I’m going to strongly maintain my neutral stance.” She glanced at the person who had spoken of her certain fate if she were to join either army. “I’ll also say that this isn’t about me. It’s about what we as a people want to do. Whether or not we pick a side, I don’t intend to fight.”

“You don’t intend to fight,” Sil echoed with sudden spite. “Ophelia Atlin would have offered assistance without hesitation,” he snapped. “Your mother would be ashamed of—”

“Enough,” Dorothea snarled, and a chill ran through the room as Sil, realizing the weight of his words, paled and put a hand to his mouth. “It doesn’t matter what my mother would have done. She’s dead, and you have some gall to put words in her mouth.” She would have laid into him more if Shark hadn’t squeezed her arm. Deep breaths, deep breaths…

Just as she was deciding how to get things back on track, the doors to the meeting hall burst open.

It took her a few long moments to register the new scene. The newfound intruder stood still, chest heaving. Wide eyes held a wild glint to them, bright and fearsome as the lengthy blade of a knife gripped in a white-knuckled hand. Blood dripped sluggishly from it, staining the plush carpet below.

“You.” The blade was pointed directly at her. “You’re coming with me. In the name of Ghuria.”