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Chapter Text

When Martin was fifteen, he'd pulled the ember red metal of one of his first real projects from the forge. Then he'd lowered it into a bucket of oil, to harden the metal into its final form, to quench it.

There'd been a long hissing sound. Silence. Then, ting.

The knife he'd spent all that time crafting emerged from the oil cracked.

Master Darroch had made him place the failure on an anvil. Then he was instructed to hammer it. One strike was all it took. Brittle metal burst, leaving only crunched remains on the anvil's unyielding surface.

Martin was that blade. He'd been made to be whole. Pieces were all that remained.

He could identify the moment he'd broken with the same precision he knew a failed forge by the sound of its snap. It'd been sitting in the clinic's waiting room, his tiny hands folded dead inside themselves while he heard Simone's hushed conversation in the laboratory.

"I don't want another abandoned house in Rigbarth. It's been hard enough."

The other voice, teacherlike, steady, belonging to some government official. "The children can't stay here without a guardian. The estate will pay for their accommodations at an orphanage in part. Once they're of age there won't be any inheritance."

Simone's tone was frightening. "I will not let Camilla's children end up on the streets."

"So you'll take custody?"

There was a thump upstairs. Martin wasn't the only one listening in. Guilty footsteps trailed down to the first floor.

"Lucy, go outside with Martin to play. And see if you can find Cecil, will you? He's gone into hiding again."

He and Lucy found Cecil up on Seaside Hill, staring at the horizon. Waiting.

Martin never learned exactly what Simone had done to wrest control of his parents' estate out of the justice system, but, in the end, he and Cecil had been allowed to stay in their house.

Since that day at the clinic he had never been the same. The steel of his young heart didn't survive the pressure; it'd shattered, the separate pieces all tempered with a fierce need to protect Cecil, be the hero and take the place of the parents that weren't there.

But that's all Martin was—individual hardened pieces. Not a fine weapon, or even a simple kitchen knife. Just bits of a dream left behind.

On his sixteenth birthday Simone brought him the deed to the house. He kept it stashed under the stone floor in his room.

Even now, all these years later, he sometimes wondered where he and Cecil would be if not for Rigbarth. In his mind it was never anywhere good.

Chapter Text

No matter the season the walk to work remained the same. He was used to the Silo's overgrown offside plot, its butchered earth knotted with stumps and weeds. Wasted space for sure, but who was he to do anything about it? Not even Scarlett seemed to care all that much, so long as the local "hoodlums" (Ryker) didn't go in there and mess around.

The blighted lot had never been annoying. Its existence was more a fact, the way you knew your parents weren't ever coming back: an ugly reality that sat there day after day. It was so omnipresent he no longer saw it. In fact he could go anywhere in Rigbarth without noticing what was around him. A building had to catch fire before he'd be pulled from his thoughts.

"Bawau. Prrup? Marr. Marr."

"Not now, Fuuka."

She whined and tucked her ears back before snatching the empty plate off the restaurant table. He didn't even remember finishing. What had he eaten? Didn't matter; he knew exactly how he should punch the lines in the sword's handle before twisting it to get a unique pattern. It'd work. He had to get back to the forge immediately.

He ran.

The handle turned out as he'd envisioned. He allowed a few seconds to appreciate that before moving to the next phase. By the end of the day the blade was complete. Cecil was going to be happy he made it home in time for supper.

Already thinking about tomorrow's workload Martin engaged on the automatic walk out the door, down the path. Only when he stood in front of the house did he realize he'd seen something unusual. Bright yellow?

Geeze, had the Silo yard actually caught fire?

He looked over his shoulder. Way over in the tangle of brambles a SEED ranger wrestled with a pair of pruning sheers. It wasn't Scarlett. Must be a temp they'd brought over.

Setting sun reflected off her hair. Ah. That's the color he'd seen.

He opened the door and promptly forgot about it until the next morning, when he stepped outside and it was as if a shadow he'd lived under had vanished. No more scraggly saplings lined the south bank. The dirt road lay open and pure. Deadfall disappeared, tangled roots and vines cleared, fresh soil exposed.

Martin stared at the beginnings of the new farm until he had to turn to go up the hill to work.

And he noticed, leaving late into the darkness, an impossibly steady light illuminating the Silo's second floor. Its blue-white stood out obvious as a bent nail among dim glow of lanterns and candles in the night. Was it some sort of new magic tech from the capital?

The upstairs light became a regular occurrence and he dismissed it. Meanwhile the changes to the formerly abandoned lot were so drastic even he saw the difference. The land's fate upheaved easy as a coin flip by an oddball who couldn't remember her own name.

She decided it was Alice.

Maybe he should feel bad for her. But bad things happened, and whenever he was supposed to feel sympathy he felt… nothing. Emotions didn't work for him like they seemed to for everyone else.

Within weeks the outpost farm bloomed as it had when he was a kid. Fanned turnip leaves opened in orderly rows. White sprays of flowering potato plants accompanied cool spring air filtering into the open smithy doorway.

She worked hard. It was the only reason he could figure for why everyone seemed so obsessed with her. When he left for work she'd already be there in the field, gold hair like tongues of flame whether she tied it up or not, hands occupied with tools that made her impossible to ignore.

He'd made those tools himself. He had not thought about why Priscilla shied out of the blue to purchase garden supplies, or Palmo a quick axe, or a common sledge hammer. Cheap tools came and went. They weren't something to consider. He simply did the work.

He didn't know they would wind up hers in the end.

It bugged him. They weren't even decent quality. Nowhere near his best and nothing like Master Darroch's. Now Martin had to see them every day, a constant reminder of how much better he should be. Each time she swung that damn hoe he felt the low grade impure iron bending under MacGuyer and how he'd rushed the hole for the handle. The wood was hastily carved away near the top so it'd fit. Gah. She didn't know, beating the earth like that stupid thing would last forever.

People bought cheap tools a lot. Yet this was the first time he had to witness someone using his work so often. Couldn't it at least be his good work?

In the mornings he started to imagine shouting down at her on the way to the forge. "The handle's going to fly off that thing," or, "Did you remember to sharpen that axe?" or, "Come buy a real watering can already!" Sheesh. Maybe he'd make one over the holiday and leave it by the shipping bin for her to find.

~ ~ ~

Sometimes Alice visited the smithy the way Scarlett did. The two couldn't be more different. On the rare occasion Martin looked up from the anvil, if it was Scarlett there, she was at the shelves inspecting the weapons. On the other hand if it was Alice, she was watching him.

Or Darroch.

But mostly him.

Why, though? He wasn't doing anything special. She should be watching Master Darroch if she wanted to learn.

Martin stepped back from the pauldron he'd just finished turning on the anvil, and Alice was there.

"You're really intense when you're focused," she laughed.

He didn't know what to say to that. "Did you want to buy something?" he asked.

"Oh, um." She held up two separate pieces of the hoe. The handle had snapped at the weak point. "I think I need a new one."

He relaxed. Familiar territory. They talked about prices. She paid for an upgrade. Somehow it turned into a conversation about maintenance and repairs. She was easier to talk to than most and he had to catch himself before he wasted valuable time idling at the counter. "Take better care of your tools," he said. "Come by after five and I can show you how."

She did.

It was odd to see her don one of the smithy's thick aprons. She tied her molten hair up, serious about this. Good. He slapped a pair of gloves over the counter. "Be careful with these. Sometimes it makes sense to wear them but they can be dangerous too. The leather can get caught in tools and take your fingers off. If the glove burns, or gets wet and scalds, you'll wish you never had one on. You won't be able to remove it fast enough."

"Is that why you only wear one sometimes?"

So she'd noticed. "It's easier if I can feel the hammer. Here," he said, handing her the head of the broken hoe. "See that line? You shouldn't be able to see where two pieces of metal were welded together. It's sloppy."

She turned over the broken piece as if intrigued by it. "Did you make this?"

"Y-yeah."

"That's amazing." She meant it. The honesty hit him off-guard. Weird. She was weird.

Uncomfortable being praised for something simple he mumbled, "it's nothing," about the hoe and opened his palm to take it back. "I'll heat up a new one. I wouldn't expect you to know when to take it out. If you mess it up the metal won't harden right."

"Okay." Her cheery voice wasn't overbearing. It was nice, actually, a contrast to Master Darroch's punctuated gruffness.

Martin figured they could start the lesson with something simple: bending the ring that the handle would fit inside. He brought a precut metal pattern up to temperature and lay it over the anvil's horn. All she had to do was hit the long pieces hanging over the edge to bend it around. He explained this before passing over the tongs. She'd already picked out a hammer.

"Watch your fingers," he said.

She lifted the hammer. He saw her muscles tense. Before he could say anything she brought it down with a massive amount of force. CLANG

"N—don't break it!"

"Oops!"

"Sheesh." She'd mostly hit the anvil instead of the metal. Martin felt a flash of worry this must be what Master Darroch felt, trying to teach him, a relative novice to a Master's decades of training. "Instead of hitting it hard hit it in the right spot. You want to bend it into position."

"Like this?" The hammer chimed off the metal. Not enough power behind the blow.

Well, it'd take her ages at that rate, but it'd happen eventually. He struggled to explain. "Again but harder. Sorry, I don't usually teach people."

"That's okay!"

"Keep trying. I'll wait." He held the urge to take over. She'd learn more if she did it herself.

She continued hammering.

It was amazing how long it took. He watched Alice fuss over the metal, turning it, trying to divine where to strike. He'd been like that once. Seeing her efforts were a bizarre mirror of how far he'd come. Yet he still knew nothing.

When the handle ring bent to the proper shape she lit up. "I did it!" She was so proud.

Martin had to turn around to hide—he wasn't sure what. A smile? Geeze, if he got that much joy out of the basics he'd be a walking fun fest. "Good work."

"So… next is the handle," she said.

"Palmo will fit the handle. Any of our good tools he does the woodwork for."

"What about Ryker?"

"What about Ryker?" he snapped.

Alice started. Thought about it. "Doesn't he do anything?"

"No."

Moving on.

They weren't exactly at the handle stage yet. There was a lot more to do to finish the hoe: shaping the spade, cleaning off crispy scale flakes that built up from working the metal, and then tempering the finished shape in the forge. Martin started in on the process without much thought.

"Does it bother you when I watch?" she asked.

"Not really. I usually don't notice."

"Yeah. That sounds about right." She smiled, flecks of joy reaching her eyes.

What was this feeling? He had to look down to where the tongs grasped the metal and ground himself in the task at hand.

MacGuyer began hammering out the spade. Martin wanted Alice to get the rest of her tools in shape but didn't know how to ask her to come back. Instead he cut in over the hammering, "Your axe could use some sharpening."

"Is there a way to do that? More lessons would be helpful if you have time. I can pay."

"Don't." It sounded harsher than he meant. She looked surprised. He tried to take the edge out of his voice, words landing over the rhythm of the work. "Don't. Master Darroch didn't charge me to learn."

"But you're his apprentice."

Fine. "Think of it as a favor."

"A favor." The words drew long like she was recalling what that meant. "So then, you'll ask for something later?"

Martin laughed. It was a rare thing for him, more like a puff of amusement. What could he possibly want from a near stranger with amnesia?

Except maybe to see her smile again.

Shaking the intrusive thought he said, "sure," even though he knew he'd never call in a favor. Which made it a gift. But it was awkward to think about gifts. He wasn't a generous person like Murakumo.

Martin understood helping Alice was for his own sanity. If she got hurt, Cecil would worry. She was technically their neighbor after all. And Martin would have to suffer seeing the abuse her tools went through if she didn't maintain them properly. She needed training to do so.

"See you tomorrow?" she asked when they were done.

"Yes."

The next evening he taught her how to sharpen an axe.

Two after-hours lessons grew to three, then four. He didn't see the need to count after that. The sessions became part of his sleepless existence. He showed her the grindstone they used at the forge and the finer edge it could deliver to a blade. He brought out a leather strop and demonstrated putting the sharpest edge on a knife. He discussed the difference between grades of iron and copper, how to tell if an ore had too many impurities and would smelt into useless slag.

"Thank you so much," she said, beaming at him. "You really didn't have to do all this for me."

They both knew she wasn't going to become a blacksmith. After she learned what she needed to run her own business effectively, that was it. No more visits.

They agreed the lessons were over. Some illogical part of him expected to see her anyway. She said she wasn't coming and yet he hoped for it.

Their former 5:00 meeting time rolled around. No Alice. She'd become part of his routine and now she was gone.

Martin stood in True Strike's doorway, alone. All the plans he had drizzled out of his head.

He realized he could see the farm from here. He'd never noticed before.

She was still using that awful watering can.

~ ~ ~

A plate of cut fruit scooted into the important task Martin had scattered all over the dinner table. He moved the fruit out of the way.

"What are you doing?" Cecil asked.

"Mhmm," he mumbled, not really listening to whatever mystery his brother was going on about.

Cecil sighed. Martin continued to charcoal outline a pattern onto the sheet metal covering half the table. The shape of a watering can was way more complex than most tools. The rivets had to be tight, and in the right spots, or it'd leak. The metal should be thinner, lightweight, easier to work with.

Some time later he picked up the patterns and MacGuyer and left the house. "I'm going to the forge."

"Now? It's late. You'll wake Darroch!"

"He's deaf."

"Oh."

Cecil probably didn't realize how poor Master Darroch's hearing was. The man also slept like the dead. Simple riveting wouldn't wake him.

It took a couple nights but Martin made something he felt moderately satisfied with.

He left the watering can by the shipping bin and went to bed.

Chapter Text

MacGuyer pinged down onto the metal. Aim, not force, Master Darroch's words repeated. Let the tool do the work.

There was another voice too for some reason.

"Martin."

It took her several times before she got his attention.

"Martin! Geeze," Alice chuckled, finally managing to snap him out of the zone. Tch.

Damn, she was bright. Like looking into the sun except it didn't hurt his eyes.

"I got these for you," she said, indicating an arrangement of ores on the front counter. "Cecil said you experiment a lot. You must go through a lot of metal for that, right?"

"Sure. Darroch usually is the one who pays for raw materials though. He's out making a delivery this week. Give me a minute and I'll look at them."

"Did you want the stuff I collected for sale too? I left it back at the Silo."

His thoughts halted.

"You don't have to pay for these," she said. "They're a gift."

Then it hit him. This was a little more than a small present. "You're not turning into Murakumo are you?"

She burst out laughing. "What? No! I'm serious. Wait, I'll go get the stuff for sale." She ran off.

He lay MacGuyer over the anvil and approached the counter, wiping his hands on his apron. One of the chunks of raw copper hefted solidly in his hand. Thick bronze coloring stacked the surface. Nice. He'd be able to smelt this down and get a decent amount of material out of it.

A warm feeling stoked the hollow in his chest. All the jags and broken pieces inside of him were heating up, smoothing out.

This sort of thing did not happen. People didn't come of literal nowhere to be nice, and be curious about his craft, and pay actual attention. They didn't catch his eye and trade nods across fields of pumpkins on the way to work every morning. And they rarely drew more than a muted emotion out of him. Much less whatever this internal flame was.

He glanced at the oil lanterns hanging near the doorway. Crazy as it was, he half imagined he could light one without the magic scratching through his soul like shards of glass.

Over the counter Martin dug through the ores. Already images of curling artistic twists and wrought iron designs were filling his plans. He'd wanted to try making a complex decorative centerpiece for a gate, but he wouldn't have dared wasting material to do it until now. The sketch for it should still be at home somewhere.

Before he got too deep in his imaginings Alice returned with a heavy sack of ore slung over a shoulder. The ores thudded bodily on the floor where she heaved the sack. "Glad… it's not very far," she panted.

"You're going to hurt your back carrying it like that."

Alice's nervous laughter told him she probably already had.

"Seriously," he sighed, "next time let me or Master Darroch collect them. You can leave them by the shipping bin."

"That's what I usually do, but you said Darroch is away, and I didn't want to bother you, so…"

"You don't bother me." Uh. That sounded. Never mind. He pulled the drawer behind the counter for True Strike's ledger and recorded the amounts and prices before paying for the delivery.

"Hey, Martin…"

His heart skipped a beat.

"Someone left me a really nice watering can. I thought it was Priscilla but she said she didn't know. Was it you?"

It was difficult to admit for some reason. "Maybe."

Alice's eyes lit up. Her smile was so warm he could feel it. Again a soft pull on his rune magic went with the warmth, and the fact it didn't hurt made him nervous.

Ever since Alice arrived in Rigbarth things had started changing. Or, at least, he'd begun to notice stuff he might not have before. He thought of the light he often saw at the top of the Silo when he went home late. Since she was here, he may as well ask.

"What are you using for light? I see it when I'm going home."

"Oh. I just make it," Alice said.

"Magic?"

"Yeah."

That was hard to believe, but he'd seen the intensity and color many times. It wasn't rune tech. She could make light. For it to be so strong—who was she?

"It's not normal, is it?" she asked, more muted than her usual self.

"No."

She frowned and fiddled with the clasp on one of her uniform's pouches. It must be strange, to have that strong a connection to the runes. He felt compelled to do or say something to make her feel less alone. "Cecil has lots of magic too. Not as much as yours, but probably more than anyone in Rigbarth. He got it from our mom."

"What about you?"

He huffed. "Barely. I'm lucky if I can light a candle."

"But, that's more than most people, right?"

"I guess." He could feel a blush creeping in. Too personal. He'd rather have been like dad, like everyone, with no magic. It was embarrassing how little he could do.

"Can you show me?" she asked. "No one else seems to use it."

He was full on blushing now. Just. Mmph. He wanted to, for some reason. She was so strange. "Ask Cecil. He knows more about runes than I do."

~ ~ ~

Dinner time. As usual Cecil was a fount of information, which meant he was fine and Martin didn't have to worry. While Cecil chattered Martin imagined the curve of a helmet, turning the bowl over the anvil, taking care to avoid working the metal too thin.

"Oh, and you won't believe this! I always thought it was mysterious that Priscilla and Lucy don't confess to each other, but now I think I have a reason why. You see, Alice…"

Suddenly Martin was listening.

"...I think Priscilla has a crush on her? I don't have enough evidence. But, hey, I was at the bakery the other day, and Alice came by, and I just have this hunch, y'know?"

It felt like a shard of metal was twisting in his chest.

Cecil asked, "Has she said anything about Priscilla?"

"How should I know?" He'd hardly seen anyone lately.

Cecil's face fell. "Oh. I guess I thought, uh, never mind."

"What?"

"I thought you and Alice were friends."

Were they?

He sat back, folded his arms. Thought about it.

Despite Alice having zero memories of who she was, she remained bright and cheery. He'd see her running around doing this or that favor. But there was something about her under the surface too. Some hidden intensity he hadn't figured out.

"She's like gold," he decided.

Cecil said nothing.

Yeah. Gold. A nice material to work with, lots of people saw its value, but, soft and malleable. "It's like she doesn't know who she wants to be, yet."

Cecil kept staring.

Martin forked up another chunk of potato.

"I don't think I've ever heard you talk about anyone that way," Cecil said.

"I'm not that good with people."

"Uh-huh…" Cecil drifted off like he did when he was puzzling out a new mystery.

Chapter Text

"Bau! Gao geffa rao?"

"Can she understand us?"

"I don't think so."

"Urr… urf… omyom?"

"She's weird."

"This isn't what I expected. They call this a Porco starred restaurant?"

The rising tone of voice across the restaurant dragged Martin out of a mental puzzle involving a metal bracket for a rotating cabinet. He glanced over. At the far table Fuuka waited on customers. Her ears were drooping and her tail tucked while she tried to ask for orders and was ignored.

"We could go back to the inn. At least the wolf there speaks Nord. Even if his Sekkian sucks."

Martin lowered his chopsticks.

"Don't need a foreign waitress."

He stood up. One of the tourists noticed him approach. The rest did not. He stopped beside Fuuka and rapped his knuckles on the table once. All eyes were his as he tucked that hand into crossed arms.

"She understands everything you're saying," he said.

Embarrassment clapped the faces around the table.

"Just place your order." Then he turned and went back to his spot. Sat down. Unfolded some scrap paper from his kit and began doodling ideas for the shelf bracket. Off to the side the tourists babbled apologetic meal requests to Fuuka.

It didn't take Martin long to finish the last of his rice but he stayed anyway. That is, until Ryker showed up. His casual stride slowed in front of Martin's table. Martin glared and Ryker just grinned cheekily back. The idiot's hood swiveled as he checked out the tourists across the room.

"Those kids look like punks," Ryker said.

"They were rude to Fuuka."

"Pfff." Ryker scoffed. But Martin recognized the sharp look. Whether the tourists noticed or not they were going to have an annoying, lazy shadow stalking them the rest of their trip.

Ryker hooked his foot into the leg of the chair across from Martin and spun the thing around so it faced the wrong way. Uninvited he plopped down and folded his arms over the chair back. "Sitting by yourself?"

"Uh-huh." This was his cue to leave. He folded up the parchment and slipped it into the kit tied at his back.

"Shame. I was hoping to see Alice."

Alarm pierced him. "What for?"

"To annoy you."

Martin could not tell if Ryker was serious. He hated that. He hated the coy way Ryker watched for a reaction, stupid playful head tilt included. How had he known Alice sometimes came to chat during lunch break? None of Ryker's business.

Feeling prickly Martin placed payment for his lunch on the table far outside Ryker's reach. "I'm not covering yours," he said.

"Now that would be something." Ryker twirled a milky bang around a finger. "Imagine if anyone saw."

"Tch." He left.

Fuuka jumped him in front of Elsje's kitchen. Bashful pink ears folded to the sides. Her tail wagged so low and fast her whole body almost shook. "Mrao," she thanked.

"It's their fault for not paying attention."

Ears flipped up. "Hua! Ruh arro undatar, Marr."

She thought it was funny because he was the one who never paid attention. Fuuka was right about that he supposed. Lately he'd been more observant though.

The day turned out to be a productive one. Master Darroch praised the solution he'd come up with for the rotating shelf. Confidence stacked. It overflowed when Alice came and commissioned a tool upgrade. Martin felt unusually good.

He wanted to try something.

~ ~ ~

Night.

Smooth wax flattened into the pads of his fingers as he pressed the candle into the holder on his bedroom desk. Sitting in his chair he stared at it, hands planed to the wood on either side of the candle as if this were some sort of witchy ritual.

This was silly. It was going to hurt; it always hurt. His shoulders tensed in anticipation of the pain. But he was curious. Alice had made him curious, like a shot of orange juice in his milk tea.

Martin breathed. He drummed his fingers on the table. The candle's pale wick leered at him.

He clamped down on his inner magic. A static electric shock stabbed viciously enough to make him jolt and snatch his hands away. "Ow," he hissed.

In front of him fresh fire lit the wick.

He leaned back and rested a finger on his bottom lip. Steady and proud the candle's orange gold flame continued to burn. He rocked a bit on the chair's back legs. A rising giddiness started to take over.

That had barely hurt.

The chair's front legs thumped to the bedroom floor. He swiftly wetted his fingers and pinched the flame out, ignoring the brief flash of incredible heat before it smothered. Under the desk the outline of a fire runey faded in, but he didn't take time to appreciate the suddenly visible little spirit that was always following him around; he was already sitting ramrod straight in his chair.

Spark! The candle lit out of seemingly nowhere. Lightning pain pinned him for doing it but it was honestly nothing, just a tiny blip. No searing agony. No melting of his insides. "Heh," Martin grinned.

He pushed up from the desk and opened the bedroom door. Hanging on hooks at the front of the house were two oil lanterns. He focused on his. Fwip! A tiny bloom of fire puckered inside the lamp. Without the lantern opened for air or fuel it went out quickly, but still.

Magic hadn't been so painless since he was a kid. He could start the forge like this. He could turn on the lights without having to get up. Such small things, but they'd make his job the tiniest bit more efficient.

Alice was right. A little flame was more innate rune magic than most people. When it didn't hurt so much maybe this part of himself was less of an embarrassing nuisance than he'd thought. Not that he was about to jump around showing anyone.

He set the lamp on fire again and winced at the shock to his system. He did it several more times before the well of energy to call upon went dry. It didn't feel like a void gnawing on his spirit they way it had in the past. It was just empty.

He lounged against the doorframe. What had changed?

It must be something to do with Alice. His daily routine had been relatively smooth and uninterrupted until she popped into existence. She was having an effect on him. Not in a bad way, either.

Well whatever. He wasn't going to overthink this like Cecil. He had swords to make, iron to bend, ores to process. Martin slipped back into his room and cleaned up his experiment. He slapped a box of tools that needed maintenance on his desk, sat, and began going through them one by one.

~ ~ ~

A great shadow crawled its way across Rigbarth, distorting over the buildings, vague wing shapes creating spindly shades that broke across rooftops onto roads. The shadow fell flat into the river, floated up the opposite bank to the festival square, and slowly drifted out over the ocean.

Martin watched the green and gold dragon coast into a cloud bank. Eventually it emerged on the other side, shrinking as it traveled further away.

Farm Dragon mom had called it. Once an extremely rare sight, these days Martin could usually spot the green speck in the distance if he looked long enough. The dragon flew with the help of runeys and fed off the land's energy. Seeing it meant the forest would be safer, fewer monster gates opened, and there'd be more plentiful foraging.

"The land should be healing," Cecil said. "But somehow it feels more unstable than ever. It's weird. Can't you feel it?"

"Not really."

Cecil hummed and twirled the handle of his magnifying glass between his fingers. "This is a big case. If you do notice anything strange let me know."

Martin had an immediate thought. "Alice is unusual."

Cecil laughed. "Alice is great! Be nice to her, okay?"

"I! I'm trying." He wanted to be kind and considerate like Cecil, but honestly, his work took up most of his time, and he worried what might happen if he spoke his mind even more bluntly than he did already. Telling Alice to her face that he enjoyed her company was not an option. Or was it? Grumble.

Cecil just laughed some more. He stretched his arms above his head, fingers laced together, watching the two buffamoo pulling a trade wagon down the mountain towards the smithy. "Sure you don't need help? Looks heavy."

You'll only get hurt, Martin almost said before he caught himself. "No, thanks."

On the wooden seat at the front of the wagon a merchant guided two yoked buffamoo along the path. Slowly the beasts trudged. Dried mud caked clumps of fur along their legs. Tails swatted at flies. The sturdy size of the monsters and their docile eyes indicated a life of long travel.

Walking alongside the wagon came Scarlett. Dried blood spattered the sleeve of her SEED uniform. Her expression was severe as always.

Cecil had never gotten used to the sight of blood. "Scarlett!" He rushed up to her. "Oh gosh, bandages, Martin, can you—wait, I'll get Simone."

"No need," Scarlett said. "It's not mine."

The wagon pulled up to the bricked-in charcoal stockpile next to True Strike. After Martin paid, he helped the driver unhook the tarp covering the delivery. Then he hefted himself into the wagon and began tossing bundles of fresh charcoal overboard. He was already sweating from being near the forge all morning. Sun burned into his skin while he threw bundle after bundle into the smithy's stockpile.

"Where's Alice?" Cecil asked Scarlett.

"The Gadeus Grasslands are too dangerous for her. I wouldn't allow it. She argued with me though." Scarlett sighed. "Captain Livia has her looking into a rune poaching situation. As if we didn't have our hands full already."

"Rune poaching! I better let Terry know."

"I must inform Captain Livia that the monsters are getting worse. Please excuse me." She bowed before jogging down the hill. Cecil raced past her on the way to Terry's place.

Martin slung another two bundles of charcoal out of the cart. Alice, on her own, seeking out wanted criminals. Would she be okay? Sweat trickled past the band holding his visor in place and he swiped it away with a forearm. He heaved more charcoal into the pile.

Alice was one of very few people in Rigbarth who lived alone. Fuuka had Elsje, Terry couldn't get a scratch without Cecil noticing, Master Darroch was the same for Martin, and Murakumo—well, the guy owned an inn. If he tripped on his own tail he'd crash into at least two other people in the process.

Thin rope netting dug into Martin's hands as he snared another bundle. He knew Scarlett and the SEED Captain shared the Silo with Alice, but Scarlett was very uptight about an early sleep schedule and the Captain had some sort of disease that kept her from going outside. He wasn't satisfied.

Or maybe he remembered. He remembered Cecil running for Seaside Hill after evening lessons, leaving him to cross the stone bridge alone. Up the dirt path the house would be sitting there stark and empty with no lights in the windows and nothing inside but silence.

Martin finished unloading the charcoal.

After work he stayed up late with the curtains in front of his bedroom desk spread wide to a glassy night rectangle. Parchment unfurled over the wood in front of him. A circle of candle light trailed his hand with a long shadow as schematics for a warhammer scritched into existence line by line.

The window changed. Thin blue haze ghosted the landscape outside. He rose and leaned over the desk to see through the periphery of the window, further and further leaning, until his metal visor clicked to the glass. Just barely Alice's light peeped through the Silo's second story window.

No rune poacher had stopped her from coming home. That was all he needed to know.

He drew the curtains, blew out the candle, and went to sleep.

~ ~ ~

On rare occasions Cecil would get all the guys together and they'd share drinks and stories at The Blue Moon Inn. Sometimes it turned into an overnight stay and they rolled out futons in an empty guest room. In the dull hours of the morning Martin would sneak off early to get back to the forge.

This time, there would be no futons, and it would be very obvious if Martin disappeared from a party of two. Other than that he expected things to go about the same as guy's night. He didn't see a reason to make a fuss. He would've rather taken this trip with his brother to be honest, but Alice had been the one with the ticket to give away.

She'd nearly killed him asking the way she did: "Do you want to go to the hot springs with me?" Gods. That. Why. She couldn't have started with the part about Master Darroch and Cecil and everyone wanting him to take a break?

Martin hrrm'ed and pushed a hand through his hair. Behind him the brick wall surrounding the Blue Moon's gardens gave off a faint heat even though the sun had long gone.

Alice arrived on time. They went in, registered at the front desk with Murakumo, and split ways at the second floor staircase.

He'd never been to the bathhouse so late. Technically the baths were closed at this hour and the only people allowed up were inn guests. His solitary footsteps slapped on the tile.

There was no point rushing to get clean when he was staying the night. Undressed he sat on one of the bathing stools and began washing off. A dark smudge in the mirror caught his eye. Across the bridge of his nose a line of soot smeared. Sheesh, had that been there the whole time? That explained why Alice and Murakumo had been glancing funnily at him.

Ash marred his hands too. What a mess. No way in hell was he coming out looking like this. Stubborn black grease stains had settled into the creases of his palms and around his fingernails. He had to scrub with force to get them to come out. He might be here a while.

Finally clean, he was free to get in the hot spring. He stepped into the shallow end. Scalding water rose up to his ankles. Slowly he waded in as the temperature became bearable. It was a cleansing heat. Steam rising off the water felt good on his parched skin. The smithy could be so intensely dry.

He leaned his head back against the lip of the pool. Water soothed around his body.

Sigh.

Without the idle chatter of anyone else his thoughts began to drift.

Did Alice have any company in the women's bath?

Was he taking too long?

Hrmm.

He popped awake. Oh. He might've dozed off for a bit there. Probably time to get out. He rinsed and dressed. He felt… loose. Flexible. Huh.

The dining area had a couple other guests in it when he arrived. Alice was already there, waiting for him. Her hair was damp. And she looked soft.

"Um. Is there something on my face?" she asked.

"No. It's nothing." Nothing he could say aloud. She was kind of attractive, wasn't she? But he'd always known that.

They were going to share a room after this. Uh. He was beginning to think this was not anything like guy's night. But it still felt pretty casual, so.

They ate and talked about—surprisingly—not work. What did two people discuss when one of them was mostly interested in smithing and the other couldn't remember her past or much about the world at all?

Upcoming festivals. Cecil. Elsje's cooking.

He wanted to ask about Alice's memories, but even he could tell it might be a touchy subject. Better not.

It surprised him how comfortable spending time this way was. Did this usually happen to people on breaks? He tried to picture doing this with anyone else and couldn't. Things either ended up boisterous and noisy (Murakumo), awkwardly silent (Priscilla), or strict and formal (Scarlett).

Speaking of Scarlett. A dry smile crept over Martin's face while Murakumo set a steaming bamboo basket of dumplings in front of Alice.

A while ago Cecil and some of the others had ganged Martin and Scarlett into going out to relax… not unlike this actually… but with terrible results. There'd been a lot of dead silence and staring at anything but each other. After a hurried lunch he and Scarlett escaped back to the work they wanted to be doing.

Martin snorted. Alice looked at him questioningly and he shook his head. Nothing, nothing.

This was too cozy to be a date. Dates were awkward.

"I guess we should check out the room?" Alice suggested after they finished eating.

"Guess so."

Thankfully Murakumo had the common sense to put a changing screen in the room. The guy was reliable where it counted. Martin willed a bit of fire into the two oil lamps without thinking. It came so easily he startled both himself and Alice. "Oh!" she said.

"It was dark." As if that explained it.

"Thanks." Her sweet smile reflected in the lamp's glass as she admired the flame inside. That was, um. Yeah.

Martin made a dedicated effort to not look at her side of the room once it was time to sleep. He had to admit a mild curiosity about what her pajamas were. But he didn't look.

The lamps wicked out. Feeling heavy as lead he lay down facing the wall. Rather than visualizing tomorrow's job his mind circled around something else.

"They must be looking for you," he said to the wall.

"Huh?"

"Your family."

The blankets on the other side of the partition ruffled. Alice's disheartened "oh" barely came through.

She could have a brother. Parents. Hell, she could be married and have kids. Had she thought about that? Whoever had known her before, they must be worried sick. He would be.

"You could hire Terry to track down your folks." It was the type of thing Cecil would suggest.

"Yeah…" She sounded reluctant. "I keep wondering, what if it's bad, what happened? Then maybe it's better if I don't remember."

"I'd never want to forget Cecil."

She didn't answer.

"Sorry for bringing it up." He was no good at this.

"It's not that. It's more… If I had someone that important I wouldn't forget them." She quietly laughed. "Simone says that's not how amnesia works. But I still have that feeling."

The conversation dwindled.

Would she regain her memory? Would she leave Rigbarth once she did? Seeing people come and go was nothing new to him. Yet for the first time he found he had a specific feeling about it. He did not want Alice to go.

He hoped she'd stay.

Chapter Text

Martin slammed Frostweld into the fire slime. Ice crystals erupted over the red jelly surface.

There were too many monsters.

Drops of pain bloomed like hot oil on the back of his leg. Another fire slime behind him, and its liquid had burned pin holes through the fabric. He swirled Frostweld around. It penetrated slimy goo, sending crystal ice veins shooting through red. Blue spidered over the slime until it was totally consumed. A second strike and it shattered like glass.

Twinkling dust raised from the defeated creatures, essence that'd reconstitute unharmed in the Forest of Beginnings. Not many people could physically see that essence. He could, but barely.

What he could not see, however, was the gate that allowed monsters to step into this world.

"Seriously?" he complained as another slime appeared out of thin air.

Frostweld dispatched the reappearing slimes quickly. He kept swinging the warhammer, hoping to hit wherever the gate was. Step and swing. Step and swing.

Finally he heard the pitchy fwooosh of a closed portal. Got it.

He sighed, letting Frostweld's head rest on the ground while he used the handle as a support. Lately mining trips had gotten ridiculous. Sure, every now and then there'd be more monsters than usual. But this had consistently been bad for months.

It wasn't just the Kelve Lava Caves either. It seemed to be happening everywhere.

"At this rate I'm going to need an escort," he told Frostweld. He didn't relish the idea.

After he caught his breath he went to collect the rucksack he'd dropped to handle the fighting. He readjusted his mining tools and looked around for any good starting points.

He set up camp in a tunnel he'd worked on previously and started chipping away at the rock.

It wasn't wise to work alone like this, he knew, but if he lived his life around other people he'd hardly get anything done. If he wanted to find rare materials, he went to find them. He set his own schedule.

Going to and from the Kelve Lava Caves took an entire day. It could be worthwhile or it could be a complete waste of time, all depending on which ore deposits the lava flows had decided to expose on any particular visit.

Martin swung the pickaxe.

For a long time the bubbling pop of lava echoing off cave walls and clumped rocks falling away under the pickaxe's ting were his only company.

Crumbling bits of rock dust pinged over his visor, some of the dust scattering across his hair. Pebbles clacked onto reinforced boots. He frowned and took a step back.

It happened in an instant. The rock slide came down from the ceiling, shards of stone erupting over his body. His heart leapt up his throat as he tried to jump back. Under the horror of the collapse he felt his foot catch. Hard surface slammed the breath from his lungs, hot lava cave floor pressed to his body. Clattering rock bounced, clacked, and slid past his outstretched arm.

Half a second later it ended. Rubble entombed the spot he'd been standing. The last echoes of rock bounced down the tunnel.

Martin lay sprawled facedown on the floor. His pulse hammered in his ears. His soul itched with the sensation that the ceiling above him was going to come down. A panicked peace hushed his thoughts while he waited, unmoving, to be buried.

When it didn't happen his adrenaline-cooked brain started to slow down.

A pressure surrounded his left leg. If he moved he could upset the balance and be crushed.

He dared to shift his head enough to look. What had seemed an earthquake had only been a tiny cave-in. If he hadn't taken that step back—gods, he wouldn't think about that. He focused on the fresh wall of lava stone encasing his leg.

This morning he'd told Cecil he was going mining and wouldn't be home until late. Master Darroch also knew he was here.

Somebody would find him, eventually. Assuming they could get past the monsters. Assuming the whole tunnel didn't collapse.

Never, never, had this been a problem before. It was as if the earth itself had become brittle.

Martin lay there in the unchanging amber light of the lava cave's walls. Time passed. It could've been an hour or four. Molten bits drifted through glowing veins in the rock.

He felt stupid.

He felt angry for wasting time like this.

He recognized he was probably jealous of how badly Palmo spoiled Ryker.

Enough. Martin gingerly rested his free foot on the precarious stonefall. Very slowly he started to push. Pain speared up his trapped leg. "Aaagh."

He quit moving.

Was it broken? No. If the metal boot were impacted he'd be in absolute agony right now.

He winced at the feeling of being stabbed in the kneecap from trying to wiggle his toes. They moved, though. Okay.

From his spot facedown on the floor he attempted to roll over for a better view, but of course twisting on the leg hurt so bad it was impossible. He sank back to his stomach. Hard, warm cave floor squished uncomfortably to his cheek. The wool he wore was starting to itch even through his linen undershirt.

Who'd notice he was missing first, Cecil or Master Darroch? Who'd get sent to look for him? If Cecil came by himself Martin would be pissed.

He sucked in a breath and pulled. Rocks ground against each other. Physical hurt didn't compare to the terror of that sound, rock-on-rock, the threat of a fresh cave-in.

He managed to get to a point he could painstakingly dig out his leg one stone at a time.

It was weird to see his boot again, as if that part of his body didn't belong to him anymore. The greaves and reinforced steel that'd saved him from many smithy mishaps had probably rescued him. He wouldn't know for sure how bad the injury was until he made it to the clinic.

At least it wasn't his hands. He could work without a leg. An arm was a different story.

Standing up was tough. He ended up crawling back to camp. All his surviving tools waited for him there.

Eventually he reached them.

"Okay Frostweld. Here… we go…" He grunted himself upright, Frostweld's head pushed to the ground. A warhammer made a terrible crutch.

Somehow he was going to have to limp all the way to Rigbarth. As soon as monsters caught wind of him he would be in serious trouble. It was going to happen. The question was just how soon. If he remained in this tunnel the chances of anyone finding him in time were not good. The closer he could get to Rigbarth the better.

Underground, time had no meaning. The only indication that it'd been far too long was his extreme thirst and stabbing hunger pangs. He ate and drank everything he could find in his supplies. Bitter healing draught made him feel better, but it certainly didn't fix his leg.

One hammer push at a time Martin began the journey to the cave entrance.

Harrowing sensation that new gates would open any time now prickled at the back of his neck. He tried to be quiet with Frostweld. At the end of each corridor he checked for monsters before proceeding.

Lifting and placing the hammer so many times strained soreness into his arms. The last of the low tunnel came to the gaping maw of open lava cave. This would be one of the hard parts. There was nowhere to hide.

Martin started in. He kept center of the lava rivers on either side. Rigid rock floor crackled under Frostweld's head. Full heat from the volcano swirled around him and turned in mirage waves overhead.

The next tunnel's opening grew closer with each hopped limp.

Almost there.

Claws came echoing from ahead, fast. Whatever it was didn't belong in this region. Oh, this was bad. Martin stiffened his grip on Frostweld. He could still fight. He'd have to.

The silver wolf burst into view. It was so fast he barely had time to react. Barely had time to register the splodge of crimson and fanned gold behind its thick mane.

"Martin!"

Claws scraped rock as the wolf swung hard to the side. Alice scrambled off, tripping over herself in the process. Her SEED cap clapped on the ground.

"You're hurt," she said, rushing up, concern in her voice sharp and stirring all the shards of his broken self.

The wolf stood there complacent. He couldn't believe it. It was right there—

"Can you make it to the clinic from The Great Tree?" she asked.

Huh? "Yeah…"

"I'm sending you there."

"What?"

The ground floated away. He lashed out to catch himself before he fell, got ahold of Alice's arm, but he was still falling. His full weight toppled into her; he hugged her tight as the vertigo went on. She started to float too.

"Oh! I guess I'm coming with you, haha."

Bright light intensified until he had to close his eyes against it and the roaring whoosh. His insides dropped in a sickening pitch of free fall.

Out of nowhere the ground pushed back under him.

Movement stopped. Still, he clutched Alice to his chest. Honestly he was afraid to let go. What had just happened?

His ragged breathing cut into cool air. It was the middle of the night. Light glowed from street lamps.

They were in front of the Great Tree Plaza, standing, somehow. His arms were wrapped around Alice and he had so many feelings it hurt.

People did not touch like this.

Confused out of his mind Martin launched backwards. His bad leg knifed his nervous system and he fell to the cobblestone.

"Martin, oh my gosh!" She hovered over him, her hands ghosting so close but not touching. He couldn't take this. "I'm so sorry," she said, "I forgot. I haven't taken you with me before. I… come on, the clinic."

"Where's Cecil?" he mumbled, all too aware of her firm grip as she clasped onto his hand to help him up.

"Worried sick. He woke Captain Livia."

"I have to tell him I'm alright."

"No." She sounded cross. That was new. "You're going to see Simone."

Not that he had much choice with his arm slung over Alice's shoulder. Touching. So much touching. The imprint of her body against his fifteen seconds ago, he couldn't forget it. He felt warm all over. Everything was so confusing, and the wolf was gone.

"I might've hit my head," he said.

"We're almost there."

~ ~ ~

The next day Ryker shouted from the other side of the bridge, "I told you that you were gonna work yourself to death!"

"Shut up Ryker." Martin regretted how much less threatening the crutches made him look.

"It could've been one of your hands, stupid!"

"At least I use mine," he called back. "If you lost an arm it wouldn't make a difference."

"It would. I'd sleep a lot less easily."

Martin glared over his shoulder and let the rest of Ryker's pointless heckling bounce off him. With his leg banged up everything took longer than usual, and he saw no need to spend any more time on that pesty, lazy, self-centered, mumble mumble mumble.

~ ~ ~

Alice came to see him at work. Noticing her waiting on the edges of his periphery made his confused emotions spark. Rescuing him had been her job as a ranger. There was no requirement to check in after that. Yet here she was.

"Whenever you have a second," she said cheerily.

"Sure."

He finished his current set of blows on the metal. Then he made a second for Alice. Minutes, even.

"How's your leg?"

"It's fine. I have to keep pressure off it. It slows me down but it's not going to stop me."

Her charmed laugh stirred even more sparks. "I'm beginning to think nothing could," she said, though worry started to sink into her expression. "Do you ever take a break?"

"Not really. No."

Though he'd done so to have this conversation. Hum.

"Have you eaten anything yet?" she asked.

"Ah." What time was it anyway?

"Thought so. I brought this for you." She lifted up a box. "I asked Fuuka what you usually order."

Why? Why was she treating him? Was it because she had amnesia, and didn't know how he might interpret this? He ducked his head to hide the tint warming his cheeks.

"I'll set it up over here. Make sure to eat it before you forget, okay?" The casual way she said it made his heart ache.

Martin looked at the solitary lunch box on the work bench. She better be taking care of herself. "What about you?" he asked.

"Me? Oh, I had lunch with Scarlett."

"Good." He didn't have to worry about that then. Instead he'd get to think about the fact she ran around with wolves, by herself, in the middle of the night.

Soon as he had the chance he was going over her arms and armor. Even from here he could see the leather in her uniform needed maintenance. No cracks yet, but it'd get there without rubbing oil into it soon, and not too much, or it'd turn the armor too supple to offer the best protection. There was a dent in the piece guarding her left shoulder. He could work that out.

Without realizing it he started sizing her up.

She shuffled. "Umm. Hehehe, I better get back to my patrol, so…"

"Right. Yeah. Thank you by the way. For everything."

That sent her into a fluster of "it's nothing's" as she bumbled out the doorway. What he'd said sounded pretty sappy. Ugh. He had some intense feelings where she was concerned and it was hard to understand what they were, much less how to put them in words.

"Man…" Martin rubbed his forehead.

He hated to admit it but he might need some help with this. It absolutely could not be Cecil either. Otherwise all of Rigbarth might find out.

Chapter Text

Martin waited outside the closed door, wanting to fold his arms but instead casually balancing against one of the crutches. He glanced over his shoulder at the detective agency on the other side of the street. C'mon, c'mon.

"Good morning!" Priscilla sang before she even realized who'd knocked on her door. Then her blue eyes fluttered wide with shock. "Oh. Hi Martin."

"Hey. Can I come in for a second?"

"Umm. Sure. Do you want any tea?" Yeah, this was weird for him too. Sorry Priscilla.

Everything in her house was cute. Plush pink and white decor cozied the interior with splashes of orange accent. A vase of flowers sat on the kitchen table. There were even little hearts carved into the trim of the bedroom doors. The thought of Ryker ever creating something like that popped into Martin's head, and he suppressed a scoff.

"Elsje's not awake yet, but, um, we don't have to worry about her."

Martin thumped down into one of the kitchen chairs. "Heavy sleeper?"

"Y-yeah." Priscilla sat opposite him. She folded her hands in her lap and stared at them, fidgeting. The more awkward the atmosphere became the more Martin doubted his course of action.

"I need to borrow one of your books," he said.

Priscilla was like a frightened bird in a cage. "Really? I don't have much about smithing. Most of my stuff is, um, romantic."

"Exactly."

"You want a romance novel?" she stammered, unable to look him in the eye. If she didn't stop blushing he was going to start too, gah. "Which kind did you want to borrow? I like the ones about heroes or royalty, they're softer, but, I do have some books that are more uhmmmm," it sounded like she was about to cry, "descriptive?"

They wrote books like that?

She twisted her fingers. "There is this one about a blacksmith."

Dammit. He hadn't expected that and now his curiosity piqued. "I'll take that one."

"Yes. Okay." She dashed off to her room trailing a mortified whimper under her breath. All this because it was him asking. He was pretty sure Cecil and Priscilla swapped books every so often. Exactly what kind of things had these two been reading? Good grief.

"Here."

"Thanks."

~ ~ ~

Back in his room Martin pushed aside a very battered field guide on rock and mineral identification. Getting Priscilla's book sooty was not an option. He decided to slot it between two sturdier books, one a history on armors, and the other a roughed up copy of The Complete Modern Blacksmith.

Maybe this was as far as he'd go. He didn't have to read it. These weird feelings could settle down and it wouldn't be a problem anymore.

After a few more days he was able to ditch the crutches.

~ ~ ~

The freshly sharpened blade shone as it turned in Master Darroch's hands. Experienced eyes looked for any potential flaw in the weld. Technically it was good. But in the end it was a sword like any other.

"Martin. Think. Who are you making this for?"

"I don't know."

Master Darroch gave him a stern, penetrating look. Same as always it sank through him and came back with nothing. Martin knew what was missing, he just didn't know how to get it. No matter how good his technique became he didn't have the heart to connect with people. He couldn't understand what his customers needed.

Because he was broken.

But maybe, not as much as he thought. Or maybe the flame he felt could be the fire that forged his pieces back together. Was that possible? He'd done it with metal.

Could a person be forged anew?

He studied the sooty grooves between bricks in the forge, wondering what Master Darroch might say to such an asinine question.

For years Martin had thought if he worked hard enough he might fix himself. Hard work meant improvement. It wasn't that simple though. Instead, his dream of being a master smith in some ways had become a place to hide.

He still wanted to achieve his dream. He wanted to see masterworks form at the edges of his fingertips. Unfurl terrifyingly beautiful beasts across a shield, inlay intricate metal patterns over ceremonial swords. Create the fluid motion of a perfectly balanced weapon. Make tools that'd last lifetimes.

But.

Was it possible he might want something else too?

"Alright. That's enough for now," Master Darroch said. "Back to business."

Martin stoked the forge. There was always a demand for nails. He could spend the rest of his days making nails and it'd never be enough. So, for hours, that's what he did. He made nails. Hundreds of them.

Ping. Ping. Ping.

He thought about Alice. Without her memories she had to start all over again. What did she want? If he had to begin from scratch, what would he choose to do?

This.

He knew without a doubt he'd choose this a hundred times over. But Alice still held at the edge of his thoughts.

Ping. Ping. Ping.

He'd like to see her more often. It beat thinking about her.

Nails overflowed the bucket at his foot. He shunted it aside for an empty one. Repetitive striking sanded his mind blissfully blank.

By the time he let the forge die down, darkness crowded through the smithy's windows. Master Darroch had left for the evening.

In the wan light Martin rubbed his hands with a rag. Reverberations of a day's worth of hammering echoed in his tendons. The space spanning his shoulders was tight to the point it hurt. He sighed, dragging a hand from the hard knob at the back of his neck to the crook in his shoulder.

He should wash up before bed. It wasn't too late.

Magic to light the lantern at the door flowed forth smooth as silk. Once, it would've been like grit, sharp at the edges, leaving his spirit hollow after. Now he hardly had to think about it.

In the dark under the guidance of the lantern's flow he walked to the Blue Moon. Inside he made it halfway to the stairs before passing an unwanted nuisance. Ryker tilted his head up enough to let his eyes glint past the hood. "Look who it is. You going to dunk and dash, or are you actually going to take a bath?"

"Maybe." He was considering a real bath.

"Huh. Don't tell me you learned how to relax."

"I don't have time to relax."

"Why bother bathing at all then?" Ryker said. "It's not like anybody is going to notice."

"Cecil would," Martin said blandly. The plain response made Ryker scoff. It was like the guy didn't expect an honest answer. Seriously, Martin was tired and didn't have time for this. "I'm going."

"Fine then," Ryker said with a careless shrug. Martin went upstairs and didn't look back. Thank gods they didn't have to share the bathhouse tonight.

Men of varying ages came and went through the bathing area. Martin didn't pay much attention while he undressed and set up on a washing stool in front of one of the mirrors. Lathering and pushing a scrubby sponge across his skin kept the drowsiness at bay.

He couldn't stop thinking about the time Alice had invited him here. It'd been such a nice trip. Maybe he should soak in the springs tonight. But, ugh, he was so damn tired. He'd snooze in the bath. So, no.

By the time he left he was almost asleep on his feet. He made it home, changed into pajamas, and collapsed face up on the bed. Staring at the ceiling he plopped the back of his hand to his forehead.

What if he asked Alice to go to the hot springs?

The back of his hand tapped against his forehead. Tap, tap, tap.

He was going to have to read Priscilla's book.

Cold stone floor burned into his feet as he padded to the shelf and back.

~ ~ ~

A knock on his door woke him up. The hard surface of a book scraped under his hand. Not a book. The book.

"Hey Martin, you're gonna be late."

Cecil was about to open the door. Martin scrambled to shut the book. Its extremely scandalous, barely-clothed cover slammed shut. Shit. "Right, uh, thanks!" he sputtered, shoving the thing under the blanket and trying to look casual.

One heartbeat. Two. Cecil's steps skipped away from the door. Gods. Thank you.

Shaken, Martin tried to collect his things in order to start the day. He plunged Priscilla's book into the depths of a shelf but that didn't get what he'd read out of his mind. First off, that was not how blacksmithing worked. At all. He wanted to complain.

Secondly, even though he hadn't made it far before falling asleep the two main characters were already…

He'd never be able to see Priscilla in the same way ever again. This ranked so much worse than "the talk" Simone had blistered his and Cecil's ears with years ago. Martin had never wanted anything to do with any of it. He just wanted to work at the forge and not think.

That seemed like a great plan right now too. He threw on his apron. He needed to not think, because the one thing Priscilla's sexy blacksmithing novel proved was what Martin already knew.

He was falling in love with Alice.

Chapter Text

Martin's uneasiness began when he did not see Alice in the field on the way to work. She didn't stop by True Strike, and when Master Darroch went to check the farm's shipping crate there were no deliveries.

She might have worked herself sick. She could be getting one of Simone's lectures right now. Worse, she could be suffering through one of Simone's experiments. No, no, Simone wouldn't do that.

Simone would definitely do that.

He was overreacting. He resolved to bring Alice some cold medicine and orange juice in the evening, which was the only time he had a marginal chance of finding her outside her completely chaotic schedule. By now she could be three floors down a dungeon or grocery shopping with Cecil; he had no idea.

Still, no matter how Martin repeated to himself things would be okay and he didn't need to rush to Alice's side like a lovesick pup, he couldn't shake the notion that something was wrong. Foreboding followed him all afternoon, through lunch at Elsje's, and out the doorway down the wooden platform back onto the street.

Fence pickets and foliage hedged the edges of the Wishing Tree plaza. Through the gaps only one person was sitting on the benches facing the tree. He recognized cascading gold hair immediately. Alice wasn't wearing her SEED cap.

He stopped walking where St. Coquille street's cobblestone met brick, all the uniform red pavers leading straight to the great tree. Occasionally a pink petal drifted from above to join others scattering the walkway. The petals matched Alice's casual outfit. She didn't even have her ranger gear. Seated on the bench she distantly stared at the bricks in the path without seeing them.

Foreign as it felt to step off his daily route he did not hesitate. He left the cobblestone and entered the plaza, drawn to Alice's side. "Hey."

She popped to awareness like he'd snapped his fingers. "Martin. Oh." Her gaze sank back to the ground and she scooted over to make room on the bench.

Was he supposed to sit? There was enough space to do so. Skittish about accidentally touching he chose to join her on the bench anyway. For a while neither of them spoke. Something bad had happened and it hovered over them like a chipped sword.

He had no idea what to say. A cherry petal swam its way downward and landed at his feet.

"I left SEED. I'm not a ranger anymore."

Impossible.

"Captain Livia said it's for the best."

"Why?" he demanded. "I'll go talk to her. They'll have to let you back in."

"Martin, wait. I'm the one who decided to leave. I can't really talk about why. I wish I could." Hair curtained over her eyes as she hung her head, her gaze stuck on the blank space between unblemished city shoes. She wanted to speak but couldn't.

"SEED business, huh?"

"Yeah." Her fingers scrunched into her lap.

"You're not leaving Rigbarth are you?"

"I don't know."

Her leaving hurt too much. He looked away. "I'd like it if you stayed."

The words hung. He didn't dare discover what Alice looked like right now, what she might think of him. He hurried to cover up his hopes. "Um. Cecil would too. So would everyone else."

"I'm glad." Some of her warmth returned. He craved it like an empty coal craved fire. He wanted to protect her; if he could craft an armor that could keep her safe from SEED's secrets he would. But this wasn't that sort of problem.

"I guess I suddenly have a lot of free time," Alice said. "I don't know what to do."

"What about the farm?"

"It belongs to SEED." Frustration broke the cheer she always tried to hold. "I can't remember anything. I know I'm supposed to help someone, but it's all vague feelings, and I get these headaches, like I'm so close but not."

She paused. Covered her emotions with a pathetic chuckle. "This is silly. I must sound crazy. I'm not special, or anything…"

"You are."

She looked at him.

Martin leaned back against the bench. The huge pink tree canopy refused to reveal the sky. "I forgot this because it wasn't important then, but when Scarlett first moved here she tried to clean the farm up. Cecil had all these stories about her work. Anyway, none of it stuck. It always looked the same to me on the way home." His secret melted feelings started to carry softly in his voice. "But then you came along, and nothing's been the same since. Sometimes I think even the forge burns brighter."

The blushed color of the blossoms lit Alice's cheeks, her gaze fluttering away like gold leaf. "Martin, you… really have a way with words."

She heated his heart so easily. Courage sizzling with terror urged him to tell her more. He truly wanted her to stay. She could farm every last speck of soil around his house if she wanted.

Alice's hands slid from her lap to her sides along the bench, her fingers fanning out over the wood slats. She hadn't touched the fields at all today. Peach clean skin went all the way up to a dried cut just above her knuckles.

His own hand rested at his side on the bench. If only he'd left his gloves off. Without them she'd see all the nicks and scars, the soot. But somehow he thought she might not mind so much. And then, if the gloves were off, he could feel.

What would it feel like…

His hand lifted just a little. A touch was supposed to be a comforting thing. Resting a hand over hers, it'd mean more than simple comfort, but would she know? If she did would she accept it anyway?

His palm hovered along the wood. Gods he was nervous. Almost too nervous, heart galloping away, but not nervous enough to give up. It was becoming hard to breathe.

So focused he was on Alice's hand he almost didn't notice a few people had entered the plaza for a casual stroll. This was a public place. Geeze, what had he been thinking? He curled his fingers and took his hand back. Good thing too because the sound of Cecil's reckless running came down St. Coquille street.

"Alice! There you are," Cecil panted.

"Cecil! Hi! Hi. What's up?" The speed Alice shook off her sadness surprised Martin. No, he realized as the two began rapidfire talking, she hadn't shaken it. She was hiding it for Cecil's sake.

Cecil kept talking. "Terry said you might be looking for things to do, and he wants you to help with some of our cases. If you have time, that is. He seemed to think you would. Oh, please say yes. Everyone knows you're Rigbarth's star ranger and it'd be amazing to solve mysteries as a team!"

Martin sensed the moment Alice's spirits actually lifted. Gloom bloomed into determination. She had a purpose now. She seemed to thrive when she did.

He hoped the new job offering would help Alice unlock the lost memories troubling her. As much as he dreamed to be closer, somehow seeing Alice hurt was far worse than knowing she could move away once she remembered her past.

She turned to him, petals trailing from her hair, hidden sunbeam complementing her natural glow. "Thank you."

Then she and Cecil ran off towards the detective agency.

Martin had been so close to taking her hand. It tortured him that he hadn't but he was equally relieved. She had left with Cecil awfully fast after all. Maybe she'd needed an escape. Had he said something wrong, or…?

He hoped not.

The whole way back to the smithy he pulled at the fingers of his gloves, loosening them, tugging them tight again, fiddling with the arm guard's leather straps and buckles. A debate over whether or not Alice shared romantic feelings hummed at the back of his mind even as he manned the counter, watching Master Darroch tool away at some clasps on a pair of gauntlets.

Sun beamed through the circular window above the smithy's main door. Martin shifted to the side to avoid it. He sold a bunch of hinges, bolts, hooks, the usual. A couple customers came to pick up orders. Thirty more minutes and he'd be free to get back to sword smithing.

Since the doors were open for airflow Martin saw the unusual person walking up the path. Spotless white gloves and a jeweled noble coat made Lucas hard to miss. He didn't belong in Rigbarth at all.

When Lucas entered True Strike Martin felt the runes shift. All the runeys stepped aside as if for a king. In that space a feeling of serenity and joy pervaded. The effect was slight but Martin's magic made him sensitive to it.

It was extremely unsettling. He tried to avoid Lucas when he could. He could only imagine what Cecil must feel thanks to all his innate magic. Yet strangely both Cecil and Alice reveled in Lucas' company.

Weirdos, the three of them. Darn it Martin was smiling again. He hid it behind a hand and pretended to contemplate the ledger open on the counter. Meanwhile Lucas turned in place, gloved fingers to chin, gaze casting a wide arc from the roof to the floor around the entire shop.

"Fascinating. I regret not coming here sooner."

It didn't sound like the comment was directed at Martin. Unsure what to do he stalled behind the counter. Interactions with strangers: ugh.

"Hmm, yes. That is very interesting." Lucas said, looking at him. Through him? Martin peered over his own shoulder but nothing stood out among the weapons hanging on the wall. Lucas picked up the conversation as if he had not spoken aloud in the first place. "I must admit this process of making armor is exceptionally fascinating. Would you mind if I were to observe?"

"Go ahead. We're used to it. Just, keep the questions to a minimum. The job is dangerous and distractions make it worse."

"I see. You won't hear a peep out of me, then."

Off to the side Lucas perched elegantly on one of the shop's stools and observed Master Darroch's work. Once the busiest customer hours ended Martin was free to get back to the anvil. He forgot Lucas was there at all.

Sparks showered under MacGuyver's blows. With the sounds of Master Darroch at the other anvil it became music. A lot of people found the process noisy, but they didn't stay long enough to get past the few heavy blows and into the rhythm of quieter details. Small strikes chimed, flakes of steel scattering off metal, the scent of woodfired tang unlike anything else on the planet.

When Martin finally finished for the evening he pushed his visor up and wiped the sweat that'd snuck past the cloth underneath. He turned. A shadowed shape sat on a stool in the corner of the smithy.

"...! Geeze. You scared me," Martin grumbled. The smithy's lanterns lit up. Oops.

Lucas paid no attention to the sudden fire. His voice was kind. "You wished for silence and I granted it, did I not?"

"Right. Yeah. I, uh. You're the first person to stay all night like that. Not even Alice…"

The attention in the room sharpened at Alice's name. Martin didn't like it. "Sorry," Martin cut off. "If you have something to say to me just say it."

"Not at all. I'm simply curious about the qualities of the individual who's managed to win so much of our dear Alice's attention."

"You make it sound like you're her guardian."

"Of a sort."

What? No way. That couldn't be, and yet… "You lost your memories too, right? Do you know her?"

"I do now. I think I may have before. In fact I'm certain I did."

"Does she know that?"

"I haven't told her, if that's what you mean."

"Why?"

"Because even if she had all her memories she wouldn't recognize me. Alice and I had not met previously."

"But you just said—" Martin brought confused knuckles to his chin. Lucas claimed he knew Alice in the past but had not met her? If Alice had been famous that might make sense. No, none of this made sense.

"Don't worry. I mean no ill will. I could hardly be that sort of entity even if I wanted to." Lucas smiled cheerfully. Damn, this guy. Something was strange about him. Nothing bad, just odd, and it made Martin wary.

Lucas said, "I fear this is not going as I'd hoped. Perhaps if we were to talk about that sword you were making."

"What of it?"

"Would it be possible to create a hammer in such a way as well? I must admit many of your techniques are more modern than what I remember."

Wait, Lucas knew about blacksmithing?

It turned out he did. Martin grilled him for info and he happily obliged. Lucas described in his strange academic manner some of the ancient techniques Martin had only read in histories—and Lucas did so with more detail than Martin had ever been able to figure out on his own. A lot of it would be impossible now. It relied on rune magic of people and creatures that were extinct.

Martin pried as much information as he could out of the conversation. When it ended he stood at the counter lost in thought, trying to absorb the impact. Some of the ancient methods were precursors to the improved techniques Master Darroch used. But the rest, could they be useful somehow?

"This brings us to the second point of my visit," Lucas said. "I'd like to commission a weapon."

"Sure. I'll let Master Darroch know."

"Ah, I'm afraid I wasn't specific enough. I'd like to commission you to make it."

Oh. "But—"

Lucas raised a hand. "Darroch's skill is certainly impressive. However, the weapon I'd like is intended as a gift and I have reasons I wish for it to be your hands that craft it."

This man made no sense. Martin sighed. He'd taken commissions like this in the past. Even if the customer couldn't tell how lackluster the results were, he always knew the work would've been better off assigned to the Master. Some people just couldn't be convinced to spend the extra money for better workmanship.

Martin struggled to imagine budget was an issue because of the way Lucas dressed. Ironically, though, nobles were often the stingiest people of all. He'd had some bad experiences with rich clients. Silently he hoped this would not become one of them.

Martin breathed out. "Okay."

"Excellent!"

"What do you want made?"

"As I said before, a hammer for combat. Oh, yes, and it needs to be able to withstand heat. If you were to put it in the forge again it needs to not melt."

"That's impossible."

"Is it?" Lucas acted surprised.

Of course a weapon would soften if it were heated to such an extreme temperature. That's how metal worked.

"Well, I shall handle that part then," Lucas said. "I revise my commission. Let's go with only the warhammer."

"So, a regular warhammer."

"An extraordinary one. The best you can make."

He was doing this, then. Part of his training included envisioning the weapon to fit the client. Even though visioning had never helped in the past, he asked Lucas to describe the person the gift would be for. Lucas listed technical specs. He didn't reveal the person's name or appearance or life story. It was a relief. Martin could do technical.

The next morning he began sketching.

Chapter Text

Milk tea coolness tipped to Martin's lips when Alice slid into the restaurant seat facing him.

"Does Darroch have horns?"

Martin choked on his drink.

"Under his hat, you know, little ones?" Alice poked her fingers to the sides of her head. "He's a dwarf, right?"

The spot of milk tea in his lungs scorched. Eyes watering, he tried to cough without spluttering. "No."

"He's a human then?"

Cough. "No, to the horns. No horns." He forced himself to drink while a repressed coughing fit threatened to hack up his lungs. A glass of water from Fuuka thunked next to his tea and he switched to that. Agh.

Looking sympathetic Alice charged onward regardless. "So only were-animals have horns. What about wings, do any of them have wings?"

Liquid scratched his vocals. "How should I know?" He cleared his throat. Interesting that he could be dying and at the same time feel excitement push at his stomach. Alice sitting with him brought out all the little sparks.

She'd become more herself since starting at the detective agency. Cecil bragged about her constantly. The two of them had grown very close…

In front of him Fuuka purred some things at Alice. Alice ordered tea and it arrived with a wag and a happy "grrawh!"

Alice sipped her drink. "You travel to make deliveries, and you have customers from all over, so I figured you'd have seen all kinds of people."

He had. He'd never paid attention to any of them. Featureless faces flicked through his thoughts. Once he'd delivered a katana with an ornately decorated sheath to a were-woman. Had she been a bird? A kitsune? No clue. "I can't remember the people, only what they bought. What's with the sudden interest in were-animals anyway? Ask Fuuka." Martin turned in his chair to call her back, but Alice stopped him.

"Fuuka said she's never seen wings."

"I still don't get why you'd ask me. I haven't traveled that much."

"Because," Alice said, catching him with emerald joy before looking into her tea, "I like talking to you."

Lucky he wasn't taking another sip. She was going to make him choke again.

She smiled. "Does that surprise you?"

"Sort of. Yeah." Now it was his turn to look away. "I like talking to you too."

How embarrassing. But he'd said it. Alice's smile fanned to its fullest, an expression he'd come to recognize in the way her eyelashes tilted cutely at the ends. Before he did something foolish he turned the question around. "Then you've seen a person with wings?"

"Yeah. On the Gadeus Grasslands. She had these huge horns, like this, and her tail was long and thin. Her wings didn't have any feathers. They were more like a farm dragon's. Oh! And she was running around in her underwear."

Martin did not know where to begin unpacking any of that.

"She said she knew me." Alice groaned and sank to her elbows on the table, hiding her head in there. He could practically see the frustrated scribbles above her. "I don't remember her at all!" Alice lamented.

He gathered a clump of rice with chopsticks. "Then she can't be all that important."

"Huh? But."

"You said if you had anyone important you'd remember them."

"She is important. Not to me personally I don't think, but, I should know her!"

He smiled. He'd been smiling for a while now. It happened when Alice was around. "Then you'll remember her."

Alice rose up enough to show off her teasing grin. "Wow. You're confident. What's gotten into you lately?"

I'm in love with you? Martin thought, but he shrugged and said nothing through a small smile, looking into the glass of milk tea cupped in his hand.

They ate lunch together. Clicking chopsticks, plates and glasses, footsteps on the wood floor, and the idle talk of other visitors couched their spot in the corner. Fuuka's pink fur danced from table to table. Dishes came and went from the kitchen trailing steam and the savory-sweet scent of caramelized onion.

Alice talked about her current case in the Grasslands and Martin listened. All his attention tuned to the world right here in front of him. He could taste the rice's clean jasmine salted with seaweed and sesame.

Alice's voice sparkled. She flaked apart her grilled salmon with chopsticks, the other hand slipped to her curtain of hair to hold it back while she caught a bite.

This must be happiness.

This is what it would be like if he'd never been left behind. He'd be relaxed and open. When he met someone, he wouldn't be on guard, wouldn't wonder what do they want from me? Cecil could be off doing his own thing and Martin wouldn't be concerned about random strangers taking advantage of his brother's wilful naivete. The world would be a good place instead of a constant struggle for survival.

For this one ordinary moment Martin tasted it. The life that could've been.

"Hey… are you okay?" Alice asked.

"Uh. Yeah. It's nothing."

It was everything.

Alice watched him and he couldn't meet her gaze. They'd both finished eating a while ago.

He should go. He'd dragged the precious moment out as much as he could. Master Darroch would wonder where he was.

"I'll pay for yours," he said, pushing up from the table.

"Huh? Why?" she stammered.

"I want to."

This amount was fine. It wouldn't cut into his monthly savings too much. He could afford extra spending now and then, since these days Cecil had his own income.

At the counter Martin sorted out coins before Alice had time to protest. She hovered nearby, probably wanting to insist she pay for herself. He wasn't going to let it happen though.

"Fuu fuu fuu," Fuuka snickered at the situation. Martin held out the payment. She snatched the shinies out of his palm and trotted away. Now Alice had no choice but to accept what he'd done.

Alice's cheeks puffed out indignantly. "Hey," she complained. Martin felt like he'd won some sort of competition.

They parted ways outside. "Take care of yourself out there," he said.

"Thanks! You too."

Detective Alice disappeared up the mountain. Martin went the other way, humming something he'd heard in a tavern once a long time ago.

~ ~ ~

Martin's sketches for Lucas' project became increasingly more elaborate. The man spared no expense for the warhammer he'd commissioned. Top quality ores arrived in a shipment from the capital. Lucas even procured a single opal of dragonic stone. What it must've cost to obtain—Martin chose not to think about it. How in the hell was he supposed to work with these rare materials without ruining them?

Over and over he requested Master Darroch explain the principles of dragonic stone. Each time Martin listened with full force. Then he repeated the lesson in his head. After a few days of memorization he asked to be taught again. This happened enough times it actually drove Master Darroch to the brink of irritation.

"Martin, enough. Time to learn with your hands, not with your head."

So, Martin switched to making prototypes out of scrap metal. Eventually he'd have to risk the true materials. Once he heated the real deal all the pieces had to come together quickly.

On the prototypes he tried different decoration methods. Paint was out of the question since it'd burn up if the warhammer was supposed to withstand fire. Cold engraving worked, kind of, but this was soft scrap metal for practice, and the engraving was too shallow to give off the striking appearance he wanted.

He warmed a different test piece and scrubbed a chunk of wax over it until the surface had a nice smooth coating. Lifting the piece he held a fistful of black grass underneath and let his magic slowly burn down the herbs. Thick smoke poured over the waxed metal. It turned a smoky dark color easy to see.

With a set of etching tools he drew out a scale pattern, black wax lifting to reveal shining metal underneath. When the art was finished he brushed an acid wash over the top and waited. After the acid ate away enough metal he cleaned everything off to see the result.

It was underwhelming. He traced a finger over the design. The art looked more like a drawing than something real and physical that could be held. When he closed his eyes the texture of the scales under his fingers barely registered.

Martin brought the prototype over for inspection.

"Not bad," Master Darroch said.

"It's not deep enough."

Master Darroch turned the metal in his hands. "You'll have to do it hot. No way 'round that with a metal as hard as that warhammer's gonna be."

He'd have to use everything he knew about hot forging to get the look he wanted. The decor would have to be done with punches, or with individually made scales folded into the base. Geeze.

What had he gotten himself into? He wanted to blame Lucas but the design was Martin's idea. The thought of changing it this late flitted through his mind.

I should quit. I can't do this.

Be quiet.

I'll never be as good as Master Darroch. I'm just an apprentice…

No. Martin snatched a steel rod out of the scrap pile. He was going to be better than the master. Into the forge the steel went until it turned a vicious orange. Tongs lifted the lavalike rod and set it into a vice, where Martin dug out MacGuyer and a set of sharp chisels and started sculpting.

He worked himself into a frenzy. For the next week he lived and breathed this commission, didn't go out or see anyone, not even Cecil on nights trudging home in the dark. He figured out exactly how he wanted to approach the warhammer's design, and then, the day before he attempted it for real with the expensive stuff, he let himself sleep.

With a clear mind he tackled dragonic stone for the first time. The tough material resisted but Martin just continued heating and hammering with the blueprint burned in his mind. He sawed and filed harshly into the metal, wedged it apart, twisted it, watched the scales flare to life.

It took three days.

When Martin removed the warhammer from the annealing oven he was surprised. Had he actually made this? It looked too good to be his work.

The weapon earned an approving hum from Master Darroch.

Martin set the warhammer aside. Throughout the morning its fiery color would catch the corner of his eye and he'd look and be surprised all over again. Parting with it would be hard.

He spread burlap over the front desk, lay the weapon on top, and rolled it up. The trip to the crystal shop on the other side of Rigbarth wasn't too far. Inside the store a few highborn travelers perused glass displays of jewels. They shot curious glances at Fuuka's swishing tail while she dug through a bin of miscellaneous items Heinz got from who knows where.

Lucas circled around the front counter. "Ah. Excellent timing. I don't believe there will be any trouble if we go upstairs for a moment. Please, this way."

"Ahah." Seriously, who talked like this?

The fancy carpet on the stairs felt too plush under Martin's boots. He glanced down hoping not to see obvious prints. It looked alright. The top of the Crystalabra opened up to a circular room with an elegant rug in the center, windows on all sides, a writing desk stocked with fresh ink and quills and many books. Nearby a bizarre tube with a lens on it stood on some sort of tripod.

"Heinz tells me that is a telescope. It provides a lovely view of the stars. I would not recommend using it to look into the sun however."

This crazy guy. Did he look directly at the sun with that thing?

Lucas just smiled. He clapped his hands together, the sound muffled by the white gloves. "Now. Let's see about that enchantment shall we?"

Martin borrowed the desk to lay out the burlap bundle and unwrap the warhammer. Crimson color of dragon scale unveiled itself.

"My… it's even more amazing than in the drawings," Lucas murmured. "I think I shall have very little to worry about with this."

Lucas collected the weapon in both hands. His eyes closed. Color crept into the bottom of the handle and spread all the way up. Martin felt, rather than saw, an alarming influx of fire runeys from every direction. The air itself started to vibrate. Downstairs Fuuka growled.

A brief flash of intense heat hit the room. Then everything went back to normal.

"Done. No fire shall destroy this hammer." Lucas slowly turned the handle in his hands, admiring the craftwork. The warhammer was unique. There would be no other like it. Whoever Lucas planned to give it to should know.

"It has a name," Martin said.

"Good. What shall I call it?"

"Fiersome."

Lucas' eyes widened. Fiersome, the dragon god of destruction.

For propriety's sake Martin should've chosen a different name but he had not been able to. The warhammer looked too much like a dragon in its decorative embellishments, and the metal's earthy red appeared even richer after being enchanted. A scaled tail swirled lazily around the handle.

Fiersome's element was fire. To most people such a name would be a curse. But for Martin the heat of the forge was his daily reality. Surely as the flame could turn his bones to ash, it could also form the weapons and armor that'd save his life. For him, fire had only ever been a force of creation.

In fact he didn't know what kind of person he would've become without it.

Lucas' expression turned to curiosity. "Ha ha, well then Fiersome. I look forward to seeing your penance." His voice turned to Martin. "It's said that to prevent the apocalypse, earthmates sealed Fiersome away for 1,000 years, one year for each of the earthmates who fell in battle when they first cast the spell."

"I've heard the stories."

"I see. As for stories, I may not be able to intervene in Alice's directly, but you are different." Lucas lay Fiersome on the desk. "Use it well."

The warhammer glimmered against the wood in fiery tones.

"This is for me?"

"Yes."

He couldn't comprehend it. The material costs alone—Martin would never have been able to afford such luxury. There was no way. "I can't."

"It is a gift. I insist."

Martin traced the metal scaling that flared into ridges at Fiersome's head, the imagery sharp and clear even through thick gloves. He couldn't have this. It. He. It was like a part of him.

"We all have someone we wish to protect," Lucas said.

Alice and Cecil: If Martin had Fiersome he'd be more effective at fighting the increasingly powerful monsters surrounding Rigbarth. "I can't repay you."

"Your services to this fine community are more than enough."

Martin felt seriously indebted to this man. It was uncomfortable to owe so much but he couldn't turn down the offer, not when it meant keeping his orphaned family out of danger. Gloomily he fitted Fiersome's handle into the sling at his back. He owed Simone and Master Darroch his life, Cecil his sanity, Alice his happiness, and now Lucas this. All these situations were hopeless scores he'd carry around for the rest of time. How could he ever hope to repay them? He couldn't.

Lucas saw him off with a smile and a courteous bow.

On the streets people noticed the red dragon hammer. Heads turned when he passed.

"We make quite the pair, don't we?" Martin muttered. He knew how he looked, all rough edges decked out for heavy manual labor without a scrap of nobility to his name.

Last minute customers trickled out of Rigbarth's shops. Martin passed by the old flower store on the way to the beach. Its windows were shuddered and lifeless. The following house carried a fresh coat of paint. Another had potted plants in the window. The places that used to be empty were filling up.

As expected Martin found Ryker dozing off against a tree by the abandoned house near the beach. The gray hood was off, hands folded casually behind messy hair. He looked so peaceful.

Martin kicked Ryker's foot. Pale eyes snapped open in an instinctive glare.

"Spar with me."

"Feh. Last time you ended up in the dirt like a mopey little baby. But sure, if you want to prove how great I am again I'm free."

Come to think of it he'd forgotten about that. His mouth firmed into a grim line while he reached around back and drew Fiersome.

"Wait, what the—what the hell is that?" Ryker startled.

"My new weapon. I need to break it in."

"I'm out. If that's what I'm up against forget it."

"Get your swords. We're sparring."

"Nah." Ryker stood and strolled away, his fingers threaded together in a lazy stretch behind his back.

"You…!"

"Go pester Reinhard if you want to fight so bad."

"Reinhard." Was he supposed to know who that was?

"C'mon. You spend way too much time in that damn brick building. Yes, Reinhard, the knight who's living in the ruins."

Oh, that guy. That was his name?

"You're hopeless," Ryker said without looking back, shooting a half wave as he walked off.

Whatever. The ruins were next door so Martin gave up on the arduous task of motivating Ryker into a duel and instead went to visit the knight. Maybe Reinhard took fighting as seriously as he seemed to take care of his equipment. It'd be nice if they had that in common.

A new training partner wouldn't be a bad thing at all.

Chapter Text

The seasons started to change. Barest hints of gold crept into leaves, the color of metal he'd used to associate with Alice. But, like the seasons, she'd changed too.

The day she chose to rejoin SEED was the day Martin figured he'd seen a glimpse of her true self. She was confident. Strong. Freakishly charming, with all sorts of crazy interests, rune magic that made no sense, and yet… still a bit of a cute oddball.

Alice wasn't like gold or any other metal. She was the fire that made the metals move.

Whatever fear that'd caused her to break away from SEED in the past didn't scare her anymore. She'd become more determined than ever. Honestly she could be a little frightening. She'd practically dragged him out of Elsje's the other day when she noticed he hadn't been sleeping well.

He didn't mind being dragged. Any excuse for time together he'd take. It never felt like enough.

"Something on your mind?" Murakumo asked. "You've been staring at that pendant for so long I feel like I should buy it for ya."

"Wh—" Martin snapped out of it. "No. I zoned out is all."

Murakumo gave a hearty laugh and clapped Martin on the back. "Alright alright. Just checkin'. If you don't get a move on all the good stuff will be snapped up."

People milled around the festival square, visiting the different crafts vendors who'd set up. Some booths contained fancy displays from neighboring towns. Others were no more than a quilt spread out over the grass. Near the river Rigbarth's bakery sold fresh breads alongside a handful of other vendors with foods like cut fruit and dango. Fuuka struggled with the heavy sign for Elsje's half-existent stand until Reinhard jumped in to lend a hand. Elsje herself was nowhere in sight.

Martin had come down to the crafts fair at midday once things were in full swing. There wasn't a point showing up sooner; festivals were mostly socializing and setting up booths, time better spent at the forge. Days like today were nice for having the shop to himself without any customers.

He'd barely made it under the festival banner before Murakumo caught him. Since then they'd been poking around the vendors for anything interesting, but Murakumo mostly wanted Martin to take a look at his entry for the craft competition.

"I think I did pretty good," Murakumo boasted. "But I want an expert opinion."

Tables covered in plain black cloths held this year's entries. They stopped to see the beaded bracelet Hina had entered. The way Murakumo's tail swished with pride made Martin wonder if this was really what he wanted to show off.

Murakumo's entry was grouped in with other metal accessories. It seemed like he'd created a wide, cufflike bracelet this year. Interesting. The style was old fashioned, not the newer slim look customers asked for these days.

Murakumo said, "Scarlett took me on a patrol around Kelve Jungle and I kicked this out of the dirt on accident. It didn't have any decoration so thought I'd fix it up."

Martin took a closer look. "May I?"

"Go ahead."

Just by holding it he cold tell the ancient metal didn't have the same toughness as modern alloys. Murakumo could've engraved this with his claws alone if he wanted. Knowing Murakumo it was impressive he'd managed to do the design without nicking it on accident. There weren't any scratches. The metal had been properly cleaned, treated, and polished.

"Good job on the restoration." Martin turned the bracelet in a circle. Embossed images of critters ran across the surface. The lines weren't as clean as a master's, the hand not as steady, and the animals lacked depth. "The art… it's alright."

"I know, I know. It's just so hard to do details with these clumsy hands."

Martin would have blamed the sheer size of Murakumo's hands, but he'd seen Master Daroch do intricate artwork. He set the bracelet back in its place. "It's an improvement over last year's." Improvement was what counted.

"Hoh. You remember what I entered last year?" Murakumo asked, surprised.

"A handmade bronze charm. You mixed up the kanji for Warrior and engraved Dirt instead."

"Man. That was embarrassing." Murakumo laughed. "You can remember what metal I used but not poor ol' Reinhard?"

Martin growled Ryker's name under his breath. That loudmouth.

While they were standing by the competition area Hina's happy giggle caught up with them. Soon enough they had two children darting around, one tugging at Murakumo's hamaka begging for sweets, the other trying to look tough and disinterested. Murakumo took over the situation with natural dad energy.

As this was going on Martin looked over the festival. The second he saw the SEED uniform his insides did a funny little flip. Alice was chatting up one of the vendors.

Martin glanced at Murakumo.

"Go ahead," Murakumo said, shepherding the children toward the food stalls. "I got this."

Martin made his way across the grass to Alice. When she noticed him she bounded up, sounding happy but surprised. "I didn't know you'd be here," she said.

He shrugged. "Sometimes there's rare ores for sale, or glasswork Master Darroch and I can't make."

They walked the festival together like it was the most natural thing in the world. Alice wasn't sure what glass art looked like so he found examples at different stalls. The pieces ranged from practical items like candleholders and bottles, to baubles with swirling colors, to rune tech components.

"They heat the glass up like we do metal. It goes onto a hollow rod that's spun and blown for shaping. If you want to see it in person there's a glassblowing place in the capital. I could show you."

He must've said something odd because Alice stared at him blankly for a while before uttering, "Really?" like she didn't believe it.

"Sure. You haven't been to Palermo yet, right? Next time I have a delivery there you can come if you want." It's not like they hadn't shared a room before.

Alice went quiet while she considered it. He knew she couldn't up and leave her job whenever, and she had the farm too. "I bet they don't allow monsters either…" she said aloud.

Was that the sort of thing she was thinking about? He started to stress over the silver wolf. She wouldn't try to ride it to the city, would she?

"What about a farm dragon?" she asked.

"What?"

"Nevermind! Nothing. It's nothing."

That was the second time she'd mentioned farm dragons. Good grief—he had a sinking feeling Alice had been doing more than taming untamable monsters. There was something big she kept hidden, some private mystery Cecil said could be dangerous to Alice if it got solved. It must have to do with SEED.

Martin disliked secrets. He preferred everything to be direct and out in the open. But, Cecil was right. There were some things better off not knowing. And sometimes even when people knew the truth they wouldn't accept it.

The longer Alice pondered the offer the more downcast she became. "I want to go," she said, "but I don't think it's a good idea for me to leave Rigbarth right now. If I even can."

She must be talking about her commitments. He understood. Still, disappointment sank in. He'd be going alone on those trips after all. "Right. You have SEED, and the farm."

"Yeah…"

She wasn't giving him the whole story. It wasn't his business to pry. Martin sighed. At the same a crash of crates and barrels broke out towards the festival's center. Surprised shouts followed.

"Ah, heheh, sorry, I better handle this. I took Scarlett's shift also. I thought you'd be at work all day—" the racket in center square got louder "—I gotta go. Sorry!" Alice dashed off.

He'd aimed too high asking her to take that many days off. Gah, he knew he should've stuck with the hot springs idea instead. But he was screwed either way because if she said yes to any of this they'd end up alone together.

When that happened there'd be no more distractions.

~ ~ ~

Ping ping ping. Tik tik.

Patterns emerged in the metal. He wanted to fuss about each little detail, but he had to strike while the iron was hot. Flakes chipped off the surface and scattered over the anvil.

He reached over and switched to a decorative punch. When the tip rested in the right spot Tiddles hammered down with a musical ting. One punch at a time flowers popped over vines chiseled into the flat of the metal.

At this point he wasn't aware of his own existence. The art did itself. Decorative grooves grew deeper, shining fresh steel glinting through the raw work.

Master Darroch's voice on the far side of the smithy butted in unexpected. He wasn't talking about work either.

"Somethin ain't right."

A sudden ill swoop grabbed Martin's stomach. Coming back to himself he realized how sick he felt.

"Think I'll go lay down," Master Darroch said. But instead of doing that the great man alarmingly began to slump forward in his chair, over the work table, engraving tools scattering out of the way.

Spiraling exhaustion crushed down on Martin. He barely managed to slide the tongs he held to rest safely on the anvil.

There was a thump as Cecil showed up, bumping into True Strike's open doorway and gripping onto the doorframe as if he might sag to the floor otherwise. "Martin. Something's wrong with the magic."

Was that what he was feeling?

Cecil slid to the ground.

"Cecil!" It didn't matter that Martin might pass out. He shoveled his brother off the floor. "Come on, get up."

"What about Darroch," Cecil mumbled goofily.

Martin could feel consciousness slipping away. Priorities. "Where's Alice?"

"I dunno. My runes are… haah…" Cecil's deadweight slagged into Martin's side. "Can we go home? I don't really wanna solve any more cases."

Martin had already started in that direction. "Almost there. Just hang on."

Half dragging his limp-legged brother made fumbling the door latch to their house near impossible. Martin leaned against the wood trying to get fingers to do anything useful. The latch clicked. Both of them toppled into the foyer.

"Whee," Cecil giggled.

Things were hazy. Why was he at home?

He needed to check on Alice. All he had to do was stand up.

Come on.

Stand.

His hands plunked down to the rug in the living room. He wasn't going anywhere.

Things went black for a second. He didn't remember hitting the ground. At eye level the floor spread out forever to its own horizon.

Cecil hadn't closed his door. He lay passed out halfway over the bed still wearing his detective gear.

"Hnnnh," Martin groaned.

She wasn't where he could see her. It was killing him. He was dying.

What was her name again?

The door to the outside world sat ajar. Afternoon summer spilled over stone to the carpet. He wasn't sure where he was.

Suddenly the door banged against the back wall. "Martin!"

Oh, that's right. Alice.

Alice kneeling in front of him, saying words, hands hovering everywhere but never touching. He wanted her to. Didn't she know that?

"Alice," he managed. Her eyes went wide.

"You remember me," she said.

Like he'd forget.

She was fine. He could sleep now.

And then she did touch him. "Hey wait, not on the floor! I can't lift you by myself. Can you stand?"

His feet, his everything, his entire existence, like an anvil on his shoulders. One ten thousand pound step at a time he slogged himself upright. Then he trudged to the bedroom.

He had to… something. Through an oppressive fog of exhaustion his fingers tried to follow a routine.

"Just. Okay, wait." Her hands were at his back, untying. Light tugs and firm presses pulled at his waist. The weight of his kit fell away. The heavy leather apron went next.

Behind him she hummed a semi-hysteric note. Then her hands tickled into the back of his hair. She undid the knot holding his visor in place.

Maybe, someday, when he wasn't so dead he'd reflect back on all this. He had a distant dreamy feeling it might be pretty good.

The mattress fell into him. He'd never go to work again. Nothing mattered.

"I have to go. I'll fix this," she said.

Go where?

Please don't go anywhere.

The silhouette of an explorer's ship disappeared over the horizon, never to be seen again.

"Don't leave me," he said.

Please.

"Don't… leave…"

Chapter Text

The last thing Martin thought he remembered was collapsing in bed pleading for history not to repeat itself. Fragments of past and present and fiction welded together until there was no way to tell what was real. A promise to come back. Alice's fingers sliding through his, slipping away, and no matter how hard he tried he couldn't move.

He floated through an eternity of nothing. The surface waited somewhere above but struggling didn't bring it any closer. He couldn't breathe, couldn't yell, sinking forever. Somehow even as he fell he was being crushed, all his energy sapping from his veins.

An unseeable presence existed in the void with him. In the pure black he knew it was there. It didn't make a sound. The closer it got the more horror squeezed his throat.

It would kill him. Then it would be free.

He drew on fire magic but nothing happened. He reached for a weapon but grasped air. None of his tools were there.

When he looked down he witnessed his chest splitting open one curved rib at a time. The bones weren't human.

Martin woke up huffing for breath. Sweat plastered clothes to his skin. Disoriented, his gaze flicked over shadows in the room. Everything was out of place. The blacksmithing apron hung over the back of the chair and the metal visor lay on the desk. His boots sat next to his bed. He'd fallen asleep in his clothes again.

No, he hadn't. Swimmy memories floated back as the nightmare separated from reality. For things to be in strange places Alice must have been here. So, everything before that was real too.

Something terrible had happened.

He sat up to strip off drenched linen and wool. Sweat dampened the bedsheet where he'd been. It'd all have to be washed. "Awful," he murmured to himself, unable to erase the picture of his own ribcage cracking open.

Darkness oozed into the house as if it had physical form. He split the curtains. Pitch black revealed itself. On the surface it looked like any other moonless night.

Down to his boxers he padded through the house trying to shake the bad premonition. He collected an apple from the kitchen and sliced it into chunks. Crisp juice punctuated the low burn of the lamp he'd lit. At this hour even the forest slept.

Cecil's door remained open. From the entryway Martin lifted the lamp. Shadowy light reached the bed and Cecil's curled, sleeping form. He was still wearing everything except his shoes. Either he'd crawled into bed himself or Alice had been here.

Martin debated what to do. Nobody would be awake right now. His own fatigue weighed heavily on the skin under his eyes, giving it that loose greasy feeling.

He'd dreamed of Alice's hand over his. Had he dreamed that? He rubbed his face, stumbling into a haphazard outfit so he could walk outside. If he was going insane he'd like to know.

The path to the smithy crunched under his boots, lantern squeaking in swing. From the top of the hill he looked toward the ocean. No other lights marked the streets. Ryker might be awake, but he never carried a lantern so finding him in the pitch would be impossible.

Martin unlocked the shop entrance. Weapons on display cast sharp shadows over the walls. Maybe he'd sleep here until dawn. He could go under the drafting table in the back corner like he used to when he was a kid. Looking at the desk now… it was too small. He wouldn't fit under it.

He paused near the door to Master Darroch's quarters. One beat passed. Two. Patiently he waited for some sign of life. Eventually there a bit of a snoring breath muffled through the walls. Okay.

It was getting hard to think through the nightmare fatigue on top of general exhaustion. Everything looked normal and everyone was still here. He was being irrational. Waking people up to figure out delirious stuff he was beginning to doubt had even happened: no.

Rest first. Ask second.

~ ~ ~

Nobody remembered.

Master Darroch seemed confused. "Sure I went to bed early, but what's this about Cecil fallin' in the doorway?"

"It's nothing."

Before lunch Martin made a detour to the general store. Misasagi's delicately pointed claws tapped her lips. "Hmm, something happening with the runeys? I don't recall anything of the sort."

Lucy said, "Ummm. I think I had a really long dream? Haha, sorry, that's probably not helpful."

Hina. "Something scary happened in my sleep. Is that what you're asking about?"

Reinhard, who happened to be shopping: "Magic? I can't say I noticed but I'm afraid my skills are purely martial. If it's runey-related perhaps I could enquire with Lady Beatrice?"

Ryker, lazing around the rocks by the Blue Moon's spring…

Actually Martin didn't talk to Ryker. Nothing useful would come of it.

Fuuka, at the restaurant: "Prrup?" She didn't understand but mentioned she'd had a nightmare about a black fog.

So all he'd learned was that many people slept poorly last night. His own nightmare must have started earlier than he thought. Otherwise he remembered something no one else did. Mistaking that as real was disturbing. Should he visit Simone? Was he ill? He didn't feel sick.

Out of everyone he spoke to only Cecil seemed to recall anything. Cecil thought he felt something wrong yesterday and was planning to get Martin. "And the next thing I knew I woke up! Crazy dream, huh?"

"You don't feel anything off right now?"

Cecil looked up for a while. "Uh. No. If anything the runeys are happy. Like a lot of the missing ones came back to us."

"There were missing runeys?"

"They've been disappearing for a while now. I've been investigating in my spare time. Turns out runeys are hard to track when they go into the earth." Cecil turned shy. "So far the only thing I've turned up in this investigation is that Alice is amazing with magic."

When Martin made time to look around the Silo, Alice wasn't around. He checked the task board. General postings pinned haphazardly around the middle. Scarlett's side was organized in a straight column. Alice's was empty. She always grabbed everything off the board and crammed it into her pack.

Before he could decide whether to talk to the SEED Captain he was interrupted by a very strange girl approaching the Silo. Striking horns crowned her head, followed by a thrashing, irritated tail and what looked like sharp wings tucked behind her back.

From the waist down she really was wearing only her underwear.

"What?" the girl snapped.

"Alice told me about you."

"She… did…?"

"Do you know where she is?"

"She's sleeping. Bother her and you'll regret it." Fingers started to curl into a threatening spread of claws.

Behind folded arms Martin stared cooly back. He had no idea what this were-animal's relationship with Alice was, but as long as Alice's amnesia remained she wouldn't remember it. Not everyone from the past would be well-meaning like Lucas. Whatever this girl's situation, Martin didn't appreciate the attitude.

"Don't threaten me," he said.

The girl's lip curled into a snarl. Hooked wings spread wide. Martin calculated the speed he could react to an attack.

Scarlett showed up in the nick of time. "Radea. Need I remind you acting civilized is part of your agreement?"

Claws slowly relaxed. The puff around Radea's neck smoothed and her wings furled. "I'm only here for Livia." She brushed past and went inside without further comment.

Martin glared at Scarlett. What in blazes was going on here?

"I'd like to give my word that won't happen again, but Radea is far beyond my ability to control."

"Then what's she doing here?"

"She is Captain Livia's sister."

"And Alice…?"

"She rescued Radea."

Right. Somehow that wasn't a surprise. Not with the way the new flower shop owner had been swooning around Rigbarth saying, 'she saved me, she saved me,' recounting Alice's daring rescue mission in overdramatic detail to anyone who'd listen.

Alice's life was getting more and more crowded. It made him feel small.

You're not important.

Martin squashed the thought immediately. Behaving like a pitiful orphan wouldn't help him win anything.

Scarlett's heels clicked together as she stood straight. "Alice requested that I deliver a message. Ahem." She dipped into a formal bow and refused to meet his eyes. Was she blushing? She quoted: "'I promise I'm okay. Don't worry about me and make sure not to overwork yourself.'"

Heh. It sounded weirdly severe coming from Scarlett, but, those were Alice's words. Not that he trusted them for a second. "Is that true?"

Scarlet spluttered. "E-excuse me? This is a private matter; I have no stake in it!"

"I mean is Alice okay?"

She took pause at that. Her gaze lowered, face stricken with a grim expression. After some thought she said, "Yes."

That was all he needed to hear. Scarlett would not sugar coat the truth for anyone's sake. "Alright. Thanks."

He gazed up at the Silo's second story. Curtains were drawn over the large window that looked over the task board. Somehow, he couldn't shake the feeling he was being left behind.

It hurt.

~ ~ ~

Autumn was getting chilly. Cold air hit Martin soon as he opened the door that morning. It wouldn't be long before everyone donned their winter clothing.

On his way out Cecil caught the door behind him. "Wait for me!"

His brother had started leaving at the same time he did. Normally, this would have been great. But…

Martin barely stepped onto the road by Alice's farm before Cecil went barreling down the hill at full speed, waving his arms and shouting excitedly. "Good morning!"

Alice's laughed greeting rolled over the grasses. Cecil was already at her side and into a spiel. The two fell into chatting, all while Martin made his way along the northern road. Alice managed to squeeze in a quick nod for Martin before she was back animatedly responding to Cecil's story.

Every day this week had been like this. She and Cecil were getting along great. This could only be a good thing. It made zero sense to be upset by it.

Yet here Martin was, seriously considering taking the other route to work.

He couldn't understand it. He longed for Alice's company and he lived to see Cecil happy. So, why?

In fact now that he thought of it Cecil talked about Alice a lot. Cecil would ask questions like, "How is she doing?" and, "Did she visit True Strike today?" Comments Martin would've dismissed as detective stuff, but now…

He just.

He didn't want to think. Not like this.

If he waited it out it might stop. But it didn't. It only got worse.

~ ~ ~

He was in the middle of grading ores when Cecil rapped on the open door to his workshop/bedroom. "Hey," Cecil started. "Listen, I invited Alice over to bake cookies for everyone on White Day, and, I think you should help!"

Wha— "No."

"Aww, c'mon Martin."

Damn. He'd completely forgotten about White Day. He'd been so wrapped up in the… the… he couldn't look where he'd hidden Priscilla's book. All these emotional problems were making him crazy! Ire over something simple as a cookie exchange soaked into his tone. "I'm busy."

"No. You can make time."

Martin hated that his brother knew this. Under the desk his boots dug to the stone floor. "I want to finish the armor I'm working on."

Cecil sparked with anger. "I can't believe how wooly-headed you are sometimes. That's fine. We'll make the cookies ourselves and it will be awesome."

"Good."

"Great!"

Cecil turned on his heel. A cloudy tension filled up the house to the point it might split in half. Martin was only somewhat sure his brother hadn't manifested storm clouds. He didn't doubt Cecil could. If that happened what was he going to do about it? Set the corner of the kitchen table on fire?

No. He was grading these ores. If over the holiday Cecil and Alice were going to be here baking, he wanted nothing to do with it. The thought alone—he'd rather eat a plate of mushrooms. Raw.

~ ~ ~

Standing at the bathhouse that evening, shoving money at Murakumo across the counter, Martin realized he'd wanted to give Alice a cookie and now he couldn't. He couldn't give cookies to anyone. He'd kicked himself out of the house so there would be no baking.

Murakumo's eyes narrowed while he slid the coins into a clawed hand. "Hey, you're usually pretty focused. What's eatin ya?"

"People," Martin said.

"Oh, riiight." Murakumo said before surprise took him. "Wait, are you seeing someone?"

"No."

"Well in that case ya should just ask them out! How about a trip to the bathhouse? I'll even give you a discount."

"Murakumo, honestly," Martin grumbled.

"Is that too much? I could probably do it for free."

Just like that Murakumo bartered himself down to zero. Really, this guy. "I'm taking a bath," Martin said, and walked past the counter.

"Hey. I know you're a private guy and all, and you don't like charity, but you do know if it's something I can help with I will, right?"

"Yeah. Thanks."

Martin went up the stairs. At the top he stopped.

Murakumo was an actual, honest friend.

Groaning, Martin turned around. He clunked back down the wooden steps. One of Kumo's ears turned. Then his head, then the rest of him, arms folded with a big wolfish grin.

Martin choked down his pride. "How good are you at baking cookies?"

That was how he ended up in Blue Moon's kitchen mixing a bowl of batter, wearing a cooking apron instead of his leather one. It was pink and cute and if anyone ever found out about this he'd never leave True Strike again.

Out of the round cookie dough balls one stood out. It had cocoa powder mixed into it. After being baked it was this chocolate cookie Martin took and laid in decorative paper, set inside a White Day box, and enclosed with a ribbon.

Just in case.

Just in case he was misinterpreting Cecil and Alice baking their own cookies together.

~ ~ ~

Shortly before the holiday Alice asked Martin to go with her on a mission. Even with his newfound insecurities he couldn't say no. They needed a chance to get away from everyone so they could talk. This would be it.

He was consciously walking into an ending. It felt like a funeral.

Alice looked concerned but she didn't let his seriousness infect her. "Okay, great," she said. She glanced at his hand and stammered a bit before getting to, "Y'know what, I'll just teleport us. I'll be right after you so… I'm sure it's fine."

The now familiar sensation of lifting off the ground, being enveloped in light and rushing wind, wrapped him up. Next he knew he dropped into hard packed earth. Dust clouded around his boots. The air was thick with electricity before a storm.

Overhead ominous clouds rolled across the peaks of the ravine they were in.

"Where is this?"

"The Thundering Wastes. It's a bit north of, um, the desert."

"Can you teleport anywhere?"

She waved her hands. "No, only places I've been! And only around Rigbarth. Maybe, if I get stronger, I could chain them. But I'm not so sure I can leave, Martin. I think I'm tied to the land here."

Could that be true? The world was a strange place. He'd never heard of anything like it but he didn't have his nose in legends the way Cecil did.

Alice and Cecil reading myths together… he was a fool to be here right now. "What happens if you leave?"

"I'm afraid to find out. Can you help me clear a path?"

That's what he was here for, wasn't he? Martin went to work navigating rockfalls and fighting back monsters. Fiersome got his exercise. Wherever they fought Alice closed the gates. She could see them.

He'd known for a while Alice wasn't exactly human. Ultimately what she was didn't matter. Alice was Alice. He'd… still want to be near even if she turned into a wooly at night. If she couldn't leave Rigbarth he'd stay too.

But he didn't know if that's what she wanted.

Not knowing where they stood ate away at him. Patrolling with Alice, fighting beside her, leaving his mining behind to be with her; these weren't friendship activities to him. They meant more than that.

He couldn't take it anymore.

"Cecil likes you."

Alice shied away from his gaze. "I hope so. It'd kinda be a problem if he didn't."

Oh.

Her and Cecil.

He couldn't think.

He couldn't be here, or look at her. Why did everything hurt? Why? "I have to go," he heard himself say.

"Wha?"

"Sorry. I forgot. I have work." He always had work.

"Martin, wait."

He didn't wait. He couldn't bear to be there one second longer.

~ ~ ~

Martin closed the door to his bedroom and leaned against it. Stupid, stupid, stupid. He sighed. The back of his head thudded against the wood as he squeezed his eyes shut.

Soot and ash were all that remained of the little fire in his heart. He didn't want to do anything. He didn't even want to work. Across the bedroom the family portrait smiled, and, how foolish and blind he'd been. Stupid.

He'd been so busy trying to make sure his brother grew up in the best possible circumstances he hadn't thought about what would happen when Cecil moved on. Of course he was going to. They weren't kids anymore. What would happen when his brother left?

It'd just be Martin. Alone. In this house.

This big house, and nobody else.

Had he imagined…? Had he actually thought…?

Cecil was the socialite. Martin was just, himself.

A leaden weight pressed down on him, squeezing until there was nothing left. He untied his tool belt and the heft of everything inside clattered on his work desk. His arm guard, his reinforced boots clanked off. The leather apron draped over the chair but there was nothing he could remove to escape the crushing despair. This awful emotion made him not want to exist.

He crawled onto the bed and lay there. For how long, he didn't know.

Beneath the tool shelf sat a box overflowing with discarded projects. There, under one of the floor's stones, was a chest with the money he'd been saving so Cecil could afford to go to the royal academy in the capital.

Martin had always known his own future would be lonely.

He rolled to face the wall, sniffled, and smeared at his cheeks. Ugh. He hadn't cried since his parents died. Now seemed like a dumb time to start.

Water welled up and he wiped it away. He tried to focus on breathing but it just made things worse.

What was wrong with him?

He'd left Alice in the wilderness over his own fickle imaginations.

Gods, he was an idiot. What if something happened to her? Cecil would never forgive him. He'd never forgive himself.

It wasn't exactly warm out, either. Darkness crept through the bedroom window. He'd lost track of time. Hours. Hours had past since he'd left her. A sick stone settled at the bottom of his stomach realizing what he'd done.

Bleary-eyed and exhausted he sat up. It felt like he could sleep forever, but, hey, what was new? He shuffled on a pair of barely used casual boots and left the bedroom.

A cold sandwich sat on the kitchen table. Cecil thought he was still at work and had left the food out for him. The door to his brother's bedroom was closed.

Martin wasn't hungry. He took the sandwich anyway. Like an idiot he stepped outside without any light. Chill autumn air bit his exposed shoulders. Right, a cloak. And a lantern. He collected both from the hook inside the doorway.

His weak fire magic wouldn't manifest. Trying to draw it out hurt the barren ashes of his heart.

"Come on, damn you," he muttered.

She could be injured.

He bit back a pained hiss as the lantern's wick flared orange. Finally.

He had no idea what time it was but the moonless roads were dark. To the east, late night town lamps lined St. Coquille street. In front of him Rigbarth's SEED outpost was unlit. The second story light wasn't on. No, no, no.

Martin jogged down the hill, cold air misting his breath. He made it past the fence around the front of the Silo. From a hook above the double doors muted lamplight spilled over the entryway in case anyone chose to wake the field captain with a late night emergency. It wouldn't come to that. It wouldn't.

He skipped the main entrance and circled to the outside second floor steps. Darkened stairs creaked under his boots. He knocked on the door.

No answer.

He might cry, or yell, or—

He knocked louder, not caring anymore whether it woke the neighborhood.

Flurried noises came from within.

Immediate relief weighed him down. He wanted to sit but doing so at the top of the stairs was crazy. The door peeked open just as it dawned on him what he must look like: a mess.

"Martin? Oof, it's cold."

"I shouldn't have left," he blurted. "I had to make sure you were okay."

The door parted further and Alice clenched hands over her bare arms against the cold. A magical ball of light hovered at her side. She was sleepy, barely awake, in a no-nonsense brown nightgown. "What time is it?" Alice asked. "Did you just finish work?"

"No, I… no."

She hesitated. "Do you want to come in?"

Yes. Wait. No!

"You don't look so good. Maybe we should get Simone," she mumbled.

"I'm fine. I'm going to sleep now. Um. Yeah. Sorry for waking you."

"O-okay."

Magically he didn't trip on the stairs on the way down and fall flat on his face.

At home he changed into his own unexciting pajamas and tried not to notice they matched hers. Everything was still 100% terrible but she'd made it back fine like she always did.

Was this it? Was he just going to let Alice go with Cecil without ever mentioning his own feelings?

Yes. Yes he was. He'd never hurt either of them like that.

Martin's heart broke. And at long last, he finally got what he wished for. He felt the last bit of his magic whiff out. The handful of fire runeys that followed him drifted away and the whole world seemed to fade. Its magic was still there, he knew, but he couldn't sense any of it.

He was just an ordinary human now.

Chapter Text

He hit the metal, but it wouldn't bend, or it'd bend too much, and he'd have to reheat it to get it going again. Any task that normally took an hour took two. Stupid mistakes slowed him down, things he hadn't gotten wrong in years.

"This is a 5/8ths fuller, Martin," Master Darroch said when Martin brought out the wrong tool. "Where's your head? Hurry up, haven't got all day."

"Ah. Right."

Martin held the metal in place with tongs in one hand, and set the 1" fuller to the top of the metal with the other.

"Your angle's wrong. Y'know what? Never mind. You take striker."

They traded places. Blow after blow Martin hit the fuller Master Darroch held in place. A groove emerged in the metal.

"Stop," Master Darroch said, long before they were even close to finishing. Martin stayed his hammer. "Take the day off. You're bound to get hurt not payin' attention like this."

"Yes sir."

Martin stepped out the back door and stood in the space between the stone wall and the charcoal supply. He did not want the day off. He wanted to hide in his work and never face the world again.

He went to the yard's pine tree, crushed his back to the bark, and slumped to the grass. A mushroom squished under his hand. Several more large gooey mushrooms surrounded his spot. Their awful rotting peat scent invaded the air. Great. Only one thing could make this day even more perfect.

Over by the river the idiot with their arms folded casually over the bridge railing decided to straighten up and stride to Martin's side of the village. Yep. This was happening.

Ryker arrived like a lazy angel of death: hood thrown over his eyes, hands shoved in his pockets. Martin glowered at the ground and wished he was dirt. Him, or Ryker, didn't matter.

"Wow," Ryker said. "Sulking. Gotta say, it doesn't look good on you."

"Piss off."

Even Ryker winced at the venom. Martin regretted saying it. Now was not a good time.

Ryker's voice was cold. "Fuuka is missing."

"She's not at the lake?"

"No."

"Crap."

"Crap is right. Get up, I need your help."

Martin swallowed his horrible feelings, rising to his feet and scraping his mushroom-ruined hand over the pine best he could. Mostly he wanted to wither away but Fuuka was more important than that.

Elsje, Simone, and some of the others searched town. Ryker and Martin went further out. They couldn't find Fuuka at any of the spots Martin knew about. Except the last one, near the mountaintop—

"Dammit," Ryker muttered, crouched in the grass, rubbing blades of it between his fingers. He pulled back and opened his hand. Red. "There's blood."

"Should I get Kumo or Scarlett?"

"No time." Ryker hurriedly scanned the area for the next droplet of blood, track, or other sign. Martin stood by as guard. There was no way he could pick out tiny details the way Ryker did, but he could keep watch. Something or someone had been here.

They had to backtrack a couple times when Ryker went too far without finding any new trail. Still, it was surprising how fast Ryker picked up the direction. "The Grasslands. Of course she'd be there. Stupid place is crawling with monsters." Ryker reached under his cloak and unbuttoned the guard for his swords, snatched a roll of fighter's tape and began wrapping his arms. He tore the tape off with his teeth.

"I have a knife," Martin said.

"Habit. Forgot you were there. Also," Ryker flashed a dagger sheath buckled to his hip, "so do I."

"Showoff."

Without further talk they prepared for battle. Martin adjusted the straps on his armor and removed the small buckler shield from his kit, attaching it to his free arm. He was the one who was going to keep the monsters occupied so Ryker could search.

They didn't have to talk to communicate. They simply got to work.

Reinhard's training sessions were seriously paying off, Martin thought, as he beat down the more aggressive monsters prowling the rocky outcrops. He wasn't getting nearly as beat up as he usually did. An arrow clattered into his arm guard and he ducked behind a boulder.

Ryker's whistle called high and clear from the forested area further in. Martin followed. It was starting to get cold. A single snowflake swept through the darkening sky. They wouldn't make it home before nightfall.

Another whistle cut through the Gadeus mountains. This time it stuttered urgently.

He ran. A strange runic miasma started leeching from beneath his feet. Not elemental runes, something else, something dark. Even without magic he sensed it.

It felt like the nightmare.

Seeping midnight clouded the area up ahead. Mist silhouetted Ryker's battle stance, swords out. Martin thundered over.

The thing in the black fog whirled at the noise.

Fuuka was sprawled on all fours, her eyes wild with fight craze. She glared at them as a chilling hiss parted her fangs. Blood fur shot from her skin and rippled outward. Tattoos vanished. Claws turned to paws. Long spines of pink and white coated her wolf form. Tooth trap jaws continued to spit a violent hiss that made Martin's skin prickle.

Any other time a were-animal would attack them on principle. But this was something else.

Fuuka was warning them.

A specter loomed out of the darkness behind her, its huge mass making her look tiny.

With a foaming snarl Fuuka whipped around and lashed out at the shadow. Canine jaws clamped down on a part of the darkness Martin couldn't see. She did not let go. Her body flew wildly in all directions as the formless creature thrashed.

"I can't see where to hit. It's like nothing's there," Ryker cursed, slashing at the thickening dark.

But Martin did see. Between Fuuka's clenched jaws the visage of a massive curved rib began to appear. There were more behind it. A whole tunnel of them.

His grip on Fiersome tightened. The bodiless bones floated too high to reach. Fuuka was going limp. Her wolf limbs swung weakly as the rib ripped back and forth. No way to know which direction she'd be thrown.

Ryker's swords thumped to the ground. Martin dropped Fiersome and raced underneath the monstrosity. A crack snapped from above and pink fur went flying. He barely had time to plant his feet and relax his knees.

Solid ground knocked the air from his lungs. Wolf claws scraped across leather and metal. A horrendous high pitched squeal shook from Fuuka while she writhed blindly on top of him. The dark energy was forming a condensed point that tried to force its way into her chest.

"AAAaaagh," Martin roared while whatever the hell battled over top his bruised body. Arms hooked under his armpits. Ryker yanked him out of the clawed flurry. The air was vibrating, and the void inside Martin pressed down so hard on his skull he could hear Fuuka's howling.

 << NO >>

<< WON'T LET YOU IN >>

<< WON'T LET YOU >>

The ebony siphon pointed at her heart grew thinner, denser, stronger, parting the fluff around her chest. A sparkle inside her fur glimmered.

Ting!

Green shattered. Darkness smashed backward into itself with a monstrous cry. The floating ribs shuddered and burst. Fans of dust propelled outward, vanishing into nowhere.

Martin lay dazed in the grassland looking up at the crescent moon. Snow spotted over his sore arms.

She'd called it the black fog. Nightmares were becoming reality.

His heart pumped so hard it was difficult to breathe. Maybe it would explode. Maybe he was okay with that. It might be nice to just go to sleep here on the snow-frosted grass and not get up.

Give up. There's nothing to go back to.

He couldn't quit now. He wasn't alone and this wasn't finished.

By the time he crawled to his feet Ryker was already administering first aid on Fuuka's unmoving wolf form. Martin shuffled a few steps away and picked up the glittering shards on the ground. This is what had stopped the black fog from taking Fuuka.

"She's alive?" Martin asked.

"Barely. We need shelter."

"On it."

As the last of the evening light vanished Martin searched for an opening in the rocks, gathering whatever stray sticks and branches he could. There wasn't a lot on the grasslands. Snow felted the wet kindling in his hands. This would be a rough night.

The place he found was less a cave and more a divot in the mountains, enough to get them out of the snow and breezy air.

He went back for the others. Ryker had managed to get Fuuka to her feet, but she was still a wolf. Bandages wound tight around her furry limbs.

Martin didn't have room to feel anymore. He trailed behind, watching Fuuka slowly limp across the plain. One paw after the other plodded with an uneven lurch in between. Her tail dragged.

Ryker looked back at him, once, to be sure he was there.

When they reached the mini cave Fuuka went to the back and shakily lowered herself to the ground. She lay facing the wall not looking at them. Martin unpacked the little food he had in his supplies while Ryker went to find firewood without much success.

By the time Ryker returned Fuuka's fur had mostly faded away and she was back to being a were-animal. Luckily the bandages held. It was strange to see clothes reform during the transformation. There were gashes in the fabric where she'd been hit before going feral. Ryker's patchwork healing could be seen underneath.

Fuuka shifted so she could see them even though she was curled in a tight ball. "Sor-ree," she whispered.

Martin pulled out the shattered rune crystal. "Where'd you get this?"

"A charm Alice gave to protect me from IT."

"The thing attacking you?"

"…IT."

Maybe he was translating wrong. That's all Fuuka would say. IT.

"What's 'IT?'" Martin muttered.

"Hell if I know," Ryker said. "You're fine here, right?"

"Gonna go back in the dark?"

"Yep." Ryker flicked his hood up. He'd make it to Rigbarth by morning, and then he could get assistance. Martin gave a nod. Ryker disappeared outside and became just another shadow in the night.

Fuuka wouldn't stop shivering. He needed to get the fire started. He piled kindling, tried to keep Fuuka talking and conscious. "IT came after you. Why?"

"My pack protected from the black fog. We kept IT from leaving. But it ate our happiness.

"I wanted to be happy. So I left.

"IT followed me. I freed IT. I didn't mean to," she cried.

The cave was getting increasingly chilly. For the next long while Martin struck flint and steel over tinder to no avail. Frozen darkness consumed the sparks.

Fuuka whimpered that it was cold.

"I know. Give me a second."

His hands would not stop shaking. He couldn't get a flame to catch. The grass and kindling were damp with snow.

"Ruuney haffan?" She asked.

"It won't work." No fire runeys. No magic. He pressed his palms to his eyes.

"Marr… is… sad."

Yeah. He was sad. He sighed, and raced steel over the flint again. False fire chuffed across the tinder and vanished.

Fuuka went back to her wolfish language. "I ruined cookie day." Then she broke into a cascade of quiet, teary howls. Awooo. Awoo.

Puppy crying was just too much. Martin was the worst at comforting people, not to mention he felt shitty himself, but it wasn't like he could sit there and wait for Fuuka to stop. He got up and sat next to her while he worked on the fire. She balled against his side immediately, still sobbing. Woooo. Wooo.

"You can give cookies tomorrow. It's not a big deal."

"I r-ruined Marr's pack mate cookie."

"Murakumo told you about that, huh," he said.

"A-Alice will be sad too. Awoooo."

"Alice isn't going to be sad because of a cookie."

"But now you can't be pack mates."

Martin snorted, since Fuuka's misunderstanding was honestly a little amusing. "That's not what White Day is for. People don't need cookies to be, uh, 'pack mates.' You can tell someone they're special any day you want."

"Oh." She stopped crying and sniffled into his leg. Thank gods.

He still couldn't get the damn fire to light. Martin's existence was an insult to Master Darroch at this point.

Thump thump. Fuuka's tail wagged weakly against the stone. "Alice was afraid Marr wouldn't want her pack mate cookie."

Tssschtt! Magic showered sparks over the tinder. A flame lit. He sucked back the pain and hurried to feed the flickering smudge dry bits of grass to keep it alive. Surely he'd misheard that. "I thought Cecil and Alice were together."

"I helped! Cecil is a good teacher. Now I hunt and bake," Fuuka purred proudly.

"The three of you made cookies together."

"Wuf!"

It began to sink in that he might have grossly misinterpreted everything, and that he probably owed Ryker two cookies for being a complete jerk earlier. The more he thought about it the more flame he found to feed the fire. Wood dried and began to burn properly. "Alice made a special cookie for me."

Fuuka's ears drooped. "Was supposed to be a secret."

"It's fine." Better than fine. He might be alive again. He might be—Oh, his brother was such a nosy doofus. Cecil had been trying to help him, hadn't he? Ugh. And of course Alice wanted to be on good terms with Cecil. She knew how much he meant to him.

"Haha…" He really was a wooly-head.

He stayed awake to tend the fire. He couldn't sleep anyway.

Two fire runeys danced in the flame, and for a bit he was able to see the faint outlines of rock runeys floating in the cavern's atmosphere. They had little zigzag patterns on them.

~ ~ ~

Scarlett came that morning with a buffamoo cart so they could transport Fuuka to the clinic. Alice and Lucas had gone off to the Thundering Wastes on a mission and wouldn't be back until later.

After Fuuka was settled back in Rigbarth, Martin caught up on the sleep he'd missed. It ended up being more of a nap, and soon after he found himself too antsy to sit still, so he went to the smithy and argued with Master Darroch until his mentor gave in and let him use the forge.

Time crawled to a standstill.

He doodled fantasy weapons along the margins of a schematic. Was Alice back yet? It was still light out.

Nervousness set in.

Now that he had worries the night came too soon. He wasn't prepared for this. He busied himself organizing tools around the shop. Metal shavings around the anvils needed to be swept up. Master Darroch returned from his evening walk. "Still here huh? Wrap it up soon; somebody's waiting for ya."

Martin did one more quick pass before locking up for the night. It was dark and snowing again. Cold dots landed in his hair while he turned the key for the smithy door. A thin fluffy layer outlined his bootprints.

It was the kind of night where the moon reflected off the snow so brightly he didn't need a lantern.

On the way home Alice's upstairs light greeted him, only this time the window wasn't empty. She waited with her head rested on folded arms over the windowsill. Molten hair flowed when she saw him and raised her head.

He paused in the rectangle of light cast on the snow.

"Martin… can you come up here for a while?"

She wanted him upstairs for a while. His heartbeat quickened. "...Sure." He should drop his stuff off at the house first. "Can I—?"

"Yeah! Yep! Whenever you're ready. I'll be here." Her chuckle was a little nervous as the window slid shut.

At home Martin closed the door. Alice was waiting for him.

Fire above and below, she was waiting for him. Should he bring his tools? No that was crazy. Take all that stuff off. Except his kit, just in case. Weren't people supposed to wear nice things on dates? Was this a date? He didn't have anything nice! Oh, the chocolate cookie, he'd forgotten about that, it was still in the kitchen. He grabbed the cookie box and shoved it in his kit. No time for a bath; in an efficient rush he got the water basin and soap and scrubbed. Hands, face, why was all this stuff only crossing his mind now?

Good enough. He hoped.

His nerves chased him down the hill around to Alice's steps. Before he could lose his mind or his will or both he went up.

He didn't need to knock. The door opened and there she was, without the ranger gear, at home and down to earth in a way he didn't usually get to see.

Alice's smile was the only greeting he'd ever need.

She let him in. The door closed behind with a soft click.

Chapter Text

Alice had a workspace for every trade that existed in Rigbarth, and then some.

"Sorry if it's a little messy. There's a lot going on," she said, clearing a spot for him at a table that could seat four.

SEED had lent her the entire second story. Extra beds sat near the stairs to the ground floor, for any visiting rangers he supposed. Every weapon she'd ever bought at True Strike had its own place either in a rack or on a wall mount for easy access. But there were items he didn't recognize too.

"This is old magic," Martin said, hand cuffed to his chin while he studied a staff that had to be at least 500 years old. The heavily tarnished base material looked like some mix of brass and powdered rune crystal. "What are these glyphs all over it?"

"Earth Script. It's an earthmate language."

"Huh." He'd heard of but never seen the dead language. If it was genuine the smith who made this would have had to be an earthmate themselves to even write it. Martin memorized a section of the inscription, looked at the floor, and looked back up.

All the lettering had completely changed.

"Unbelievable." As many times as he looked away and back the text was impossible to read.

Alice's light laugh carried across the room. "Enjoying yourself?"

"Erm, sorry. I get carried away with stuff like this."

"Here." She lifted a damaged shortsword off the wall and handed it to him. "I think it's supposed to be two swords but I could only find the one."

The weapon was gold in color but far too lightweight to be metal. He ran his fingers over the flat of the blade. It grabbed like sandpaper. "This is dragon scale. Where did you find these?"

While Alice seated a record onto the turntable of a phonograph, she talked about her adventures in the depths of the ruins around Rigbarth. Some were places the rare visiting archaeologist might delve. Others were so far into the wilderness not even were-animals went there. They all had one thing in common: being a locus for runic energy.

She'd been using her powers to heal those rune spots. "The more I remember, the more I'm sure that's why I came here."

"Makes sense. You always had a knack for magic."

A calm melody started to flow from the phonograph. Martin looked over a craft table piled high with odds and ends. A half-finished hair ribbon lay in a spot where all the chaos had been pushed back.

Alice joined him. For a while they discussed magic. It didn't distract from how close she was, or the intimacy of time together without all the work gear.

"Are the runeys always visible for you?" he asked.

She chucked. "Yeah. Actually, it's a little hard to see when they're really active."

He hadn't thought of that.

"The fire runeys like you," she said, something in her gentle smile quietly killing him. "See?"

She extended her hand. In her palm magic essence kindled. Bit by bit translucence became an ovalish orange creature with little feet and licks of flame atop its head. "They're so rare," Alice said, "but you've always got two or three following you."

When she lowered her hand the runey faded.

She said, "At first I was curious because True Strike is the only place with fire runeys that stay. I hardly see them otherwise! I thought it might be the forge that attracted them. But now I know…" her voice became soft "...it's you."

Hopeful eyes met his and he couldn't breathe. Rose dusted Alice's cheeks. Did she know how important she'd become to him?

Quickly she turned around. "Anyway, y-yeah!" She picked at the unfinished hairpiece on the craft table, threading ribbon through her fingers. Silk folds piled on top of each other. She silently set to work, pulling pins from a cushion and sliding them into the bow to secure it.

Martin did lots of sewing to get by. Stitching was also necessary for all the smithy's leatherwork. Curious, he came closer to inspect Alice's craft. She set down the hairpiece to thread the needle. Behind her Martin reached for the ribbon.

Alice was too fast. Thread slipped through the needle and she grasped for the ribbon. Their hands met.

Martin froze. The color of his forge-burned skin rested against the canvas of hers.

He hadn't meant to. Neither of them moved.

Muted notes from the music crept through the silence.

Martin recalled the moment her magic had swept him away for the first time. He'd clutched onto her out of surprise, and it had stayed with him, the feeling of another person that near. Someone he wanted to be close to. Closer than anyone else.

Snow drifted past the window pane. He drifted with it. One step forward. Two. Featherlike he settled behind her, the lightest press of his chest to her back, as if he could be the shelter for her fire. Gods, what was he doing?

She had not moved her hand from under his. The hairpin slipped from her grasp and clacked on the workbench.

An overwhelming urge to hold her hammered alongside anxiety over the risk he'd taken. He wanted to hide against her. Drown in her.

They stood together at the table, the flames of her hair barely tickling his chin. She let her weight rest against him. He felt he closeness of her acceptance, the way her arm slid under his ever so slightly, how everything became more.

He wanted. Oh, how he wanted. With painful desperation he wished to bury his face in her hair. Kiss the side of her neck. Have her turn to face him, be with him, let her steps guide him backward to the bed.

Haah. Wow.

She sank deeper into him, and then he did tuck his face to the curve of her shoulder. Cream silk met his restful lips, and still it wasn't enough, still her hands guided his into an embrace, the worn linen of her shirt smoothing under his arms as they circled her waist. Their colors were mixing, light tickles of fern silver and amber gold, and Martin was being made and unmade all at once. Never had he known a feeling like this. He held her from behind, music and snow pattering silently on the rooftop.

All he wanted was this. Eyelashes fanned shut. In the dark it was only the two of them. Alice let him hold her this close.

My Fire.

She'd put his pieces back together, welded the cracks in his heart. She was warm but if she willed it he'd stay and burn. He'd melt down to nothing in her flame.

Alice's contented sigh fluttered the tips of his hair. She'd wanted this, wanted him. The realization was so powerful he couldn't help giving a gentle squeeze, which caused her to make more happy sounds. He wasn't thinking anymore. He followed the fire, nuzzling the side of her neck, feeling her fingers chase up his circled arms. Even his magic was pooling. The intense feelings threatened to squeeze tears from his heart.

In the background the music dropped off, the record spinning a fizzy quiet until it picked up the next song. There were no words.

How long they held each other he didn't know.

Eventually Alice shifted so he loosened the hug. Slow and soft she turned to face him. One of his bangs skewed over his eyes.

Alice caught it. Fine hairs rolled between her fingers. "I wasn't sure you liked me," she said.

"I do." The gravity sounded like a vow. Really, though. He couldn't have her think for one second he didn't care for her. That and so much more.

She freed his bang. Her expression was captivating, like emerald starlight, and her voice carried a quiet sincerity that made his heart skip. "I'm really happy to hear that. Except it's going to make what I have to say a lot harder."

"Anything you want. I'll listen."

She slipped further from his grasp, which was probably a good thing, because, gods, despite being totally overwhelmed he'd been this close to being sure she wanted a kiss.

He'd almost kissed her.

While Alice went across the room to make tea he tried to get a grip. He sat himself down at the table she'd cleared earlier and watched her boil water. She spoke while she did.

"Umm. I'm not sure where to start. I didn't get to see Fuuka very long, but Simone told me what happened."

"The rune crystal you gave her broke."

"That means I'm running out of time," Alice said.

"Because of IT?" he guessed.

"Yeah. There's this… thing… that got sealed away. It's been trying to find its way back but it needs a host to do so."

"That's why it attacked Fuuka."

"She's not the only one. You know how Priscilla is afraid of the ruins? It went after there her a long time ago. She doesn't remember but I was the one who stopped it then, except… it hid inside someone else and convinced them to attack her."

This was a lot to take in. They were only kids when that happened. Were those memories accurate? He said, "But, nobody remembers meeting you."

"I don't get that part either. I have so few memories between now and then it's like I was asleep. I know I'm still forgetting something." She bit her lip, pouring steeped tea into two mugs placed on the table.

Fuuka's pack was only one example of where the black fog managed to slip through. Over time the number of cracks in the seal increased. It sent pieces of itself into the world, looking for weaknesses in people's hearts to prey upon.

It wasn't the sort of thing that could be fixed.

Alice sat across from him. "I wanted to talk to you because the mission I'm on, it's really dangerous. Radea and I are going to arrest the infected person that started all this. Of course I want to be optimistic and say it'll be okay, but, it's not really fair to you if I act that way. I want to stay. I want to spend more time together. But I don't know if we should when there's a chance I won't come back."

"W-why wouldn't you come back?"

"This person wants to kill me, Martin."

"Why?" he demanded again. "You've never done anything—you're… Did you do something in the past? I don't get it."

"It's not like that. My magic can stop them. That's why they don't want me around."

That vile bastard better stay away. Martin had never killed another person, but he knew with frighteningly cold clarity that he would if the difference was Alice's life. "What is the field captain thinking? She has Scarlett, she could send her instead."

"We already know Scarlett can't survive this guy's attacks."

"I wish you'd told me this sooner." Gods, if he sounded upset it's because he was.

Outside in the dark snow fell. Alice's fingers tightened around her mug of tea. She watched the floral liquid inside without seeing it. Something unsaid trembled at the edge of her lips.

Martin had paid a lot of clear, focused attention to Alice over the past few months, and he'd never seen her shaken the way she was now, not even when she left SEED. She wouldn't look at him.

She was scared.

"Do you still want to be together, even if I might disappear tomorrow?" she asked.

"I won't let that happen."

"Please, Martin. I need to know."

She knew his past. "How can you even ask me that?"

"Because you begged me to stay! You were so upset I held your hand, but I don't know if you remember any of it."

Shock broke the slab of sternness he'd been sitting on. So that had not been a dream. Across the table they looked at each other, Alice's eyes still seeking an answer to her question. She wanted to know whether he'd rather be spared the pain of losing someone.

His parents died when he was young. If he and Alice got together, could he bear losing his flame too?

Did it even matter?

He wasn't going to walk away because of some what-if situation. A smith didn't abandon good metal just because it might break somewhere down the line.

Sure, he could go back to his old, familiar life focused on work and taking care of Cecil and ignoring everyone except Master Darroch. He didn't have to look after Fuuka, talk to Kumo, train with Reinhard, or butt heads with Ryker. Martin could be alone forever and learn to survive it.

Or he could let himself have this one good thing, for however long it lasted.

It wasn't much of a choice. He couldn't say no to Alice and she'd forced him into a corner. Sheesh. Embarrassing. His eyes slid to the side and he wished he could hide his blush.

"I want you," he said, "no matter what."

Alice's face flushed. "Y-you didn't have to say it like that."

Good to know he could make her as flustered as she made him. Martin blew on his tea and tried to swallow his passion. He'd been blunt. Luckily it'd chased away whatever worries Alice had. She looked bashful but happy.

As the seriousness of the moment faded his thoughts turned to the embrace they'd shared. He'd gladly do more of that any time.

He rested his mug on the table. Among the items stacked nearby were books and a small treasure chest. Alice leaned over to flip the latch on the chest and withdraw an ovalish package twisted at the top with a ribbon. "I wanted to give these to you earlier. Sorry they're late."

"Ah. Right. Here's mine." He reached around for the cookie box in his kit and placed it on the table. Alice lit up at the sight of it. Well, he couldn't blame her. He probably looked the same.

He didn't wait to open his. There were three shortbread cookies inside the stack, each with a heart outline stamped in the middle.

"I borrowed Priscilla's cutter but after they baked I didn't know if I could go through with it. Cecil said I had to, or you wouldn't be able to tell."

"Heh." He should be ashamed his brother was right about that, but there wasn't room for shame. All he felt was good. These cookies were made specially for him. "I'm really happy. I don't know how else to say it. Every time I'm around you it's always… amazing."

"I feel the same way."

It was so hard to believe anyone could feel that way about him, let alone someone he cared about this much. Tiny shortbread crumbles sprinkled over the table as he split one in half to have with his tea. Alice had already munched into her own cookie.

"This is really good," she said. "It's so soft. Did you make it yourself?"

"Kumo and I made them. Yours is the only chocolate one though."

"You really do like me."

"If it's not obvious by now I don't know what else to say."

They were playing. Usually had to keep his guard up around people, but with Alice, he didn't have to. When she was messing with him she acted perkier, leaned in, or smiled this specific way, and he hated to admit it but he was a sucker for it.

"Will you come see me tomorrow?" he asked.

"Yeah! I'll stop by between patrols."

"I'd like that."

Reluctantly Martin gathered his things. It was past late, but he didn't want to go home. He could stay longer. He wished to. But he knew Alice wouldn't sleep until he left. So, it was time.

At the door he hesitated since it felt lacking to say goodnight and walk out. Facing her he drew a blank about what to do. Alice edged closer. He didn't resist. Whatever she wanted, though it'd be nice if his heart beat didn't spike every time she stood so close.

She slid her arms around him and snuggled into his chest as he wrapped her up. Gosh, this was amazing. He couldn't get over how soft and solid she felt or the way her hair brushed against his face, and he had to resist the urge to do more. His emotions swirled.

"You're not making it easy for me to leave," he murmured.

"Ahah, sorry."

When they parted their fingers trailed together, gentle lines sliding through his, unwilling to lose that last connection. Her hands brushed out of his as she stepped back and let go.

Outside the dusting of snow crunched under his boots. Even though Alice wasn't there she kept him warm, even when he slept, even when the dark winter dawn came to wake him, and long after that.

Chapter Text

SEED didn't seem to be able to track down the person Alice was after, so for the time being she was free to spend time with Martin. Of course, if Martin had his way somebody else would take care of the problem before Alice got involved and that would be that. The mystery criminal should be counting their lucky chisels that Alice wouldn't reveal their identity. If Martin figured out who it was he'd talk to Ryker and make sure they were never able to set foot in Rigbarth. Hell, he'd tell Cecil and then everyone would know.

In the meantime he held out on the hope Rigbarth's SEED outpost would keep spinning its cart in the mud until one of the bigger branches took over Alice's mission, and that the gods would seal up the black fog that'd been messing with the runeys.

It was a lot to hope for. But, he had a lot to look forward to. He held on to what he wanted.

Martin aimed to see Alice once each day. They went on dates. Short dates turned into long ones as they came up with jobs they could do together, like mining or hunting wanted monsters. Long dates became a separate thing where they coordinated their days off so they could do activities Martin would've never considered otherwise. They'd pack lunch and Alice would take him to some wild spot in the winterland, or they'd go to the inn for a bath and a meal, or they'd stay at his place and make supper with Cecil and they'd all eat together while it snowed outside.

It was so natural to have Alice at home it felt like she'd always been there. The way she and Cecil talked over the table, Martin would've thought she'd been coming over for years.

After Alice left for the evening Cecil said, "I can't remember the last time you were in such a good mood."

"I didn't think I'd ever be interested in anyone."

"I'm glad! I was worried you were gonna work yourself to death. You'd gotten so obsessed with your job you wouldn't listen to any of us."

There were two people in this room and only one of them hadn't shut up about mysteries since he was nine. "I'm the one who's obsessed, huh?" Martin said, ruffling his brother's hair on the way out of the living area.

"Hey! What's that supposed to mean?"

Martin shut his bedroom door to let Cecil ponder on it for a while.

He'd found new meaning in life. He wanted to be the best partner for Alice that he possibly could.

Their new relationship came with a side effect. He discovered this early on when Murakumo belted out a different loud greeting than usual at the bathhouse.

"Hey buddy good for you!"

"Huh?"

"Something nice happened. I can tell. But if you don't believe me check your reflection in the baths."

Martin did. In the mirrors he carried a smile he couldn't hide. Outwardly the settled curve was calm—nowhere near as huge as it felt—but unfortunately not only did everyone in town notice, they also felt the need to comment on it.

"Oh my. There's an expression I haven't seen in quite some time," Yuki said when Martin made a rare detour to the bakery to get picnic supplies.

On a different outing for material stone just inside Rigbarth's gates, Simone happened to catch him passing the clinic. "Interesting. Do I need to review the conversation we had shortly after your 12th birthday? Ah, and there was another when you turned 15…"

"NO. Thanks." Spontaneous combustion kill him now. Martin quickened his stride. Oh, gods, Ludmila lived in this part of town. He needed to get out of here.

Since Simone brought it up he remembered to return Priscilla's romance novel.

"Umm. So, what did you think?"

Martin dove into technical blacksmithing mistakes the author made. Finally. He'd wanted to complain about this since the beginning. Only later, after he'd left, did he realize that probably wasn't the information Priscilla had been asking about.

Not everybody was well-wishing. Radea went to and from the Silo often, so they crossed paths more than Martin would have liked. Radea's nose wrinkled with distaste. "Feh. You better not be a distraction. Alice has a job to be doing, you know."

Like he needed to be lectured by a teenager.

Unwanted attention aside, his work wasn't suffering at all. At some point he realized he could see weapons and tools as something other than functional items. The purpose of a tool depended on the person using it. Therefore, if he wanted to make a custom piece, it helped to know who the end user would be.

When Scarlett placed a SEED commission for the post in Kardia, Martin asked, "Have you been out that way? Are the rangers mostly dealing with monsters, or people?"

"It's similar to here, but they get a lot more insect monsters."

He flattened Scarlett's order sheet on the counter. "This is a standard equipment order. I can fill it if you want, but insects are resistant to swords. Their shells are like plate. You're better off with crushing or piercing weapons."

"Change it if you think it's advisable. Bring me an updated cost sheet for approval before starting anything."

Martin balanced the accounting so the change to the order would get the Kardia rangers better suited gear for about the same price. It took a few days to get approval back from SEED HQ, but after that Master Darroch assigned Martin to smith the weapons.

Somehow Martin knew after he finished the order that it was good. Master Darroch agreed.

"This is some mighty fine work."

"Thank you sir."

"Heh. Said it before and I'll say it again, no need to be formal. You've got about as much pull as I do around here now."

"I'll… try." No matter what Master Darroch said the skill difference was as obvious to Martin as a regular artist looking up at a master painter's mural in the domes of the capital.

Even so he had the confidence to admit he'd gotten good at this. He couldn't point a finger at when it'd happened, he just knew it had.

By the way, Kardia already had a blacksmith. It wasn't like Rissa to fall behind on orders. "Did something happen to Rissa?"

"Got married, moved to Selphia. Hear she's working with Bado now. He's gettin up there in years. Will probably leave the place to her."

"Oh." Marriage, huh…

"If you're thinking of settin' up your own shop Kardia needs a blacksmith."

"I wasn't planning on moving."

"Well if you get the itch don't worry about me. Been here a long time and I'll be here a long time yet. Any apprentice you take on you'll do good by, I'm sure."

His own apprentice. Now that was a crazy thought.

Martin cleared and reset his work area. He removed the accumulating ash from the forge and fed fresh charcoal into the white bones of what was left. At the front desk he was looking through inventory when he heard the back door creak open. Winter air prickled his shoulder.

Usually nobody came through the back except for deliveries. He'd just restocked to get through the winter so it was a surprise.

Alice poked through the gap. Just seeing her made him giddy. Heh, he was definitely in too deep. They caught each other's attention right away. With a widening smile Alice waved him outside.

He looked towards the forge. Master Darroch was busy preparing pieces for a set of cookware.

Martin wordlessly excused himself out the back entrance.

"Woah. I hope I didn't interrupt anything," Alice said. "You've got soot everywhere."

"Sorry about that. Careful, I don't want to get your uniform dirty." Fine black powder dusted the plates on his armor and rubbed into the palms of his gloves. Splotches trailed down his waist onto the leather apron. A hug was out of the question.

SEED's flashy white uniforms made sense but they weren't doing him any favors.

"I won't take long," Alice said, turning bashful. "I just kind of wanted to see you."

He wanted to see her all the time. Hearing his own feelings reciprocated made him a little shy, honestly.

It was nice and cool outside. Alice closed the door. He lounged against the wall looking over the charcoal supply and the snowy bridge further out. The smithy formed a hidden corner here, out of sight of the main road. As far as he could tell there wasn't anyone around. Travelers stopped coming soon as winter set in.

"It's not as busy anymore," Alice said. "I went to get flour this morning and found out Misasagi doesn't open until later. The bakery also switched to short hours, and I think Elsje is planning to take the whole season off. Is winter always like this?"

"Pretty much. Once the travelers go almost everyone closes up shop until spring. It's a small town. The days are short too so it's hard to get much done."

"Even for you?"

"I go through a lot of lamp oil. But, yes."

Alice was curious about what he did when the nights were long. He told her the various blacksmith jobs he could accomplish without much light. He'd also catch up on house repairs and sewing clothes Cecil needed, or fixing his own to make them last longer. Sometimes he drew. The designs could turn into art he'd use at work later.

It amazed him he could talk like this without boring someone to death, which was what usually happened when he brought up his "spare time" activities—assuming the person hadn't already been scared off by the blunt way he spoke.

"You know," Martin said, "before you came, Cecil kept spouting this 'be yourself' mantra about how I should meet people. I didn't think there could be someone who didn't mind how I am. It still seems unreal." Despite his faults and embarrassing secrets Alice stuck around. He'd thought for sure the tool-naming thing would be the end of any interest she'd had in him.

Alice laughed softly. "I don't know if you can tell how amazing you are," she said.

"I'm not."

"See? I mean, I know you had help but you basically raised your brother alone, and you're crazy passionate about your job. I always thought if you could care about someone half as much as you do the forge it'd be something really special."

He must not have communicated this well. "My work matters to me, but you are far more important."

Genuine surprise widened her eyes. "Really?"

"I thought you knew. Ugh, sorry." Geeze. This is why he wished he had a way with words. How did you tell someone they were this important? Was there some way to show it?

There might be.

He shouldn't, not here. Anyone coming over the bridge would see the highlight of Alice's hair and her bright uniform laid over him. Even now it probably looked… like…

Thoughts quieted when she drew near his spot on the wall. Gold hair draped and she swept a hand to tuck it behind an ear. "You're special to me too," she said. And before he could react she popped up on her toes and smooched his cheek.

Martin forgot everything. Pleasant sparks rooted him to the spot. The place she'd touched tingled.

She didn't go far, settling to the ground and looking happy as could be. In the background the rhythmic chime of hammer on metal carried on, but Martin wasn't really paying attention. He could make out the individual fan of Alice's lashes.

Her mouth must be as soft as it looked.

"Something on your mind?" she asked, teasing and oh-so-close and kissable.

Warmth tickled his face. "N-no, nothing. Nothing at all."

"You suuure?"

He couldn't think past her playful touch settling over his tool belt. She was toying but he was serious. He did want to kiss her.

Slowly the glitter softened from Alice's gaze as she realized what he had to be thinking. They were so close the winter air didn't have room to fit, and if Alice hadn't trapped him against the wall he'd be able to tilt the tiny bit to seal the deal.

But he couldn't move. Pressed to the building his armored arms were leaving black marks.

She drifted closer. The heat between their faces grew, and Alice's slightly parted lips firmed up. Oh, fire.

Martin closed his eyes.

She kissed him.

Her lips on his, and the sound of grit scraping under his tensing fingers. If he touched her she'd get sooty but gods he wanted to, and he kissed her back, flattened against the wall, brick crackling against leather. His gloves curled closed on nothing.

She let go the tiniest bit and his heart ached. He could sense the shadow of her lips waiting. Was this enough?

Not enough. He met her with another tender kiss. Her grip on his waist strengthened, and she leaned into him with newfound certainty. All his affection finally had a place to go. Exhilaration flooded until that's all he was.

He might melt. He might slide down the face of the building.

When she relaxed he went with her, drifting off the wall just a bit before their lips parted. Martin exhaled and rested against the brick.

Wow.

He watched his breaths send puffs of vapor into the cold sky. Too lovestruck to look down he feared he might have disappointed her. Alice's presence burned into his chest. Her fingers rested heavy on the belt holding him together. His blood pumped.

She must have come down to reality enough to realize where her hands were because the pressure vanished. She backed up.

Alice looked at her shirt. "This isn't too bad, right?"

Still somewhere in paradise Martin had to risk looking. His hair bunched against the bricks as he tilted his chin down. Ash dusted the fabric below Alice's armor and the upper portion of her winter slacks.

"I'll just, um," she said, moving to wipe it off.

"Don't—" the ash smeared into a much more visible stain "—touch it… ah."

Alice giggled awkwardly. "I don't think anyone will be surprised."

"I have laundry powder for it at home. I'll wash it for you if you want. Or, Murakumo can. He's good at washing stuff but he'll try to do it for free."

"You don't mind?"

"I really don't. The laundry is in a bin right side of my bedroom. Just leave it there." He had to know. "Was the, uh. Was that… okay?"

She broke eye contact and blushed. "It was amazing."

Phew.

"I think I better change," she said. "I doubt Ludmila will believe me if I say I was trying my hand at blacksmithing again. Err, I shouldn't phrase it like that."

"R-right." Yes he could see how Ludmila would gleefully twist those words.

After a little more talk Alice left to change and pick up on the next task in her agenda.

The zing of being kissed wouldn't go away. He lay against the brick, watching winter sky, feeling heat seep through his woolen tank. The more he thought about kissing the more excitement coursed. If he went inside now he'd burn.

Martin sighed against the wall. Today he'd discovered something powerful enough to totally wreck his focus. There was zero chance he'd be able to get anything productive done now.

He had to wait for the scorch on his face to fade, to feel like he had some semblance of a composure, before he clicked open the back door to go inside and at least pretend a usual work day.

Chapter Text

When Alice left on a mission he had to trust she'd come home, just like she had to trust he wouldn't suffer a severe injury. Most blacksmiths had scars.

Midnight oil burned. At his desk he shuffled his hand into a box of metal rings, pulling a bunch and scattering them on the wood. One by one he weaved rings into the growing section of chainmail. The rings were tiny, smaller than the width of his finger, and each had to be set into the pattern and squeezed shut with pliers. Depending on his mood he might rivet them right away, or wait until he had daylight to see where to insert the snippet of wire and flatten it into a rivet that'd hold the link shut.

It was a long, slow process that took months to get a finished item. He found it relaxing. He'd work on it at night when he couldn't sleep, or just to savor the act of creating something.

Against the desk chainmail moved with its magical metallic chime. Pliers clacked on the wood each time he set them down. The oil lamp was silent, and snow outside deadened everything else. He may as well be the only soul in the world.

Thump.

Something large struck the front of the house. Martin lowered his project. He listened. After a few seconds he grabbed Fiersome off the rack to investigate.

Scritch scratching rattled the outside door. It went quiet. Then a whine whispered through the wood. Claws resumed scratching.

The hell… he silently slid to the side window. Holding his breath he moved the thick winter curtain so whatever was outside wouldn't notice. Through the slit snow appeared. Shining fur rippled at the doorstep while the monster scratched.

He'd never seen a green wolf before. Sharp dragonfang protruded from its lip. There could only be one explanation for such a strange creature to be here. Martin's stomach squeezed with a horrible sinking feeling.

He pulled the curtain wide.

Off in the snow Alice was trying to stand. Explosive scorch marks ripped across the front of her uniform. Soot streaked her face. She struggled until her knee gave out and she dropped back to the snow.

Martin didn't remember moving. Next he knew he had her arm braced over his shoulder, trying to get her into the house.

"I didn't know where else to go," Alice rasped. "He took Radea."

"You're hurt."

"I couldn't stop him. I couldn't save her." Her eyes were unfocused.

"Alice!" Once inside he kicked the door closed.

Her tears welled up. "I couldn't do anything."

"Come here."

For as weak as she'd been a second ago she should not have been able to turn into his embrace with such force. Alice buried herself against him and squeezed. He locked her in tight, tucking his face to her hair. It smelled strongly of smoke.

Cecil's door creaked. "Martin, what's going on?"

"I'm taking Alice to the clinic. Can you get my things?"

"Sure." Cecil noticed the state Alice was in. "She's going to be okay, right?"

"I'm fine," Alice's shaky voice muffled to Martin's chest. "Radea…"

Martin wanted to get a better look at Alice but he was terrified of what he might see if he did. The blackened scorches burned with strange purple outlines. She'd taken the brunt of some unknown magic straight to the front. What had she been thinking? Had she rushed in with no plan at all?

If not for Alice's teleportation she could be dead right now. If not for the spell shields built into her ranger gear, a full force blast at point blank would've crippled her or worse.

He should have been there.

While Cecil brought out the kit from the bedroom, Martin wrapped his cloak around Alice. With the snow coming down it would be a bit of a walk to the other side of the village. He borrowed Cecil's cloak for himself.

Outside the dragon wolf sat patiently beside the doorstep, snow frosting its green muzzle. It ghosted them on the dark journey across the bridge through town. In front of the clinic Martin hammered on the wooden door and waited for a response. When he looked back into Rigbarth's frosted night the wolf was gone.

Simone pulled open the door.

The clinic did not bring back good memories for him. Martin waited restlessly by the front counter while Simone examined Alice in the office. He could hear every word they were saying. It made him ill.

"You're lucky you survived this," Simone told Alice. "An ordinary human would not have. Lift your arms, I'm going to check for internal bruising." Fabric shifted. "Remarkable. You say you don't know what sort of magic it was?"

"Not really. Corrupted runes? It's hard to explain."

"It's no ordinary burn yet it's already healing nicely. I'll give you a salve to apply twice a day, once in the morning and again before bed."

Sounds of trickling water, wet cloth wrung and wiped, carried in the otherwise empty clinic. Simone's chair creaked as she sat back. There was a pause, and then she asked, "Have you considered the possibility you are a were-animal?"

Alice stuttered through some flustered nonresponse.

"I didn't think so. I would have noticed in your earlier physical. But I've never seen anyone heal this fast otherwise." Simone went quiet and did not say anything further.

Neither did Alice.

The silence became sharp. Something in that room was being realized that couldn't be spoken.

After a while Simone said, "Crazy as it seems I don't think you need to stay here tonight. If you have unexpected pain over the next few days see me immediately. Let me get the salve." Cabinet doors and clinking glass followed. The checkup was over and the mood lightened. "Any time you'd like to submit to some extensive research there's a lot we could learn. For science."

"Uhhhh, ahah. Y-yeah. Maybe later."

Darn it Alice, it was okay to outright reject Simone's lab-crazy requests. Martin huffed.

Alice sheepishly came around the corner with a jar in her hands. Martin stood by her side while she spoke with Simone, requesting the invoice be sent to the Silo and apologizing for the late emergency visit.

At the doorway Simone wished them well. "Take care you two. Watch for ice on the way home."

Quicker than expected they were back out in the snow. It was cold. Mist breath puffed across lantern light while they retraced the solitary footprints on main street. Martin stayed close. Truth be told he didn't know whether he could leave Alice's side once they got back to the Silo.

They stepped onto the bridge. Darkness on either side swallowed up the snowflakes. If not for the sound of flowing water beneath, they could be crossing over night itself.

Together they climbed the outer stairs to Alice's room. Martin let them in and the nip in the air disappeared past the entrance. Alice hadn't been home for two days but the heat from the fireplaces downstairs must rise here.

He set to stacking tinder in the hearth. In a few minutes the room started to warm up.

Alice plopped down on the edge of her bed. She paid little attention to her burnt uniform, and either she didn't have the energy to create her light or she didn't want to. The flickering fire was their only guide. Shadowy outlines bathed in orange.

"What am I going to tell Livia?" she said.

"I don't know. I'll go with you if you want."

"I might need you to. Maybe not to talk to Livia, but for the rest. You're the only person I feel like I'm allowed to tell. The man who took Radea—it's Gideon."

The name wasn't familiar.

"He's the warden of SEED. He runs the whole organization."

"He's the one you're supposed to arrest? How?" A person at the top wouldn't order an arrest on themselves.

"Well…"

Alice filled him in. After she rejoined SEED, Scarlett and Captain Livia had become vigilantes against their own leader. Martin heard what Gideon had been doing: plotting with criminals, unleashing monsters on the populace, trying to control people by manipulating their runes, tearing into the breach and allowing more of the black fog to escape.

"And no one else knows this," Martin said.

"Gideon eliminates anyone who finds out. Usually by sending them on a mission they won't come back from."

The scorches on Alice had been made with an intent to kill. Martin pushed the fireplace poker's spearpoint tip into a burning log. Ashy wood churned and scraped. It collapsed on itself in a crunch of cinders. "Even after this," Martin said, "you're still going to try and catch him, aren't you."

"I have to before more runes are corrupted. He took Radea somewhere into the space between here and the Forest of Beginnings. That's what it looked like anyway. A place between worlds."

"I wish you'd stay here."

"Martin…"

"It's selfish. I know. But it's also sane. Look what happened." He tilted his head to the pure black burn on the uniform not even the firelight would touch. "Don't go alone. Please."

Alice picked at the quilt over the bed as if she'd been thinking of doing just that. Now that he'd caught her she was weighing her options.

In the fireplace heat hit a vein of water in one of the logs. It hissed before emitting a sharp pop.

For a while they didn't talk. Alice stood and went further into the dark length of the room. The door on her wardrobe squeaked when she opened it. Buckles clipped open and fabric shifted while she changed behind the door. He heard the lid on the ointment jar unscrew.

She asked, "When I go will you come with me?"

"Yes." He'd feel a thousand times better if he were there.

"Even if it's crazy?"

"That won't stop me."

"Okay. We'll try. I still have to talk to Livia and I think Lucas can make us a gate to get there. I hope you'll be able to go through it. The other side didn't look very stable."

All the more reason to go with her. Though he didn't have a clue what he'd do in the face of the kind of magic she'd been hit with. Tomorrow he'd go through his equipment and prepare as best he could. Martin collected two more logs from the wood rack and situated them in the fire before settling back down on the floor in front of it.

"I wish I could keep you safe," Alice said.

"Don't worry about me." He didn't want to imagine a repeat of today. If anything happened he rather it be him than her.

Alice's slippered feet padded across the wood. She pulled the quilt off the bed. Sitting beside him she draped the free end over his shoulder so they were both covered. The cold haunting Martin's back vanished.

Orange light muted the discolored burn that started at her collarbone and went down. Her nightgown hid the rest.

"Does it hurt?" he asked.

"No." Alice bit her lip. "Wow, Martin, I'm really sorry I showed up like that. You were the first person I thought of. I tried to land inside your house, but…"

"You shouldn't have to worry about that. It's my role to take care of you."

Why did she seem surprised when he spoke the truth? Maybe on a different night she might have argued he didn't have to be responsible for everything, but tonight, her surprise softened, and bangs shadowed her face as she slowly gave in. Alice rested her head on his shoulder. He pulled her into the side cuddle and she whispered, "I think you would have helped even if you barely knew me."

So would anyone else. Rigbarth was that kind of place. "There was a literal wolf at my door. I would have thrown a snowball at Scarlett's window before talking to you."

"Oh. It kind of followed me. I didn't expect it to. Did it go home?"

"I think so. I hope so. We're not allowed to have monsters running around town."

"Except the buffamoo that pull wagons, or the cluckadoodle farm Misasagi orders eggs from."

"Those are bred to be tame. They can still injure people who don't know what they're doing. Monster ranching and beast taming are professions, you know."

"I didn't realize," Alice said, once again reminding him that she was still relearning the world, and that what came naturally to her was impossible for others. "I wonder if any of them are like me?"

A beast tamer? He hadn't considered it. His parents used to be friends with one, but the job was dangerous and there wasn't much demand for it after the war with the Empire ended. Martin himself never made armor for a monster the way Master Darroch had done in the past. It would be an interesting challenge.

He wondered if Alice's silver wolf would tolerate being measured and fitted.

"We can look into it if you want," he said.

"Yeah… I can't be the only one…"

The only one left of whatever she was.

The fire crackled. Having Alice beside him under the quilt soothed his nerves. She snuggled and he enjoyed that closeness, knowing she was safe and protected. Nothing would get to her here. He wouldn't let it.

At least for tonight they would be okay. Sleepiness started to blanket down, and the fire needed more wood, but he didn't plan on moving. Alice began to fall asleep against him. She spoke softly. "A while ago you asked if I wanted to go to the capital. When this is over… if everything works out… can we do that?"

"Of course." It surprised him she'd remembered. "What about being bound to the land though?"

"I think once I finish this I won't be." She sounded sad. "So, I want something to look forward to."

"If it's that important to you I'll make sure it happens."

"Promise?"

"I swear."

She giggled in spite of herself. "You look so serious. I wonder if I should be afraid?"

"When have you ever been afraid of me?" Because honestly, he couldn't picture it. An attitude that made customers nervous couldn't so much as scratch Alice.

Her fingertips graced his chest. "I haven't been afraid." The tender touch drifted. Such a small action and the surge that went through him was strong enough to make him exhale. His attention honed on the slip of the quilt under her caress, flickering light catching her profile, scent of cured wood in the fire, his burning desire to kiss her and not stop.

The zone he got into when he was making something: he knew he could reach it with her. His thoughts would fall away until he wasn't aware of anything but Alice's fire, until he lost track of even that. Exhilarating sensation is all there'd be.

That focused intensity worried him. When he gave in, when he gave her everything he was, would it be too much?

Alice's hand trailed down his chest.

Martin held back. Moments ago he'd feared for her life, and now he feared that if she knew the depths of his devotion she wouldn't want it. At this point no amount of closeness could be enough. Every bit was bittersweet proof they were still alive.

Alice lifted her head from his shoulder. She tilted her chin just so, leaning in, holding him with a honey gaze that meant she wanted a kiss. Her fingers explored the line of his jaw. "The only thing I'm afraid of is you'll get sucked into your job and forget about me."

"Never," he breathed.

Then he gave her what she wanted.

She led him into bliss.

Slowly the weight of passion pushed to the floor. Cloaks hung forgotten by the doorway while the fireplace dulled to red rivered cinders. Martin's things were gradually left behind.

After this they may not have another night. There would be no going back. Tomorrow, when he stepped through a gate into a land of unrecognizable ruin, he'd have no choice but to find Gideon and Radea.

Until then his time belonged only to Alice.

Chapter Text

On the other side of the gate there was no light. The only reason Martin could see was because Alice shone like a beacon. Wide light circled so far past her feet he didn't realize he had his own orange glow until he looked down to navigate a hole in the road.

No dirt existed inside the hole. It opened to pitch nothingness.

On the outskirts of his vision massive dilapidated structures of unknown material loomed. Piles of debris gathered at their crumbling bases. Hundreds of glassless windows watched, silent and ghostlike.

"This place…" It couldn't be real.

"It's part of the land that existed before the Calamity. Forgotten pieces of an old world that shouldn't exist," Alice said.

"How do you know?"

"I remembered."

Rubble shifted in one of the ruins. Glowing eyes advanced. One by one a pack of coyotes emerged from the edges of Alice's light, skittering down piles of rock and iron, claws clattering on the huge bricked road.

The fighting began and did not stop. They had to smash their way forward. Martin considered it lucky the monsters at the edge of calamity were warped versions of those he'd fought before. Sparks from the Forest of Beginnings showered under Fiersome's hammer. Ahead of him Alice dismissed monsters with precision.

As they traveled the edges of reality faded until there were no more buildings. Still the stone path continued, stretching over the abyss. The further the road went the more it fractured. Broken bits floated in pitch dark. Outside that was nothing. Above, below, and beyond, there was no end to the pure black.

A piece of stone cracked under Martin's boot. Crumble slowly spread out weightlessly into the nothingness. As he walked the road started to feel floaty like standing on planks over water.

"Alice."

"We have to keep going." She didn't look back at him. Dammit she was stubborn.

He kept pace in the center of the path. Up ahead a golden portal swirled. Alice dashed straight for it. Hot glow fizzled over her form, her colors dispersing into particles that disappeared into the darkness. Her shout echoed beyond. "Radea!"

Martin went after her. The atmosphere grew so dense with magic it weighed down on him like poorly fit plate armor. The portal's magic tightened. For a split second he thought the spell might shove him back. Then his foot landed on solid… glass?

The floor looked like glass but it wasn't. Radea lay unmoving on the translucent surface. Alice was on her knees, growling with pain. A giant clock towered over the scene. Its pale face silhouetted a man Martin had never seen before. The stranger's gauntleted hand directed at Alice and kept her down with some unseen force.

Martin charged.

In huge strides he drove himself between Alice and the stranger, intending to tackle the guy. But as soon as Martin got between them his strength vanished to the point he couldn't catch his step. Polished glass floor smashed to his chin. He sprawled forward over the surface, glaring ahead at the man who could only be Gideon.

Martin discovered Gideon's powers the hard way.

In two seconds his fire magic got sucked into a force gathering at Gideon's palm. Then his very essence started to peel away. Drowsiness smothered him. He fought with everything he had to stay conscious. Years of workaholic insomnia kept him awake by a thread. "You're… going to regret this," he wheezed.

Between dying eyelids Gideon blurred.

A rush of wind and weight whooshed over Martin's collapsed body.

Alice plowed into Gideon at full force. The tense thread stealing Martin's life snapped. It stung like crazy and he gasped for air. Ice pooled in his chest. With each breath dead cold leaked further into his insides first with piercing icicles and then an alarming numbness.

Left barely alive he couldn't move.

Weak. You're weak. But you can be strong…

Be quiet!

Gideon went down. Alice's heel pressed to Gideon's chest while she slashed at him again and again. Sparks flew each time her swords crashed with his magic defenses. No human should be able to withstand those types of attacks.

They no longer had the element of surprise. Martin wasn't paying attention to his own situation. Alice was in trouble. Gideon was a big guy, and the perfectly articulated armor protecting his arms was no joke.

One of those blasted gauntlets grabbed Alice by the ankle. Gideon ripped her to the ground, stood, and pulled his sword.

Martin recognized the sword. Final Justice: a relic that'd disappeared along with the earthmates. Despite all the art drawn of the weapon no smith could ever recreate the real thing. Final Justice channeled insane amounts of magic even if the wielder themselves had none. It'd been used to destroy castles, control monsters, fight wars.

Shit.

"Alice…" he groaned. Even if Martin had the lifeforce to warn her, she probably wouldn't hear him over her razor edged battle focus. He tried with all his might to summon fire runeys. Nothing happened.

The crystal floor intensified cold numbness shutting down his internals.

So this must be death, huh. He watched the fight with a strange sense of detachment. All he wanted was for Alice to live.

A crackly voice came from nearby. "Hey… you…"

Radea.

"You better help her," Radea said.

He couldn't talk. He thought he might have enough energy to move a tiny bit if Gideon and Alice came this way. Martin was saving that last strength to trip Gideon.

"There's a piece… of the fathomless dread inside you too…"

What?

"...but you never listened to it, did you?"

The inner voice that told him he'd never be good enough. The one that told him to quit and promised relief if he took a different path. He worked extra hard to shut it up on the nights it was loud.

"I'm going to take it away," Radea said. "Don't make me regret this."

Her arm dragged against the floor to point at him. Slowly clawed fingers started to spread. "Your little brother… never shuts up about you. He's noisy." Radea laughed softly, bitterly to herself. The last phrase Martin heard wasn't meant for him. "...Sorry… Livia…"

His heart exploded.

Martin curled into a ball and screamed. The scar that Alice healed tore open and blinding white pain crushed his skull. "NNNNGH!"

A piercing whine rang in his ears. Hot, hot, hotter than he'd ever been, even standing in front of the forge, even the accidental burns. Lava filled his guts. It choked off his yell.

Pure poison extracted from his soul. In its place all the fire he'd been trying to call back rushed in. It was too much. He couldn't contain the runes. They bled through his system and began burning him from the inside.

On the outside all he could hear was Radea's tortured roar. Dark scales burst across her body and the joints of a dragon wracked inward upon themselves. Agony twisted her features. Radea drew out the corruption that'd been trapped inside him and they both suffered.

Gideon shouted, "No! What are you doing?"

As Radea transformed, fishlike ribs popped from her dragon's chest. The cavity split open and a pulsing core of purple slimy runes glowed inside. It was as if magic itself had been corrupted.

Alice took Gideon's momentary distraction as an opening. Water beams erupted from her palms. The twin jets hit Gideon and burst into roaring waves over his coat. The edges of the fabric frayed. His shoulder pauldron ripped off and was pulverized into metallic dust.

Against the current Gideon calmly walked toward Alice. Final Justice dropped from his hand and clashed on the translucent floor. The same corrupted runeys swirling inside dragon Radea began to leech out of Gideon. Midnight smoking waves circled him.

Alice bared her teeth.

Gideon's fist shot through the laser water and gripped her by the throat. Martin's shield scraped the floor. He stood. It was easy. The power of countless fire runeys surged through his veins. Air in front of him distorted from the heat of his own breath. "Stop."

"Stay down, dog." Gideon threw his hand out at Martin. Once again Gideon's palm sucked the flow of runeys into it—except this time Martin had far too many for that trick to work.

Gideon hissed at the unexpected fierceness of the fire runeys scorching his hand. Pathetic, Martin thought. Burns were an average day at work. This man could never measure up to Master Darroch.

Gideon's grip sank deeper into Alice's throat. She desperately pawed at the hand strangling her. Fury at having to witness this over the short dash it took to close the distance seared through Martin's arms as he lifted Fiersome.

The hammer burst with dragon flame. Buckles holding Martin's armor in place melted, the leather turning brittle and snapping off. Metal clattered on the floor. Fiersome did not care. It burned red hot and only got stronger.

Today he'd be destruction.

Fiersome collided with the arm holding Alice hostage. Bones snapped. Gideon emitted a blood-curdling roar. Alice dropped to the ground coughing, clutching the bruises she'd soon have.

No more.

Martin attacked Gideon with the calculated ruthlessness of a dragon trapped for a thousand years. Gideon's spells evaporated in sizzling fits the instant they came in contact with Martin's flaming aura. Martin himself would soon turn to ash. Not before he achieved his goal, though.

Fiersome smashed repeatedly into Gideon's buckling black magic barriers. Something unholy protected this person and Fiersome was going to wreck it.

"Your hearts are full of hate," Gideon spat. "Every last one of you."

Martin didn't waste his breath on anything other than pummeling Gideon. Sinew strained under Fiersome's heft. The hammer flew up and soared downward.

CRACK

Gideon stumbled backwards. "Fathomless dread, lend me your power! Forget the dragon and join me! Together we'll bring about true justice. No crime, no war; if the cost is these lives here I'll pay it! Please!"

Bones jutting from Radea's chest emerged further. Her horrible cry mixed between monster and human. The pulsing sick orb inside her drifted outward. Crystallized spines and fins started to sprout from it before the orb shot in a pure abyssal beam straight to Gideon.

"Yes. YES!" The man laughed insanely. He absorbed a second piece of fathomless dread.

Then he coughed up blood.

Fiersome shook in Martin's grip. Blackened scorches crisped his bare arms. He couldn't lift the hammer anymore. He didn't need to.

Gideon stared in shock at the crimson splatter at his feet. "What is… happening?"

Fevered fire within Martin broke across his forehead and curled the tips of his hair. He sank to his knees as he burned alive from the inside. He knew what was happening to Gideon because it was happening to him too. A human body couldn't survive as a host for this much rune energy.

Alice was at Martin's side. She called his name. Her hand touched his shoulder. She yanked it back with a yelp; she'd been burned.

"Sorry," he said. For being unable to stop it. For leaving so soon when they'd barely been together.

He was tired. He decided to lay down. Alice fussed over him and spewed words, then healing magic. But it couldn't stop the runes boiling his blood. He'd expected it. She was still talking to him, begging him to pull it together. He loved her voice. Really, he loved her. That was all. It was a very simple thing in the end.

In front of them Gideon gripped his head and groaned. More blood leaked.

Radea's broken body lay on the edge of the platform.

Alice pounded her fists on the crystal floor before trying yet another healing spell. It changed nothing. "Sorry," Martin whispered.

Alice would live. He was glad.

The flecks of runic energy stirring Radea's mane quit moving.

All of the magic at the edge of time froze. Then it started flowing in one direction: Gideon.

Fire runeys following the vortex sapped out of Martin's spirit. It eased his pain, but added to the ominous charge gathering over the battlefield. Atmosphere tensed the way it did before a lightning strike.

Everything went silent.

No.

"Alice—!"

The world exploded. Gideon's body was eviscerated in an instant. The blast ripped through reality and engulfed everyone.

The last thing Martin knew was a wall of purple energy.

Then there was nothi…

..

.

Chapter Text

Voices came and went in the blind pool of dizziness.

"Captain Livia! He's…"

"Nyah. This is why earthmates don't have an affinity for fire runeys."

"But he's not an earthmate?"

"No. Which is why this is so bad. If it weren't for that warhammer, he'd already be dead."

Radea said, "I can… do it…"

Alice panicked. "You're barely alive! I can't heal you anymore!"

"...Shut… up…"

The fire burning Martin's life force whooshed away.

Dry eyes cracked open. Golden magical barriers surrounded him and Alice. Someone had protected them from the explosion. Gideon was gone.

Martin's voice wouldn't come. "..."

"Don't try to talk." Alice's tone strained with relief. It sounded like she might cry. "Here. Drink."

He realized the pillow under his head was Alice's lap. She brought the potion to his lips. Exhausted as he felt this was still humiliating, especially out in the open. Bitter draught trickled into his mouth. He swallowed and tried to hold the vial himself. A blackened crisp rose into view.

That was his hand.

The potion threatened to come back up. Unable to look he dropped his arm. Pain knifed upon hitting the crystal floor.

"It's only on the surface, just, you have to drink this first," Alice said. "I can heal the burns."

Were his fingers in tact? It'd been a blur. He wasn't sure. Oh, his hands, he couldn't… without them…

Simone's awful medicinal brew got into his lungs. He coughed.

Alice's voice quavered. "I'm trying to go slow. It's harder than it looks." He wanted to tell her it was okay. He wanted to stroke her cheek. He must… be awful to look at…

Sigh.

On the edge of the platform a gold dragon curled over the black one. Lavalike veins flowed underneath ebony scales. "You bonehead. Always acting without thinking. This is going to cost me you know." The gold dragon's jaws parted and a fiery vortex swirled over Radea. The embers under her scales faded. Molten lava began to drip from the gold dragon's horns. One horn chipped, snapped off, and splattered over the crystal. Lava hissed.

The dragon sighed. "And I'd just gotten that back too." She craned her neck. Brilliant scales shone, blue and pink cutting a V at the collar. "What now? As it stands we've only delayed the inevitable. That explosion broke the seal. The fathomless dread will return and our world will become just a shadow like Calamity's Edge."

"I'll go," Alice said. "I might be able to fix the seal from the inside. If not I can still fight."

"Right. We're going ahead then. Don't make us wait too long, nyah. Can't expect us to save the world by ourselves in this sorry state!" A dribble of lava traced the dragon's face.

Radea pushed up on quivering wingtips. Clawed feet drug underneath until she caught her balance. She stretched tall. "I'll finish this."

Wings spread. The two dragons launched overhead, disappearing into what Martin now saw was a literal crack in reality. Bluish ether bubbled within.

This whole conversation Alice had been pouring rune energy into his scorched remains. Blackened flakes shed from his arms like scale off rapidly cooling metal. It really looked like he was being reforged.

He flexed his fingers. Ash cracked and fell to reveal tanned skin. The old forging scar on his left hand was gone.

"How?..."

"It's Lumenivia's Light. I'm giving you some of my runes."

Whatever that meant it went beyond ordinary healing. She was trading her life for his. "Stop. Enough… this is good enough…" He pushed himself out of her lap, surprised at how easy it was. Dust crumbled off him. Singed, snapped leather hung in fragments over charred wool riddled with burn holes. Everything he wore was beyond repair.

He got to his feet. Past the crystal platform the tear in reality splintered. Unless Alice was a dragon it couldn't be reached.

Was she? He was still coming to terms with the gold dragon speaking with Livia's voice. An ancient dragon had lived next to him for over a decade and he never noticed. He pushed a hand through his hair. It'd cooked short. His bangs weren't in his eyes anymore.

Martin stared at the breach. Alice was planning to go in there.

Behind him the warping sound of magic opened. Alice spelled a portal into existence. Rigbarth's plaza shimmered on the other side. She took a big breath and let it out. Then she stepped up beside him to look out over the break in reality.

"I remember where I came from. I remember everything."

"You do?"

"Yes. This is what I came here to do. Or I guess I should say what summoned me? It's a little hard to explain. I'm… an earthmate. I don't even know if I'm going to exist after this."

"What are you talking about?"

"Martin, I'm really sorry."

He couldn't stand this, her talking like she was going to die. "Stop it. I'm coming with you."

"What, no! You can't."

"I don't care." Fiersome hefted over his shoulder. He'd follow no matter what.

"But I care," Alice said. "I care about you. I think I might even…" she choked off and turned her back. The cross straps of her uniform blazed a big X. Her shoulders squared. "Don't wait for me, okay? Take care of Cecil."

"Alice!"

She ran straight over the platform's edge. Her feet landed on open air as if it were solid ground. Pulses of earth runes brightened her steps straight to the void, and then, she vanished.

"Dammit!"

He hovered near the crack, but any time he got too close he could feel his insides being drawn from his body, all the energy pulled painful and taught. Some invisible force wall prevented him from going any further.

He growled and shouted and couldn't think past his own frustration. At that moment he hated being human, hated how weak he was. Every instinct screamed at him to leap into the void and yet his physicality prevented him from doing it. As he tried to force himself forward drops of rune magic split from his spirit. In their absence a painful heartburn erupted. The void started to consume his actual body. With a shuddering hand he looked at Fiersome's grip and saw blood seeping from beneath his fingernails. Crimson trails chased the direction Alice had gone.

He backed up until the consuming pain quit and the ashes of his depleted magic lay quiet. Under his breath he cursed.

An earthmate? There were no more earthmates. Yet Alice was one. He needed help. He needed someone who knew about this.

~ ~ ~

Martin barged into the crystal shop. "Lucas!"

"Ah, oh dear. So it's come to this has it?"

He was in no mood for Lucas' antics. Alice could be—

"Well, what are you waiting for? We have an entire town to gather." Somehow Lucas was already standing at the door. A shadow of concern pinched his smile, probably the most ruffled Martin had ever seen him.

Martin didn't understand. "What are they going to do?"

"Pray, of course."

Chapter Text

A long time ago everyone gathered around the great tree just like this. It had been summer then. Heat waves sloughed off the plaza in a wavy illusion that went all the way to the ocean. The pier had still been there, waiting for its ship to come home. It waited, and waited, until the waters swept away the last plank.

Today snow crusted the town's landscape. It was quiet, and there were no travelers to wonder why so many people were standing around with their eyes cast to the ground. Instead of a shrine a magic swirl floated in front of the tree.

The black swirl fizzing at the edges was not a true gate. The connection only carried sound and the impression of an image. Its murky insides clouded with storm. Occasional flashes rippled through the rolling mist. Red magic. Then purple.

"We can hear you!" Livia shouted. "Don't give up!"

One by one townsfolk stepped up to the sphere to speak their minds. Some were loud and encouraging. Others were quiet. Martin stood nearby hearing things not meant for him. He'd already spoken his part.

"I remember what you told me," Priscilla said into the spiral. "I'm making a new wish now. Please come home."

"You must return," Beatrice whispered. "Without you we have no hope of awakening the last star, and I fear what shall come to pass if I fail. My uncle's influence is already spreading to SEED. The kingdom needs you."

Hina knew what being at the foot of the great tree meant. "If you don't come back I'll be sad forever," she said.

Somewhere on the other side of the divide Alice fought for the sake of humanity's heart. She battled a dread that'd rooted in anyone who suffered, a force that took Fuuka's pack one by one, tried to possess Priscilla, stole into Martin's shattered spirit, and corrupted a person who should've been a hero.

You can't have Alice, Martin thought. If he were able he'd have gone into Lucas' gate immediately even if it meant oblivion. Murakumo echoed the sentiment aloud. "If I could, I'd take your place in a heartbeat."

But that wasn't how things worked. Wishes couldn't change the past. Martin knew that, having stood in this exact spot before.

On the other side of the magic Livia and Radea had long gone quiet. No sign of Alice appeared in the rolling mist.

Martin focused his unsaid hopes into the darkness. He wasn't the only one. Terry had a sad, pensive look on his face. Misasagi bowed her head in silent prayer. The atmosphere hung heavy with unspoken words.

Inside the portal the billowing storm puffed before racing inward to one tiny point. Gold rays interspersed with rushing darkness. Corruption and life became one.

A rumble shook beneath Martin's feet. The earth itself shivered a tremor into his bones while crackling thunder rolled from the sphere. As he watched light blew apart the inside until it shone pure white. Radiance beamed from the swirl.

Gradually its shining rays grew softer. They took the darkness with them. Dread lifted from the land and did not return. But, when it left, something else went with it too.

A swaying sigh swept through the runeys. The ripple pooled outward, fanning through every living creature, a knowledge that this first breath of freedom had come at a cost. Rigbarth looked on to the empty gate and waited.

From the fading swirl a single sparkle floated out. Then another. Tiny motes of magic dust emerged. Harvest gold colors drifted up past the boughs of the great tree, disappearing into the blue.

Lucas' shoulders sank. "Oh…"

At the base of the tree the gate shuddered and collapsed in on itself, vanishing. For a few long beats nothing happened. Then a burst of magic dropped two people at the tree's trunk. Livia stumbled on her feet. Radea folded to her knees where she fell. Blood smeared both of them.

Simone stepped forward. Livia shot the doctor a look that made her stop.

Radea's long nails scraped snow at the tree's roots while she struggled to stand. Priscilla came to her side.

"Don't."

Priscilla's hands faltered, then settled into her dress. She looked to the spot the portal had been. Everyone waited for the light of Alice's magic. Any second now. She'd come back the same as always.

Radea staggered up of her own accord.

Lucas' eyes were crushed shut. She covered them with a hand.

Martin already knew. He'd known soon as he saw the twinkling colors, now gone.

Captain Livia would not look at him. She and her sister silently made their way through the group. Radea paused as she limped by. Her dragon's eyes met his. Age far beyond her appearance weighed the cosmic colors inside.

"She saved everyone," Radea said.

Her gaze dropped. Then she continued on the path.

"Captain Livia!" Scarlett called.

Livia paused. Her head turned just enough to reveal a glimmer of gold. Those eyes closed. She gave the slightest shake no before turning back to the road.

"But…" Scarlett looked back and forth from the spot the portal had been. "No…"

What was there to say?

Alice wasn't coming back.

Ludmila collapsed sobbing on the spot. Her skirts pooled around her on the snow-mudded brick. No one else spoke. Ludmila's hiccupped sobs echoed in the winter plaza.

Lucy turned and ran.

Martin walked past the others. He didn't see their reactions. He went to the bench by the great tree, the one he always waited for Alice at, and sat. Fingers threaded together. An emptiness so profound he felt nothing gradually bowed him over. The imprint of his hands dug into his forehead.

A cloak draped over Martin's ruined outfit. Cecil was there too. He clamped onto Martin's side.

But he just. He wasn't there.

Snow started to fall.

He couldn't accept this.

Chapter Text

"Tell me what happened to Alice."

"Nyah. Couldn't we talk about something a little easier?"

"No."

Livia's gaze sank. "Very well. What is it you wish to hear?"

"How she died. If she died."

Behind the desk Livia exhaled and stargazed at the ceiling for a bit. Then she folded her arms over the desk, letting her head sink into them. Slitted pupils looked down on him from the raised platform.

"We couldn't fix the seal. Many of the spells from the old world require earthmates to work together. Strong as Alice was she couldn't do it alone, so we ended up fighting the fathomless dread. Maybe if we'd been woken sooner we might have stood a chance. But for me 20 years is like I've barely gotten out of bed. I thought for sure we'd all perish on the other plane, but, it seems Alice had been thinking about this for a long while.

"She tricked it. She let the dread possess her the same way it did Gideon, except instead of a piece she took the whole thing. I'm amazed it didn't corrupt her instantly. She kept smiling until the very end. If it weren't for everyone's prayers I don't think that would have been possible.

"Then she… faded. The way a dragon does when it dies. She dispersed into the Forest of Beginnings."

Livia turned her face down to the desk and said no more. All things returned to the Forest of Beginnings in the end.

So. There wasn't anyone left to save. Is that the story he'd been looking for? He couldn't come to terms with any of this. He was simply trying to understand. "Do all earthmates fade?"

Livia let out a long breath to collect herself. She sat back in the chair, sliding the ends of her undone necktie through fingers. "No. I don't suppose Alice told you much about being an earthmate. I asked her to keep it a secret after all. If she hadn't Gideon would have found us much sooner."

"We didn't get the chance to talk about it," Martin said.

"Then I'll fill you in. Even for an earthmate Alice was special. She was born from the land, because the balance was falling apart and needed to be restored, and because the fathomless dread was leaking into our world. I guess in a way you could say she was the answer to a wish from the runeys themselves.

"I didn't know any of this for sure at first, but, I do now. Because once she fulfilled her mission the land took her back."

That's why Alice had been so serious about all the things she said. When had she realized she might disappear? And yet, knowing her life was limited she'd still spent all those moments with him.

He couldn't regret any of it. He just wanted more time. A year. A week. Even a few minutes, if that's all he was allowed. Anything. There was so much he could do in only a few minutes. A kiss, an I love you, sorry, thank you, why do you have to go…

Sitting in the Silo's too-plush chair he watched where his knuckles rested on his legs. No scars crested his hands. They'd all been burned away.

"Can she hear us from the Forest of Beginnings?" Martin asked.

Livia sat straighter. "Hmm. I wonder? Even if she could there's no way to know. You'd never hear back."

"I'll have to live with that."

Maybe he was doomed to a life without any closure. Martin got up. It didn't seem like there was anything more he'd get out of being here. He'd spent the energy he could muster and now it was time to go.

At home he sat on the edge of his bed.

No inner voice told him how worthless he was. He waited for it. And waited. The abuse was so familiar to him he didn't know how to operate without it.

For a while he soullessly picked at the chainmail. The very act of sliding another link into the grid was miserable. He forced himself to do it because there was nothing else. Every squeeze of the pliers made his hand shudder. Any effort wrenched his insides with agony. His grief would boil to the surface and overflow until he was exhausted and emotionless. He'd become a blank, tired slate.

Most days he had no feeling.

At last it became too much. He lay the chain on the desk. The links in the mail did not move. Each round circlet weaved into the others. Shiny crescents where the light hit scaled down the mail. He watched the metal until he was looking without seeing, until thoughts went blank.

He pressed a finger into the chain harder and harder. Its cold ribbed pattern dug deep. The metal warmed until he couldn't feel it. His finger went numb from the pressure.

Martin let go.

The world had ended.

He was lost.

Cecil knocked on the door and brought in a plate with dinner. Martin hadn't the life in him to sit at the main table where the three of them had been, before. For the most part he wanted to be alone.

"Is there anything I can do?" Cecil asked. Martin shook his head. Cecil set the plate on the desk. "There's something I want to tell you, if that's alright."

Martin's silence was the go ahead.

"I knew about our parents. I thought they might come back anyway. I hoped maybe everyone else was wrong. But, I get it. Mostly what bothers me now is I wish I knew what happened. Someday I'm gonna figure it out." Cecil folded his arms. "But Alice is different. So I'm going to wait for her to come home. I don't care what anyone else says. She came out of nowhere the first time and I'm going to believe with all my heart it will happen again!"

Oh, Cecil. Martin pushed chunks of boiled pumpkin around the plate, head propped in one hand.

"I'm going to hope hard enough for the both of us, because it—" Cecil's voice broke "—hurts to see you like this." He skittered out of the room and shut the door.

Even when Martin knew his own misery hurt Cecil he couldn't control it. If only he could keep all his problems to himself. It was enough to suffer alone. The fact it dragged others down made it worse.

He ate without paying attention. Thinking of Alice brought nothing but pain and yet he couldn't help it. Cecil put how she'd arrived in Rigbarth into his head, and he recalled all of it, how they'd met, how he'd been his usual snippy self and she'd surprised him again and again. If only he'd known then. They could have had more time.

~ ~ ~

Martin waited for Cecil to answer the front door. After a second knock he realized his brother must be out. He sighed and steeled himself.

Messy strands escaped the part in Priscilla's pink hair. It was difficult to see much else when she kept her gaze averted to the doorstep.

"I brought you this." She held out a basket. He took it.

"Is that all?"

"No. Can I come in?"

"Huh. Sure." Confused, Martin carried the basket into the kitchen. Now that he looked there was a lot inside. Fresh bread tucked under a cloth. Behind that were simple useful things. Soap, a jar of lamp oil… two actually… candles, and what appeared to be a canister of tea. The scent matched the kind Alice liked. It's supposed to help you sleep.

The pang of grief stabbed sudden and sharp. It wasn't fair Priscilla could be this thoughtful.

In the kitchen he rubbed his face and breathed through the wave of despair. After a few minutes it subsided enough for him to go out and sit at the table across from Priscilla.

"Lucy won't let me talk to her. She keeps running away." Shine welled over Priscilla's eyes. She sniffed. "Sorry. This is hard. I don't know if you want to hear this or not, but, I thought if anyone should know it would be you."

Her lip quivered. "I never got to thank Alice for saving me. I realize now it was her." At that Priscilla burst into tears.

Furrows pinched Martin's brow. It took too much effort to hold himself together. Thinking about Alice and seeing this… if he cried now… He folded his arms and focused on the far window, fighting the wobble at the edges of his mouth.

"When I was little I made a wish in Belpha Ruins." Priscilla had to pause between sentences to be able to speak through the crying. "I wished for someone to save me. And it was Alice. She appeared, and when she called a dragon came. She said she heard my wish. And I'm going to wish every single day to see her again." Priscilla rubbed one sleeve across her eyes and then the other. Little sniffles and puffs shuddered the gap. "Sorry, you're the one who… and it's me crying. I can't stop. I'll go." Her chair scraped against the floor.

Martin couldn't hold it in. "Thanks… for the…" his voice caught in his throat. A sob threatened to bubble up under it.

Priscilla bowed and hurried out.

He covered his face with his hands. All these people Alice saved and he hadn't been able to do a single thing for her. It was his fault.

The sob escaped. He slammed his fists down on the table just to feel the wood. Martin crumpled to the surface, pushing the grain of it to his forehead.

Alice appeared for Priscilla's wish. She'd come to rescue Hina. But what kind of miracle would it take to save him? He didn't deserve it, anyway.

His sigh blew against the table into his face, shivering scorched hair. He lay on the washed up shore of depression waiting for the tide to come in.

Something at the back of his mind wouldn't leave him alone. Denial kept finding patterns in people's stories. Between Priscilla and Hina, Alice disappeared. Where did she go for all those years?

It had to be a somewhere she could exist without memory. The more he mulled over Livia's conversation the more sure he became. There was only one place it could be.

He gathered resolve for another difficult conversation.

~ ~ ~

Shining oiled wood floorboards stretched wall to wall. Given the emptiness Martin expected packed moving crates but there were none. Instead, a single plain table had been placed purposefully in the exact center of the room.

Lucas was sitting there. One set of fingers curled to his forehead in distress while he wrote in a journal, which he did not look up from. Behind him a massive shelf touched the ceiling. It had nothing in it.

"Can you bring Alice back?" Martin asked.

"I cannot."

"Is there any way to get someone back from the Forest of Beginnings?"

The quill in Lucas' hand paused. Then it continued scrawling across the page. "Even if I were to answer that question it would not help you."

"Then help me! Otherwise, what's the point? What was the point of all this if it didn't change anything? Why give me Fiersome—why?"

"Because Alice needed you."

"And I need her!"

Sorrow permeated Lucas' expression.

"I need her," Martin said again, quiet. "My neighbor is a dragon, and then there's you, and you're telling me none of you can do anything. I don't believe it. I've seen you make a gate. So, send me to the Forest if nothing else. I'll go."

A sad smile perked Lucas' lips. "And here I was thinking Alice made the most outrageous requests."

"Well. Do it."

"Unfortunately I'm already at my limit. If I do any more, the balance will tilt, and some poor soul will suffer in our stead."

"I'll pay it then. Put it on me. Take my magic, my hands, my memories, I don't know what the cost is but I don't really care."

"We don't get to choose who is affected."

"...If it's someone random…"

"And if it were your brother?"

Then, no. No. Martin's conscience cleared and he could see this wasn't right. Harming a stranger on Alice's behalf—no one wanted that. The random person would be someone's parent, a child, a lover, any number of ordinary roles that meant everything.

His shoulders dropped in defeat. There were many things magic couldn't change. If the dragons and Lucas were powerless he didn't know what to do. Was he supposed to just accept this? Or should he spend the rest of his years hoping for the impossible?

He wouldn't love again. The second option was looking pretty reasonable. He turned to leave.

"Wait."

Martin's boots stopped on the blank floor.

"There is something. The miracle you're asking for may be beyond me, but, seeing as Alice came from the land, have you attempted asking it for help?"

"Huh?"

"Wish upon the Great Tree. If your heart's desire is deep enough it may hear you."

That old Rigbarth fairy tale. "I'll… think about it."

"I wish you the greatest of luck. Truly."

Outside cold air cut into the seams of Martin's old spare outfit.

He plodded the unpopular trail around the Belpha Ruins to get to the bridge. He didn't need to notice how losing Alice ruined everyone. He didn't want to see everyone's pity. Most of all he had to avoid Ryker, because the silence between them when they crossed paths, the complete lack of any bite or sass or sound at all, said more than three hundred nails delivered to a coffin maker.

While he walked the leafless branches of the great tree followed, fracturing the winter sky in a complicated network. He'd heard stories of the tree's power before. Mom used to say if he and Cecil really wanted a pet Wooly they should make a wish at the tree. It had never worked of course. A tree was just a tree.

Or that's what he used to think, but someone had taught him otherwise. Someone who talked to monsters and brought life where it'd been lost.

Rigbarth's farm dragon soared over ocean skies. Beside the distant speck, colors of Kelve lava flowed. Then shards of ice. Curved earth, scaled wind, five farm dragons faded in and out of cloud patches. They'd gathered together today.

Martin's tracks turned. He found himself in the center plaza. The inset in the path led directly to the ancient tree's trunk. Grooved bark full of pits and flowing lines filled his entire field of view. Tiny ice crystals jeweled thicker flakes.

He pulled off one of his gloves.

Rough bark scraped under his palm. Ice melted into cold dew. He looked up. The wood went forever into an infinity of branching twists.

He'd died here the day Alice didn't return.

Please bring her back.

…

Martin dried his hand and put the glove back on.

Nothing happened.

Don't expect immediate results. Most of us are just ordinary folk. Gotta spend a long time doing a craft to get any good at it, Master Darroch said.

He went home.

~ ~ ~

Every day he visited the tree. Sometimes he'd stand in front of it and think. Other times he'd sit at the bench and glare into the bark.

Why let her live only to take her away? It isn't fair. But, I guess, none of us gets a choice. I'm still angry though.

Stupid as it was, thinking at the great tree did more for him than it should have. It was the only means to sort his feelings out. He couldn't do so by talking to other people.

So, once again during lunch break he stopped by the plaza. He stood in the private square that touched the tree. Lost thoughts swam. Before he knew it he'd drifted into memories: random scenes from his childhood, travels on the road, things he'd forged, imagined futures he couldn't have. With arms folded he gazed where frosted grass met bark without seeing.

I promised to take you to the capital.

"What are you doing Martin?"

He raised his head. Ludmila hung on the periphery of his vision further from the tree. Her hat sagged over unbraided hair frizzy with snarls. Brittle flower remains and dead leaves caught in it.

"You look terrible," he said.

"I know. I'm surprised I haven't been kicked out yet." Her laugh was weak. "Ahah, look at us. What a mess we are."

Ludmila approached and for once Martin didn't bother to leave. There was no reason to. Neither of them had any fire. He'd lost the ability to love, and although he didn't understand what Ludmila's deal was, it hardly mattered. She stood next to him and looked up at the bare branches.

"I'm sorry," Ludmila said. "I should have taken better care of you. Oh, Alice would be so disappointed in me… and not the good kind of disappointment either."

"Erm. Whatever you're offering I don't need it."

"That stone cold expression might trick everyone else but it can't fool me. A succubus feels heartbreak like their own. It hurts so bad I can hardly stand here without losing it. But I don't wanna do anything without asking."

Martin huffed and looked down at his feet. "What are you talking about Ludmila?"

"Let me help. All I've ever been is a monster. For once I can actually do something good. Please don't turn me away, if you do it'll be more than I can bear. My powers weren't enough to bring Alice back and now making sure you don't have nightmares is the only way I can help. I wish it were more."

Ludmila could take away his nightmares. She told him the downside was he wouldn't remember the dreams he did have. Fine by him, since they were all sad anyway. "You're not going to sneak into them?" he asked.

"I don't have to anymore. After I stopped denying what I was I found out how to get the energy I need without hurting anyone. Alice changed everything for me." Some of Ludmila's spirit returned. "But… I still sneak into Scarlett's dreams sometimes, heehee. She's so spicy when she's mad. I can't resist."

Hoo boy. Well, he didn't trust Ludmila to keep her dream hands to herself, but he did trust that she'd pick someone else to flirt with. Poor Scarlett.

Lumila kept begging and he was too worn down to argue. "Fine."

"Ooo, you won't regret it, I promise!"

She said that, but he wasn't so sure. Knowing he'd agreed to something strange at least served as a distraction. The idea of dream magic haunted him. Several times he considered going to the flower shop to change his mind.

Too late for that now, he thought, staring at his bedroom ceiling in the middle of the night. Even under the heavy winter quilt he couldn't sleep. Nervous about what Ludmila might do to him Martin lay wide awake with an arm cast over his forehead, listening to the fireplace in the main room. His door remained open to let the heat in.

Just when he thought he'd never fall asleep, he did.

A different reality sank in. Dim light of early morning slipped past the curtain. He'd just gotten dressed.

Slight disarray from busy lives cluttered the bedroom. He picked up two empty mugs from the nightstands and looked behind the door for his apron before remembering he'd left it in the workshop—Cecil's old room.

In the living area Alice uncrumpled the task board papers she'd jammed in her pack. "Morning! You were up late last night."

Why did it feel like he hadn't seen her in a lifetime? But the urgent pang faded, and he was left with the everyday peace of their ordinary home life. He kissed her on the way to the kitchen to drop off the mugs. "I stayed late to finish a commission. Did you feed Fang?" he asked.

"Not yet."

Martin pulled the pot with yesterday's leftovers out of the cold box. Two containers with sandwiches for today waited on the top shelf. He set those on the counter. The pot went on the floor. "Fang!"

The silver wolf banged through the front door, claws scrabbling at stone tile. Fang slorped up all the scraps until the pot was bare and tongue scraped on metal. After gnawing the crust ring inside the pot Fang snuffled around the edges of the room for any forgotten bits or interesting activity.

Martin heard Alice collecting the last pieces of her ranger equipment before she called out an early goodbye. She needed to get to the inn before sunrise to escort a merchant through the grasslands.

"Don't forget your lunch," Martin shouted from the kitchen.

"Shoot! Thanks." Alice rushed in and grabbed the box—and another kiss.

"Do you have to go?" he murmured.

"Why are you so snuggly all of a sudden?" she teased. "I'll try not to come home too late."

Best he could hope for. "Okay."

It all started to get a little fuzzy. Good feelings, normal days, happy nights…

The dream scattered.

Martin came to consciousness unable to remember what he'd dreamed about, if anything. Whatever Ludmila said she could do must be true. The hole where his heart was supposed to be didn't feel so empty. The heartbreak was still there, sure, but the pain wasn't as sharp.

Nothing inside his head came to berate him. He was still getting used to the inner calm and being stuck with his own thoughts.

He dressed for work. For the first time in a while he did not feel utterly miserable. Unfortunate. To be honest he'd lowkey hoped the ruthlessness of having his heart cut out would kill him. It'd be easier.

But no, he was going to survive. Everyone else was gone and it was him and Cecil again. Only this time Martin wasn't alone. He had friends, and emotions, and fire that didn't hurt to light the charcoal in the forge with. The magic stayed because Alice gave it to him to keep him alive. That was Martin's only explanation. It wasn't his fire. It was hers.

And he carried it with him always.

From then on he didn't remember his dreams. He let Ludmila have them. Though, as the restful nights went on he had the impression whatever the dreams were, they were good ones.

He didn't ask Ludmila what she'd done and she didn't offer an explanation. His emotional pain found some measure of peace, and bit by bit Ludmila's colors returned.

~ ~ ~

Time passed. Soon it would be spring.

"Lady Beatrice and I must leave with the snow. We have matters to attend elsewhere in the kingdom."

"Do you want your weapons and armor repaired before you go?"

"That won't be necessary."

"I won't charge."

"Oh… then, yes. I'd appreciate that. It's been a while since they had a professional touch."

Martin tilted a thumb at the area Reinhard could leave his things. Maintenance would be quick. Reinhard took good care of his gear, but patches resewn many times and dents that needed special tools to fix did not escape Martin's notice. This entire time Reinhard had never come into the smithy, not once, until now.

Martin didn't know what circumstances drove these two into poverty, but he felt a kind of camaraderie with Reinhard. He'd seen how Beatrice's clothes remained clean and proper even while the fur lining on Reinhard's cloak wore away. It was a situation familiar to him.

He held the sword up for inspection. "Where will you go?"

"North. There is a village called Sharance in the mountains. But please, if anyone asks you must not tell them. Even your brother, if I may be so bold as to request such."

"Heh. No, I understand. I won't mention it."

The blade carried a chip too big to remove without heavy grit filing. Martin took Reinhard's sword and sat at the grindstone. He pushed the stone's pedal to get it turning and lowered the blade at the correct angle. It made its characteristic stony screech.

After that he moved to the worktable where he could hone the edge with finer whetstones. All the while Reinhard looked on. Martin forgot he was there by the time he got to the armor. He removed a piece of frayed cord that held together the metal lames that usually protected Reinhard's sides. With pliers he snapped off the correct thickness of metal rod to refill the holes with proper rivets. Hammering chimed off the smithy walls while he shaped capped ends on both sides of each rivet. He fixed the original smith's work on the fasteners that hadn't fallen out yet.

It was nice that he could lose himself in a small task again. It kept his feelings off the loss for just a little while.

After everything tapped back into place Martin handed the equipment over to Reinhard, who for some reason had chosen to stay the entire time. A troubled expression pinched the knight's brow. "To be honest I… may I speak in confidence?"

"Mmm."

"Somewhere in Rigbarth a star may fall and throw some aspect of the environment off. The star will be perfectly round; I'm certain you'd recognize it as remarkable in an instant. If such a thing does show up I would be eternally grateful if you could hide it from seeking hands and call us back."

Reinhard's gaze dropped. "I can't even offer my arms and armor as they belong to the King, but, I swear I will find some way to repay you. My lady's life is at stake. Without Alice, and with Captain Livia indisposed, I do not know where else to turn. Please…" Reinhard bowed low in supplication.

Martin's battered heart squeezed up his throat seeing someone noble acting so desperate. "I'll do what I can."

"Thank you. I am in your debt." Reinhard held the bow before he finally, thank gods, righted himself.

"Not really. You trained with me. I'll keep an eye out for it."

Reinhard looked like he wanted to say more, maybe apologize, maybe say how sorry he was about Alice. But then perhaps Reinhard also knew Martin's heart—which was that he didn't want to hear it—because in the end a quiet look between them said enough.

Reinhard left the smithy. Freshly polished gold caught the sunlight against the knight's cloak. That was the last Martin saw of him.

It was going to be a season of goodbyes.

At home that evening he sat at the living room table and waited for Cecil to return. His brother came through the door whistling, a pair of books in his grasp. Martin pretended not to notice the embellished spine on one carried the word Earthmates.

Whistling cut short soon as Cecil saw him. "Oh. Err, hi. I'm back."

"Did you still want to go to the Academy?"

Cecil picked up the abrupt topic smoothly. He sidled the books into his room, his voice following along. "Haha. I'm still saving up! I'm not even close though."

"We can afford it."

"Huh?" Cecil poked his head around the doorway. Martin repeated himself, and his brother slowly backed up into the living room.

Martin continued. "I put aside as much as I could every month. I didn't say anything in case it didn't work out, but we have enough now."

"But… I can't leave you…"

"What are you going to do? Live with me forever? You're better than that."

"Martin, come on," Cecil complained.

Martin unrolled a scroll over the table. "Enrollment starts in the spring. If you don't make a decision you'll get left out."

Cecil's curiosity got the best of him. He came to the table and began looking through the materials that'd been a pain in the butt to get delivered here over winter. "I can't," Cecil said. "It's your money. You should open your own shop with it."

"I'd rather you have it. You wanted to find out what happened to our parents, right?" That could only be done if Cecil left Rigbarth.

Martin had made up his mind on this the moment he started saving. He stubbornly countered all Cecil's questions. Yes, he'd remembered to include lodging costs. No, he didn't want to start his own smithy or renovate the house. He wouldn't starve to death if Cecil wasn't there to cook. Yes he'd take care of himself.

The royal academy had rooms for attendees to live on site but that was a little out of reach for anyone except the wealthy. Martin was thinking of hiring Terry to travel with Cecil and make sure he got decent living arrangements set up without being ripped off. A short trip to gather intel from the capital would be useful for the detective anyway.

At last Cecil couldn't contain the hopeful twinkle that'd sparked earlier. Boyish excitement jittered into his smile. "Is it really okay to go?"

Martin nodded.

"Oh, thank you!" Happiness showered the room. Cecil looped his arms around Martin's neck, bouncing around like a fool and somehow also managing a hug. "Thank you thank you!"

Martin sighed, rolling his eyes with a long-suffering smile. He patted Cecil on the back.

~ ~ ~

The final day came surprisingly fast. Martin stood off to the side of True Strike and watched Cecil head off with Terry. Eventually a bluff obscured them from view.

He'd done the best he could.

A weapon was never really finished. You just had to decide when it was time to let it leave the shop.

After a while he turned down the path.

He'd left the house unlocked. The hinges swung in and the only sound were his steps on the floor. One cloak and one lantern hung on the entry hooks. Everything in Cecil's room had been organized and put away. It looked bare.

Dead air followed him to the kitchen. He'd never been so aware of how loud a knife sounded when chopping onions, or the scrape of a pot as he fitted it over the fireplace. At least the crackling fire filled the void.

This would take some getting used to.

For the first time in his life he lived alone. He came to understand on a visceral level why Alice purchased a phonograph. As far as he knew the music box and its records were collecting dust next door. If he had the guts he might ask for it as a memento, but hearing the song that'd played that snowy night might bring fond memories or it might break him. He wasn't ready to find out.

Someday he'd be ready.

~ ~ ~

Winter released its death grip on the land. Days got longer. Sun soaked up snow, and the drab brown underneath gave way to green sprouts. Plants thickened and popped with color of early blooming flowers. Soon the trees on St. Coquille street flocked with pink blossoms. Rigbarth flourished in a way it had not in years.

The great tree was a little slower to wake up. The travelers who knew this saved their trips for when it did. Others came early and wondered if the ancient tree was dead, and every year Martin sat through his lunches listening to people explain that no, it was not. Then local tales about making wishes at the tree would spread around.

This year nobody mentioned the wish legend. Maybe because by now everyone had seen him in the center square at least once.

Maybe no one said anything because sometimes Priscilla and Cecil had gone to the tree with fruit sandwiches and tea and melon cookies, and they'd rolled out a picnic sheet in the cold spring months. Even after Cecil left for the academy Priscilla continued the tradition.

Maybe it was because sometimes Lucy would stand at the foot of the plaza, hands on her hips, and face off with the tree as if it were a challenge.

Or it could be the flower bulbs Ludmila planted around the roots.

Reinhard and Beatrice's absence.

Lucas, who'd sometimes remove a single glove and put his hand to the bark.

The silver wolf that every now and then slept at its base.

Their wishes weren't something to be shared with the rest of the world. Maybe that's why no one mentioned the great tree's supposed power. Grief was private. The only people who knew what Alice had done, and what Rigbarth had lost, were already here.

Buds pipped and opened. Blossoms the richest shade of pink flourished.

On a warm night, after all the shops had closed and the travelers tucked into the Blue Moon for sleep, Martin stopped by the tree on his way to the baths. Streetlamps washed the undersides of cherry bloom branches. He had time. Murakumo wouldn't mind if he were a little late.

Martin settled into the spot on his bench. He propped elbows on his knees and cuffed his hands together so he had a place to rest his chin when he leaned over. The plaza's brick extended past his steel toed boots. He gazed at the ground and let his mind wander.

Never thought I'd end up like Cecil. I know you're not coming back, but you're an earthmate. Maybe you can still hear me.

Is it lonely there?

I hope not. I hope it's good. If you're happy I can't really complain.

…

I miss you.

Martin's bridged fingers slid to his forehead as he sank further. His parents were gone. Cecil was gone. The only person he'd really wanted to keep by his side, though, had been her.

I wish.

I wish…

Emotions welled up. Thoughts, images, lost hopes he couldn't describe. There were no words for this kind of wish. It came from the heart.

All of the flowers in the great tree swooshed from a strong wind overhead. Yet… there was no wind.

A force deep underground tugged his magic. Countless runeys were gathering, condensing, rushing upward.

An unbearable feeling expanded inside Martin's chest. The weight of a presence he could not see cloaked over the plaza, something so big its mere existence locked him to the bench. It went beyond an ancient dragon. His breath compressed from his lungs.

From the depths an ageless voice that wasn't a voice vibrated the fiber of his being.

I have heard your prayers.

The immense existence crashed like a wave over ocean. In its spreading wake leaves and grasses whooshed before coming to rest in the still night. Heavy pressure crushing Martin lifted. Exertion left him panting, still bent over his knees. Was that a heart attack?

He couldn't look up. Whatever hallucination he'd experienced continued to resonate. Words from an otherworldly being repeated over and over. He was actually shaking. Forget the baths, he needed to go to the clinic.

The sound of two clacked footfalls landed in front of the tree. Seconds ago he'd been alone. Martin managed to sit up.

"I hope you weren't waiting long," Alice said cheerfully, as if it'd only been a few hours. "It was a lot more confusing in there than I thought. Making a gate spell took some work. I'm pretty sure I got some help just now. …Martin?"

Was this real?

For a moment he saw into the shining white light behind her. Traces of pure creation faded in and out in brilliant colors, the beginning and end of all things, a place that defied description. Then it blinked out, leaving only Alice in the embroidered tunic and soft boots she'd first shown up in.

In disbelief he slowly rose from the bench. Engraving tools in the apron pockets tinkled.

Alice came forward. Her gait slowed as she noticed the cherry blossoms scattered under the circles of light beneath the lampposts. Green plants, warmer weather, what Martin wore, all of it had changed. "Oh no…" she whispered.

She stopped as unknown time separated them. Worry clouded her expression. "How long was I gone?" She saw his new attire. "Am I… too late?"

He must be dreaming. All he could do was shake his head. Not too late.

Under the lamplight she came to him. His hand drifted from his side of its own accord. Alice's tunic bumped against his glove. She didn't vanish from the touch. Instead, soon as he reached for her she gathered him in a hug. "I didn't mean to make you wait," she said.

She was solid and wonderful and real. This couldn't be true. It couldn't be true. His eyes squeezed shut. A bead of water trickled down his cheek and melted into her clothes.

"No, no, hey…"

He felt her pull back and all he could hope was that she wouldn't look. He never wanted Alice to see him cry.

Cottony kerchief swept the trails off his face. Alice's soft kiss touched his lips. Longing pulled him apart. Being sweet to him when he was a total wreck… his face might shatter from how hard he tried not to weep. Tears spread through his eyelashes and spilled. Alice kissed him again, and again, not caring about the saltwater and the smeary mess it created.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I'm sorry. Can you forgive me?"

He could barely whisper. "I thought I lost you." And he brought her close, burying his face in his favorite place at her shoulder, feeling harvest hair bunch across his cheek. He held her tight with everything he was. Alice's strength curled around him. Fingers slid through the back of his hair.

Thank you, he thought. Thankyouthankyouthankyou.

High above the silent tree continued to shelter their spot, where the faded edge of the lamp light's circle met the dark.

Chapter Text

Alice continued to hug him. "I heard your wishes. I heard everyone's wishes. Actually it was a little noisy," she chuckled. Her face turned down to his chest, lovely touch streaming along the nape of his neck. "But not you Martin. Never you. I'm so glad you kept talking to me."

"What else," he said shakily to her skin, "was I supposed to do?"

"I don't know." This time when she tipped back she made sure to catch him in her playful eyes. "Make some swords?"

He laughed, the sound choked by leftover tears. Sheesh. With one arm around her he hurriedly rubbed at the blasted evidence. No more of that.

"Does everyone else think I…?" she trailed off.

"Yeah. It's been five months."

Upset pinched her brow before she buried her face against him. Five months missing. She must realize how that would affect everyone. It took a few seconds before the clutch of Alice's fingers in his shirt started to relax. She mumbled, "Guess that explains why I feel so tired."

Had she seriously not slept this whole time? Though it seemed like the Forest of Beginnings operated on its own rules. "You should rest. Are you hungry at all?"

Alice wordlessly shook her head into his chest.

They were both reluctant to let go of each other. Martin kept wondering if he was dreaming. He knew he wasn't but it felt like it. Alice's hair brushed through his fingers while he tried to summon the wherewithal to stop holding her.

"Is it okay if we go home?" she asked.

"Yeah."

He'd come to the great tree alone. He left with his one and only fire. The closer they got to the bridge the more their walk slowed. On the other side of the river Alice's footsteps quit matching his. He turned back to see her looking up at the tall SEED building and its dark panes bereft of life. Further up the road to the mountain Martin's house sat, its windows just as lonesome.

"Um…" Rare shyness made Alice quiet. "I asked if we could go home, but what I meant was, can I go home with you?"

Gods be good.

Yes. Please. He didn't want to be by himself a single night more. Martin tried to choose his words. "That would make me very happy."

"Good, because I'm really worried I don't have much of a room to go back to."

She'd always have a place with him. "We'll figure it out. I think all your furniture is still there." SEED was probably a mess but it was hard to tell with Captain Scarlett stepping up for Livia's loss of heart. When Alice went out tomorrow she'd have a lot to deal with.

He pulled the thick iron key from a pocket and unlocked the front door. Internally he managed the panic about bringing her home by creating a task list. Change sheets, make hot water, wash, clear the ore off the living room table, find out which room she wanted.

"Cecil's not home yet?"

"He's living in Palermo. We saved up so he could go to the academy there."

"Woah. Really?" The facts sank in. "Then… you've been alone."

Martin hummed, not wanting to think on it. Living separate from Alice might create more of an ache now than when there'd been zero chance. If he offered a place to live and she said no he'd be stricken. But, that's what he wanted to say: I'll do whatever it takes to make this your home. Move in with me.

He held his breath, stacking ores on the big table into the unsorted section of a shelf while Alice poked around changes in the living room. Fear that she'd disappear was making him reckless. The drowning relief, the sheer surreal impossibility that Alice was alive—he didn't trust himself to be rational.

Leather straps on his arm guard pinched while he pulled them tight enough to get the buckles loose. He removed the gloves and started putting his things away. "Erm. Cecil's room is clean if you wanted to sleep there."

She hesitated. More shyness. "Is… that where you want me?"

"No," slipped out. What he wanted was to be together. Alice perked right up.

"Then I'll stay with you."

Okay, s-so. Clean sheets for the bed. Better do that. Martin made himself busy while Alice looked on and tried to figure where he put things, helping where she could. He didn't have the heart to chase her away from the chores. Right now it was easier when she stayed in plain view. Who knew how long he'd be able to see her, when the next self-sacrificing heroic deed would take her away.

Watching her happily smooth fresh bed coverings gave his heart a pang. Martin looked back to the wash basin. Warm water scrubbed over his hands and face. Trickles poured from the wrung-out cloth.

Alice went into the kitchen and he took the opportunity to change into pajamas. Would this be okay? Would she be comfortable here, in his room, in his bed, with him? Nerves jittered at the thought she might not like it. If only this were a proper bedroom without all the work stuff. Martin reorganized tools on his desk. The sound of Alice's bare feet circled back from the kitchen.

Her presence warmed up the bedroom. The bed's wood frame squeaked a little as she sat on it. Meanwhile Martin collected a set of metal punches off the desk and put them in the nearby shelf.

"You're nervous," she pointed out.

"I want you to be comfortable."

Her bright laugh made his heart ache with how much he'd missed it. Alice's hands folded in her lap. "I think I'll be nice and cozy once you finish fussing and join me."

Bold. It was funny—Martin knew how assertive he could be—but Alice melted him right down to quicksilver. He turned soft only for her. And he was more than happy to do whatever she asked. He left behind the metal in the shelf to sit beside her.

She snuggled to his side right away. Pure Alice cuddled into his pajamas. He brought her close, his miracle in so many ways. "I missed you. More than I can say," he said.

"Sorry I took so long."

They were both tired. Gradually they made their way under the covers. Right when Martin got settled with an arm over her, Alice pulled away. He reached, trying to bring her back before she vanished.

"I'm only going to see if I can find my pajamas. I'll be right back."

"You can borrow mine."

Alice's shock softened into that cute tease that always meant trouble. "Are you sure? What will you wear?"

"I have two pairs you know," he mumbled under a blush.

"Haha! Then don't mind if I do." She said this as if she somehow knew exactly how adorable she'd be. A few minutes later Alice stood in front of the bed wearing olive green pajamas too tall for her. The pant cuffs sloped over her feet and the sleeves covered her hands.

Welp. She had him wrapped around her finger like a ring.

"Speechless?" she said, because she darn well knew he was with the way he stared. Martin huffed through a smile. Toying with him and he was a sap for it.

"Come to bed."

Slender hands slipped into his. He reeled her in. This time she stayed.

Could this be forever? Half asleep and cuddling he managed to ask, "You won't leave again, will you?"

"I don't plan to. The Forest doesn't need me right now."

"You're really from there."

"Yeah. It's a little weird, isn't it?"

His laugh was a whisper puff against her skin. "Heh. Not any weirder than having amnesia."

"I'm glad… that's over…" the drowsiness in her voice dropped off. She cozied close.

Holding his most precious treasure Martin basked in the calm he felt. Night smoothed the corners of the room, all the details drifting away. With Alice nestled against him the quiet of sleep slowly took over.

Hrm. He had the strange sensation he was asleep but also awake. There wasn't anything to see but Martin could feel a giddy excitement from the blackness around him. Ah. Of course. He sighed. "What?"

Ludmila popped into existence. She squealed and latched around his neck. "I'm so happy!"

"Ugh. Hey, don't—"

She pinched his cheek. "I'll leave you two lovebirds alone. Don't be too bad now, you hear? Or maybe… do?" One of Ludmila's fangs saucily hooked the corner of her mouth. Before Martin could flap her off she let go. "I bet Scarlett will love to hear this, heehee. Ta ta sweetie~"

Ludmila flounced off into the ether. Phew. Ugh. She was too much to handle on a good day. Err, night. Whatever.

He got his dreams back. But, he didn't really need them, now that he'd be waking up to one.

~ ~ ~

Dawn glazed the gap below the bedroom curtain into a band of light on the floor. The calm rise and fall of Alice's sleep moved against him. She smelled nice and warm. He couldn't resist, nuzzling close and leaving a kiss, trying not to wake her. Alice's breathing stayed restful. She must have been exhausted like she said.

For once Martin did not want to leave bed. He knew he had things to do. But, maybe for a few more minutes he could enjoy this. Alice lay comfortably against him and they were both safe and cozy.

He caught himself dozing off. Being relaxed enough for that to happen was new.

He sat up and scooched to the bottom of the mattress so he could climb over the footboard. Awkwardly he managed it without disturbing Alice. First thing he'd do tonight is rearrange so neither of them got stuck against a wall.

With as little noise as possible he collected his things, occasionally checking over his shoulder to see if she had woken up yet.

Alice continued to snooze quietly on her side. Covers rumpled over her and the spot he'd been. One hand lay unfurled near her mouth, sleep smoothing all the features of her usual energy. She was peaceful and relaxed in his bed wearing his pajamas. It had to be the most gratifying scene he'd ever witnessed.

Martin could not help himself. He kissed her cheek, a morning greeting he vowed to give every day he had the chance. "I love you."

She might sleep all day like that. He penned a note and left it on top of her tunic, letting her know she could eat whatever was in the kitchen, and to come find him if she needed anything. The ink looped into a heart at the end.

He longed to be there when she woke up, maybe even keep her as a secret a little more before the rest of Rigbarth found out, but he knew he couldn't sit patiently at home. It was only a matter of time before Ludmila failed to contain herself anyway. She already knew.

Martin gently closed the bedroom door behind him.

~ ~ ~

"Master Darroch, you shouldn't lean so far into the furnace like that."

"Mmm? Ah, right. Somethin' came down the chimney this morning and I haven't been able to get a stable flame going. Maybe you have a look at it, Martin."

"What came down, a monster, or…?"

"Fire pixie I think. Anyway it's in there but it won't come out."

Martin approached the side of the smithy where the charcoal pile in the furnace was burning. Without warning the flame burst into a heated roar. Master Darroch flinched back at the ball of fire. Anger coiled inside the furnace, the flames raging with a will of their own.

Martin clenched his teeth as a puff of burning air lanced him in the face. His own fire sparked the edges of the brick around the furnace opening. Spats and sizzles hissed at the monster hidden inside the roaring furnace. The big fire flickered, shrinking back as if in surprise.

Before it could retaliate Martin hooked a poker into the charcoal and shuffled it around. Sparks hazed off the wood. Blackened crust fell away to reveal a cherry red orb glowing inside the furnace.

"Were you working on something?" Martin asked.

"Nope. No sense in it if I can't get a fire going."

Martin put the poker's hook against the orb. The thing radiated fury that was cautiously held back in the presence of his fire magic. Like responding to like, he supposed. He dragged the orb to the furnace lip before switching to a pair of heavy duty blacksmithing tongs to collect the jewel.

Resting it on top of his anvil he waited for the color to cool. It did not. Low humming anger waved through the smithy.

"Some kinda rock causing all this trouble, huh," Master Darroch said. "Not sure what we should do with it. Looks about ready to melt through the anvil."

"I'll take it outside."

"Careful not to start a grass fire."

Tightening his long protective gloves, Martin looked outside the smithy. He waited for a trio of travelers to head down the bridge on the way to Misasagi's. Then he picked the star off the anvil with the tongs.

At a solid arm's length he carried it down the hill. It pulsed hostility at the surroundings. If he dropped the red star it would burn the grass, the trees, the dirt itself. It'd burn the wood frame of his house and leave only a toasted stone foundation behind. He took care opening the door. "Alice?"

No answer. His bedroom sat open so she must be out. Loneliness hit him seeing all her things gone like she'd never been. The star pulled at the sadness and began to glow hotter orange so he swept his feelings under a layer of focus. With his unoccupied hand he gripped a sharp metal plate out of the scrap box and wedged it free.

Tssssss the star hissed as he set it on top of the metal. A black ring spread where it sat. Not wasting any time Martin moved the heaviest items off the bedroom shelf and grabbed the side supports. Muscles at his core clenched. In one long heave he dragged that end of the shelf away from the wall. Metal rattled. Wood ground against stone tile. The join between the floor and wall revealed itself.

Martin dug a crowbar into the seam between two of the stones in the floor. He pried up the flat stone. Underneath, a hollow compartment revealed itself. Quickly he removed the case containing the deed to the house. Then he plucked the star up with the tongs and lowered it into the chamber. It sizzled into the stone at the bottom, sinking into a small dip of its own creation. Then it went quiet. Martin stood there watching the red glow for a few minutes.

He replaced the tile and pushed the shelf over top of it. The star's presence felt hot in his chest. Fire magic swirled. He huffed and the steam coming off his breath scalded the bottom of his nose.

Shoot. If only Radea were still around. No time for that. Thoughts raced about where he could spend a lot of fire, fast. Fiersome. He grabbed the hammer off the rack and poured flame into it. Relief burned a glow over the weapon's scales.

Martin uncapped the inkwell on his desk and slid out a parchment.

Come back. Hurry.
—M

Rummaging through the scrap box he swabbed his fingers across every grease and soot stain he could find. Then he pressed the black prints to the parchment before ragging off. He folded the paper and wrote Knight Reinhard on the outside before taking it to the detective agency.

"I need a message delivered to Reinhard."

Behind the desk Terry dipped his chin, looking over the rims of his dark shades. "He could be outside the country by now."

"Try Sharance first," Martin said.

"Alright. Next courier who's headed out that way it'll be done. Oh, and if you could do me a favor, say welcome back to Alice for me."

Terry knew?

"Your smile gives it away," Terry said.

"Ah."

~ ~ ~

After work Martin repositioned his bed. Then, he turned to the wall of furniture.

On the middle shelf sat a small treasure box. He flipped the lid and shuffled through knickknacks: a tiny metal elefun, dad's wax seal stamp, rune crystal shards, a pleasantly smooth black stone. He hooked the length of the thing he wanted and pulled it from the collection.

It was in good shape, hardly used since he made it. He tipped a bottle of moondrop oil over a rag and rubbed a fresh coat onto the metal anyway. Then he placed the important item at the edge of the living room table right where he could see it.

He couldn't come up with a smooth or believable way to offer the present. An idea might come if he continued to look at it while he worked. He dragged a heavy chain shirt onto the table along with the pliers and snips to continue where he'd left off. Piece by piece new rings lined up.

Before it got too dark he should find Alice. First, to make sure she still existed on this plane, but second, because when she had a lot to do she sometimes put off eating or sleeping or generally taking care of herself. Worry about how she might react to Rigbarth's changes furrowed a line between his eyes. It would be very like her to run after Beatrice and Reinhard or Radea.

As he was thinking this the main door clicked open.

Alice brushed stray hay off her sleeves before coming inside. "Wow, I have so much to catch up on. I thought I'd never escape!" She hung her hat on the hook by the entrance.

Surprise popped his attention off the chainmail. He'd forgotten how good it felt to see her come through the door, how often she used to do so.

Alice unlaced her boots. "All my worktables are still upstairs and the beds haven't changed so I should be okay to go back tonight. I'll have to move everything around again because it's set up for visiting rangers. Scarlett said if I plan to stay we can section off part of the second story into a permanent room like hers."

"Looks like you plan to stay," Martin said, since she was wearing a new uniform.

"For now, yep! It's kind of the only job I know, even if all I do is go on patrols."

"What about the farm?"

"That's the part I like. I missed all the monsters and the dragons. Which reminds me I need to order a huge number of seeds from Misasagi. Anyway, did you eat yet? I thought I could cook for us."

The chainmail chimed into a pile. "Do you want any help?"

"No no, it's okay. Keep working on your project." Alice headed for the kitchen and Martin tried to say… to ask her… ah. He couldn't find the words. She strolled past, rolling her sleeves up before flipping her hair into a tie to keep it back. Each movement flowed with comfortable determination. Memories of nights where the three of them cooked supper together swelled.

Did she want to stay? He stared at the item laid in plain view on the edge of the table. "I'll cook tomorrow," he said.

"Great! The Silo's cold box is empty and I didn't have time to restock it."

You don't need to, Martin thought. Come over every night.

Water magic filled a basin in the kitchen. Scrubby sounds of vegetables washed and chopped followed. The rhythm of Alice's cooking kept him company. Tomorrow they'd trade places and he'd make supper while she read, or crafted. His pliers clicked a chainmail rivet in place and squeezed.

It was very easy to imagine a life together. Maybe it was just him. He wasn't an extravagant person, he'd grown up poor, and the only thing he could offer was unwavering commitment and all the love he had.

She brought plates in and he cleared the table except for one thing.

"What's this key for?"

"It's. Um. I want to give it to you but I didn't know how to say it. It's a key to the house."

"This is for me?"

"Yeah."

Alice's fingertips rested over the hand-forged iron. They curled around it. "I'll try not to bother you too much."

Martin shook his head. "It's nicer when you're here. I want you to feel like this is your place too. If there's anything you need tell me. I'll work on it."

Green eyes shimmered. Alice looked at the floor and said, "The only thing I really need is you."

The brazen flirt startled him. At his reaction Alice burst out giggling. "Sorry," she said. "Sorry. It's mostly true though. I mean, there are some things. A place for my clothes would be good."

"Sheesh." He smiled. Of course he'd make space in the obvious ways. He'd meant whether she needed anything special, but, hopefully she'd just ask when it got to that point.

He reorganized to give Alice her own area on the shelves and in the wardrobe. She carried some essentials over from the Silo and stayed. They spent the night together again.

A few days later he finished the chain mail. It would fetch a good price but he'd have to take it to Palermo. Finally he had an excuse to create the vacation he'd promised. They planned the trip together.

He was happier than he'd ever thought possible.

But, there was only one true sign that things were fine. Here it came. Ryker yelled over the bridge at him after work. "Commission a bigger bed already, idiot!"

Martin threw a rude gesture over his shoulder.

Out of spite he waited precisely 36 hours before doing exactly what Ryker said.

~ ~ ~

Alice's chemistry set was the first thing to move into the living room. Martin had smashed his thumb under a hammer at the smithy and it turned out distilled pink cat made a potent painkiller. After that came the crafting station so Alice could tinker without having to go over to the Silo. Then all the bins of odds and ends arrived too. Her stockpile of tool and weapon maintenance supplies got combined with his.

The day they carried the phonograph down the stairs and over to the house was probably when it became official. Alice slotted her personal journal into the bedroom shelf. From then on she was the one he always came home to.

The only night they spent apart was after Beatrice came to reclaim the red star living under the floor. Alice insisted on escorting Beatrice and Reinhard to the first checkpoint on the way to the capital. The trio left with proof of the princess' heritage in tow.

When Alice was away the loss became palpable in the silence at home. At night Martin didn't like how empty the bed felt. The lonely evening slept into a quiet morning with no one to kiss or care for. He wasn't quite complete without her, but he got on to work just fine and was happy there knowing she'd return soon.

Afterwards at home he stalled in the kitchen. He prepared ingredients for cooking without actually doing it so the food would be hot when she arrived. The whole time his attention tuned eagerly for the sound of the door. He couldn't wait to see her again and it'd only been one darn day. Embarrassing, really. Alice would tease him if she knew.

He smiled over the cutting board. Strawberries split their sweet centers. The knife he'd made was strong, just like the life he'd forged out of all the pieces he'd been given.

In that moment he was proud. He was glad he'd become a blacksmith and infinitely glad for his little hometown, the place that let him stay, the place that led him to Alice.

When he heard the door he set aside the dessert to meet her. Gold hair mussed from a long day on the road, a smudge marked one cheek, and her eyes shone bright soon as she saw him. Alice's face lit up with his favorite smile. "Hi, I'm back."

Martin greeted her with a kiss, and then he got to say the thing he'd been hoping to say to her for so long.

"Welcome home."