An engorged moon drifted across the sky. Its scarce light illuminated the backs of otherwise gloomy clouds, painting the streets a muffled teal color. Although the damn snow finally stopped, that did nothing to mute the icy winds. They howled across a discombobulated nighttime cityscape.

Angelika sniffled through a numb nose and squeezed her fingers to reinvigorate them with warmth. It didn’t work. The cold permeated most of her body despite the incendia undershirt she got from Leona. Her straight-laced elder sister’s gift helped some, but did nothing to keep her legs warm. She bounced restlessly to keep them from freezing off.

How did her life turn out this way?

Less than a month ago, Angelika would spend most of her days hunting bandits and invading heathens. Her goal was to rise through the Sorceresses Guild’s ranks until she became a head channeler. To lead a squadron into battle, to hear the boom of a voltech cannon at her command. That was all she cared about—following in dad’s footsteps. She was only twelve when he died, but her memories of Adal pushed her forward.

Or they used to.

Now she was standing around, defending a shitty Zeran building. Dimitry asked her to stay extra vigilant after someone attacked his church. Shoving her shivering hands into her pockets, Angelika straightened her hunched back. She scanned the street once more in search of anyone seeking to deface the cathedral.

The only person who stood out was a woman who sat against a baker shop’s chiseled wall. She glanced out from under a thin and ruffled hood. Her pathetic eyes glared.

Angelika stared back, frowning.

Misery and despair contaminated the woman’s gaze. It begged for mercy. A helping hand.

Unable to bear the compounding sympathy and guilt, Angelika turned away. What would she do if she was in that woman’s position? Without money, there wasn’t a way to buy vol. And without vol, Angelika would be just as helpless. Maybe that was how Dimitry felt when he treated the poor for free.

Wait.

Why was Angelika sympathizing with a stupid refugee? It wasn’t like she invaded their home! They should be thankful the queen allowed them into Malten in the first place.

Shrieks and shouting echoed from a distant street.

Angelika’s head shot to the side.

A running man stumbled. “F-flying devils. Flying devils!”

Numbness instantly left Angelika’s body, only for a thumping heart and fiery blood to take its place. Flying devils? That meant a fucking carrier devil floated nearby. Had the heathen raids started already? Mom was still outside Malten, enchanting the city walls. Was Raina safe?

Now wasn’t the time for worry.

She grabbed some icy vol from her pocket. Then, in one smooth motion, Angelika pulled the voltech rifle off of her back and loaded it with an iron pellet. Aiming at the sky, she waited with steadied breath.

Angelika hoped the new seal her baby sister carved for her weapon worked well. She smirked. What a dumb thought. Although Emilia was a weirdo, she was also a damned genius. Her seals were always perfect.

Two assholes with long, sharp wings covered in jagged spikes soared over a wide road. The glowing blue heathen circuits covering their bodies distinguished them from a dark green sky. One flying devil spread its feathers: it prepared to fling them at everyone below.

Angelika absorbed the vol and effortlessly guided its power through her body. She focused half of it into her palm and reserved the rest within her upper back’s cores.

“Propelia.”

An iron pellet soundlessly darted out of her rifle to hit a flying devil’s slim torso, snapping the fucker into two. Half of its body crashed onto a roof, the other into the side of an inn.

She looked around. Happy that nobody got hurt, Angelika mumbled to herself. “Smooth as always, Emilia. Love you.”

The surviving heathen circled overhead after the death of its demonic comrade.

Although people panicked and rushed and shoved one another in an attempt to flee, the streets and alleys surrounding the cathedral remained packed.

“Move your asses!” Angelika slammed another iron pellet into her rifle. “If you don’t get out of the way, you’re going to get hurt!”

The second devil began to spread its feathers.

“Too late, asshole.” She pulled the vol’s remnant energy into her palm. “Propelia.”

Another hit.

A wing snapped from the heathen’s torso, sending the beast swerving as it plummeted towards the ground.

Unfortunately, its wounds weren’t fatal.

Angelika clicked her teeth. Idleness rusted her skills. Hoping the fall’s impact would kill the fucker, she dashed down the street to make sure. Bright blue dots of heathen’s blood guided her past a road now devoid of civilians and refugees.

Every droplet formed a trail that turned into an adjacent alley and back behind the cathedral. A flying devil’s corpse pooling in its own fluids lay at the end. Plunged into its chest was a dagger. However, unlike a knife a stinking refugee might have, this one had a purple sapphire engraved into its gleaming silver hilt.

Nearby, a cloaked figure hovered over a dog.

Angelika appreciated her own handiwork and glanced at the idiot who didn’t know to run away from danger. “Hey, you. You alright?”

The cloaked figure didn’t respond. Instead, they poured water from a canteen onto the hound’s wounds, smelling of melting flesh and fur. Burns traveled from the massive canine’s neck to its front left leg. Similarly scorching heathen’s blood covered the idiot’s clothes. Judging by the quality of her dagger, she was a wealthy merchant or some noble. But who exactly was she?

“Forget the damn dog.” Angelika stomped closer. “Worry about yourself.”

The cloaked figure looked up. It was a woman whose concerned indigo eyes glimmered in the pale moonlight. She held out her arms, which cradled the wounded beast. “Help her.”

Angelika stepped back. As a sorceress, Angelika attended many banquets before, yet never met a noble so stupid as to attack a heathen to save an animal’s life. They even expected her to hold the mangy beast. “I’m not touching that.”

Dog whimpering in her arms, the woman paced the alley leading to the hospital’s entrance. Was she really trying to get it treated?

“Hey!” Angelika said. “They only see people there.”

The woman continued her silent march.

“Damn it.” Angelika caught up to grab her shoulder. “I just told you, we don’t care about your pet.”

Long, raven black hair flowed from under the woman’s hood, twirling around her when she glanced back. Her powerful gaze held firm. “Dimitry does.” She brushed off Angelika’s hand before walking away.

Why did the woman know Dimitry by name? Was she a friend or something? Based on her looks and luxurious dagger, she could have even been one of his ‘premium’ plague cure patients. The twenty-five gold mark fee was something even mom would struggle to afford.

Angelika decided it was better not to correct the woman. That was Dimitry’s problem. Instead, she would follow her into the cathedral as an excuse to warm up. Her legs were freezing.

Winter’s relentless gale squeaked through boards covering a broken, stained glass window. They carried a frigid chill into a desolate room containing only granite furniture, an illumina enchanted rock, and a puppy. The poor thing lay in a corner by herself. Fresh bandages covered her neck and leg.

From a chair in the chamber’s center, Saphiria couldn’t bear looking into her round and terrified eyes. They remained that way from before Dimitry’s treatment and since she woke up. Dimitry put the pup to sleep to keep it from running in fear, only for her to wake up in a place she didn’t recognize.

Saphiria patted her lap to coax her forward.

But the pup didn’t come. She was scared, lost, and hesitant to walk forward.

Just like Saphiria.

People visited the castle daily to solicit her hand in marriage. Whether the sons of local dukes or countesses from Ontaria, they sought to gain control over the country’s assets by winning the heiress’ heart with sweet words and expensive gifts. Although mother didn’t verbally pressure Saphiria into making a choice, Amelie’s expectant glares prodded her. They prodded her to marry and to relearn what it meant to be a princess. To study and to pull this kingdom from the brink of ruin.

But Saphiria couldn’t despite her best attempts. She might have been a promising heiress at one point, yet life as a slave left her unable to trust. The guilt she carried from dozens of assassinations stifled her outgoing nature. A decade of people treating her like a disposable tool stole her confidence.

And father’s death… the pain of his loss only hit her recently. She realized that Ferdinand would never again show her the mines or take her on a merchant voyage.

It wasn’t that she didn’t know he died. Of course she knew. But no matter how many times others reminded Saphiria of his passing, her heart couldn’t understand logic or truth. It didn’t register. That was until tonight when the vacant numbness suddenly vanished, leaving only despair. For the first time since she returned to Malten, Saphiria truly felt.

She felt alone.

Just like the puppy.

Saphiria patted her lap once more.

Ears tucked against the sides of her head, the pup remained curled in the corner of the room.

How odd for a hunting dog to wander the streets alone. She definitely had an owner. With the exorbitant price of their care, the difficulty of training, and the prestige required for ownership permits, no one would let a hunting dog leave their home unless they didn’t want her anymore.

Saphiria looked into her sad eyes. “Did someone important to you abandon you as well?”

The pup released a longing whimper.

“That sounds difficult. It’s not much, but my lap is warmer than the floor. You can rest here if you’d like.”

She raised her head.

“And I could use the company.”

With slow and hesitant steps, the pup approached.

“I know it’s difficult, but we have to move forward, no matter how hard it is.” Although Saphiria’s words were brave, she wasn’t sure if she believed them anymore.

The pup sniffed her hand and dropped its head onto her lap.

“Good girl.” Saphiria stroked the animal’s soft fur with her thumb, careful to avoid the fresh bandages on its neck.

Although thankful that Dimitry treated the pup in time, it wasn’t her intention to burden him with more work. Out of every person in the kingdom, she doubted anyone labored as much as him. The miracles he performed. The people he saved. Revolutionary ideas more numerous than stars in a night sky. Nobles at banquets prattled about Dimitry’s luck and demonic powers, but the time Saphiria spent with him since their escape from Ravenfall told her the truth.

Dimitry knew things others could scarcely imagine.

That was why Saphiria wandered outside the cathedral, debating whether she should pass through its doors. The question she asked herself: Was she worth his time? It was time he would doubtlessly spend helping Malten in a way she never could despite being its princess. His potential wasted on a foolish girl’s selfish wish to make the world less lonely for a fleeting moment. To share feelings she wasn’t comfortable sharing with anyone else.

And yet, the answer to her nagging question was obvious. Saphiria would have swallowed her desires and turned back towards the castle if it wasn’t for the injured pup.

Two sets of footsteps thumped down an adjacent hallway, followed by the croaking of a heavy granite door.

A doctor with pale green eyes and dirty blonde hair rushed into the room. “Sorry for the wait. Someone else was hurt by heathens.”

Saphiria should have been the one apologizing. “It’s no trouble.”

Trailing behind him was a sorceress whose curly red-brown hair poured from underneath a crimson robe’s hood. The one from earlier. She glanced at Saphiria and bowed more awkwardly than Mira or any of her court sorceresses. “Hey. I’m sorry for what I said back there—didn’t know who you were. My bad.”

“It’s fine,” Saphiria said to end the sorceress’s prostrating speech.

“That’s Angelika.” Dimitry bolted the door shut. “You can speak freely around her.”

Saphiria heard that name at a court summit. If she remembered correctly, it belonged to the guard mother ordered to spy on Dimitry with no one except the sorceress guildmaster knowing. Was Angelika genuinely trustworthy? No. Dimitry was too trusting for his own good. People betrayed others at the first opportunity. Saphiria didn’t know much, but she knew that for sure.

“By the way.” Angelika walked closer, reaching into her robe’s vol pouch. “Figured you might want this back.” Her hand resurfaced, holding father’s silver dagger. “I cleaned the heathen’s blood off of it for you.”

Saphiria’s heart stopped. How could she leave Ferdinand’s memento lying on the street? She wanted to die. Careful not to disturb the puppy resting its head on her lap, she reached forward. “I’m in your debt.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Angelika dropped into a chair, a smirk on her face. “Just never thought I’d see the fabled princess kill a heathen with her own hands. Leona’s not gonna believe this.”

“Like always.” Dimitry looked at her. “Everything that happens in this room remains a secret.”

The sorceress waved her hand. “Yeah, yeah.”

Dimitry straightened his ruffled red and gold uniform, which now had several drops of stale blood splattered onto it, and sat.

A faerie with golden hair clambered out of his neckline and climbed down his shirt like a clumsy mountaineer. Her green wings chimed when she fell to the table. Precious strutted along its surface, nodding at people as she passed them. “Dumitry. Depressed Princess On The Verge of Collapse. Random Mutt. Loud Mouth. You’re all probably wondering why I called you here.”

“Shut up.” Angelika swept her away with a flick of her wrist. “No one cares about what you have to say.”

“Wow. So angry.”

“Trust me. You haven’t seen angry yet.”

The pup growled at Precious.

“Bad pooch.”

“Are you gonna take that from her?” Angelika prodded. “Chomp the faerie. I bet she tastes delicious. Like roasted chicken.”

Saphiria scratched behind the hunting dog’s ears. “She’s not dangerous. I promise.”

Despite hiding her bared teeth, the pup didn’t divert its gaze from Precious.

Dimitry cleared his throat, dispelling the tension. “As all of you doubtless know by now, the heathen raids began tonight. I asked everyone to come here because you’ve all had more experience with them than I. My home was far from the coast, so I’ve never had a chance to fight them.”

“You’ve come to the right gal.” Angelika leaned back into her chair and slammed her boots onto the table. “Need me to shoot em for you? It’d be a nice change of pace.”

“I just need some information for now. Correct me if I’m wrong, but my understanding is that heathen numbers increase daily until the end of the month. Eight days from now. That’s when the night of repentance starts. Right?”

“Yes,” Saphiria said despite not fighting heathens since living in Estoria over four years ago. It was strange to see flying devils this early in the month, but crawler attacks started much earlier.

“I see.” Dimitry stroked his chin. “Since heathens have started attacking, would it still be safe to test something outside the city walls? Preferably tomorrow afternoon, far away from Malten where no one could see.”

“Take me, and you’ll be fine,” Angelika said. “But let me guess. Surgeon life has you craving a little danger? I know the feeling.”

“Not necessarily. I have a weapon I want to test.”

“Weapon? You mean the ones that relic we found showed you?”

Saphiria bit her lip. So Dimitry told Angelika about not only Precious but relics as well? Not even the queen knew about either.

“Enough foreplay.” Precious stomped, the sole of her tiny foot plonking into the table’s surface. “Skip to the good part!”

“All right, calm down.” Dimitry shook his head. “I’ve developed something called a ‘bomb’. I think it may allow people to kill ground-based heathens much more easily.”

The faerie hopped excitedly. “Explosions!!”

“Explosions?” Angelika asked. “Is that why your office always smells like burnt… something?”

Saphiria looked up from the sleepy pup, whose eyelids grew heavy. “I thought you were making flintlocks.”

“I was and still am.” Dimitry sighed. “However, that blacksmith Elias still hasn’t reported on his progress. If he doesn’t have one ready by tomorrow, I have no choice but to test what I already have. There’s no time to waste with the night of repentance being less than a week away. I want to have something ready by then.”

“I don’t mind tagging along,” Angelika said, “but do you really think your bombs will do anything useful? We already have voltech rifles and cannons.”

“The problem is that only mages can use voltech weaponry. But anyone can use a bomb.”

Saphiria didn’t know what to expect from the mysterious bomb, but if Dimitry made it, it would definitely be another miracle from his homeland. She had to see it with her own eyes. “I’ll be there.”

Precious rubbed her hands, a grin spreading across her face. “Who are we going to blow up?”

“The plan is to test it on dead crawlers and carapaced devils. My thoughts are if it works on a dead heathen, it’ll work on a live one, too.”

“Makes sense to me.” Angelika shrugged. “I’ll find some with their shells and blood intact.”

“Finally!” Precious yelled. “All those days sitting bored in a cold drawer will finally pay off. Hey, Dumitry. Can I explode a bomb too?”

“Unfortunately not. My head chemist will be there, so you’ll have to hide.”

“Wha—” Precious sniffled. “But after everything we’ve been through? I thought we were friends.”

Angelika groaned. “Stop pretending, you bullshitter. Besides, who’d want to be friends with you?”

“What a great idea, Loud Mouth. I might not be able to explode a bomb, but I can watch it explode from under your robes.”

“Uh. No, you can’t.”

“Yes I can.”

“If you come any closer, I will stomp you.”

“Your emotions say you won’t.”

“Trust me. I will.”

The sorceress and faerie’s bickering faded into the background when Dimitry faced Saphiria. He spoke in a hushed tone. “I’ve been meaning to ask. Is there a reason you stopped by the cathedral?”

The knowing glance in his eyes told Saphiria that he knew it wasn’t just because of an animal. Her being next to the hospital exactly when the flying devils attacked was too convenient. She looked down at the snoring pup’s fluffy head.

Should Saphiria tell him the truth? Her selfish reason for coming? How she considered her desire to chat about her own problems more important than his work as a surgeon? No. She would suppress her feelings and tell him something useful instead. “The plague situation in Amphurt is improving. Your blankets are working well.”

“That’s good.” Dimitry’s eyes continued to look on expectantly.

“And you should be careful.”

“Of?”

“There are nobles and merchants spreading rumors about you.”

“Good rumors, I hope?”

She shook her head.

“Yeah, Your Royal Majesty already told me. But that’s not all, is it?”

Saphiria froze. Despite appearing calm on the surface, she scrambled for something else to tell him. But unbottling her feelings wasn’t an option. They would overwhelm her. “…Mother said she vacated some land north of Malten for you.”

“You mean for potassium nitrate production?”

“Yes.”

“That’s nice of her, but aren’t heathens coming from there now?”

“A fleeing countess left it behind,” Saphiria said. “Mother said it was the best she could do.”

“I see, I see.” Dimitry nodded. “But there’s something else, isn’t there?”

Her emotion, sad and lonely, desperate and afraid, grew by the moment and bubbled within. She couldn’t hold it back anymore. “And I wanted to—” Saphiria caught herself before she overspoke. Everything she felt was a lump in her throat, struggling to get loose.

“I’m guessing it’s something private?”

“How did you…?”

Dimitry pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and held it out. “Because you’re crying.”

Saphiria raised a hand to her eyes. They were wet.

“Grief isn’t something people should handle on their own. You may think you’re fine, but everyone has to process their feelings. You’re welcome here anytime you feel the need.”