“No! My husband’s still outside, he’s with the City Guard, my lord!” Her voice fluttered like a torn banner in storm wind.

“My lord! I’m begging you!” The plea beat against the walls like rain on shutters.

“Stop it, all of you. Lachesis has no exit—you know that.” His words fell like stones in a river. “He did right. Without this, we’d all be done.”

“Marquis! Where’s Marquis Powell?!” The name rose like a flare in fog.

“He went to bring food to the officers of the City Guard.” His face darkened, like a candle pinched in a gale. “I fear it won’t end well...”

Inside Lachesis, chaos churned like a broken tide. The wall blocked the outside foe, but it couldn’t bar panic’s flood.

“Milia, Iling, Phiby—calm the crowd.” Medith’s voice was steady, a bell in rain. “You’ve dealt with Sia City folk. Your standing matters. Whatever it takes, steady their hearts.” The three nodded, like reeds bending to wind, then moved to soothe the storm.

“That... that’s Medith? In person?” Nira covered her mouth. Her eyes widened like lanterns struck alight.

Medith didn’t notice. She entered a loft with Delaia, Kasda, and Sais, each carrying a bruise of worry like a shadow under the eye.

Nira slipped after them. Medith frowned, a winter line on water, ready to speak. Delaia gave her a look, a small lantern of trust. He meant no harm.

Medith understood, then let the moment drift like a leaf on dusk.

Night pressed in. The sky was a slate bowl. White clouds fled fast, like birds escaping a blazing field.

Black cloud shouldered in and smothered the gentle moon. It swallowed white like ink in milk. Strands of moonlight tried to break the shroud, but strength failed like a sword against ice, and they were cut off, high above, out of reach.

Thunder snakes writhed across the dark. Wind rose, a low sob on eaves, adding grief to a sleepless night.

...

The loft held a wide room, clean as a washed stone. Fifty squares of space, spare and bare. A small bed. A little cabinet. A simple kitchen. A bath. In the hall, a table for five and rough wooden chairs. Snacks still lay on the table, like fallen petals—someone had just been here. The room was small but held someone’s whole world. He wouldn’t be coming back.

Medith hoped he was only out. Not sunk in some bar beyond Lachesis, or sprawled in a dim brothel, trading coin for a borrowed shard of soul. She truly hoped.

They traded quick names, and warmth started like a hearth. They were about to plan when the sky cracked.

KRAK!

Shashasha...

Whoooo—

Medith pulled the rattling window shut. Her voice was calm, like a hand on a fevered brow. “It’s raining.”

The four inside stiffened, then sighed together, like a wave easing on shore. “Yeah... it’s raining.”

Sais gripped a cup of scalding tea, steam curling like ghosts. Her body trembled. The rain was new, but the chill wasn’t from wet. It was mana burned dry. She’d driven the ship without rest, pushing forward like a hawk with torn wings. The final dash to shore had swallowed most of her strength.

The breakout finished the ruin. Even the strong crack when the frost is deep.

Her face had gone pale, a petal leached of color. Red lips faded white. Her eyes drifted like fish in cold water. The heat of the cup gave her no warmth. Sais felt herself fall into three thousand icy fathoms, all dark, all cold. No hands. No light.

Medith noticed. Guilt pricked like thorns. In the end, it was her “willfulness” that paved this road. She shrugged off her coat and wrapped Sais, then held her tight, a shield against the winter in the bones.

Sais didn’t feel it. Cold sweat raced, soaking her like night rain. Medith wiped the beads from her face, patient as a nurse at dawn. After a long breath, Sais seemed to ease. Her slender fingers found Medith’s cool hand.

“Medith...” She caught the familiar warmth, gave a wan smile, and slipped under.

Medith lifted her in a princess carry, light but firm, like bearing a sleeping child from snow. She bathed her gently, water humming like quiet strings. She dried her, tucked her in, and drew the quilt close. Sais’s breathing smoothed; a small, dreamy smile stayed at her lips. Only then did Medith return to the table.

Delaia and the others had watched in silence, like stones in rain. They didn’t know much about magic, but mana burnt empty shocked them, the way a tree splits under lightning.

“Didn’t think you’d be that wrecked when your mana runs dry...” Delaia said, the words rough as bark.

Medith gave a bitter smile, a crescent waning. “Those inside envy those outside, those outside envy those inside. Magic folk aren’t nobler than you.”

“Ah!” Nira saw Medith, and her ears flushed, blooming red. She fumbled out a short jacket and draped it over her. Medith wore only a cropped white shirt. Fresh from the bath, her skin glowed like porcelain warmed by coals. The shirt’s line hinted at scenery behind mist.

“Don’t look! You shameless men!” Nira stepped between, eyes flashing, signaling Medith. Delaia and Kasda hadn’t really looked. At her cry, instinct flicked their gaze and caught a glimpse of the revealed light. Even men of polish redden when spring peeks through snow.

Medith glanced down, then sighed, rueful as rain on a closed door. She’d come out bare under the shirt, buttons undone. She coughed, tightened the jacket, tried to steady a face that kept flushing like dusk.

Her ears betrayed her, red as cherries. Her cheeks held a soft bloom. In candlelight, her eyes shone like cut emeralds, a sprite’s lure in a forest glade. Her lips parted, pearl teeth peeking—shy and clear, a touch of hurt, a touch of tease. Delaia’s own face flashed crimson.

Nira pressed her palms to her cheeks. Heat surged, heart pounding like a deer trapped among tigers.

“What’s wrong with me? Am I... am I...?” She couldn’t finish. She’d never thought a woman could tangle her heart like this.

“We... should talk next steps.” Delaia had seen storms and swords. In a blink, he steadied, like a mast in squall.

Medith heard him. The blush ebbed, the charm folded away. Frost lined her face; her eyes turned star-bright and clear. The three sighed inwardly, a quiet regret. Who knew when they would see that shy, peerless look again?

“So, what exactly is happening?” Medith’s tone was all steel and night sky.

Delaia began to lay it out, thread by thread, like unrolling a map across a table.

Nira’s blush hadn’t fled. Her gaze kept drifting to Medith’s keen profile, and panic fluttered like trapped sparrows. Her eyes wouldn’t hold still. Her body fidgeted. At last, she bit her lip, and slipped to the toilet when no one watched.

Ten minutes later, Nira returned. She looked brighter, like a face washed in rain, but seeing Medith turned her flush to fire. She pressed her bare pink legs together and clasped her hands, eyes unfocused, as if reliving a shameful scene that still steamed like tea.