The flames crackled from the dabbler, just shy of licking her face. She thought back to her mother chiding her as a child.

  Fire is pretty, yes, but it’s also dangerous. You’ll find there are many things like that: appearance is a veil for the eyes.

  Looks could deceive one’s perceptions. A person may not be the face they show and a beast may be docile despite their size or deadly despite their approachable demeanor—did she deceive the perception she conveyed, she wondered.

  There hadn’t been a lot of time to wonder as of late. First, the Nidia?as threatened to subjugate all others on Kativazch; they meant it too, with how quickly they burned Avidasz to the ground. People back then couldn’t believe there might actually be a war, and here she was standing in the middle of it. She was nothing but the daughter of a baker, trying to avoid inheriting her parents’ legacy and, worse, their selected suitors. Such was life in Malibes: once a girl reached her fifteenth mark, everyone was suddenly invested in her career path and love life. Her parents’ intrusive nature was stifling to say the least, yet she’d give anything to hear them now.

  What do you think of the Calis boy down the street? He’s got a strong back and would take good care of you. How about the Dursch child? He’s young, yes, but he’s the son of the local record keeper: he’ll be bright, I’m sure.

  If such memories were the flames reaching out for her, she’d grab them and never let go. She could hear the voices of her allies around her as she did her best to pull herself free from her thoughts to pay attention to them.

  “These rations are simply unbefitting of one such as I,” Ramin? said, begrudgingly biting into the hardtack.

  She chewed the cracker slowly, wiping her mouth free of any crumbs with her handkerchief before continuing.

  “They say we’re the determining factor in what comes next, they hail us as heroes, but they can’t procure cuisine suitable for those supposed heroes—it’s appalling, really.”

  As Ramin? began one of her typical rants, Tēlēmid leaned in and bit into her hardtack, nipping off a crumbling piece for himself.

  “Hey, you—”

  Tēlēmid chuckled through cracker crumbs as he tried to explain himself.

  “It sounded like you didn’t want it, so—”

  Ramin? responded with an open palm straight to Tel’s sternum, sending him backwards and over his makeshift seat. He coughed and wheezed, spewing cracker crumbs as he gasped for air.

  “You cur, for that offense you owe me one hundred—no, one thousand meals as recompense.” Ram shouted, standing up and pointing at Tel who was still hunched over.

  Tēlēmid was an easy going guy and, though it likely wouldn’t be admitted by everyone in the party, he helped ease a lot of the tension in the journey. That said, she couldn’t understand why he saw fit to push Ram’s buttons so often: each attempt had the exact same response from her.

  “Tel, foolish actions warrant appropriate responses.” The third ally spoke up: Isold?, the resident voice of reason. “Ram, you would do well to remember this isn’t one of your luxury excursions.”

  “Yes, and luxury will continue to evade us so long as you all continue to accept these paltry conditions.”

  Ram continued to whine about the party’s poor utilities as Tēlēmid finally caught his breath.

  “I am sorry, Ram. To make it up to you—”

  “Your apology is worthless.”

  “—and to help lighten everyone’s load a bit, I’ll cook something for us tomorrow, okay?”

  Ramin? responded with snobbish laughter and even Isold? couldn’t help but chuckle a bit at his expense.

  “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” Isold? managed to say as she stifled her laughter.

  “We were brought together to fight back the calamity shaking the very corners of Kativazch. We couldn’t even hold our weapons if we were too busy suffering the adverse effects of your pitiable attempt at the culinary arts.” Ram crossed her arms, scoffing at the very idea.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” Tel said.

  “Your food gives us the trots, Tel.” Isold? said, still trying to calm her laughter.

  “What? No,” Tēlēmid responded in disbelief. “You can’t all think that? Even Red?”

  The attention turned to Red, not that she noticed.

  “She doesn’t even want to dignify your sad attempts to nurse your fragile ego with a response, cur.” Ram smirked, leaving Tēlēmid’s mouth agape.

  He looked to Red who was still in her head and back to Ramin?’s knowing smile, preparing a retort.

  The duo’s bickering melted away entirely as Red’s thoughts pulled her back into the recesses of her mind. She tried to be in the moment, she really did, but her doubts gnawed at her spine.

  So a random Nidia?an found himself especially in tune with livēsēns: this in and of itself wasn’t so surprising or threatening. Such a thing had even happened in the past, creating a tyrant or bully of a threat that needed to be properly dealt with. But this man was different: he didn’t go on to leave a cavalcade of corpses in his wake; at least, he didn’t do so immediately. Instead, he used his gifts to garner the attention of the masses, and he used that attention as a platform for his dangerous rhetoric. He said the Nidia?as were the superior people—this wasn’t a unique claim in and of itself as the Nidia?as people were infamously known to be discriminatory. But the man was persuasive enough to garner a following. No one took him seriously until an entire town and its people were razed to the ground.

  Again, dreadful and disgusting as such a massacre was, this was still a plausible and mitigatable scenario. The Arms of the People would send a troop and he would be put to death. But bureaucracy moved at a plodding pace and the Nidia?an was quick in his actions. His orations changed in their theses: it was no longer simply about the superiority of the Nidia?as. No, now it was about how the entire inception of life on Kativazch was a lie propagated to keep the Nidia?as from their rightful place atop the proverbial food chain. Some magical deity came through, promised the Nidia?as all of Kativazch and the Tsaler? murdered the deity in response. They went on and changed the histories of the world and yet, despite all this supposed power the Tsaler? were capable of, decided to keep the Nidia?as around. The supposed visions the man claimed to have didn’t make a whole lot of sense, but it was a wonderful alternative to the actual lives many Nidia?ans found themselves living. No more shoveling manure in a stable because you’re a member of the chosen leaders of all of Kativazch: what a deal.

  Before long, the single Nidia?an had enough people with him that his actions changed again: he was training them in livēsēns. Those adept with livēsēns became warriors, those who weren’t became viable support, and those who fit into neither category were cast aside. This was no longer a single man with a single idea—this was a threat to Kativazch with an army in the thousands that hailed him as the Demi King. Then, the single threat warranting the existence of the Arms of the People came about and changed everything: war. Marks of interspersed conflicts followed and nowhere was safe, not even a small town by the name of Malibes. Red’s neighbors she’d known her whole life were lined up in the street and executed one by one. Not a Nidia?an? Dead. You are a Nidia?an but refuse to join the Demi King’s army? Dead. The Calis boy? He had a strong back and might have indeed taken good care of someone, but he was dead. The Dursch child? He was certainly young and likely would’ve grown up to be quite bright, but he too was dead. The situation was too much for Red. She just wanted them to stop and the livēsēns within heeded her call.

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  Red couldn’t even bake a roll without occasionally burning it, yet she was suddenly and single-handedly pushing back a battalion of the supposed chosen people. She couldn’t save everyone in Malibes, but her parents were okay and their embrace after the bloodshed was the perfect solace. Before the surviving villagers could even finish burying their dead, a squad from the Arms of the People finally came through. They reported their findings to their higher-ups and all eyes were on Red in a trice.

  As a child, Red was a victim of bullying from other kids her age: stone-colored skin, horns protruding from her forehead, and other beast-like features made her an easy target. Granted, such childish nonsense eventually lessened as she aged, though it never truly ceased. Now, Red was being told such attributes were signs of her lineage and strong ties to livēsēns. Why had her parents not looked the same? Why didn’t any strange abilities surface prior to Malibes being attacked? Why did this mean the Arms of the People could conscript her into their war? All questions without answers.

  Red was taken to the center of the nation, Livkanēzch, and trained by the military like she wasn’t just kneading dough days ago. A little over two marks later and she was a full-fledged elite of the Arms of the People. Red could make the livēsēns dance to her tune, she was more adept with a blade in her hand than a rolling pin, and—to her own regret—she’d grown accustomed to the sight of blood. It wasn’t all nightmares and bloodshed, though. Red had found comrades on her journey, true allies that stood with her. A spoiled heiress with a spine of steel that balked at the idea of a people more superior than her own family, a flirtatious joker with an incomparable level of empathy and honeyed words, and—

  “Hey,” a hand stretched across to Red’s shoulder, gentle and assuring, “are you okay?”

  And then there was Isold?. She was blessed with livēsēns, similarly to Red, but her blessing was far more beautiful. The battlefield was her canvas and the opponents across from her were but wells of paint by which she would paint her offense. Isold? made no mistakes: she was confident in every step, her power inspired those around her—she was the leader they needed to overcome this war, Red was sure of it. Even Isold?’s hands were blessed, her very touch calming Red’s thoughts.

  “My apologies," Red whispered, her cheeks matching her name as she spoke. "I was just thinking.”

  She looked down at the gladius in her hand and gripped its hilt tightly.

  “We’re here for you, Red: you’re not alone.” There she was again, cutting to the heart of Red’s worries.

  Red smiled faintly and noticed Ram and Tel’s eyes were on her now as well.

  “Don’t worry about a thing, Red." Tēlēmid said, nodding confidently at his own words. "I’ll shoot everyone down before they even come close.”

  “And when he inevitably messes up, I’ll be there to actually keep you safe.” Ramin? paused, mayhap realizing just how genuine her words were. “Because you’d obviously be lost without me.”

  She closed her eyes and crossed her arms, too arrogant to lean on her genuine feelings.

  “Your words are appreciated,” Red smiled, thanking Law for blessing her with people who actually accepted her.

  Isold? patted Red’s back and stood up from the log she’d used as a chair for the night. “It’s getting late. Let’s bed down: the final leg of our journey is in sight.”

  Isold?’s words were insurmountably heavy as she looked at the spire in the distance. He was there, waiting for them without a soldier left at his side.

  “Should we draw straws for who’s keeping watch first?” Tel asked, putting away his camp supplies.

  “No need.” Isold? responded.

  “Yeah, ridinr?." Ram huffed. "There’s nobody left and I’ve already set up our defenses.”

  “You’re so rude.” Tel said.

  “And you’re so lacking in intelligence.”

  The group laughed, the campfire was put out, and everyone retired to their respective tents. Red hadn’t been a fan of sleeping in tents at first, but she’d grown far more accustomed after time. That said, she still couldn’t make her peace with the paranoid feeling of potentially being attacked at any point: the tent was defenseless yet obscured all sight beyond its thin walls. As such, when her tent zipper slowly rose before her eyes and a hand jutted forth, all Red could think was this is it: I’m finally going to be murdered in my tent.

  The hand gripped her wrist as she went for her gladius, somehow knowing exactly what Red would do without even seeing her.

  “Relax, it’s just me.” Isold? whispered, poking her head into Red’s tent to quiet her ally’s rampant paranoia.

  “Isold?,” Red whispered in surprise.

  They’d all grown closer over their journey, but this was the first time any of them reached out to her so late. Red was suddenly very aware of their respective nightwear and pulled her blanket high over her body.

  “Is something the matter?” Red asked, everything above her nose poking over her blanket.

  Isold? chuckled at Red’s shield of linen and spoke softly.

  “I just wanted to check on you.”

  She looked different to Red, different than she’d been so far on their journey. Her words were soft, but shaky: the whole thing left Red confused.

  “Tomorrow,” she paused, a melancholic look on her face, “should be the end of all of this.”

  Isold? had likely meant for this to be a reassuring, if somber revelation for Red. Instead, it opened her floodgates of doubts.

  “You’re right, assuming everything goes according to plan." Red dropped her blanket, her brows furrowing with worry as she began stammering. "But we’ve never actually made contact with this beast of a man before. If-if something goes wrong, then—”

  Red stopped, noticing Isold?’s hands inching closer in the tent as she crawled in completely. Red had never even seen her outside of her armor: her skin looked so soft.

  “If something goes wrong, we’ll handle it.” Isold? whispered, reaching back and zipping the tent shut behind her.

  “Your hair’s”—beautiful, the color of the sun’s kiss, and effortlessly held Red’s eye—“much longer when you let it down.”

  Isold? giggled, prompting Red to join in. The two laughed and couldn’t stifle it before long. Isold? tried to quell their laughter, covering her mouth with one hand and Red’s with the other as they heard a sound beyond the tent.

  “Shh.” Isold? whispered, as she dropped her hand from her mouth.

  Her other hand lingered on Red’s, however. Her fingers brushed Red’s lips, letting gravity gently carry her hand in a downward slope. Red’s heart was the loudest thing in the tent as she instinctively arched backward—she wasn’t sure what Isold? was looking for, but surely Red would give it to her. Her soft fingers caressed Red’s collarbone before finding their way to the side of her neck. Whenever Isold? swung her mace down on her opponent’s, Red always felt the gravity of the impact; the clangs and thuds made Red think Isold?’s grip could likely crush a rock between her fingers. Yet her feather-light touch beneath the tent lended to the contrary. Her thumb gently brushed Red’s chin and her other fingers cradled the side of Red’s jawline securely.

  “I’m scared, Isold?.” Red said, feeling her eyes well up.

  She couldn’t remember the last time she cried in front of someone else. She cursed her own weakness, ruining whatever this was going to be.

  “I’m sorry. But I’m…”

  Red’s words left the tent once again as Isold?’s free hand grabbed one of Red’s. Red closed her eyes, unsure and unprepared for whatever was coming next. Tenderly, yet authoritatively, Isold? guided Red’s hand to her chest. Red’s eyes opened slowly, tears falling freely as she felt Isold?’s heartbeat against her fingertips.

  Thump-thump.

  “I’m scared too, Red.” Isold? chuckled.

  Thump-thump.

  “But you’re…you—”

  “I’m always scared.” Her lips trembled as she spoke, drawing Red in like a manit to a lit flame. “I’m scared whenever we have to fight, I’m scared when the enemy attacks me—I’m scared because I just wanted to live a simple life in Livkanēzch and I’m fighting in a war instead. I’m scared you’ll kick me out of your tent.”

  The pair laughed breathily without a word between them as Isold? leaned closer, desperate to close the gap between them. Red felt Isold? drawing nearer and couldn’t look away, couldn’t imagine anywhere else she’d rather be, yet still her mind wouldn’t quiet.

  “The Demi-King, he—”

  “Shh—he occupies so much of our time, our lives, our thoughts; not here, not now.”

  Red felt her mind bubbling with more concerns begging to be released, but the warmth of Isold?’s lips halted all else. Red had never been kissed before; she wasn’t sure she’d be any good at it, but Isold?’s warmth demanded all of her attention. There was no time for doubts, Red could only focus on the fire between them. Isold?’s breaths were shallow and hot as she guided Red’s hands to unfasten her nightgown.

  “Isold?, you’re of high status.” Red whispered, addressing the taboo nature of the situation. “Your eyes are a brilliant blue. Mine are just—”

  “You like my eyes, do you?” Isold? teased, ignoring Red’s concerns of their difference in class.

  Red whimpered as Isold? left a trail of kisses up her neck before reaching her target, nipping playfully at her earlobe. “These eyes are trained on you, Red. Always on you.”

  Red lifted her hips and held her arms up, making it easy for Isold? to remove the last barrier between them. Red couldn’t imagine why the light of the nation would choose her. It had to be a mistake. She must have been lied to or mayhap it was the work of Ramin?’s mischievousness.

  “It’s a dream,” Red muttered, trying to make sense of the sensations: every touch, every kiss, every caress was a fire lit across her body.

  “I accept you as you are, Red. There’s no status here. No titles or expectations. Just us.”

  Red couldn’t tell if it was a dream or Law had blessed her. She simply closed her eyes and let Isold? guide her. The tent was her canvas and Red was but a well of paint by which Isold? would paint her passion. And paint she did.