"Ebanon Fernard," Seiren read out loud, tracing her fingers along the ink pen for a fourth time. Mages and officials passed her without a glance in her direction, talking in low tones amongst themselves, the sounds of their heeled boots echoing into the high ceiling.

She'd heard of that name before. During King's, perhaps? The council had granted her a hiatus on her research as there was a war fund shortage – as Loren had predicted – meaning mages had to liaise with benefactors in hopes of financial support for the troops. The instructions made her uneasy; this was a further step towards enrolling mages to become weapons of war. The mages' impartial roles thus far had already crumbled. Seiren's visit was nothing short of advocating warfare.

She leaned back in the perch of the circular window, looking out onto the council's square from the first floor. Topiary decorated the far outer edges; a stone fountain sat in the middle, water pouring out of the angel's hands at the top. People moved with purpose across the square, some of them sporting sweeping black cloaks lined with rainbow streaks, others simple civilians' capes. Her instructions sat on a bent knee; her other leg dangled and swung like a pendulum.

She'd read a lot of papers with Fernard's name. She frowned, racking her memories.

The afterlife, said Madeleine, throwing up a still from several years back: Seiren, poring over books spilled all over the tiny study table in the library out of hours. The candles threatened to extinguish, the wax nearly gone. Moonlight streamed through the dusty windows.

Of course. Ebanon Fernard was one of the leading philosophers speculating about the afterlife. Seiren's frenzy in seeking methods to bring Madeleine back had broached onto that topic, too. Fernard had published multiple theories into life after death, including the return of souls to the all-encompassing Being, the breakdown of the biological body into the natural ecosystem, and the utilisation of souls as a source of energy and the possibility the reverse could be achieved – the last of which Seiren hadn't wanted to delve into further, for the idea was so repulsive.

Having learned about the existence of chaos magic now and seen it in action, she could see why Fernard would propose such a thing. It was also obvious from his research he was obsessed with the afterlife.

Not unlike us back then, really, said Madeleine in a small voice. I wonder who he's lost to totally immerse himself like this.

Seiren tilted her head back. The clouds floated lazily across the sky, which turned dark earlier with each passing day. She tugged her cloak closer around her. The runed papers rustled in the pockets. The job request hadn't asked for much, merely for creation of small arts and crafts through the use of magic. Nothing illegal or disturbing in the wording. If she pleased him enough, he might invest into the war funding.

It's still an odd way to secure funding for war, said Madeleine. Historically, the kings have just raised taxes to fund it. I wonder why Pollin didn't do that.

Loren said he's not announced much detail about the war either. Surely if a king wants his people to support him and win, he would tell people about it. There's enough scary stories about Hannans but nothing much about how people can help.

It's almost like he didn't want people to help. I wonder—

"So you're off to Hartley next?" said a voice Seiren had very much hoped to never hear again. She jumped, scrunching the paper into a ball, her heart racing. Her eyes fell on a short man clad in a state mage's cloak, short black hair slicked down, his blue-green eyes studying her instructions.

Rowan Woodbead met her eyes and cleared his throat, looking at the window over her shoulder.

"Nice day out."

I'm sure I can slice the awkwardness with a knife here.

Seiren continued to stare at him, her sleeves sticking to her armpits. Her brain completely emptied of anything to say. The silence was suffocating.

"What I mean to say is, uh..." He breathed through his nose, meeting her eyes fleetingly and then flicking away. "You're looking, er, well."

I suppose you do, without a knife sticking out of your gut.

Thank you for the support, Madeleine.

"And, well." His eyes darted to her paper again. "Hartley. Finberry is en route, isn't it? You fancy, uh, going home?"

Her mouth fell open a little before she snapped it shut.

"No. I don't fancy dropping by the place where my family was massacred, thank you very much." Each word dripped with disdain. Her eyes narrowed, giving him a withering look. "Goodbye."

She turned on her heels, swung her small black sack onto her back, and marched away, her neck red.

What was that? she thought, incredulous. There was a ringing in her ear that blocked out any further words Rowan might have said. Sweat dripped down her temple. What the runing heck was that?

I think he was trying to apologise?

You're kidding me. I've seen better attempts by a deer run over by a train two days prior.

It was pretty terrible, I agree. He didn't seem to bear any ill feelings though.

No? That makes one of us, then.

Her bag bumped against her lower spine with every step, a bit fuller than she would otherwise have it since Loren insisted on passing several more sets of clothes and 'female essentials' on to her. Seiren had yet to find a use for an intricate hairbrush and fancy lipstick, but she hadn't the heart to push Loren off. She ran a hand through her blonde hair, sticking up in tufts as usual all over the place. Stuffing the paper into her cloak pocket, she hurried down the sprawling marble steps of the council and through the tall metal gates at the far end.

At least now that she was getting paid as a probationary mage, train tickets no longer left as big of a crater as it used to in her wallet. She pocketed the train ticket and made to march down the platform heading towards Hartley. Thick black smoke puffed from the front train segment from a few of the platforms, escaping into the sky through the small holes in the roof.

"Seiren!"

She whirled around. Loren wove in and out of the crowd, her hair shiny and in perfect curls as always, grey eyes bright, her right hand flailing to flag her down.

"Whew! Just caught you!"

"What are you doing in Benover?"

"I'm seeing Rowan on business, but I heard you're heading to Hartley!"

"Yes. So?"

Loren clapped a hand on Seiren, making her wince. "Just to say I've enjoyed our two weeks together! I know you've probably had enough of me and Bicknor, but you're welcome back at mine at any time. I mean it!"

"Th-thanks, Loren."

"Don't hesitate to call by. I'll make more time for you next time. I'm sorry it's been quite slap-dash from my end. Keep practising your stuff—" She winked. "—and next time I'd love to see how much you've improved."

Seiren smiled. "I... sure."

"You take care. Madeleine, too!"

She's nice, said Madeleine. Loren's looks caught people's eyes even as she hustled away. There are good souls in this world.

I just hope you don't mean Rowan bleeding Woodbead, too.

Well, I bear no grudges against him. I know you do.

Plenty. Annoying short ass.

Seiren hadn't boarded a train heading south in a long time. The last time she went might have been shortly after her family were killed. She had to be present at the scene of crime to confirm details. She couldn't remember most of it; the shock had likely sealed away most of the memories. But the sight of the scarlet train marked for Molash, the southernmost city in Karma, created an uncomfortably heavy weight on her chest even after six years had passed. She was lucky subsequent travels back then involved only Patrixbourne, where King's was situated, in the east, and Benover itself.

She fought back a shudder as she swung the door open and climbed up the narrow steps. She slammed it after her. Finding an empty four-seater with a flat table in-between, she flopped onto it with a sigh of relief. Two hours of hopefully uninterrupted travel. No more awkward Rowan Woodbead waiting to berate her, no more over-enthusiastic Loren Rummage to shower unconditional love. She meant well, and Seiren was grateful, but she was overbearing and Seiren was on the brink of strangling her. It was impossible for someone to be so chirpy and optimistic all the time. She must have some secrets. Maybe she kicks puppies for a hobby. Maybe she never showers – no, she showered daily. She smelled of honey on a regular basis. Seiren glowered.

Maybe she's so happy because she knew things had been so much worse before. She's appreciating everything.

Excuse me whilst I vomit.

Seiren propped her elbow on the windowsill and leant her chin on her hand. The concrete and marble combination of Benover soon disappeared as the train rushed out of the capital, dissolving into ochre and scarlet autumn countryside. Trees flashed by, their leaves a violent cacophony of colours. Fallen leaves swam atop lakes. Cows grazed without a care in the world, their tails swishing. Deer trundled past, pricking their ears when the train whizzed by.

It's pretty, said Madeleine, sighing with appreciation. I always loved autumn.

Remember how we used to build mountain piles of leaves?

I think they were mountains because we were so small back then. But it was fun. Madeleine giggled. Father even helped us rake the leaves from the bottom of the garden.

Mother told him off when she came home and we were covered in mud...

Yes, because someone didn't see the mud pool and dived headlong into it!

Seiren couldn't help but grin at the memory. Their mother's horrified face when she came home to find one twin spattered with mud and the other simply caked in it, guilt emanating from the two.

That night we argued... I'm sorry.

Don't be silly, Seiren. We always argue and always make up. It's life.

But if we hadn't argued and I hadn't forced you to sleep in Mother and Father's room instead, that night...

Are you still kicking yourself over that? It's not like you planned for the Hannan to come in that night. You didn't ask him to kill me and Father. Or did you?

Seiren shook her head, smiling again. Your humour is quite grim at times, sister.

At least I have one. You could take a leaf out of Loren's book. She'll probably just tell you to suck it up again, and move on. I've moved on. That guilt about what you say or do is unbecoming of you.

Seiren chuckled to herself. Loren's a good person. I think I can trust her.

If you tell her that next time you see her, she'll be ecstatic.

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