The Paragon of Animals

I. 

“I’m off,” Halei announced, slinging her pack over her shoulder as she stepped into the sitting room. “I’ll be in Norrikdown for a few days, then heading south on foot to some of the villages. I’ll circle back around and portal home when I’m done.”

Aviva hummed an acknowledgement from the sofa, palming the strings of her mandolin and looking over her shoulder at the Drow. “Did they request you in the villages, too?”

“Mmm,” Halei nodded. “Big property dispute in Fairdale and a murder case in Lionshead. Off to dispense some swift justice.” 

“Hopefully there won’t be any tragically uninformed bandits this time.”

Halei chuckled, squeezing the bridge of her nose between her thumb and forefinger in exasperated amusement. “What was that, a year ago now? Gods.”

“Thereabouts.” Aviva shook her head in a shade of disbelief that bordered on admiration. “I can’t believe we actually got to say ‘Do you know who I am?’”

“They certainly learned right bloody quick.”

Aviva huffed a wry laugh. “I almost felt bad for them. Of all the people you could attempt to rob on a rural roadside, we were… probably a poor choice.”

“We delivered them to the constable, alive and conscious. Justice was served.” Leaning over the back of the sofa, Halei slid her arms around the Tiefling’s neck and gave her a squeeze. “Be good.”

“Never.” Aviva tilted her head enough to kiss Halei’s cheek. “I love you.”

“Love you too.” Releasing her wife, Halei made her way toward the door separating their quarters from the rest of the royal manor.

“Byyyyye!” Aviva sang. “Make Tyr proud!”

“That’s blasphemyyyyy!” Halei replied in similar sing-song as she disappeared into the hall, closing the door behind her.

“Is it blasphemy if we created the Gods?” Aviva wondered aloud, mostly to herself, though the cat at her side responded with a disinterested yawn.

The comment was flip, but once again it got her thinking. There were parts about her place in the grand design of the universe that she knew her mortal mind would never comprehend. She had met Bahamut, the great God of the Dragonborn, and at that meeting he had helped reveal the Heroes of Light’s true origins. She was Flame, the very concept personified, ancient and eternal. They had made and remade existence itself. She was the Mother of the World. Yet Halei still called upon Tyr for strength in battle, and Aviva said nightly prayers to Selen just as she had as a child. It was a discrepancy she could never parse.

With a great sigh, Aviva set her mandolin aside and stroked the soft fur behind Demon’s shoulder blades. “I tried to philosophise before lunch again. I told you to stop me next time I did that. Halei’s not even been gone five minutes.”

Demon of the Abyssal Reach purred.

II.

The roses needed trimming, as did the taller topiaries to the west of the manor. They had needed tending for days, but Elerian insisted on doing the work himself, and so they waited. Celestine had long since given up trying to hire gardeners for the detail work; instead, groundskeepers merely did the daily weeding and watering, allowing the Seer to execute his vision for the rest of the gardens. For this understanding, he was eternally grateful.

Elerian inhaled deeply, the scent of the roses filling the garden around him. It felt like weeks since he had last been able to walk the grounds -- in fact, given his endless list of official tasks, it may very well have been. Slipping the clippers from his belt, he considered the overgrown bush.

As if on cue, the gentle tones of a violin floated toward him from somewhere above the manor. It had taken a few months of residency, but Aviva had discovered several ways to access the roof, and as always, it had become her preferred place to take time for herself. She had eventually requested a trellis be installed outside the windows of their quarters, for well-decorated ease of access. It was then, he had noticed, that she seemed truly and completely at home.

She was working on a new piece, or so it sounded. The music paused every so often, picking up a few bars earlier and continuing until another pause. It matched the mood of the wind, of the warm, white clouds obscuring the sun but never threatening rain. It was the melodic embodiment of a peaceful afternoon, the perfect accompaniment to his task.

Music was Aviva’s true language, the lens through which she interpreted and understood the world. It was one of many things he admired about her.

Elerian smiled. He needed to levitate to reach the tops of the topiaries; when the shaping was done, perhaps he would visit her in her rooftop sanctuary. For the moment, he was content to listen.

III.

“Oh no!” came the wail from the sofa.

Halei stopped cold, the knife she had been using to cut the vegetables for dinner hanging in midair. “What?!”

“I’m too pregnant to play the lute!”

“...What?”

Incredulously, Halei approached. Aviva looked up at her in comical despair, trying in vain to press the rounded body of the lute against her equally round belly. “There’s just too much baby!!”

Suppressing a laugh, Halei ruffled the Tiefling’s hair. “I’ll go get your guitar.”

Aviva smiled. While her misery was (somewhat) feigned, her adoration was not. “You are a goddess.”

“I know.”

IV.

“Headed to bed early; exhausted. Pregnancy still sucks. She kicked today, though. Morgan says hi, hopes to see you. Miss you terribly. Love you endlessly.”

Halei smiled. “Miss you too,” she murmured, the magic of the Sending spell transporting her words all the way back to Aelfheim. “Nearly finished here. Verdict, then home. Tell Morgan I’ll bring pastries. Keep the hearth going and the bed warm. I love you.”

V.

“Nope, sorry darlings.” Mae shook her head as she stood in the doorway to the bedroom, blocking the Elves’ entry with folded arms. From behind her, a string of curses in a variety of languages landed in the sitting room like arrows embedding into a target. “You are not playing this round. Not you--” she pointed to Halei, “and definitely not you.” Her gaze shifted to Elerian.

Startled, the two Elves began to protest, but Mae held up a tattooed palm. “The kid said no, so the answer is no. You can stay out here and if she changes her mind, I’ll have Su come get ya.”

The Elves admitted their defeat with a grumble. They would respect Aviva’s wishes, as much as it unsettled them to do so. “If I may enquire, why ‘definitely not me’?” Elerian ventured, eyebrows raised in stark confusion.

Mae raised a brow in return, her illustrated tail swishing lazily as she leaned against the doorframe. “Because, your royal highness, the situation in there is pretty definitively your fault, and the kid is about to say some things that under normal circumstances would get her done for treason. Best not to put yourself in the line of fire unless she asks.”

“...Fair enough.”

An agonised scream ripped through the sitting room. Halei tensed, her hands balling into fists at her sides. “Brings back bad memories,” she muttered.

For the first time since she’d arrived, Mae softened, messy bun of greying dark hair bobbing as she nodded. “I know. You’ve been through a lot with her. But she’s strong, and once this is over, there’ll be a brand new generation of Lux for you to meet.” She smiled. “She’ll be okay. Trust me.”

“Mari?” came Esperance’s voice from somewhere within the bedroom. “Mari??”

“That’s my cue.” Mae pushed off from the doorframe and straightened. “Fortify, you two. You’re not the ones pushing out a baby!” With that, she turned on her heel and closed the bedroom door.

Halei glanced at Elerian. “I still can’t get over the fact that V’s tattooist is also a midwife.”

“The two are not so dissimilar,” Elerian answered. “There are many many ways to guide someone through pain.”

After a moment of contemplation, Halei shrugged. “Spiritual people are weird.”

With a snort of laughter, Elerian shook his head at the Drow. “You are a terrible paladin.”

VI.

Exhausted beyond words, Aviva held the warm little bundle to her chest, smiling sleepily as Halei and Elerian gathered around her.

“Ada, Nana,” she addressed them in murmured Elvish, “this is Zahira.”

VII.

Celestine glanced at the ornate Gnomish clock on the wall of her office. She had woken at Elerian’s side, had seen him at breakfast, had reminded him of the items on the day’s docket. He had attended the morning’s meeting and completed the first half of the to-do list, then sequestered himself to rewrite a speech and promised to join her again at half past three. As the hands of the clock neared four, Celestine stood. Elerian the Seer was not one to miss an appointment.

Making her way through the busy kitchen and up the manor’s back stairs to the domestic floors, Celestine checked Elerian’s bedchamber, then the study. The speech sat mostly revised on his desk, which was a relief, but its writer was still nowhere to be found. She stepped back into the hall, looking this way and that, her hands on her hips and a confused frown on her face. The manor was large, but it was not that large.

“Celes?”

Rounding a corner, Astos canted his head, dark hair freeing itself from behind one long ear. “You look as if you’ve lost something,” he noted as he approached.

“Our husband,” she responded with a sigh. “We have to finish the plans for next week’s reception and he was supposed to meet me half an hour ago. Have you seen him?”

Astos shook his head. “I’ve not. But if I had to wager, he’s probably with the girls.”

“I don’t believe I’ll take that wager.” Celestine’s smile began wryly, but quickly softened. “I’ll check their quarters. We’re lucky the baby can’t get that far yet, or I’d never find him again.” With a wave, she left Astos to chuckle to himself as she turned down the next hallway.

Reaching Aviva and Haluei’en’s door, she knocked politely. They had given her free reign to enter unannounced long ago, but she preferred an invitation when possible. “Aviva?” No answer. “It’s Celestine. Is Elerian with you?” Silence. “Aviva? Haluei’en?” After one final pause, Celestine pushed open the door and poked her head inside.

Haluei’en sat slouched on the sofa, her head tipped back against the pillows. Aviva lay on her belly with her head in the Drow’s lap, stretched longways across the seat cushions, one arm dangling over the side and brushing the floor. Elerian rested on the floor with his back against the sofa, nearly mirroring Haluei’en but for using Aviva’s hip as a pillow; cradled in his lap lay baby Zahira. All four of them, Celestine realised, were sound asleep.

From atop one of the back pillows, Demon opened her amber eyes and blinked. Celestine nodded at her. “You’re right,” she whispered. “It can wait. I’ll come back later.”

Demon closed her eyes.

VIII.

Blinking away the fog of sleep that momentarily washed over her, Aviva stifled a yawn. Well aware of their vital importance, she could not help but find Elvish ambassadorial meetings to be monstrously tedious and often irritating affairs. Despite Elerian’s marriage to the leader of the Wood Elves and his close working relationship with the new Archmagistrix of the Drow, there was always some petty squabble or long-held grudge from the lower ranks delaying and complicating negotiations. Even Halei’s presence as a neutral Arbiter could do little to keep the table of testy Elves on track. For her part, Aviva represented the Tieflings and other marginalised communities within each of the Elven nations, interjecting on their behalf when necessary and advocating for them to receive the help they needed. Of course, given the pace of the talks, she suspected she would not need to speak up until next week at the earliest.

Zahira stirred in her arms. Tiny golden eyes blinked up at her, framed by an expression of mild confusion that never failed to make her smile. “Hi baby,” she whispered, gently running her fingers across her daughter’s cheek and through her white-blonde hair. Zahira fussed in response, freeing a hand from her blanket and grabbing at the low neckline of Aviva’s tunic. “Hungry again? Okay, okay, hold on.” As a Wood Elven administrator droned on from across the table, Aviva loosened the ties of her tunic, unwrapping one side and shifting the girl into position.

“Excuse me!” barked a voice, cutting off the Wood Elf mid-stream. Looking up to see what had caused such an outburst, Aviva realised the voice belonged to Elerian’s most obstinately old-fashioned advisor, and that he was looking at her as if he had just stepped in something unsavoury. “That is most indecent!” he continued in Elvish. “Revealing, flaunting herself in the middle of an official conference! It’s not proper!” He shifted in his chair to address Elerian. “My Prince, I request she be removed at once.”

Before Elerian could respond, Aviva cocked her head. “I am feeding my child, my lord,” she explained in measured, fluent Elvish. “It is both natural and a necessity, so if there is a law against it, I pray you show it to me. Or perhaps you are cranky because you are hungry too?” She gestured to her chest. “I do have another breast if you need a snack to quell your tantrum.”

A ripple of laughter spread across the table, punctuated by Halei’s sharp snort. Elerian tried valiantly to keep his expression neutral, but the pride in his eyes betrayed him. The advisor’s face reddened and he spluttered a few times before sinking back into his chair, duly cowed.

Elerian spread his hands. “My apologies for the interruption. Please continue, Ambassador.”

From the far end of the table, Halei caught Aviva’s eye, a psychic ‘I love you’ passing through the Tiefling’s head. She gave Halei a wink.

IX.

“Tea?”

“Nothing would make me happier.”

Esperance smiled at her daughter, sitting at the kitchen table as if she’d never left, then at her granddaughter, amusing herself with wooden blocks at Aviva’s feet. “Warm milk for the baby?”

“Nah, she’ll have her lunch in a bit. I grabbed some jars of food before we left.” Aviva patted the pack occupying the chair next to her. “I almost miss when I was the only source of food. Much easier to carry.”

“But soon you’ll be able to start cooking with her.” Esperance set two mugs of tea on the table before easing into the closest chair. “And start baking.”

Aviva grinned. “Few more years before we get to that. Things take for-fucking-ever for Half-Elves.” Raising a defiant eyebrow at Esperance’s reproachful look, she sipped her tea. “Did you finally get Pippa to start baking?”

“Nearly,” Esperance answered with a smile that took years from her face. “She managed not to burn the house down. We’re working on it.”

“I’m glad you two got together.” Aviva leaned forward in her chair, resting her elbows on the table. “You deserve to be happy.”

Esperance flushed girlishly, gold eyes fixed on the steaming swirls of her tea. “She’s a good woman. I thought it would be strange, such an old friend of your father’s… But it helps that she knew him. That she still misses him sometimes too.” She met Aviva’s gaze. “He would be so, so proud of you. Your music, your family, your friends, your work. The world we know is because of you. Because of your capacity to love and believe, despite everything. He would be… at least half as proud as me.”

It was Aviva’s turn to flush. She looked at her daughter, who bore her father’s name, then at her mother. “I wouldn’t be me without you, Mama.” She reached a hand across the table, finding Esperance’s fingers and lacing them tightly with hers. “Thank you.”

X.

“Mama? Nana?”

Aviva rolled toward Zahira’s voice, bleary-eyed. “What is it, baby?”

“I had a bad dream.” The girl’s voice was muffled behind the plush dragon she held tightly to her chest. “Can I come sleep with you?”

“Of course, my love.”

“And Maergrahn III?”

“Always.”

Before Aviva could shift her weight, Halei had already risen, stepping around the edge of the bed and and scooping Zahira into her arms. Planting a kiss on her cheek, the Drow set her daughter beside her wife and crawled back under the covers. “There we go, love. Have a lie down and your mama and I will make it go away.”

With a small nod, Zahira shimmied beneath the blanket until she could rest her head on the pillows. Propping herself up on one elbow, Aviva kissed the girl, then the stuffed dragon, then kissed the fingers of her other hand and tapped them to Halei’s shoulder. Settling back down, each mother wrapped an arm around Zahira and closed her eyes.

XI.

“Good,” Aviva nodded. “Very good. How did that feel?”

Lowering his bow, Ofer kept his back straight, violin tucked against his chin as he went over the piece in his head. “I’m still having trouble with the third movement.”

“You are, but it was the best you’ve done so far. Remember to hold on to that when you start to get frustrated. Your head knows how to play it. Your hands just need a little more time to get there.”

“Yes, Lady V,” the young Tiefling recited. Aviva could not help but smile. ‘Lady V’ was the compromise she and the boy had come to, delicately balancing his wide-eyed deference to the Hero of Light and Prince’s paramour with her personal discomfort at having so many damned titles. It did occasionally cross her mind that ‘Lady Lux’ would have had more of a ring to it, but what had once been armour had long ago returned to its rightful place as a family surname. ‘Lady Aviva’ was her name at formal ceremonies and on official papers, so ‘Lady V’ was the best she could get from Ofer.

“Do you want to run through it again, or work on your other piece?” Aviva waited; when the boy did not respond, she cocked her head. “Ofer?”

Ofer blinked. “Yeah. Sorry, Lady V. I was…” He shrugged. “I dunno.”

Aviva settled into one of the plush high-backed chairs dotting the manor’s drawing room, watching Ofer’s face. “What’s up, sweet pea? Something’s been on your mind all day, I can tell.” Ofer nodded sheepishly, his shoulders slumping. Aviva smiled. “Then let’s rest for a minute and you can tell me about it.”

“Okay.” With a sigh, Ofer set his violin and bow in the open case at his feet. “My parents… Ever since I got my own room, they make me sleep with the door open. So they can check on me during the night. And last night, I woke up, and I saw my mum at the door, and… I dunno, I just got mad. I got out of bed and I told her to go away and I slammed the door.” He looked at Aviva helplessly. “She didn’t say anything this morning, but I could tell she was sad. I don’t even know why I got mad. She's just so nervous all the time. If I'm not where she expects me to be, she panics, and then dad gets mad, and I just… I don't understand.”

Aviva listened, and when the boy had finished, she nodded. “That's a lot. It's okay to be frustrated.” Ofer started. “It is. My mother used to be like that when I was little, and it was hard. I can get like that sometimes too, and it's hard on Zahira.” She leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees. “How much have your parents told you about the Calling?” Even after all these years, the word still sent a chill down her spine.

"Not a lot.” Ofer gave a small shrug. “It was scary, and it's why they have scars and why dad has a glass eye. And that you saved them.”

“Not just me. They were strong. They let me help them.” Aviva took a deep breath. “The Calling is a wound, a trauma our people are still recovering from. For many of us, it was the worst in a long line of bad things. There was a time when we thought there wouldn't be any of us left.” A sad smile flitted across her face. “I still get nightmares about it sometimes.”

“You do??” Ofer stared at her, his eyes as large as saucers.

Aviva chuckled softly. “Is it so hard to believe? I get scared too. And when I wake up, it can take some time to reassure myself the nightmare wasn't real. I can talk to my wife or to the Prince, but sometimes I go to Zahira's room and look in on her. Make sure she's still there.” She took one of Ofer's hands in her own. “Our people have lost a lot. Things are better now, but it's hard not to worry about the people and things we love. We want to keep them safe, and sometimes we show that in confusing or unhelpful ways. Your parents mean well; their hearts are in the right place.”

“So what do I do?”

“Talk to them. Explain how they're making you feel. They may mean well, but your feelings are valid, too. Talk to them about what they went through, how it’s still affecting them, and how that’s affecting you. They may not be ready to talk about everything just yet, but you can start the conversation and go from there.” She squeezed the boy’s hand. “What’s most important is that they love you. So, so much.” Tilting her head, she smiled. “Okay?”

Ofer nodded, and smiled in return. “Okay.”

“Okay. Want to take another crack at the third movement?”

“Okay!”

XII.

Aviva loved the light in Elerian’s bedchamber. The delicate curtains drawn across the windows and pinned over the skylights diffused the afternoon sun, scattering and softening the rays into a meditative glow. By contrast, the rich damask canopy of the four-poster bed kept sleepers in the embrace of darkness even at midday. It was a humble place, at least relative to his station; while the public spaces in the manor were for show, the bedchamber was for him alone.

“Reminiscing?”

From her position against the doorframe, Aviva looked over her shoulder, smiling as Elerian approached. “El’an,” she greeted him. “I suppose I was. The first time I saw you, you were asleep in that bed.” She smirked. “A pale little thing, you were. Caused us all quite a bit of stress.”

Elerian laughed lightly, resting a hand on the Tiefling’s hip. “A most wretched sight, to be certain. I imagine I was the very picture of Elven frailty, was I not?”

With a grin, Aviva looped her arms around his neck. “Luckily for us, you’re sturdier than you look.”

“Waiting for you and your Heroic kin gave me the strength to carry on,” Elerian responded with utter sincerity, then broke into a chuckle at Aviva’s raised eyebrow. “I knew you would come. I had seen it many times before. The only information I lacked was who you would be when you arrived.”

“Do you miss it? Being able to See?”

Elerian considered that for a moment. “There are times that throw into sharp relief just how much I relied upon it. When the chapters of one’s life have been laid out for them from their first breath, stepping onto the unknown page is daunting, to say the least.” He slid both hands around her waist, drawing her close, and she lowered her forehead to rest against his. “Which is why I shall forever thank my good fortune that you are one of the writers of these pages.”

After all these years, he could still make her blush. “Gi melin, elrandir.” I love you, star-wanderer.

“Gi melin, feanare.” Spirit of Flame.

XIII.

“There’s my wife!”

Setting her pack down by the door, Halei stepped into Aviva’s waiting arms, burying her face in the Tiefling’s neck. “Hello you.”

“Hi sunshine. Welcome back.” Aviva rested her cheek against Halei’s head. “You hungry?”

“Starving.” Lifting her head, Halei nodded over Aviva’s shoulder to the large basket sitting on the dining table. “Is that what that’s for?”

“It most certainly is.” Aviva released the Drow, who knelt to greet Ladybug of the Line of Demon as she trotted in from the kitchen. “I was away, then you were away; it feels like we haven’t eaten together in ages. El’an has the baby tonight, so I thought we might have a walk in the garden. What do you think?”

Halei smiled. “Nothing would please me more. Let me get my armour off and we can go.”

“Sure. I’ll finish packing.” Aviva paused, then smiled, remembering the first time they had taken a dinner basket into the manor garden. “Wear something soft.”

On her way to the armoury closet, Halei stopped, looking back at Aviva with a knowing smile. “It’s a date.”

XIV.

“Still with me, kid?”

Aviva let out a sound somewhere between a groan and a purr. Mae laughed. “Good. Almost done. Time to come back to reality.”

“I’m here.” Aviva was no stranger to trancing out during tattoo sessions, breathing deeply and evenly as her mind wandered far from where she sat, topless and backwards on a chair in Mae’s tent in Corneria City. “Perfect timing, I was just thinking I needed to pee.”

Mae snorted and good-naturedly muttered for her client to shut up. A few minutes later, she lowered her needles. “There. You want to see it, or do you want to pee first?”

Aviva tried to shoot a withering look over her shoulder, but it quickly melted into a smile. “Let’s see it.”

With a nod, Mae slid a large mirror from beneath the low table at her side and held it in front of her. After cracking her neck and gingerly rolling her shoulders, Aviva peeked at the image freshly decorating her back. A sun, a moon and a star danced across her shoulder blades, connected by subtle, flowing lines that called to mind the night sky, or streaks of flame. She exhaled slowly. “It’s perfect.”

“Of course it is,” Mae scoffed, but her grin was genuine. “Now let’s get you wrapped and get you home.” As she stood to move the mirror and retrieve the oils and bandages, she leaned down to kiss one of Aviva’s horns. “Happy birthday, kid.”

XV.

For all the thrilling adventures she had experienced in her life, there was nothing quite like an audience’s applause. And oh, did they love the Hearthmother.

Aviva grinned, radiant, and dipped into a sweeping bow, the teal-emerald-indigo fabric of her gown shimmering like sunlit ocean water as she moved. She gestured to her side, introducing her friend and collaborator Rhos Liadon to the approving roar of the crowd. Caught somewhere between terror and elation at the sheer size of the Aelfheim concert hall, the Half-Orc sketched a somewhat less fluid bow, then wrapped Aviva in a crushing hug and planted a kiss on her cheek. Stepping back, they selected their preferred instruments from the collection behind them -- they planned to play a great variety of music tonight -- and with a shared wink, they began.

A reel. A waltz. A ballad. A Cornerian folk song, sung in round. A duet of piano and cello. Solo violin. A raga. A chiftitelli. A chaconne. An Elvish sonatina. Lute and illusory drums. Mandolin. Paired voices, a symphony of two. The bards had travelled across the world and back, and they brought all their knowledge and experience to bear in pursuit of musical perfection. They had planned a concert unlike any other, and they would not disappoint.

Finally, Rhos slung a banjo about his shoulders while Aviva tuned her guitar. He told the sea of excited faces that they had written a song together, and asked with a cheeky smirk if they would like to hear it. The response was deafening. Once the cheers had faded, Aviva conjured a set of keys before them, coaxing a gentle melody from the air. Their voices started softly, as did their strings, gradually building until suddenly they burst into an exuberant chorus. The lyrics wondered if they would find their home, even as the notes told them of course they would. A question answered with perfect surety. They knew where home was.

Even through the brightness of the lights, Aviva could see the little boxes built into the sides of the concert hall. Less ostentatious, comparatively, than other theatrical architecture, they sat nearly flush with the wall, providing a clear view of the stage without obstructing other patrons. Ensconced in the furthest box, she might not have seen the occupants at all, had she not known precisely where to look.

Elerian’s head was nodding in time with the music; Haluei’en was bouncing Zahira on her knee. In the box below them, Morgan chatted animatedly with Esperance, tapping her fingers on the ornate wooden railing. Maergrahn danced nimbly about behind them, perfectly content to filter the music into his own little world. Wilhelm, in a rare appearance outside his tower, sat rapt, as if trying to take in every detail of the performance. Zahira noticed her mama glancing in their direction and waved her hands, turning to say something to Halei before resuming her wave. As the song ended, Aviva blew the girl a kiss.

Rhos took her hand and gave her a spin. They laughed, and bowed. Her heart soared.

My home in you.

(Art by @sbeep​, @aguydrawsgames​ and @kimbles​)

The first thing on the list was to repair the eruv.

In some ways, it was a lucky thing the fire had begun Saturday night. Shabbat had just concluded, the people of the Shtetl opening their doors and returning to their normal routines, so they had been in the best possible position to evacuate at a moment’s notice. Not that Jews were unused to leaving their homes with little forethought; it had been an ongoing theme for millennia. Put your siddur in your pocket and run. But it was harder to convince the rebbes to violate Shabbat, even to save a life. For that, Shira was grateful.

She was also grateful for the motley crew that piled into one of the Farm’s battered trucks to make the drive back to the City. Rudy sat behind the wheel, his face a mask of grim determination, his desire to speed along back roads tempered by the knowledge that any bump would jostle Shira’s broken ribs. Leah leaned against the passenger side window, curling her hands into fists in her lap and letting them relax, preparing for the worst. In the bed of the truck, Mel and Saul conversed quietly, occasionally turning to Shira for input where she lay propped against Vi. The five of them had swaddled her in a blanket to protect her bruised body, and though she grumbled, she was touched by their insistence. Her people had not survived as long as they had without a bit of trust.

Her instructions before she left the Farm were that everyone should tend to their families and homes first. For those Mishpacha who lived outside the Shtetl or had no-one to check on, she assigned liaising with the larger community. All refugees (again, here they were, ever the refugees) needed to be accounted for and the damage to the neighbourhood assessed. Regular reports were to be sent to her apartment, mostly untouched by the flames, and she would coordinate from there. Even that was a compromise -- it rankled her not to be at the forefront of the relief efforts, but Mel and Tessie could handle everything past the initial negotiation. She was injured. She needed to rest.

She prepared to make her arguments. As usual, the Rabbinic council would make a show of displeasure at accepting help from the criminals of the Mishpacha, huffing and puffing until they were satisfied by their display. Then they would begrudgingly agree, and Shira would smile and shake their hands, and the deal would be made. She always allowed herself a small, petty smirk at their palpable distaste for working with her: a woman, tattooed and homosexual, with uncovered elbows and a knife in her purse. But she and hers had bled for the people of the Shtetl more than any of them, and they knew it. They were an old, stubborn, bearded bunch, but they knew how to bend when needed.

How in the name of HaShem her mother could feed an entire shul with only one afternoon of preparation, Shira would never know. The collected pressure of untold generations of Jewish mameles watching over her shoulder, perhaps, critiquing and correcting and urging her to hurry up, won’t you, the family is waiting. Tessie had the maternal power Shira lacked. Even when she was newly married and not yet a mother, she had it. If she put her mind to it, Shira suspected, Tessie could probably feed the entire Shtetl in a day.

But Tessie would not cook this week. Could not; it was forbidden. And so, Shira tried instead.

It had taken her an almost comical amount of time to get the pot of chicken bones and vegetables to a proper boil, but now it simmered happily on the stove of her tiny kitchen. The rest of the apartment was small by the City’s standards but comfortable enough for one, nestled on the top floor of a nondescript building somewhere on the Shtetl’s eastern side. She had opened one window, then the other, then the window in the parlour as the temperature in the little room continued to rise. Tying a scarf around her hair in irritation, she offered a sharp plea to the ceiling to maybe send some rain before we all die of heat stroke here on Your beautiful earth, nu? before returning to the task at hand.

If she was being honest (and one must always be honest in a kitchen), the matzoh ball mixture looked hideous. Cream-coloured and lumpy, it looked as if it wanted to be porridge but couldn’t summon the courage to make the leap. There was probably a Talmudic tractate about that feeling, or at least a morsel of folk wisdom from someone’s bubbe, and the thought of a respected white-bearded Rebbe getting into an argument with an equally respected wizened old woman about the true spiritual identity of matzoh balls made her smirk. She would have to tell Ben about it when she saw him that night. Tessie might even laugh, too.

The ugly mixture was blessedly cold, the texture strangely comforting against her fingers. This was a set of steps her hands knew as well as a dance. She shaped each dense little ball, rolling them carefully in her palms before placing them in a ceramic bowl, her mind quieting as she worked. Not every ball was precisely the same size, but that was part of their charm. They would fluff up nicely as they cooked, and her mother had always said the imperfections added to the flavour. She suspected that was true of most foods. Only the most soulless were perfect.

The moment the last matzoh ball settled into the bowl, she once again became aware of the heat in the kitchen. When she started her project, it had been warm; now, it was stifling. Pressing the scarf against her forehead with the back of her wrist, she stepped around the table to find another window to open. The air outside was admittedly not much cooler, but at least it might invite some sort of cross breeze. She threw open the curtains of her bedroom, and after a brief argument with the sticky latch, slid the thick frame upward as far as it would go. With a satisfied huff, she turned toward the kitchen.

Her reflection in the worn bedroom mirror stopped her in her tracks, her breath catching in her throat. The apron around her waist hid the seam of her wide trousers, giving them the appearance of a full skirt; with her sleeves rolled to the elbow and her hair covered by what could have been mistaken for a tichel, she was staring at the ghost of her mother. Rivka bat Chaya, who would never have approved of her tattoos nor her romantic proclivities and yet had sacrificed everything to give her children a better life. The quintessential Yiddishe Momma.

Shira smiled ruefully at her reflection. Wiping her hands on her apron, she untied the scarf from her hair and wrapped it loosely around her neck, letting it hang at a jaunty angle wholly uncharacteristic of Rivka Bruhanski (may her memory be a blessing). Looking at the mirror again, she saw the spell had broken; the wry face eyeing her from the glass was her own. “Zay moykhl, mame.”

Now was not the time to dwell on the past. Shmuel’s shiva would have more than enough reminiscing. Nor was it the time to worry about the future. She knew she would never become a mother, and imagining Rivka’s disappointment did her no good. She had more important things to worry about. She had her Mishpacha.

It took the rest of the afternoon, but as the sun dipped low over the rooftops, Shira lifted the lid of the pot and nodded to herself. The soup was ready. As she removed the pot from the stove and prepared it for transport, she started to hum, then to sing, the words creeping from her lips like criminals escaping into the night. She did not notice.

It was dark when I awoke. One of us had left a candle burning in its glass hurricane tube (why do we call them that? we haven’t had a hurricane hit the City in decades), but it had burnt out hours ago. As my eyes adjusted, I realised the weight on the bed had changed. Claire was still asleep, her porcelain face serene. But Vi…

Carefully I rose from the bed, selecting the first piece of fabric I could find on the bedroom floor, which turned out to be Vi’s button-down shirt. That would do. It was not often we deemed it safe enough for me to spend the night, but the cops had found little reason to come breaking down any Rossi-Davis doors recently. It felt strange, feeling safe. Like the calm before the storm.

Vi was, as I expected, on their tiny excuse for a balcony off the kitchen, a half-smoked cigarette perched between their fingers. They were watching the faintest blue appear at the edges of the night sky, lost in thought, and for a moment, I debated how best to approach without startling them. Finally, I slid a hand along their low back; they jumped only slightly. “Hey, Shirele.”

“Can’t sleep?”

“Do I ever?” they replied, a sardonic smile playing at their lips. They dragged on their cigarette, then offered it to me, and as I exhaled, I noticed we had left matching red rings on the filter. Claire’s lipstick. Vi noticed too, and for a moment, their smile was genuine. Then they glanced over their shoulder toward the darkened apartment. “I’m not good enough for her.”

It was not the first time we’d had this talk. Vi often got it into their head that life with Claire was too good to be true. That she was too pure, too precious, too much the Romantic heroine to ever deserve a brute like them. I shrugged. “Maybe. But she chose you.”

“What if she chose wrong?”

I sighed. “If you don’t trust her judgment now, will you ever? And if you trust her judgment elsewhere, why doubt it now?”

Vi never had a response for that, so they grunted and took another drag.

There were things I understood about Vi that Claire never would. We lived in the same half-legal half-world, dancing the endless two-step of oppression and rebellion, liquor and blood, kisses and guns. Claire had always been beyond that, above it, leading the downtrodden with endless love and compassion. There was something saintly about her, Lady Justice shining in the alleys of the City. They were two sides of the same coin, whether or not either of them realised it. That was why Vi needed her -- and why she needed Vi.

“Come back to bed, Vi. She’s waiting for you, and I need to go soon. Let’s get some time in before the sun comes up.”

Extinguishing their cigarette against the blackened metal of the balcony railing, Vi leaned forward and kissed me on the forehead. “I wish you could stay.”

“I know.” I nodded to the doorway. “Come on.”

Maybe someday, I told myself as I took Vi’s hand, leading them back towards our liminal space. I told myself every time. Maybe someday.

(CW: suicide)

There were tablets mounted on the wall on the far side of the room. They dominated the bright, sterile space, flanked on either side by rows of beds that reminded Shira of pews. The tablets were no more ostentatious than the towering crosses adorning the rest of the hospital, but there was something haphazard about them, as if the building’s sainted founders had only remembered at the last moment that not every soldier had accepted Jesus Christ as their personal lord and saviour. It was, she supposed, most likely exactly what had happened. Pushing off from the door frame, Shira sighed. The least they could have done was add a mezuzah.

Yaakov opened his eyes as she approached, a weak smile appearing beneath his returning beard. He looked more like himself with a beard; without it, he had looked strange, young and lost and unfit for war. But no beard could cover the haunted look in the hollows of his face, the tears that trickled down his cheeks with little warning. He had been crying before she arrived and had not bothered to wipe them away. He hid nothing from her.

“Did you get it?”

“Yo, mein bruder.” Sinking gently onto the bed at Yaakov’s hip, Shira took his hand in hers, steadfastly ignoring the void beneath the blankets where his legs should have been. She continued in Yiddish, the strange rolling tongue of their ancestors: “I got it.” Looking at their entwined fingers, her breath caught in her throat. “I don’t think I can do this.”

The grip on her hand was suddenly strong, the first strength Yaakov had shown since he had returned. “Shira. Please.” She met his gaze and the desperation in his eyes frightened her. “You promised.”

“I know I promised,” Shira snapped, squeezing his hand in a sudden, hot rush of rage and fear. “I would do anything for you, and you know that. You know that. How can you use that to ask this of me?” The words she had been holding back for so long tumbled out of her in a rush. “What gives you the right? I’m your sister, not the malakh ha-mavet! If you want to die so badly, what’s stopping you? There are nurses here, pills, scalpels. Throw yourself down the stairs, pray that HaShem strikes you down. Why me, Yaakov?” She was shaking, fighting back her own tears. “Brother, why me?”

Yaakov was quiet, accepting Shira’s fury with his head bowed. When she finally paused, he looked up again, and the utter despair on his once-innocent features stopped Shira in her tracks. “Because I’m a coward, Shirele,” he whispered. “I can’t do this on my own. It’s the one thing I need in this world, and I can’t do it. I need you.”

“You’re a fool, Yaakov,” Shira muttered through gritted teeth. “Is there nothing in this world worth living for?”

With a weary sigh, Yaakov relaxed his grip on her hand. “We’ve been over this, Shira. There’s nothing for me anymore. This city hates us. The old shtetl is in ashes. There’s nowhere to go. Maybe if I was whole, things would be different. But the war had his say.” He gestured to his broken body. “This is it. This is me. And I don’t want it anymore.”

“I don’t know what I’ll do without you.”

Yaakov scoffed gently, a small smile playing at his lips. “Shirele, you’re going to be fine. You’ve got Mel and Ronnie, they’re just as much your siblings as I am. You’ve got your people. They’re your family.” He patted her knee. “You’re stronger than I could ever be.” 

“HaShem forgive you.”

“He will.”

“HaShem forgive me.”

“He will.”

For as long as she could keep him talking, they talked. They told stories from the shtetl of their childhoods, argued over Torah and Talmud, told off-colour jokes he had learned during his service. She was delaying, and he knew it, but he let her for as long as she could. And then it was time. 

With a deep breath, Shira produced the vial of morphine from her purse, willing her hands to remain steady as she prepared the injection. Yaakov offered his arm, his unspoken gratitude surrounding her like thick, stifling smoke. He smiled as she pierced his vein, let his head rest against the pillow as she filled him with poison. He closed his eyes. She waited.

Within moments, he had stopped breathing. For the first time she could remember, he was at peace.

Shira placed the empty vial and syringe into her purse. She looked up at the commandments on the wall.

I.

“Hey.”

Morgan offered a wan half-smile. “Hey.”

Pulling the Lefein into a soft hug, Aviva was struck by the memory of hugging Morgan the Gnome. Back then she had been half the Tiefling’s size rather than half a head taller. “Is he gone?”

“Yeah.” The pair released one another and settled onto a bench in the hallway, the soft, misty light from the windows at either end making the world seem preternaturally quiet. “He was happy to see us. He told us a couple times.”

Aviva considered making a joke about how impossible it had always been to unravel Lukahn’s ramblings, even for someone as adept at prophecy as Elerian or Cid, but she thought better of it. Morgan had always had a gift for deciphering her spiritual kin. “You came to see him often, huh?”

Morgan nodded. “Uncle Cid and I made regular trips. We built a lot of card houses, and we told him how the world was changing. I came up with a lot of ways to play games differently, like extra rules and variations and stuff, and he really liked that.” She smiled. “Maergrahn trained me well, I guess.”

“Was he able to leave you with any parting thoughts?”

“A few. Mostly he told us he was happy. And he asked me to build an extra large card house in his honour.”

“Sounds like an appropriate cairn.”

Morgan snorted, then let it fade into a sigh. “Uncle and I are the last of the Lefein now.”

Aviva nodded slightly. “How are you feeling?” The eternal question.

“I don’t know.”

“That’s okay.” For a brief time, Aviva had known what it felt like to be the last of her kind. But they had been able to restore the Tieflings. The Lefein did not share that destiny. She took Morgan’s hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. “You want to come back to Aelfheim for a bit? Spare room’s yours whenever you want it.”

“Uncle and I need to take care of a few things first. We’re going to scatter Lukahn’s remains in places of significance to the Lefein. It shouldn’t take too long, with the Highwind. But then yes. I’d like that.” Morgan smiled a little more broadly. “I think Starman is pining for Demon.”

Aviva chuckled. “I know Demon’s pining for Starman, she regularly tears up the toy you gave her that looks like him and then cries at me until I mend it. Please let our cats reunite before she drives us mad.”

Morgan giggled. “Okay. I’ll come by once I’ve dropped Uncle back at his lab. Maybe a week or so.” For a few moments, she lapsed into silence, then laced her fingers with Aviva’s. “Thanks for coming.”

“Of course.” Aviva kissed the Lefein’s cheek. “You’re family.”

II.

Leaving Halei in their sitting room, Aviva grinned in anticipation, the air turning translucent gold as she cast her spell. A moment later, the bridge of the Highwind shimmered into view. “Cidney!” she called. “I’m here early, and I brought treats from Aelf--”

“‘Viva, get down!!”

Instinctively, Aviva ducked, just in time to see a bolt of energy streak through where her head had been. Turning in a crouch, she realised the ship was listing precipitously to one side, the internal gravity only thing keeping her from tumbling into the window. “Cid?!”

Another bolt of energy struck the floor near her knee. A mote of flame instinctively forming in her palm, she spun to face her attacker and nearly collided with Morgan coming for her at a sprint. “Cid, what in all the hells?!”

“Behind my chair!”

The pair dove beyond the captain’s chair just as the hulking metal humanoid at the other end of the bridge fired again. Calculating the distance of its prey, the living tech lumbered towards them. “Making friends?!”

Morgan flashed her a lighting quick withering look, then raised both guns and fired, hitting the tech square in the chest. “Lefeinish creation. Prototype servitor. In near perfect working condition, and I’d like to try and keep it that way--” She ducked to avoid a retaliatory blast. “So don’t hit it in the head!”

With a curt nod, Aviva let loose handful after handful of searing flame, dutifully aiming for the torso. Morgan reloaded her guns with practiced efficiency and separated the tech’s joints from its body, causing it to topple forward onto the deck. In perfect unison, each woman took one final shot, and with a frustrated whir, the tech stilled.

Silence crept across the bridge. Morgan stood cautiously, stepping out from behind her chair and nudging the tech with her boot. It did not move. Confidence instantly restored, she crouched by its head. “Well, that didn’t go how I expected.”

“And how, exactly, did you expect that to go?” Aviva straightened, then leaned against the chair.

“How was I supposed to know it had defence protocols?” Morgan replied testily, rapping on the tech’s head. “Just means I have to run more diagnostics before I turn him on again.” Sensing Aviva opening her mouth to retort, Morgan waved a hand. “It’ll be fine.” Every inch the mad scientist. She pushed to her feet, straightened her hair, then turned to Aviva with a wide, delighted smile.

“You said you had treats?”

III.

“It’s time.”

Halei set up from her place on the sofa, instantly alert. “Are you sure?”

Aviva glared at her wife, then doubled over as a contraction shot through her, leaning against the dining table for support. “Yes,” she forced through gritted teeth, “it is most definitely time.”

“Right.” Appearing at Aviva’s side, Halei helped her into the bedroom and over to the bed. “Mei and your mother are in the garden; I’ll fetch them first, then Elerian. You breathe. What else do you need?”

“Infinite willpower. And water.” Aviva winced in pain as Halei turned on her heel, then an irritated chirp drew her attention to the corner of the room. From a nest of old fabric, the amber eyes of Demon of the Abyssal Reach stared back at her. “You too?”

“Hmm?” Halei returned from the kitchen, pressing a mug of water into Aviva’s hands. “Me?”

“No, Demon.” Aviva nodded to the ball of black fur. “I think she and I are on the same timeline.”

Halei’s eyes widened. “Seriously? That’s far too many babies for one set of quarters.”

“I’ll say.” Aviva sipped her water. “Well, I promised I’d tell Cidney when either Demon’s clock went off, or mine, so…” Flicking her fingers in the familiar gestures of Sending, she announced into the air in front of her: “I’m going into labour -- and so, I think, is my cat??” She took another drink of water as she listened to the response, then promptly spat it out in a burst of manic laughter.

“What?” Halei pressed. “What did she say?”

Aviva looked up at her, her breathing laboured and her eyes watering, though whether due to joy or contractions was unclear. “‘What did Elerian do to your cat?’”

IV.

“This might be the best augment you’ve made.”

Morgan grinned, sliding into the steaming bathwater and letting out a happy sigh. “There we go. Worth it. I wasn’t using this space as a cabin anyway.”

“No?” Aviva laughed. “I guess your garden variety servitors don’t use beds.”

“These aren’t garden variety servitors,” Morgan replied haughtily. “They’re salvaged Lefeinish tech, updated with my own personal designs. They don’t make them like this in Scanderimus, no matter how good they are down there.”

Aviva humphed in acknowledgement. Morgan had spent years collecting and restoring these specimens and they ran the Highwind like clockwork -- in some cases literally, given her clock-making background. It did, however, mean that the majority of Morgan’s interactions with living people came in the form of shopping for supplies or visiting Aviva and her family. “Have you made one from scratch yet?”

“Not yet.” Morgan slouched further into the water, creating tiny ripples that lapped against Aviva’s chest. “I think I’m gonna try soon, though. I have enough small pieces to build most of the chassis, and I think I could synthesise the rest. I can do all the internal programming. After that it’s just a matter of designing the right exterior. If I’m gonna make it entirely by myself, I want it to be really special.”

“Like you?”

That caught Morgan off-guard. “I… I don’t know. I don’t think I would make it look like me, but less metallic would be interesting.” She paused. “It won’t be like me. I mean, it won’t have a spark. I was an anomaly.”

Aviva watched her, head tilted in thought. “Anomalies can happen more than once.”

Morgan slid up to her nose in the water, her white hair piled atop her head like a captive cloud, and she thought for a few long moments before coming up for air. “They can. I guess it could happen.”

“Would you like that? Is that something you would want?”

“Hadn’t thought about it.” Spying Aviva’s raised eyebrow, Morgan glowered. “Okay, I’ve thought about it. I’ve wondered if there were ways for me to do it on purpose, but I don’t think there are. It’s just random. So I haven’t gotten my hopes up.” She met the Tiefling’s gaze. “But I think I would like that, if it happened.”

Aviva smiled. “I could see that being… really nice.” She grinned. “Parenting without the childbirth.”

“What, no!” Morgan squealed, water splashing as she sat up. “I wouldn’t be its parent! Maybe its teacher, or its caretaker. But I wouldn’t be giving it life, I’d just be building a vessel.”

“Mmm. Maybe.” Aviva leaned back, resting her head on the lip of the bath. “I may be relatively new at it, but that sounds an awful lot like parenting to me.”

“Maybe.” Morgan watched the ripples on the surface of the bath. “Maybe.”

V.

“Cid,” Aviva slurred, rolling her head to look lopsidedly at the Lefein at her side. “Ciiiiiiidney.”

“Mmmwhat,” Morgan responded, blinking the Tiefling into focus.

Aviva grinned brightly, if sloppily. “I’m real glad you’re here.”

Morgan reached for her bottle of wine, nearly knocking it over in the process. “I’m glad I’m here too. You know I’ll always come visit.”

“I know, but I mean, like… here.” Aviva gestured broadly with her own wine bottle. “In the world. In my life. I’m real glad you’re here.”

Spreading her arms wide, Morgan pulled Aviva into a hug, nearly tipping them both over in the process. “Me too.”

I.

The sun hung low over the steeples and chimneys of Aelfheim, the sky a brilliant tapestry of pink and gold and deep blue at the corners. On the still-warm tile of the manor’s roof, Aviva pushed herself up to sitting, pulling the leather cord from her hair and letting the long braid slowly release itself. It had been some time since she had enjoyed a rooftop sunset.

“I think I’m going to build a tower,” Wil offered, apropos of nothing.

“A tower?” Aviva considered that for a moment. “Like your father’s?”

Wil chuckled humourlessly, reaching for the half-empty bottle of wine sitting between them. “No-one could build a tower quite like my father’s. His was connected to dark energies I couldn’t even begin to work with. I’m honestly not even sure those energies exist in the world now, given how we remade things.” A pause. “Plus, nobody’s that extra,” he added, taking a large gulp of wine to punctuate his point.

Aviva snorted. “That’s certainly true.” She accepted the offered bottle, taking a considerably smaller sip as she thought. “Where would you build it?”

“I’ve been thinking about that.” Wil’s tone was casual, as if discussing the weather. “So far, my first choice is out in the Blacksand Desert. Less of a chance I’ll be interrupted.”

“Yes, can’t have innocent bystanders walking in on your weirdness,” Aviva teased, but the truth of it nagged at her. Wil had become less and less social over the years since they had restored the world. Though always willing to visit with Aviva and her immediate family, he had withdrawn almost completely from public life, politely declining any official invitations and avoiding what he considered “prying eyes”. She passed the bottle back to him, her smile fading. “If you could still access those energies, would you?”

Wil kept his gaze focused on the vanishing sun, putting the bottle to his lips in a convenient moment of silence. “I don’t know. Alphinaud wasn’t my stone’s guardian, so I suspect it’s a moot point. But I’m starting to wonder if we might have greater access to our own elemental powers. I’m Shadow, after all; there’s probably a lot I could do. I could certainly make one hell of a tower.”

“You could, at that.” As the last of the sun melted into the horizon, a cold breeze whipped across the roof, tugging at Aviva’s hair and making her shiver. “Let’s head inside,” she suggested. “We can find Halei, or we can go out into the city and get into trouble.”

Taking another swig of wine, Wil nodded. “Let’s go find your wife. I’m all for staying in, though. Last time Sol and I went out in this nice city together, we started a bar fight.”

Aviva huffed a soft laugh. “I’m sure they’ve forgiven you since then.”

“I’m not gonna take any chances.”

II.

“Wil?” Aviva called as the dimly-lit antechamber of the tower materialised around her. “You called? I came as quickly as I could. Wil?”

“Hey, V.” Wil leaned against the doorframe, his sleepless face pulled into a wry half-smile. “Thanks for coming. I, uh… I guess I wanted to… talk? To someone?”

“Of course.” Aviva offered him her most reassuring smile. “What’s up?”

For a few moments, Wil fiddled uncomfortably with the wide sleeves of his robe, unable to meet her eyes. Then, finally: “My mum died.”

The Tiefling’s shoulders sank. “Oh, Wil…” With one fluid step, she crossed the antechamber and spread her arms, wrapping Wil in a tight hug. The Half-Elf stiffened, then changed his mind and softened into the embrace. It had been some time since he had touched anyone. When they finally separated, Aviva held him gently by the shoulders. “What happened?”

“Oh, heart failure. Human old age. Not unexpected.” He reconsidered his statement. “Well, not by her doctors. It wasn’t something I’d really thought about in… a long time.”

Aviva nodded. “Did you ever go see her again?”

“Absolutely not,” Wil answered sharply, taking an almost involuntary step backward into the tower’s main hall as he slipped free of Aviva’s hands. “I understood her words.”

With a twist of her stomach, Aviva realised she did not have anything to say to that. She had never understood Evangelina Stonewood’s instructions that, for both her safety and his, her son should never return. After the defeat of his father and the restoration of the world, Aviva had expected mother and son to reunite, sooner or later. The thought of sending her own daughter away, even to guarantee her safety, brought a tightness to her throat. “How did you find out?”

“Dr. Unne.” Wil’s old mentor. “He’s out the door soon himself, but I still keep in contact with him from time to time.” With a deep sigh, Wil turned and began to descend a rounded flight of stone steps, gesturing for Aviva to follow. “You want some coffee?”

“Yeah.” The bottom of the steps opened into a surprisingly homey kitchen, the fireplace burning cheerily even as it cast deep shadows about the room. The skeletons going about their chores had long since ceased to surprise Aviva, and she accepted a steaming mug from what had likely once been a goblin with a nod of thanks. “Got any bourbon to put in it?”

Wil clucked his tongue. “Of course. What kind of man do you take me for?”

Settling at the small kitchen table, they sat in silence for a while. The quiet seemed to comfort Wil, as did the presence of his Tiefling friend. Eventually, he spoke again. “I’m not going to die.”

“Pardon?”

“I’m not going to die,” he repeated. “I’ve been studying my father’s old papers. He was foolish, turning to the path of the vampire. But there are other ways, ones that are less damaging to the mind. I haven’t figured out the best one yet, but… I’m on my way.”

Aviva chewed her lip. “Wil… Following in your father’s footsteps. You saw what he became. Corrupted, mad. Are you sure that’s a good idea? How do you know you’ll avoid the same pitfalls?”

“Because I have all his failures to build on.” Wil swirled the dark liquid in his mug. “I have a map of his mistakes. I know how to avoid them.”

“There are nearly infinite mistakes when it comes to magic of this magnitude--”

“I was in a guy’s head when he died, Aviva. I felt what it was like.” Wil looked her in the eye. “I’m not going to do that again.”

For a time, neither spoke. Then Aviva sighed. “Just be careful, okay?”

Wil scoffed, smoothing the folds of his robe with pointed overconfidence. “When am I not?”

III.

“Aviva?” Halei called from the doorway to their quarters. “V? You’re… You’re going to need to see this.”

“Yes, sunshine?” Aviva poked her head into the sitting room, her fingers tangled in the hair she was attempting to sweep into an elaborate updo. The sight of Halei stopped her cold. “Are those… bones?”

Halei stepped inside, pushing the door closed with her foot. “Yes,” she said simply, making her way carefully around the sofa and depositing an astonishingly large collection of sun-bleached bones onto the table. “It showed up at the front gate and apparently spooked the guards, so they took it down.”

Hesitantly, Aviva approached, freeing her hands and letting her hair tumble down her back. “Alright… So… Why is it on our dining table?”

“Because,” Halei answered, producing a folded parchment from the folds of her tunic, “it was delivering a letter. To us.”

All at once, understanding clicked like a key in a lock. “Wilhelm.”

“Looks like.”

“Of course, because delivering a letter by animated skeleton’s not dramatic at all,” Aviva muttered, taking the parchment from her wife and breaking the ornate wax seal. The handwriting was the same looped, elegant script she remembered from Wil’s previous letters, though somewhat rougher, as if he had not written with a quill in some time. Her confused frown deepened as she scanned down the page. “...Huh.”

Halei tilted her head. “What does it say?”

Clearing her throat, Aviva affected her best Wilhelm impression. “‘Hey Aviva and Sol, sorry I won’t be able to make it to your daughter’s birthday. Please tell her Uncle Wil is bone tired. I’m not just being a lazy bones, I promise. I hope you won’t have a bone to pick with me. Insert additional bone jokes here.’”

“Oh gods,” Halei groaned. “Does it actually say that?”

“‘Anyway,’” Aviva continued, “‘I wanted to let you both know I’ll be taking a leave of absence from our regular get-togethers. I’m close to a breakthrough in my research and I can’t leave my laboratory even for a moment. In addition, I’m not exactly my most attractive right now, and I don’t want to startle any innocent waitstaff or guards.’” Aviva sighed and met Halei’s eyes. “Do you think he’s finally done it?”

Halei pursed her lips, then shrugged one shoulder. “Could be. Either that or he’s close.”

Sharing a look of unspoken concern, Aviva returned to the letter. “‘Before I excuse myself completely from polite society, I want you to know this: you’ve always considered me family, which has meant more to me than I can say, especially as my own blood family and I drifted further and further apart. I want you to know that I think of you as my family as well. Whatever it takes, I will ensure that you and your daughter live your lives in peace, safety and happiness. No harm will come to you -- not if I have anything to say about it. I love you. Never forget that. Yours, Dr. Wilhelm Husk.’”

Stunned silence settled in the room. Aviva stared at the parchment, reading the words a second time, then a third. Halei humphed and folded her arms. “That boy’s turning himself into a lich, isn’t he.”

“Yes, I rather suspect he is. He said he never wanted to die, so…” Delicately folding the parchment closed, Aviva placed it atop the table of bones. “I don’t… know what to make of this.”

“That’s Wil in a nutshell, my love.” Halei smiled gently. “Always has been. He’s a neurotic mystery wrapped in a socially awkward enigma.”

“Do we do anything? Try and stop him? Talk him out of it?” Aviva huffed in frustration. “Would he even listen?”

“I don’t know,” Halei answered with another shrug. “If he’s not hurting anyone… If he is, yes. We will have to stop him. We will stop him. If not… We’ll see what happens.”

Aviva let out a slow, measured breath. “I don’t like it.”

“I know.” Sliding her arms around the Tiefling’s waist, Halei rested her head against Aviva’s shoulder, soothing her worries away, at least for the time being. “We knew this was coming, in a way. It’s a very Wil decision to make.”

“You’re right about that.”

“And it is his to make. At least he let us know. We’ll just have to keep an eye on him and take it one step at a time.” Halei gave the Tiefling a squeeze. “In the meantime, our girl has a birthday coming up. Let’s focus on that.” She glanced at the table. “…And we have to figure out what to do with all these bones.”

I.

Shoving her hands deep into the pockets of her coat, Aviva stepped out into the frigid late morning air, blinking at the sunlight turning the snow into a glittering blanket. Halei had left hours ago, heading down the mountain to dispense her particular brand of justice in the Dwarven village below, and Aviva had lazed about as long as she could before wanderlust finally got the better of her. Time seemed to stand still in the Titanlands, a winter without end. It made her restless.

One of Maergrahn’s sons -- she was embarrassed to admit she still had trouble telling the three of them apart -- looked up from the pathway he was shovelling and waved cheerily as she passed. “Happy Maergrahn Day!” Aviva raised a hand in greeting, chuckling under her breath. Was any day not Maergrahn day?

Past the collection of squat, interconnected houses and dojos clustered on the last stretch of level ground, the path steepened as the mountain continued to climb and disappear into the clouds. Picking her way carefully, Aviva hopped from step to ancient step until she found what she sought: a small, Dwarf-sized opening, cleverly hidden by a rocky overhang, invisible but to those right beside it. Dwarven ingenuity (and practicality) never ceased to amaze her.

Through a tight, rough-hewn tunnel and up a short flight of steps, the cavernous Hall of the Titans sprawled before her. Massive pillars supported the impossibly high, vaulted ceiling, the stained glass windows painting the floor with an intricate watercolour of light. On the dais at the far end sat a set of giant carved thrones, and it took Aviva a moment to realise that not all of them were empty.

“Took the side entrance, I see.”

Aviva smirked as Maergrahn approached, nodding toward the huge stone doors set into the wall behind him. “Bit of a challenge for just me. I’m tall, but I’m not that tall.” Her smile broadened. “Oh, I heard it was Maergrahn Day.”

The Dwarf scoffed. “Of course it is! Make sure you pick up your Maergrahn Day tunic before you leave. Get one for Sol, too.” He paused in thought. “A big one, so it fits over her armour.”

“I certainly will.”

At that moment, a high-pitched shriek erupted from the dais. From their end of the Hall, the shapes on the thrones looked no larger than a child’s toys, but as one raised its head to snap at another, Aviva realised just how large juvenile dragons were.

“Hey!” Maergrahn bellowed, waving his arms frantically. “You kids cut it out!”

Aviva blinked at the Dwarf, huffing a soft laugh at his complete disregard for the poetic enormity of his life’s task. “Are they always this feisty?”

“Only when they’re hungry, or engaging in hamhoonery.” Maergrahn squinted. “Right now, probably both.” He looked up at the Tiefling. “Want to meet them?”

“Absolutely.”

“Hop to it, then!” With an actual hop, Maergrahn began the trek across the Hall. Aviva smiled to herself and followed.

II.

“Gin!” Maergrahn declared, tossing his cards on the table.

“Double gin!” countered Halei, placing her cards on top of Maergrahn’s.

“Triple gin!” Wil blurted next, his own cards covering Halei’s.

“Devil’s gin!” Aviva tried quickly, slapping her cards atop the pile. Her companions stared at her. “...What?”

Maergrahn shook his head in admiration. “Brilliant.”

Aviva was sure the game had started as poker.

III.

“Envoy’s leaving in ten,” Halei called into the bedroom.

Aviva shoved one more sparkling garment into her pack and slung both the strap of her lute and the strap of the pack over her shoulder. “Coming, coming. Where’s the baby?”

“Elerian has her.” In truth, ‘the baby’ was nearing fifteen years, but fifteen years in a Half-Elven life meant she was little more than a highly precocious toddler. Halei gestured for Aviva to lead the way, locking the door to their quarters behind them. “Cutting it a bit fine there, my love.”

“And yet, here we are, right on time.” Aviva retorted, then let her smile fade as they descended the back stairs to the garden. “Do you ever feel odd about the Festival of Torches?”

Halei shrugged. “Not especially. Tradition is a comfort. After what the world went through, repurposing the Festival to celebrate the completion of the Prophecy rather than avoiding the Prophecy seems pretty logical.”

“Mmm.”

The time for introspection passed quickly; meeting the rest of the envoy at the gazebo sheltering the royal private portal, Aviva traded her pack and lute to an attendant and accepted her sleeping daughter from Elerian. The ever-harried Celestine took attendance on her checklist, each person stepping under the gazebo in turn and arranging themselves appropriately.

“Did you hear?” one attendant asked another, their hushed voice giddy with excitement. “The Dragonfriend is going to be there!”

Aviva frowned at Halei, mouthing ‘Dragonfriend?’, but before the Drow could respond, the air turned to golden haze and the tranquil garden became a wide marble balcony at the base of the Grand Palace of Corneria. King Johann and Queen Celeste awaited them, flanked by a cadre of guards and advisors, and despite their welcoming expressions, Aviva felt a pang of regret; the void that Princess Sara had left so many years ago could never truly be filled. She had heard that without an heir, the ageing King had handed more and more authority to his democratic council. This promised to be a very interesting diplomatic visit indeed.

“Welcome, esteemed guests of Aelfheim, and Heroes of Light--” the King began, but paused as a large shadow passed overhead. Confused murmurs rippled through the assemblies, eyes turning to the sky. The shadow grew, solidifying into a great beast, its leathery wings sending gusts of wind toward the balcony. The Cornerian Guard drew their swords, but a gesture from the King kept them at bay. Aviva glanced at Halei and saw the smirk forming on her wife’s lips. Only one person could make an entrance like this.

Dumbfounded, the gathering watched as the crimson-scaled dragon landed directly between the King’s party and the Prince’s, its claws scratching deep grooves into the marble. For a moment, no-one moved. Then, a small figure popped up from behind the dragon’s head and waved jovially at Elerian. Sliding down the dragon’s neck, Maergrahn dropped several feet to the ground, tucking into a roll and jumping nimbly to his feet. “Hello! I heard there were snacks!”

Halei caught Aviva’s eye. ‘Dragonfriend’, she mouthed. The Tiefling grinned.

IV.

The city was, as it had always been on Festival night, beautiful. The night air was warm and smelled of cinnamon, honey mead, fried food and wood smoke. Music and laughter drifted on the soft breeze, ruffling Aviva’s hair as she stepped onto the Palace balcony. A lone figure leaned against the carved marble railing, watching the lights dance in the streets below. The Tiefling smiled as she approached.

“Evening, Maergrahn Dragonfriend.”

Maergrahn turned and gave the Tiefling a bright grin, the fires far beneath him illuminating the bottom of his beard and making it seem huge and unruly. “Good evening, Aviva! How are you faring?”

“Not terribly. The baby’s in bed early. I managed to sneak off and play on one of the stages down in the market, until the attention got to be too much. A boy in the kitchen said this balcony has the best view of the fireworks. Is that what you heard too?”

The Dwarf bobbed his head. “I did, I did. It’s also where Gertie has taken to sleeping.” He nodded to the far end of the balcony where the red dragon lay curled in a giant ball, her head tucked beneath her wing.

Aviva squinted, incredulous. “You named her Gertie?”

“Well, dragons name themselves,” Maergrahn answered matter-of-factly. “I just called her Gertie when she was small. I figured they needed names. She goes by something else now, but she still lets me call her Gertie.” He leaned in conspiratorially. “I think she secretly likes it.”

“I’ll bet,” Aviva chuckled. “And the rest?”

Maergrahn ticked them off on his fingers. “There’s Bahamut Junior, he’s the gold one. Calmest of the bunch, hatched first. Maergrahn Junior, the blue one. White is Daisy; she fights with her sister a lot, but she listens when I tell her to have a fly-around instead. I decided to bring Gertie so they could be apart for a spell. And, green is Louie. He’s a bit of a prankster.” He sounded especially proud of that.

Aviva nodded as he spoke, trying not to giggle at the assortment of names. “Is he now? How does that go?”

“We scared my aunt so bad she fainted. So, quite well.”

Despite her desire to always take Maergrahn’s bizarre statements at face value, Aviva couldn’t help but laugh. “Very good.”

The procession of torches in the streets had started to make their way to the bay, the other best place to see the fireworks, and a comfortable silence fell over the pair as they watched the rivers of flame meander toward the sea. Fire meeting water, presided over by the embodiments of those two same elements.

“You seem content.”

Surprised, Aviva looked at the Dwarf. “Hmm?”

“You seem content,” he repeated. “With your life, your family. You have love. I’m glad.”

It took the Tiefling a moment to process Maergrahn’s rare moment of candor, but then she smiled. “I am.” She glanced over her shoulder at the slumbering dragon. “Are you?”

“Well, I could always do with a few more cities adopting Maergrahn Day. But that’s more of a long-term goal. For now, yes. I am.”

“I’m glad.”

The first firework shot into the air from a gondola floating in the bay, erupting into a shower of red and blue sparks. Purple followed, then green and gold, silvery-white, pink and red, orange, red and blue again. The rainbow of the world glittered above them, and they watched, content.

When the Heroes of Light finally found Esperance Lux, her essence was stretched so thin it was unlikely she would survive. She, too, had been a part of every cycle, someone important to Flame, and the weight of that existence had exhausted her beyond recovery. Morgan, Light, read the truth of the situation and realised that something could be done. The right combination of elemental energy could, perhaps, reinforce Esperance's place in reality. They just might be able to save her, if they worked together. After some debate, they decided on... everyone.

Morgan provided Light. Literally lighting the way through their linked minds, she provided a way to see the path, guiding them forward with comfort and support.

Wilhelm provided Shadow. Drawing on his knowledge of death and undeath, he ensured there would be no hiccups in the path that might lead to premature endings.

Aviva provided Flame. The breath of life, the warmth of family. As she wrapped her arms around her mother's prone body, she gave the feeling of home.

Maergrahn provided Water. Finding the flow of energy through the body, he repaired each damaged synapse until it once again would be connected and sustainable.

Grummer provided Air. He unleashed from within himself a primal rage, an electric will to live that could empower each of his friends to succeed at the task at hand.

Sol provided Earth. Her hand on Aviva's shoulder, she was the bedrock of it all: a solid foundation upon which air and water could dance, upon which light and shadow could play, upon which fire could burn. As Morgan lit the path, Sol set it down.

And so, they changed reality. Their combined will restored Esperance and transported her to safety so they could continue on their journey. Later, when it mattered most, they employed the same tactic and opened the world to include Chronodia. In saving one woman, they set themselves on the path to saving the world.

This was one of the moments out of the entire campaign that meant the most to me as a player. Activating our special powers meant we couldn't use them later in combat, and it's not every day you can convince players to give up their tactical advantage for the sake of RP. Esperance had been missing since the second or third session of the game, so to finally find her, and save her, was incredibly satisfying.

“We’re a little short-handed.”

Melvin’s words rang in Shira’s head, cutting through the exhaustion and quickening her pace. Mel was her left hand, but Shmuel had been her right, and his absence ached like a phantom limb. The Mishpacha was her body and it was in pain, each bullet and baton and clenched white fist threatening to tear her family apart. The Boys In Blue truly had outdone themselves with this one. Goyische fuckers.

The boy in the green gloves departed with Zuri, Tessie and the baby shortly after midnight. Shira did not worry; if anyone could be trusted to get them to the Shtetl without incident, it was one of Jeremiah’s. That left her a little band of four: herself, Mel, Helena and Lucy, two Mishpacha by birth and two Mishpacha by choice. Just four, to find and retrieve the rest of their people throughout the City. Shira gestured to the map, planning their routes and who they would need to collect, and their looks of determination matched her own.

They would not lose anyone else tonight.

Lucy made short work of procuring a car, the hulking thing spluttering to life beneath her trained fingers and transporting them across the darkened City with little difficulty. The irony of moving their people to safety in a stolen vehicle was not lost on Shira, and she allowed herself a moment of bitter amusement. She also made a mental note to ask her new family member to teach her how to drive. Perhaps once everyone was settled at the Farm. If they could get there. And if, once there, it still provided the shelter they sought.

When they arrived at the Yeshiva, Tessie was already at work transforming the larger classrooms into a makeshift hospital, the confused and frightened students of Talmud obeying her commands without question. Helena volunteered to stay and begin the same process at the Kaminsky, putting her nursing skills to use protecting their own. Shira ducked into the theatre’s empty speakeasy to retrieve a stash of bribe money, then they were off.

Throughout the night, they scoured the City, shuttling groups of Mishpacha and civilians alike back to the boundaries of the eruv. The hardened gangsters put on brave faces in the presence of their leader; the taxicab drivers, factory workers, fishmongers and other innocents made no attempt to hide their fear. Shira made sure to smile reassuringly at the youngest of their charges, promising them in gentle tones that everything would be alright. She said it so many times she almost believed it.

It was dawn by the time she sent Mel and Lucy back to the Shtetl for the final time, escorting the last of their wayward kin. Mel protested returning without her, of course; she shouldn’t be out in the City alone. He was not incorrect, but Shira waved him off, assuring him that she simply had some final business to attend to. She would seek a few hours’ sleep in one of the rooms at the Golden Pearl and be back to tend to the wounded before he knew it. He gave her a hard, knowing look, but did not argue further.

She waited until the car had disappeared over the crest of a hill before setting off again, weaving through the back alleys and side streets of the City she knew so well. A City that had tolerated, but never welcomed her. The morning air smelled of gunshots and burning liquor and it set her teeth on edge. Rounding a shadowed corner, she counted her steps until she found the door hidden in the wall. A few short knocks in a strange pattern. A few moments of anxious, silent waiting. 

The deadbolt muttered as it slid against the heavy wood, then the door opened and Vi’s weary, sleepless face appeared. The mask of intoxicated despair softened into a small but genuine smile.

“You’re a sight for sore eyes.”

I.

With a rush of magical energy and a change in air pressure that always made Aviva’s ears pop, the environment around them changed. The back garden of the manor in Aelfheim became a golden blur, replaced in an instant by the warm orange glow of Scanderimus. She felt Halei lean against her as the Drow shook off the momentary disorientation. “That never gets easier.”

“Better than sailing, at least,” Aviva offered. Halei grunted a begrudging agreement.

“There are my misfit daughters,” came a familiar rumble.

Aviva grinned as the old Orc slouched into view at the edge of the portal, smirking around his tusks. “Good to see you too, pep pep.” She stepped forward, arms wide, and Grummer swept her into a crushing hug. “Still alive?”

“I should hope so,” Halei remarked from behind them. “You still owe me a rematch, old man.”

Grummer snorted a laugh as he released the Tiefling and spread his arms toward the Drow. “Big words from someone who’s still short,” he retorted, giving her a squeeze. “As I recall, your wife and I put you to the ground more than once.”

Aviva held up both hands. “Whoa, hey. Don’t look at me, I only get involved to exorcise possessing spirits. Besides, children, we’re here for a party, not a brawl.”

Both Grummer and Halei waved off her admonishment with a good-natured grumble. “It’s the Council’s party, not mine,” the Orc continued. “They wanted to commemorate the ten-year anniversary of Gurgu’s return, so Xylia asked if I could call in any famous friends.”

“Ahh, the celebrity life.” Aviva sighed dramatically.

“And how is good Master Undaunt?” Halei asked, pale eyebrow raised. “You two lovebirds still doing well?”

Grummer shrugged, but a smile played at the corners of his lips. “She makes an old man happy.” Before the two women could pounce on his Gnomish romance, Grummer shooed them from the portal in the direction of the city centre. “Come on, come on. Go put on your party clothes, the party starts in a few hours. Don’t keep Gurgu waiting.”

II.

“...Are you sure?”

“I’m old, Aviva.” Grummer shrugged, his shoulders lowering like a glacier. He turned his gaze to the revelry happening below their balcony, watching the Gnomes quietly for a moment. “I’ve been away from the desert for too long. It’s time.”

Aviva nodded. “Then, to the desert we go. How do you want to travel? We can go the long way, we can take the portal… Or we could call Morgan and take you on one more trip on the Highwind.”

After a moment of thought, Grummer smiled. “I think I could go for one last flight.”

III.

“Aviva?”

The Tiefling was sitting bolt upright in bed, frozen in the darkness. A beat later, she spoke into the empty air: “Thank you. We’ll be there.”

“We’ll be where?” Halei asked, pushing herself upright in turn.

“Sending from Xylia, via one of the Ghost Beetle casters.” Aviva paused. “It’s Grummer. She thinks this is it.”

Halei nodded, already rising from the bed and reaching for her trousers. “We’ll be there.”

IV.

The inside of the tent was cool, the heavy fabric shutting out the harsh rays of the desert sun, and it took Aviva’s eyes a few moments to adjust to the dim light. Rising from a rough-hewn wooden chair set to one side of the tent flap, Morgan nodded in greeting, her hands fidgeting anxiously at her sides. Deep, even breaths floated from a large bed laden with furs and blankets, and as Aviva, Halei and Morgan approached, Grummer opened his eyes and gave them a weak smile. “Hello, strange daughters.”

“Hello, old man,” Halei murmured. “Ready for that rematch?”

Grummer huffed a laugh that quickly turned into a breathless cough. “Of course. If they’d let me out of this bed, I’d have you on the ground in no time.”

Aviva sat on the edge of the bed, taking Grummer’s large, calloused hand in hers. “Good thing they won’t let you out, then. Can’t have you making a mess of her, she’s a mother now.”

“No excuse,” Grummer wheezed. “How old is she now, five? She should know how to use a sword, a spear and a javelin, at least. Raise her like a proper Orc.” As Morgan settled on the bed to his other side, he gave her an exaggerated wink -- which, given that he had never had his lost eye replaced, looked decidedly more like an awkward blink. Morgan giggled despite herself.

“I’ll get right on that,” Halei smirked, stepping in to stand at Aviva’s side.

“Hey,” Aviva protested. “You’re the ancestor of every Orc tribe in the desert. I think one grandchild can stay a Tiefling-Elf."

Grummer waved his free hand dismissively, letting it rest on Morgan’s knee as he closed his eyes. “Every Orc in the desert,” he repeated softly. “Who knew an old killer like me would ever see peace?”

Aviva glanced up at Halei, who put a hand on the Tiefling’s shoulder. Morgan’s posture tightened. None of them spoke.

“I didn’t mean to live this long, you know.”

They did know -- the memory of their first meeting, when Grummer nearly collided with Halei in the hallway of a dark dungeon and bellowed ‘Are you doing to be my death?!’, had been fondly recalled over many a shared drink. Halei squeezed Aviva’s shoulder.

“I was ready, back then. Ready to die in glorious battle. I didn’t know there were other ways to live, or other ways to die.” He offered another laboured laugh. “And then it turned out I was some weird vengeance ghost, and suddenly a death on the battlefield seemed less important. Living and seeing the world at peace… That became important.” A smile bloomed across his scarred face. “I rode the magma rivers in Scanderimus. I forged treaties between the Orc tribes. I taught a new generation of warriors the true meaning of honour.” Opening his one good eye, Grummer grinned. “Fifteen years past that day, and here I am. At peace. Who knew?”

A choked laugh-cry escaped Aviva’s lips as tears started to trickle down her cheeks. “Who knew?”

“Oh come now, don’t do that,” Grummer chided, but his tone was gentle. “Didn’t I just say I was at peace?”

“How about one more time, just so we’re very, very certain?” Halei’s voice was steady, but her fingers shuddered against Aviva’s shoulder.

Grummer sighed and closed his eye again, smile never faltering. “If you insist. This body, this heart, this soul… I, Grummer of the Ghost Beetle, the Hero of Light… am at peace.”

His smile faded. His breathing stopped.

He was at peace.

From the Settings section of our design document: “It is 1928. In the City, the morality movement and conservatives have won. Anyone not born a straight, white male is looked down upon as some inferior ‘other’. While there are still pockets of defences, places where people can be themselves, those pockets are few and far between. The soaring stock market has given rich, white capitalism its heyday and the Morality Movement has turned traditional religion into a weapon. But most people depend on money from the city for survival, making escape an impossible dream.”

For our full design document, the rest of the factions and event information, head over to the Entropic Endeavors website.

* * *

The Shtetl. Once muttered with a disparaging sneer by the rich Gentile bankers and robber barons who passed outside its borders, “The Shtetl” has become widely accepted as the semi-official title for the Jewish quarter of the City. Densely packed and raucous, its alleys and boulevards are full to bursting with shops, newspaper stands, theatres, synagogues, bakeries and kosher butchers, surrounded on all sides by a mixture of garment factories and tenement buildings. Though the majority of the Shtetl’s residents are poor Ashkenazim, newly resettled from eastern Europe, tensions have increased with the influx of wealthier German, Sephardi and other Jews exiled from other parts of the City. Nevertheless, spirits in the Shtetl are high, symbolized by the scraps of rainbow fabric and ribbon pinned to overcoats and hats or tucked into shop windows. Every resident knows that no matter how dark the world outside the eruv gets, they are protected by their Mishpacha.

Initially founded by a motley group of orphans living in the B’not Miryam Orphan Asylum, the Mishpacha (“Family”, specifically, extended family) has since opened its membership to any Jew who may wish to join its ranks. They have even accepted a few goyim into the fold, though these recruits are generally subjected to much more stringent vetting processes. Particularly welcoming to those who feel society’s judgment on multiple axes, most of the members are queer, disabled or otherwise considered “undesirable” by the City at large. The Mishpacha’s sole purpose is to protect the Jews of the Shtetl, by any means necessary. Regardless of gender, sexuality, ability, language or belief in the Almighty, all Jews are family. Over time, a few differing streams of thought have developed regarding this primary mission: some believe they are beholden only to Jews, while others insist their purview extends to all the City’s outcasts who have found safety within the Shtetl. So far, this difference of opinion has not grown into an all-out schism, though group leaders watch one another with caution.

Operating primarily out of the upper floors of Yeshiva Aqedah and the back room of Bialek’s Deli, the Mishpacha has its hands in nearly every aspect of life in the Shtetl. They hold a variety of classes at the Yeshiva in the evenings for those who work during the day, and offer subsidized meals through Bialek’s for those who cannot afford them. Members are frequently called upon to mediate disputes of all types, from business owners to quarrelling spouses, and operate as de facto law enforcement in the absence of help from the City. Due to the protection the Mishpacha provides the Shtetl, its illegal activities -- primarily bootlegging and counterfeiting government documents -- are largely ignored by civilian community leaders.

Despite its benevolent enterprises, the Mishpacha will not hesitate to use force if needed. The Shtetl has seen more than one corrupt factory disappear in what was later identified as a carefully controlled blaze, and abusive parents have been known to return to their homes with a black eye matching the one they’d given their child the week before. When justice is carried out in this way, individual members of the Mishpacha rarely take credit. Instead, these incidents are known as “visitations from the Lion of Judah,” and no further explanation is needed.

The one commandment the Mishpacha respects above all else is “Lo Tirtzach” -- “thou shalt not kill”. Members frequently resort to violence to achieve their goals, but murder is strictly prohibited and any combat engagements must be carried out non-lethally. This is pragmatic as well as spiritual, as any evidence of blood on the Mishpacha’s hands could bring the full weight of the City crashing down on the Shtetl. Anyone known to have violated this rule may be summarily dismissed from the Mishpacha. However, if an enemy sustains an injury during an altercation and later dies of their wounds, it does not fall under the Mishpacha’s definition of murder.

* * *

Play a Member of the Mishpacha if…

You want to protect and defend those who have come to you for shelter -- at any cost

You seek to better the lives of your community through education and activism

CHARACTER QUESTIONNAIRE: Szenes

GENERAL

NAME: Szenes White Bird of the Régi-Csontok clan

 ALIAS(ES): None

GENDER: Female

AGE: 14

PLACE OF BIRTH: Unknown

SPOKEN LANGUAGES: Common, Orcish, Celestial

SEXUAL ORIENTATION: Bisexual/queer

 OCCUPATION: Student

APPEARANCE

EYE COLOUR: Green

HAIR COLOUR: White

 HEIGHT: 5'10"

SCARS: A few small ones from childhood scrapes

FAVOURITE

COLOUR: Purple

HAIR COLOUR: Black

EYE COLOUR: Grey

ENTERTAINMENT: Travelling bardic troupes (theatre and music), energetic sports

PASTIME: Running, sewing, cooking, climbing, roughhousing

FOOD: Spicy curry

DRINK: Stout, fresh milk

BOOKS: Adventure stories

HAVE THEY

PASSED UNIVERSITY: Currently enrolled in secondary school

HAD SEX: No

HAD SEX IN PUBLIC: No

GOTTEN PREGNANT: No

KISSED A MAN: No

KISSED A WOMAN: Yes

GOTTEN TATTOOS: Yes

GOTTEN PIERCINGS: Yes

HAD A BROKEN HEART: No

BEEN IN LOVE: No

STAYED UP FOR MORE THAN 24 HOURS: Yes

ARE THEY

A VIRGIN: Yes

A CUDDLER: Yes

A KISSER: Unknown

A SMOKER: No

SCARED EASILY: No

JEALOUS EASILY: No

TRUSTWORTHY: Yes

DOMINANT: Unknown

SUBMISSIVE: Unknown

SINGLE: Yes

RANDOM QUESTIONS

WANTED TO KILL SOMEONE: No

ACTUALLY KILLED SOMEONE: No

RIDDEN A BEAST: Yes

HAVE/HAD A JOB: Yes

HAVE ANY FEARS: Yes

FAMILY

SIBLING(S): None

PARENTS: Angrag and Grummer of the Régi-Csontok clan (adopted fathers)

CHILDREN: None

PETS: Barn cats

Aviva offered a thin, sleepless smile as Halei returned to their quarters, her bare feet soundless against the rich carpet. Elerian followed close behind her, pale green robes drawn somewhat haphazardly about his shoulders. Where the Drow’s expression was one of cautious confusion, the High Elf showed outright concern, roused as he had been from reverie in the grey light of early dawn. “Thank you, sunshine,” Aviva murmured. “Good morning, elrandir.” Her sun and her star-wanderer, who made her heart whole. Sitting primly on the sofa, hands clasped in her lap, she shifted slightly to make space at either side and waited for the Elves to join her.

“Ci maer, Aviva?” Are you well? Sinking onto the sofa and resting a hand on the Tiefling’s knee, Elerian searched her face for the cause of his summoning. No longer possessed of the gift of foresight granted him by the cycle, the Seer could divine little from the nervous uncertainty in her eyes. Rather than sit at her other side, Halei remained standing, folding her arms and frowning at the floor as she resisted the urge to pace. All the Elves knew for certain was that Aviva had been ill for several days, and early-morning conversations rarely contained good news.

Realising her wife was not of a mind to sit, Aviva clucked her tongue and reached upward, slipping her fingers beneath Halei’s crossed arms and finding the hidden hand. Her other hand covered Elerian’s, her expression softening into a somewhat more reassuring smile. “I’m alright, I think. I’m sorry for the urgency, I just wanted to speak with you both as soon as possible. I, ah…” She looked from one Elf to the other, her gaze finally settling on the carpet at her feet as she took a deep breath. No sense in beating about the bush. “I’m pregnant.”

Elerian started, meeting Halei’s wide eyes over Aviva’s head before focusing on the Tiefling. The smile that spread across his face vanished as quickly as it appeared, worry drawing taut lines across his boyish features. “Aviva… You bring us joyous tidings. Why do you speak with such unease? What troubles you?”

“You’re worried about us, aren’t you?” asked Halei softly.

Aviva opened her mouth to answer the High Elf, looked up at the Drow in surprise, then huffed a bemused laugh and tugged at her to sit. “You know me too well.” Halei snorted but obliged the pull, settling on the sofa and sliding an arm around Aviva’s waist. The Tiefling continued, her words slow and measured: “We’ve already had all the talks about my lifespan versus yours. Even if I choose to come ‘round again after Aviva Lux is gone, I’ll still be someone new. This version of me will only be here so long. We’ve all of us, I think, come to terms with that.” She swallowed hard, her forced calm slipping. “But a child is different. Having a child with me means you won’t just watch me die -- you’ll watch them die, and their children, and their children’s children. Having me as a mother shortens all of their lives.” Lifting Elerian’s hand from her knee, she placed it atop Halei’s against her belly and covered them with both of hers. “Are either of you ready to go through that?”

For a few contemplative moments, no-one spoke. Elerian frowned at the hands on Aviva’s belly as he gathered his thoughts; Halei rested her forehead against the Tiefling’s shoulder and exhaled slowly. Finally, Elerian lifted his head. “If I may,” he began, pausing as both women met his eyes, “while your ability to put others’ needs before your own has always been admirable, I think I speak for both Haluei’en and myself when I ask: what do you want?”

“We’ve all lost so much in this life,” Aviva protested, her shoulders falling slightly. “I don’t want to give you another thing to lose. My people’s lives are so brief compared to yours. It’s-- It’s like Wilhelm said once: we tend to look older when you look away for too long. Even having Elven blood will only do so much. You are going to watch your child die. Is that little time going to be worth it?”

“That’s not what he asked,” Halei chided gently, the smallest smile playing at her lips. “You’re tangling yourself up in the future again. We can get to that later. Right here, now, in this moment of this life: what do you want?”

Aviva opened her mouth, closed it again. She looked over her shoulder at Halei, back to Elerian, silently pleading for direction, but her loves simply waited. Gods damn them, did they not see the heartache that would befall them? The loss, the pain? Her throat tight, she let her gaze drop to the collection of hands on her belly, pale and crimson and slate-grey. Her family. She knew there was only one answer.

“I want to have this baby,” she whispered.

A sharp exhale, almost a laugh, escaped from one of the Elves, and when Aviva looked up, Elerian was beaming. “I would be remiss if I said I’d never given thought to this day. To have a child… For my part, at least, it has been ever a source of joyful anticipation.” He tucked a lock of errant blond hair behind his ear and stretched his free arm along the back of the sofa, not moving his hand from Aviva’s belly. “We are Elves. Even the most withdrawn of our kind will eventually find themselves caring for those with shorter lives than ours. It is simply the way of things. We must all, at one point or another, make our peace with the inevitability of watching those people grow old and pass on. Have you not done the same for Grummer?”

“Grummer was old when we met--” Aviva started, but a look from Elerian quieted her. She knew that look; it was one that both her Elves had perfected. The ‘Aviva, you’re talking yourself into a worry spiral’ look. She huffed in frustration. “Won’t it be different?” she tried instead. “When it’s your own child?”

Elerian shrugged. “Perhaps. In fact, I daresay it will be quite different. It is never a simple thing to lose someone we love. But for my part, I’m more than willing to take that risk.” His smile returned. “It would be my honour.”

Aviva returned the smile in spite of herself. He had, as always, managed to balance that most inexplicable mixture of aged wisdom and youthful candor. But he was not the love she had held in their time of mourning; who would, in some ways, always bear the scars of the events that had led them to their shared destiny nearly a decade prior. Releasing the hands on her belly, Aviva leaned back into the sofa cushions to see both Elves more clearly. “Halei,” she addressed her wife, taking the same even tone as before. “My Sol. Our first night together, you said you had never thought about children. That it had never been your role to do so. That you likely could have, if you’d wanted, but you never had the time.”

Halei let out a puff of air. “Yeah, that sounds like me.” A wry smile. “Well remembered. It was a good night.”

It was a good night, and Aviva allowed herself a small smile at the memory before pursing her lips. “Now’s the time, my love.” She held the Drow’s ice blue gaze, her voice barely above a whisper. “You’ve never been anything but honest with me. I need that honesty now, because I’m not going to do this without you. Knowing everything that will come, the generations of heartache and goodbyes… Do you want to be a mother?”

Though she did not look away, Halei was silent for some time. She brushed her fingers along Aviva’s jaw as she considered her answer, a gesture that had remained unchanged since the first time they touched. Finally, she sighed again. “I’m scared. Of course I'm scared. You're not wrong about anything, and we'd be idiots not to acknowledge that. There will be pain someday.” She smirked. “But you know me: I've never been one to think too far beyond the here and now.” Her smirk became a lopsided yet genuine smile. “We’ll face the future as it comes. If you’ve taught me anything, it's that to have lost more than most means you’ve loved more than most. That love seems pretty worthwhile to me.” The smile spread into a full-fledged grin. “And fool on you for thinking either of us would ever look away for too long.”

Releasing something between a sniffle and a laugh, Aviva took Halei’s face in both hands and kissed her. “Fool on me indeed.” The knot in the pit of her stomach began to ease, the fear in her heart replaced by elation. Wiping away the tears that threatened the corners of her eyes, she turned to Elerian and drew him into a kiss of his own. “Okay.” She nodded, breaking into a grin. “Okay!” Letting her body relax forward, she dropped her head into her hands, expelling the last of her nervous tension in one great breath. “Okay.”

Elerian glanced at Haluei’en, his expression a silent question. The Drow nodded, the lines around her eyes creasing as she smiled. Yes, she meant every word. Yes, she was ready. Yes.

Sitting up again only to slouch comfortably low on the sofa, Aviva laced her fingers over her belly, suddenly itching to dive into the details of what was to come. “Will we have to make some sort of royal proclamation?” she asked, peering up at Elerian. “Because if we announce anything to your nation before telling my mother, she may never forgive me.”

The High Elf laughed lightly. “Eventually, yes, but it needn’t be soon. We have plenty of time for private notifications. I shall need to speak with my spouses, and eventually make a formal statement to my advisors. Any public declaration will wait until we’ve had the chance to spread the news to friends and loved ones.”

“Morgan’s going to flip,” Aviva chuckled.

“I expect the same of Astos.” Leaning in conspiratorially, Elerian dropped his voice. “He would be loathe to admit it, but he has a rather significant soft spot for children.”

Both women snorted. “You say that like it’s supposed to be a secret.” Aviva shook her head. “I’ve seen your husband around children, elrandir; he turns into a complete mama bear.” A pause, then a small shrug. “Maybe seeing the leader of the Wood Elves doting on the Prince of Aelfheim’s baby will help bring you one step closer to peace.” She pressed her palms more firmly against her belly; she had, for the most part, become accustomed to being seen as a living symbol for the peoples of the world, but she wondered how that life would affect the child.

“Is this baby going to be in the line of succession?” asked Halei next, propping her elbow on the back of the sofa and resting her cheek on her hand. “Do surface Elves have a line of succession?”

“Mmm…” Elerian tilted his head from side to side. “Not as such. Succession is not quite as simple as ‘child of the current monarch’. When it comes time to choose an heir, I will do so, and train them as necessary. It could be that this child is the most likely candidate; should that be so, it would be up to the three of us to determine, as parents, if we want the child to assume that responsibility, then to the child themselves to determine if they are capable. More concisely: possibly, but not for a while yet.”

Aviva mulled over the Seer’s words. “That seems nicer, I think. Doesn't put all the weight on her immediately. She’ll get a bit of a normal childhood, or at least as normal as we can give her.”

“She?” Halei raised a brow.

“I dunno,” Aviva shrugged, “feels like a she. I mean, once they’re born they can be whatever they want, but for now she feels like a she.”

“A little moon,” Elerian smiled. “A reflection of you.”

“Well, I mean, she’s going to be a reflection of all three of us,” Aviva demurred, but the flush of excitement across her cheeks belied her protest.

“Better be.” Halei smirked. “If you think I’m not teaching that kid everything I know about getting into trouble, you’re sorely mistaken. She’ll be bar fighting before she can walk.”

“Halei no!” Aviva giggled, covering her face with her hands to block out the very thought.

“Halei yes,” Elerian replied immediately. While the two Elves had never shared any romantic inclinations, their mutual affection for the Tiefling between them had transformed their professional relationship into a deep, often mischievous friendship. “I imagine it falls to me to teach her proper etiquette. Can’t have her following too closely in your reprobate footsteps.”

Halei scoffed. “Please. I am a servant of the divine. Like you’ve never played a prank at a formal function.”

“I would never!” Elerian retorted, putting a hand to his chest in mock offense, but his expression quickly turned sheepish. “The last time I tried, Celestine read me the riot act.”

“Wives are good for that.” Halei winked at Aviva, who gave her a playful scowl in return. Then a wave of nausea turned her stomach and she curled in on herself, groaning pitifully.

“Gods, please, deliver me from morning sickness!”

Elerian offered a sympathetic laugh. “Is there nought we can provide for you?”

“No.” Aviva shook her head miserably. “It’ll pass in a few weeks. Then I’ll just progressively take up more space and need to pee all the time.” She sighed dramatically, imagining the changes in store for her body. Out loud, somewhat to herself: “It’s a good thing I didn't get my nipples pierced when I was drunk with Morgan in Corneria last year.”

“You were going to get your nipples pierced?” Halei sounded intrigued, and more than a little disappointed it had not come to pass.

“For an inebriated minute. Ship’s sailed on that now.” Aviva counted off the forbidden items on her fingers. “Also on the list of don’ts: don’t drink, don’t smoke, probably shouldn't get tattooed. No sushi, black tea, hot baths, flying, sleeping on my back, heavy lifting, cured meats, soft cheeses, cannabis, stress in any form, or basically anything fun or taxing.” A pause. “I did some research. Oh, and no oral sex.”

Elerian blinked in sharp surprise. “Excuse me?”

Aviva grinned. It was not often the Seer was caught completely off-guard, but she tended to be the cause more frequently than most. “You heard me. Evidently, getting air up there can be fatal. Best to avoid it altogether.”

“She’s right,” Halei added helpfully.

Coughing politely, Elerian gave a curt nod. “Good to know.”

“What I’m hearing is, now that you’re pregnant, you’re suddenly made of glass.” Halei’s ever-present smirk was playful. “Means it’s up to us to stop you running off and being a menace to yourself. Really, we should be grateful. You’ve given us a right good excuse to duck out of boring commitments.”

“I have never wanted anything more,” Aviva answered dryly, but her smile was far too broad for mockery. “By all means, use it as much as you like. I certainly will. ‘Can’t deal with your bullshit today, I am simply too fuckin’ pregnant! Got to roll myself on home now, fuckity bye!’”

Soft laughter surrounded her, bright and beautiful as the warmth of a hearth. As it faded, she reached for the Drow’s hand, then for the High Elf’s, looking them each in the eye before speaking. “This is… not a chance I thought I’d ever have again. I’m not even sure I would have wanted the chance, but now that it’s here, I… I can’t imagine not taking it. In this life, with you, it feels… right.”

“Too many lifetimes cut off too soon,” Halei murmured, broadening the meaning of Aviva’s words. In all the cycles they had spent together, they had never once lived long enough for children, though many incarnations had wanted them. Then the Drow smiled. “If I recall our first night correctly, I also said there would be a lot of your life left to decide again. So here’s to that.”

“Here’s to that,” Elerian echoed.

“Here’s to that.” Aviva spread her loves’ fingers against her belly, still soft and unobtrusive for the time being, and looked again at the strange rainbow of colour. For the first time since she had started to suspect there was life forming inside her, she was not afraid. What had been a source of uncertainty and dread had, all of a sudden, become the start of the next great adventure. There would be pain for them someday. There would be loss. But between now and then there would be so, so much love.