Ragazza Magica Renza Veneti
Chapter Seven: For A Dime, The Dog Will Dance


She'd caught the resonance in the middle of crossing the roof of the Basilica. There'd been an inviting tip off about the towers up here... but all that flew out the window with the arrival of a new Puella Magi in town. Immediately, she'd changed course to scarper down towards the slumdocks, crossing the roofs and domes of Valezorro with boosted jumps and her own magical wires.

"Oi, Kyubey! Thought you said there weren't any contracts around here!"

The small, fluffy white creature was perching on her hat like gravity and wind could never topple it. What was crazier was that it seemed to be right. Magic had a fashion sense, who knew?

"You are still the latest contract in this city." It confirmed, voice calmly neutral as she swung from building to building until she ran out of tall places to hook onto and just had to run. It was a little bizarre how little people seemed to notice, even with those new Air Cadets that Trari place was coming out with.

"She just moved in then?"

"We don't know."

She paused on the tip of a spire in Commercial, the Incubator's words halting her in her tracks in more ways than one.

"What d'ya mean you don't know?"

"We don't know who the new arrival is. We are unable to explain their appearance."

She growled, and kicked off the spire. No time to hang around then.

"How come her gem's resonating anyway? We're way out of range for that!"

"I wouldn't know. The gem must be calling for attention for some reason."

That uncomfortable feeling got worse.

"...You mean like they want help, or like a challenge?"

"I wouldn't know."

"Can we even do that?"

"Evidently."

She gritted her teeth, watching the coastline. Somewhere down there, amongst all the birds and bolas and watercutters, a Soul Gem was calling. It wasn't something she could see or hear; just an indescribable tug; a sense in her brain she couldn't put a finger on. Unfamiliar instincts and that faintly disconnected sense of soul magic interplaying to deliver a message of...

Uh...

Damn, she'd been doing this this long and it still made no sense.

"Well? Hack it up fluff-ball, what's going on down there?"

"We don't know. I'm the closest Incubator in the area. You Puella are faster too."

She imagined her hat sprouting a flashing pair of barca lights. "Oh, gee, thanks."

"In any case, we will not understand what is happening until we get there."

She sighed. "Yeah... kinda figured that."

Definitely keeping the arbalest out. Only smart to.

She hopped down the descending heights towards the sprawl of bola that had built up around the city's edges like crusts on a seaship. Valezorro was a weird place... not that Castilla had been any better, she supposed. At least it wasn't as crowded. And didn't smell of oil so bloody much.

The resonance was moving now; laterally from her perspective, with some damn impressive speed. If she didn't try to intercept it now, she'd never catch up.

Standing on the tip of a ship's mast, Roche Marcia chewed her lip, flipped a mental coin, and sped off after the runaway signal, Incubator perched merrily on her hat as she danced blazing yellow across the rooftops of Valezorro.

For all her quarry's speed, it didn't quite seem to know what to do with it; moving in sudden, insane bursts only to stop, falter and backtrack or stumble around in circles trying to find its place. She wasn't even sure how she could tell all this; the gem she was following just seemed to be emanating confusion in waves.

"This signal seems most erratic." The Incubator observed with bland disinterest.

"She's panicking, you idiot." Roche corrected mentally. She was catching up now, assuming the girl at the other end didn't fly off again. "Are we in telepathy range yet?"

"In a mome-"

The signal abruptly spurted off towards the Economic district; almost entirely the opposite direction. Roche let out a sigh of exasperation.

"No." The Incubator concluded primly.

"...Thanks, Kyubey."

It took several similar bouts of movement and what felt like a full hour to finally catch her; the other girl taking an almost random, scattered route across the cityscape, with Roche several times almost close enough to catch her by the telepathic coattails, only for her to hare off again. The girl looked to be slowing down over time, but damn if she couldn't cover distance fast...

By the time she finally caught up with her, the sun hung higher and Roche was caught between being impressed and wanting to wring her bloody neck.

"She's in range." The Incubator notified her mid-leap.

"-Hey what? Finally?" She switched to broadcasting desperately, "Oi, you-!"

The signal jumped, almost certainly about to run again only to stumble to a halt at the call. It still knocked her out of range.

Roche growled, covering the rooftops with a fresh burst of speed. At least she stayed still this time.

"Oi! You! Whoever you are! Calm down, damn it!"

"W-Who is this?"

"Roche, just call me Roche. Y'gonna stop that thing with your gem or what?"

"-I'm sorry?"

"Don't 'sorry' me, I've chased you 'cross half the bloody city 'cause of that damn thing! Turn it off!"

"I-Is this Kyubey?"

Roche paused, balanced improbably on a weather vane. Below, on the ground level of a street halfway into the Judicial district, a flicker of coral blue caught her eye.

"...No. I'm a Puella Magi. Just like you are."

The poor girl looked completely drenched, like she'd just taken a dip in the canals; shivering and frozen in a way that said a lot about how much her Jacket wasn't up to snuff. Roche dropped down in front of her, dismissing the arbalest, the sodden runaway just watching her in mute confusion the whole time, gem cradled in her hands and emitting a steady, regular pulse of light.

"...You must be new." Roche said.

The new girl nodded.

She held out a hand. "I'm Roche Marcia."

The new girl took it. "Renza Delgado."

And that was how they'd met.


The news had already broken; a name appearing on a list and making Holda automatically notify her. Articles were already scrolling down in her vision as she flicked through; skimmed. Some had more information. Some had less. Didn't matter. She desperately, desperately needed to know-

RETALIATION - JUDICIARY STRIKES BACK AGAINST TOSCA TERRORIST FACTIONS.
-Il Valezitino Epoca, [J. Ratzi], 3 hours ago

JUDICIARY ARRESTS 64; 27 DEAD CONFIRMED. FURTHER DISAPPEARANCES.
-La Citta Valezorro, [R. L. Ciar], 2 hours ago

VALEZORRO UNREST CONTINUES: JUDICIARY ARRESTS 70; 60 DEAD.
-La Gazetta dello Caglicari, [P. Z-T. Lunes], 34 minutes ago

Should she have been leaping across the skyline whilst flitting through the news sites? Probably not. But there wasn't a light in the stars bright enough that she'd attend school after an event like this.

One day. One day ago she had wished her friend back to life, and Renza Veneti was already dead. Again. A name on a list. Hell, it had been less than a day even; it hadn't even been 26 hours!

And she'd promised her she'd live, too.

It can't be like this, Odette though furiously, armour and plate rattling as she ran across the route to the sea. I refuse to accept it!

She wasn't even thinking about how she was getting there - she knew where Renza lived, even if her parents had forbidden her from entering that area again afterwards - vaulting rooftops and spires with equal ease; leaping on autopilot and seeming to just jump from foothold to foothold with an instinctive grace that would have left B and A-Rankers decidedly miffed. On some level she recognise it and yes, it was amazing, but that wasn't important right now!

She only came to a halt when her run intersected a towering pillar of smoke. This... 'Puella' Jacket still disturbed her; it wouldn't filter out smells or temperature in the same way a Jacket would. Some instinct told her it simply didn't matter any more, but that was too absurd to be true... right?

In any case, the unfiltered acrid stench of burning fuel and explosively discharged mana cartridges; the energy still in the air like a crackle against her skin she'd definitely never been exposed to before; put her to a stop quite succinctly, a block or two out.

A roar in the air also slowly came to her attention. Shouting. Chanting. Cheering. The odd flicker of movement on the street just visible through the alleyways. Someone waving a blue flag.

There was a crowd down there. It didn't look like one of the buildings were on fire, but... the slump of that nearest roof looked decidedly unsafe.

Disturbed and thrown off track, she circled around for a better look.

One of those Judicial fliers - 'catchers' or whatever they were called; she vaguely remembered someone important complaining about them at her mother's last do - had smashed into the lower level of the slumping building. Blacked and burning; a mess of twisted metals and cracked polymers in a barely recognisable 'vehicular' shape, buried amidst shattered stone, meshwork and a tangle of ironwork support beams... and all covered and scrambled over by the cheering crowd.

There were tatters. Shreds and torn cloth. Bits of Judiciary uniforms - the flexible polymer plate they wore under their Jackets - being waved like banners and spears.

...She backed off quickly.

Well that was... that... where was the Judiciary anyway? She stumbled off on autopilot, making her way down towards the shoreline, trying to catch the city centre over her shoulder.

The Judicial District had too many peals of smoke; the Polizern shrouded from sight. Not exactly a reassuring sign.

She swallowed, turning what facts she knew over in her mind from the skimming, the reports and her own general knowledge. She was friends with two of the Saint's Children; that had to make her well informed, right? By the sounds of it, the Judiciary had tried making surgical strikes against the Tosca leadership in the late evening, only for...

Well, only for setting off everyone else in the process. Everyone had woken up to a war going on, right on their doorstops. The Church were already condemning it. It was entirely possible she was one of the few people who'd actually gotten any sleep that night, safe under the household shielding.

What a thing to miss.

In her inbox, there had been two other messages. One, from the Cadets, advising everyone to stay indoors and not get involved. One, from her mother, advising her to stay indoors and set the house security to it's maximal level.

Only one of those wishes had been adhered to.

...At least Samara was safe. No-one had attacked the Policlinico yet. Hopefully, nobody would prove that stupid. And it would force the Church out from its neutral stance, besides. Though with things like this...

The bola were coming into view now; she might have to slow down. Or be more careful. Maybe. She wasn't sure, none of her instincts were telling her to, but a person in armour at these speeds had to be bad on the shantytown roofs...

"Ah, you're here."

She nearly stumbled.

"Wait, Incubator?"

She looked over her shoulder. Was he following her?

"Where are you?"

"The Veneti household."

...How did he get there first? Wait- no, that hardly mattered-

"Where's Renza?!" She demanded.

"We don't know."

She stalled.

"What do you mean you don't know!"

"We last tracked her being taken into the Commercial District by Natalie Pincette. After that, contact was lost."

Growling, she kicked off the rooftop and burst across the bolas, leaping from open rooftop to open rooftop, ideas of secrecy gone with the wind.

"How."

"The body we were tracking them with was destroyed. Daemon involvement would be the most statistically probable reason."

The damn thing sounded... disappointed more than anything else. Like a sad parent fussing over spilt milk. Were he right in front of her she was quite sure she'd have punted him all the way into the sea.

She gritted her teeth. Given her proximity to the shoreline, that wouldn't even be hard.

"What happened last night?" She called. "You even know that much?"

"I do, and I don't."

A bola roof, a weather vane, a mast from a shore-side berth and-

-There!

It... honestly didn't look that different from all of the others. She only recognised it because Holda was highlighting it for her.

[Man bekommt leicht verloren.]

...And you can shut up as well.

She skidded to a halt outside the open doorway, as the little white creature walked calmly into view from the shadows inside.

"Well?" She asked. Petals from Holda's rose shield blew false trails around her, the polearm itself held loose and ready in one hand. "What happened here?"

"Why it happened is beyond our ability to explain. Humans act too quickly on incomplete information."

She gritted her teeth, gripping the polearm tighter as she waited for him to get on with it.

"This house was entered late in the evening, and Renza was stolen from it. This coincided with the actions of the local Judiciary, resulting in the current situation."

She looked about the bola; it... always depressed her to try thinking of it as a house. No windows, just holes in the walls. It didn't even have a door; a large scrap of red cloth hung limply from one corner of the main entrance a bit like it was trying to be a curtain, but had given up half-way through. She wasn't even sure wh-

Wait.

She ducked inside - mentally apologising for entering uninvited - and checked.

A hook, on the opposite end of the entrance, with a scrap of red fabric still caught on it.

This was torn aside.

She moved in a further step.

Another, almost gigantic, sheet of fabric took up most of the floorspace, hung half-suspended from one corner as well. Clean, but well worn and-

...This is a sail, isn't it? That's sail material.

Night time. This happened at night time.

-It's a hammock. Ciardo.

A promise on a rooftop. "-Incubator! What happened to Ciardo?"

"He went with the Judiciary."

She nodded. Safe, then.

The place... inside actually wasn't that much of a mess; the curtain and the hammock were the only things damaged or... misplaced. It was hard to tell what sort of order this place had - what went where, when - but she was sure it would have made sense to the Venetis. She couldn't judge... and couldn't draw any conclusions from it, either.

She swallowed. What was she even doing? This was wasting time. Incubator had been sitting outside, his tail swishing side-to-side.

"Describe what happened." She told him.

"Natalie Pincette arrived with a conspirator by boat, entered, stole Renza, and left by boat."

"The Judiciary?"

"Arrived as she was leaving. This alerted Ciardo Veneti, and lead to her conspirator's capture."

A conspirator, huh. "And where are they?"

"The Judiciary morgue."

She blanched. "-What?"

"His throat was crushed, resulting in-"

She paled, thinking of the sirens and fires still going on outside. "Alright, alright. Don't... you don't need to talk about that."

She shuddered, as Incubator went silent. After a few seconds breathing, she walked back out.

The surrounding area showed far more signs of damage. She grimaced, keeping an eye on her footing after one of the floorpieces - broken in half - lurched under her weight. Pockmarks and holes littered the walls. Punched in. Mage shots.

Non-lethal suppressors. No real patterns...

She paused, thinking. It was still early morning, and if this had happened at midnight, there might still be a few traces-

Faster than thought, and far faster than her ability to even invoke the spell out loud, Holda flared, a crimson flame consuming several of the rose petals as her vision suddenly snapped in focus.

She startled, but still felt oddly unsurprised. Holda had done had exactly what she'd wanted it to, so what was- no that wasn't-

Grimacing, she forced it out of her mind. Later. It was getting quite the chorus. She'd deal with that problem later.

The real world pushed back into monochrome, the traces of mana in the air and embedded into the damaged walls shone in their casters' individual colours, turning the crime scene into almost an impromptu art installation. Pretty, almost. There actually were shows like that, along the promenades in Commercial, but she'd never had a chance to attend...

She shook herself, and concentrated. And came to a very unpleasant conclusion.

"...There's far too many people here." She muttered. Too many colours. Too much information. Damn it all, there were mana traces everywhere...

"Incubator? What caused all this?"

"The arrival of the Judiciary incited a riot."

...She thought back to that crashed catcher. Of the smoke trails now rivalling the skyscrapers in numbers. Of course they did.

Acting on a complete whim, she turned and looked at the small, furry creature.

[Bemalte Blumen duften nicht.]

...No traces. But his eyes still shone red despite the monochrome. Almost as if they were superimposed. She shuddered and turned quickly away.

Looking around quickly, she could make a guess and which trails were probably Ciardo's and which trails were probably Renza's; old tracks, old traces; it looked like Renza was the one who used their outdoor fish grill, whilst Ciardo powered their cold shill for example. Other than that though...

...I can't make any sense of this...

She growled, dispelling the mana-sight mentally (the proper way of doing it), and pulled back up the newsfeeds, searching for any kind of clue.

"You said Renza was stolen, correct?"

"Yes."

"How?"

"She was carried."

She spared the Incubator a glance out of sheer confusion.

"Wouldn't that wake her up?"

"Not necessarily."

"Where was the boat, anyway?" I should have asked that sooner-

"The underdock. Against the shoreline."

There was an odd, mental transmission, and she felt her eyes almost compelled to look at a certain spot; a gap in the boardings and external paths. Directly behind Renza's bola.

"...Did you just send that?"

"Yes. We find it simpler when conveying locational information."

"...Ask permission next time."

"Of course."

She glanced at it again. That sounded like a snippet of conversation it had played out many, many times before. Huffing, polearm held outward, she moved out towards the back of the bola.

Renza, stolen... to a boat.

Actually, wasn't 'stolen' the wrong word for this? It should be 'kidnapping', shouldn't it? She gave it another look. The Incubator didn't seem to have any struggles with languages...

She went back to the news reports, quietly noting the Incubator's tail swishing in the background.

"...Incubator."

"Yes?"

"...Renza Veneti is listed as dead. Confirmed dead."

She was going down the list she'd found in the La Citta Valezorro, which was apparently trying to keep up to date. New casualty lists and statuses kept popping in, even as she watched.

"They would think that, yes. Their information is, again, incomplete."

She frowned.

"To be confirmed, wouldn't she be in the Policlinico morgue?" Not exactly a question.

"Oh." The Incubator tilted its head, quite unconcerned. "That's not Renza."

Odi stared.


This place felt like everywhere, and this place felt like nowhere.

"Not going to take a seat?" Roche asked, sipping from that tacky tea set again.

Renza blinked. An empty white rooftop café, air light and clean, with white tables, white chairs, white sun-shades. All unified in texture and shade, to the point only the blue shadows gave away their shapes, set below a cerulean sky above a cerulean sea.

The exception being the hanging curtains, which hung a rich, rich red.

Roche kicked the chair opposite her under the table. "Seriously kid, take a seat; y'got a while anyway."

Still staring, Renza sat down.

"...What happened?"

Roche laughed, hat tilted jauntily. "Good question, princess! Not too sure how to describe it myself!"

About them, pure white gulls took wing; flying and flocking in suspiciously geometric patterns. The sky reflected the sea reflecting the sky, stretching out to a horizon, feeling both an arm's length and an infinity away.

"Is this a daemon barrier?"

"Not quite." Roche sipped. "Don't worry, this place will never harm you."

She blinked, realising it felt true; the sense of peace and solitude in this place made the idea of her being hurt here almost anathema. An inherent contradiction. Like a warm blanket being draped over her shoulders. Calming, even.

...It still didn't explain what it was.

"Some dimensional bubble, maybe?" She hazarded, looking around. Though it definitely had the tell-tale signs of Soul Magic. This place felt too... metaphorical. "What is it?"

A shrug that set the feather bouncing. "Yours, for a start. Think of it like a temple of sorts."

She frowned. "You mean like the Basilica?"

Roche waved her off. "Nah, somethin' older. Kinda. Eh. I don't know the word either." She sighed. Then paused when something occurred to her. "-Ain't dimensional crap too. Seriously, it don't really matter. Y' got separated from your soul gem, so... here we are."

Renza blinked, staring about at all the whites and blues. And the red. "We're inside it?"

Another indecisive hand gesture. "Still ain't quite the right word..."

She huffed. "Well what is it then?"

Roche could only shrug, sipping again. "Place your soul is, I guess."

...She sighed, and took the opposite seat. The solid white never creaked and felt like marble to sit on. "So it's my Soul Gem then. I'm trapped inside my Soul Gem and I'm dreaming, huh?"

"More or less."

Renza groaned, letting herself just collapse against the table. It didn't feel much like anything either.

...What the hell even happened?

Roche chuckled, breaking her reverie. "Heh. Dreamin'." Cracked a grin. "So y' dream of me, huh?"

She looked up, confused. "-Huh?"

"Well," Roche waved an arm lazily, "mean I'm honoured 'f course-"

She blinked at her. "...You fell in the canals, Roche."

Of course she dreamed about that.

A wince, as Roche's cheerfulness jarred to a halt. She almost deflated right before her eyes. "Y-yeah... sorry about that. Didn't mean t'leave ya that way."

She fiddled with her own cup, watching as it filled of its own accord. "Nobody ever means to go."

"Well..." Roche squirmed, "...even so."

"I know."

They stayed that way, as the gulls flocked geometrically overhead. She watched them swivel and turn, their reflections rippling inside her cup. If this wasn't a dream, and she herself wasn't dead... and more importantly, if this was her soul gem...

Then there's one thing that doesn't make any sense.

"...Roche?" She asked, abruptly. "Why are you here?"

...Roche laughed, a little sad.


The Docks hadn't taken the morning well either.

"Ay ay, thought storm not landing here yet?"

One hand keeping the sunhat from blowing off, the other loose and free, a young and indescribable girl stepped off a boat at one of the primary Residential harbours. Others were hustling and bustling, a chaotic, vaguely ordered stream of humanity and all its attending belongings, but the girl didn't carry anything else. All she had was that unusually pale skin, that white, flowing dress and that spectacular floppy sunhat, flapping in the breeze.

Ahead, the city of Valezorro still seemed to be burning.

"It hasn't."

"Hmm..." She looked over her shoulder. The grey clouds of thunderstorms and rain were still a dark splotch on the horizon. Distant, but growing.

"Tak, has not."

Around them, the sea of people seemed to part; like a rock falling through the sea. She waltzed through them; an easy, bare-footed, dancing grace. The taste in the air had her clicking her tongue.

"Where will you be going now?"

"Hmm? Well, find local girl first, yes?"

If anyone thought the young girl in white talking to herself aloud was odd, no-one commented. Or even seemed to notice.

"That might be harder. The situation has deteriorated faster than predicted."

"Aa~ aa~, is still local girl, yes?"

...A pause. "There is still a local Puella Magi, yes."

She sighed, and gave up on the local tongue.

"I meant, is the local Puella still here? The original one?"

"In a sense." The Incubator - wherever it was - switched languages perfectly; no trace of accent in either speech.

"Elaborate."

"Her soul gem has been separated."

Grimace. "...Ah. Theft? Loss? Idiocy?"

"Theft."

"Unlucky girl."

"Events are still within statistical probabilities."

"With you, that means absolutely nothing."

The Incubator did not bother to reply.

Sighing theatrically, she danced her way through the crowd. Somewhere, somewhere, somewhere- ah!

A tourism official. Mind heavy with panic and tension. Too many people, too many crowds. Fear of bombs. Fear of riots. Fear of the "Judi". Fear for his job. Fear for the man who should be home but was instead in the Poli... Polcli... Big Hospital Place. Also - and more relevantly - knew the city inside out. Part of his job.

Apart from all the stress, that felt just about perfect.

She weaved through the crowd like a fish through water; somehow ignored, somehow never colliding. When she slid in to the front of the queue, nobody seemed to object.

"Hello! Greetings! Nice day!"

The tourist official blinked, and tried to reorientate himself in the conversation. The person he'd been shouting with just seemed to fade out; the curse on his lips blankly dying away.

She jumped up onto his desk, one hand keeping the hat on whilst her legs dangled loose and free.

"To interrupt is bad, but! Where is hospital? Where is..." what was the word, what was the word, what was the word- ah, screw it, "criminal hurting people?" That should be close enough.

The man blinked passively.

"The Policlinico Serenita?" He pointed. "It's a big domed structure near the centre, north of the Basilica; can't miss it. The Judiciary have their own district west; very busy. Look for the fliers and a large square structure."

...So many words she would never be able to pronounce. She beamed anyway. "Thank you, thank you!"

His eyes seemed to cloud slightly. "Are you looking for your parents?"

"No, no;" quite casual; "parents are dead." She jumped off the desk, reorientating to face him again with a twirl. "Thank you! Sorry for trouble!"

The man blinked, bemused. "It's no trouble at all."

She took a bow.

"-Ah!" That reminded her!

With one last hop up onto the desk (once again interrupting the previous conversation before it could even resume), she flicked the official on the forehead.

"Worries, worries! Fly away!"

The man blinked, eyes losing focus as if deeply lost in thought.

There, job done. Time to move on.

"You shouldn't have done that." The Incubator reprimanded her, as they were walking away through the crowd.

"No, I should."

"If he remembers you, it will be problematic."

She turned. At the desk, the official was little more happy, a little less stressed; the argument a little less loud. The lines just seemed to be moving along one little bit faster, like grease on wheels.

"No," she said clinically, "he won't."


Natalie Pincette ran with ice in her hands.

Pale and exhausted, once the Judiciary came in - why the fuck did the Judiciary come in - she'd ran and ran and hadn't stopped running. Ditched the boat; being tracked. Had to run, run and fucking run with that Judi asshole on her tail the entire damn way.

She stumbled, slumping against a trashcan, chest burning. A dull, numbing ache infused her legs and arms; the consequences of taking too many hard landings and making too many mana-assisted jumps in too short a time. She hadn't had to run like that since...

An explosion like a thunderclap, somewhere down the street. The trash in the alleyway shuddered and rattled.

-Shit-

Shouts. Chanting. Rioting.

She scrambled, dragging herself up against the corner of the alleyway. Street out looked deceptively clear; trash and rubble; must be around the corner.

She made her Jacket material into a mirror on her free hand, and cautiously poked it around the lip.

Crowds. Rioters. Under a blue flag. Fuck.

She almost rose to flee when the reason behind the thunderclaps became clear. The very air roared, pressure forced into her ears, roof tiles smashing down around her and ringing off her Jacket like glass, as a bulbous, brick-like catcher bird screamed ominously above. Black, big, heavy and terrifying.

She couldn't even hear her own scream.

The roar passed overhead, making the walls shudder in its wake, then the flashes of light and explosions glared out the sun with the full spectrum of mage-fire. Spitting binds and suppressors indiscriminately into the crowds below.

It was impossible to remember it was all non-lethal though the smoke, screams and searing light. The catcher dived, sweeping its bulk down into crowd as the light reached it's peak and-

Silence.

So suddenly, like a light-switch flicking off, leaving the pounding of her heart and the rustle of street trash caught upon the wind. It almost felt physically jarring, having it cut out like that. As if the seconds during which the transition took place had been stolen away.

...After a few moments, she peered out again, peeking the mirror out past the wall.

Empty. Devoid of life. She breathed. The Judi must have shunted everyone over into a barrier so they could blow them up safely without setting even more of their city on fire.

She swallowed, taking the chance as she'd get it. Shattered tiles crunched under her feet as she cut across the now deserted street. A glance over her shoulder - no-one, no trace, no Judi - and she kept running.

Where she even was anymore was getting beyond her guess. The buildings rose too high, clung to the edge of the canalways too tightly. Couldn't see the skyline. Wherever the hell the Basilica was, it was no-where near here. New Town, probably, on the outskirts somewhere. Maybe. Shit, still too close to the shore-

She honestly couldn't say when it would feel safe to stop. Already, she was limited. She barely had the strength and mana reserves to hop canals anymore; that alone limited her to the bridges and there would be checkpoints, Tosca or Judi by now...

She slumped into the hollow of a doorway, out of sight in an alleyway. Had to breathe.

Something prickled the hairs on the back of her neck. Something in the air. Some kind of brassy, familiar hum.

The ice in her hands felt physically painful.

She ran.


Thankfully, the person on guard knew him this time. Without Diarmuid to do it for him, all these constant security checks were getting tiresome. Just being waved through was a mercy.

He sighed, slouching into the medical tent. Right outside, the towering Polizern buzzed and blared; the damaged corner still not structurally confirmed, but a number of the barca and catcher bays still in use - not to mention the central mainframes.

Inside the tent was quieter; an effect of noise dampening spells and nothing else.

A channel had been left through the middle that didn't have beds in it, making for a de facto central corridor. He had to dodge past a pair of hurrying nurses just to get in. Men and women, some still using armoured Jacket configurations, some not, all laid out and stacked as closely together as possible. With the Policlinico overflowing and unsecurable and the Polizern's actual medical bays still out of action, this was what served as the Judiciary's medical wing right now.

He tried to keep to one side, trying to get a good look down the 'corridor'.

...I have no idea where she is.

He shuffled past an orderly and started manoeuvring his way down the channel. At least his civ Device still worked - nothing more than a bulky, featureless block he kept on a chain around his neck - or even finding the right tent would have been completely impossible.

...He could stop and ask someone, he supposed, but given everyone clearly had a million things to get done, having to explain why he didn't have a Judicial authorised Device to look it up for him along with all the security checks they'd be required to take...

No, not worth wasting their time. He knew he had the right tent at least; he'd take it from here.

Working his way down the line, it was next to impossible not to note the various injuries and wounds being picked up. Stabs, broken limbs, head wounds... Everyone in here would be the Judiciary's own casualties; obviously sharing tents with suspects injured when they were reeled in (likely 'most of them', by this point) was hardly viewed as an intelligent decision. Still, the Polizern had the staff and equipment to serve as the Policlinico if it had to... just not quite on the same scale. Or whilst the Polizern itself was half closed off due to structural damage. That didn't really help either.

"Hey."

He blinked, trying to squint up and down the rows. Too many people; fussing nurses, cursing doctors. Too much movement.

"Over here."

A green triangle highlighted in his vision. Ah.

He made his way down the rows, keeping out of everyone's way as best possible. Freiderike watched him approaching with a bemused eye, flicking lazily through something on a screen her Device was projecting; invisible to everyone else. Suspended in the air, each leg was encased in a large, bulky, white medical Device, mana humming away inside and doing its work behind glare shields to stop the light disturbing anyone else.

Domhnall sighed. There wasn't even enough room for a chair; everyone packed in that tightly. He had to squeeze up against the bed end just to avoid blocking the corridor.

"So." He sent, about the only way to keep the conversation private.

"Yep." Fred agreed.

She groaned, collapsed back into the cot and let out an explosive breath.

"Fucking riots."

"How bad?"

"Bones; just a lay-up for a few days. Still. Fuck."

He nodded.

"Get anything from the other guy at least?" Fred asked.

He could only shake his head. "Died in critical; couldn't get to the Policlinico in time. Oxygen starvation to the brain. Mr. Veneti's under arrest, of course."

"...Saint's Mercy."

He snorted. "Yeah." Or not, in this case.

"The kid?"

"Morgue. No cause of death yet that I've heard."

Fred looked at him blearily for a second, then made a little 'oh' sound and raised her arm.

"Here."

He took it. "Thanks."

Diarmuid's black box transferred itself between their forearms with a faint scatter of prismatic light; switching between their linker cores for its mana source.

[Dia duit, mo rí. You have 14 unread messages.]

...He kind of laughed, awkwardly.

"They're not sending us out alone any more; any of us." He told her. "We'll probably be locked in the Polizern from here on in." PolicingValezorro was the Dispatch Squads' game now.

Fred snorted. "I can believe it. It's gone insane out there... if that catcher hadn't dropped in when it did..." She breathed. "Stars above, how did this city get so bad as this?"

All he could do was shake his head. Even during the Ocean Crisis... he may not have been Judiciary then - there hadn't been a Judiciary back then - but even with the sea at everyone's throats...

...It hadn't been as bad as this.

He sighed hollowly, casting his gaze out to that sliver of sky through the tent's front entrance.

And that storm was still oncoming.


"So where is she?" Odette asked desperately, jumping across the rooftops on a direct line for the Basilica Vallieu. "Where's the..." it still felt wrong to say it, "...Soul Gem?"

The Incubator, for its part, was simply sat on her shoulder, completely unphased by the pace she was instinctively making, ears flapping around in the wind.

"We don't know."

"-What do you mean you don't know?!"

"We don't know." The damn thing reiterated calmly. "The Incubator responsible for tailing her was intercepted early in the chase. It has been destroyed."

She stared at it, sitting on her shoulder. "By what? The-" what had Renza called them- "Daemons?"

"We assume so. It was very abrupt."

A chill settled in. Her path across the rooftops was already on auto-pilot.

"...So is Renza dead then?" She whispered, softly. "Completely?"

"No."

"How can you be sure?"

"We'd know." Its voice held a certain certainty. It felt better not to ask why.

...Some reassurance, at least.

They crossed rooftops and canalways, the buildings rising higher the further in towards the Basilica and the Old City. The Church didn't have a District officially, but calling this area the Ecclesiastical zone wasn't exactly uncommon. Her eyes automatically traced the local skyline for a familiar, triangular building. The training house of the local Sankt Geistlichkeit Zauberitterkadetten.

"We should stop here." The Incubator told her, suddenly.

She skidded to halt, cringing mentally as her deceleration kicked some tiles off the Sankt Library's roof. "-What?"

The Incubator was sitting perfectly still. "We should wait."

"...Wait?" She repeated, uncomprehending.

"Yes."

"...Why?"

"It is the most efficient place to stop."

She blinked at it, resisting the urge to growl. "...Incubator, why are we sto-"

"-Privet! Chaírete! Cześć! Słyszysz mnie?"

-That definitely hadn't been the Incubator. She spun, finally dislodging the Incubator on her shoulder, looking for the source of the messages-

"Jak ma Pani na imię?"

Holda wasn't saying anything about incoming messages - hadn't even warned her at all - was this some Puella thing-

"Czy mówisz po povetsku?"

How was she supposed to message back- "I- I can't understand what you're saying!" She broadcast, desperately.

"...Haaa~ah. Belkanye? Is poor, will try. Are local girl, yes?"

That... accent made her wince but she nodded. Then realised that was stupid- "Yes?"

"Tak, tak... ah- Yes. 'Zher Gutte'."

The skyline from the Sankt Library was clear; no-one approaching she could see. Just smoke and the odd black catcher bird further out - and that blot-like oncoming storm. She scrambled down the side of the pitching to the crenellations, hoping to look over the-

A purple scarf of a frankly absurd length abruptly darted up over the side to coil itself around the head of the nearest statue of a Sankt Kaiser, doing it's best impression of a sentient climbing rope. Pulling sharply taunt, she was almost afraid the stone figure would break off when its owner abruptly crested the side.

A girl barely up to her shoulders, in pure, flowing white. Her costume was blatantly foreign; some heavy winter thing, covered in golden embroidery; etches of winter, of great trees, of symbols in languages she only vaguely recognised. The silver cross-armed swordstaff looked meant for carrying banners, with that kind of length.

The entire ensemble was... familiar-ish, in the Caglican pop-culture, and would be recognised wherever you went in Dimensional Space, but it was so completely unexpected it took her a moment to even place it. The girl dusted off, sniffing the air and clicking her tongue with an odd look on her face.

"...You're Praovéan?" Odette asked, astounded. This girl had to be a long, long way from home...

"Eh." the girl replied, scarf automatically retracting and coiling back around her neck in a way that made disturbingly clear its 'length' had become something of an abstract concept. "Old border; Yeventine. Know Povetsk?"

...Odette shook her head; she hadn't heard of it. The foreign girl gave a put-upon sigh.

The foreigner straightened up, still only coming up to her shoulders in a way that made her vaguely want to stand taller. Faintly purple hair proved another marker that this wasn't someone from around here; this couldn't be someone from Caglica at all.

It wasn't exactly the first time she'd meant someone from across the dimensional seas, but usually they were... well, in one of her mother's business parties, not on the Sankt Library's roof. And not short.

And a lot more local than Praové...

The foreigner was raising her eyebrows. Odette belatedly remembered her manners.

"-A-Ah! I'm Odette! Odette Camarr, of the Camarr artificer line."

The foreigner bowed, one knee before the other in the classic Praovéan style, amused. "I am Halina; please call me 'Halushia'. No titles, very sad."

Surprisingly informal, given the ritualised bow... or was that some Praovéan thing? Odette blinked at the invitation. "...Odi, then."

Halushia smiled. "Odya!"

...She winced, but had a feeling she was going to have to live with that. The foreign girl grinned. "Odya, yes! It is nice to meet you!"

Their word-choice and inflection felt oddly stilted - suspiciously, Odette thought, like it had been cribbed from a guide book on the way in. At least some communication was better than no communication, she supposed.

"Can I ask a question?"

"Ta- ah, yes!"

"Why have you come to Valezorro?"

"Ah." Halushia smiled at her sadly; an odd expression, a bit like a mother trying to figure out what to do with a child. Completely bizarre on someone so blatantly younger than her. "White rat not say anything?"

-White...?

Frowning, she glanced aside at the creature still sitting on the roof tiles. The Incubator gave absolutely no indication it had just been casually insulted, calmly licking its own tail. "...No?"

"Halina is a sub-contractor." The little white thing spoke up suddenly as she watched, making her jump slightly from the surprise. "She came here at my request."

"Can I ask why?" She asked, glancing between the two.

"Yes." The Incubator said simply, making Halushia chuckle.

And then it didn't say anything else.

"...Why did you call her here?" Odette bit out, trying not to glare at the foreign girl.

"Is secret keeping, yes?" Halushia replied cheerfully. "I keep big secret!"

...Huh?

Her confusion must have shown on her face, as Halushia floundered. "Well, am... ack, the word..."

There was an odd, slightly surreal moment as the foreign Praovéan snapped her fingers and made a few wild, abortive hand gestures. The Incubator, meanwhile, silently swished its tail.

"...Um-" Odette began.

"Transm- nie, teleport?" The foreigner muttered to herself. "Nie nie, telepatia... Telepatia?"

Odette stared, confused. "...You mean telepathy?"

But what did... what did telepathy have to do with keeping secrets? Sending people long distance messages was the inverse of keeping secrets!

Halushia levelled a glare. "...Not that telepathy, Belkanye."

Odi huffed. "Well, what do you mean!"

Halushia grinned, leaning in closer despite her stature. "Wspomnienia. Myśli. I read, I change, I..." -she visibly struggled a second, trying to tease out the right word- "...paint with? Drawing? Yes?"

That last question was directed at the Incubator, who gave a little nod. Mercifully, it also took up the explanations.

"There was an incident several days ago that put the secrecy of the Puella Magi in danger. I called her in to cover the tracks."

Odi boggled. "Wait, you edit memories?!"

"Tak!" Halushia replied far too cheerfully, snapping her fingers. "Memory! Is the word, 'Zher Gutte!'"

She stumbled backwards, still somehow finding instinctive footing on the Library's slate roof. "That's impossible!" Something out of bad science fiction! "How?"

...Halina smiled thinly, bouncing the sword-staff on her shoulder. "Trochę sadzonka, am Puella Magi. Stupid question, yes?"

Odette stammered. "Even so-!"

...The foreigner sighed, wearily. "Can show you, hm?"

"Hey, wait-!"

The swordstaff flicked around in her hand, unnaturally fast, unnaturally precise for someone so young wielding a weapon that long. She almost managed to call out when-

-A heavy, wooden air.

Odette blinked. It should have been summer, yet for all that her mind found itself going to straight to autumn and falling leaves. Branches, whispering in the breeze. The rustle of falling undergrowth and a pale, wan sun in the sky.

A step backwards met earth and soil. Crunching leaves. Drifting snow. Trees. Songbirds - not gulls, for the first time in her life - sung in the distance. Another world.

-And like a snuffed flame, it collapsed; the world focusing back to that singular point on the Sankt Library's rooftop. Of seas and ocean winds and crying gulls. The swordstaff, the coat and scarf; all had disappeared, vanishing down into the single, violet gem balanced with unnatural stability on the tip of a single finger.

"So. Lie?" Halina asked with a knowing smile, the light of her soul dancing between them. "Please, proszę, speak."

Odette swallowed.

Then the foreigner burst back into light; costume reforming in a flash as she leaned back on her suddenly re-appearing swordstaff; back to that easy, cheerful grin.

"But not point, yes? Is local girl!"

"...Me?"

"Nye- eh, no. Other. First."

She blinked. "-Renza!?"

The foreign girl nodded, hair bouncing. "Ha-hm."

Odette slumped, wearily. "You know?" And now she had to say it. "She's, uh..."

"Stolen." The foreigner finished, looking out across the skyline. "Yes."

Odi grimaced. It felt like a failure, admitting it, like she should have been there, or kept watch or something. Somehow.

It wasn't as if her friend had even been in a good state of mind at the time. Actually... even less chance of that now. And with... what she'd seen on that rooftop...

She spared the Incubator a glance. It was still watching the conversation placidly, still fixed in it's smile. Still calm and unconcerned.

She shuddered.

Halushia released a sigh, standing forward and yanking the sword-staff blade back out of the roof tiles. Part of Odette cringed slightly for the damage they were doing to the Library roof.

"Aj!" The foreigner called out, pityingly. "So find Veneti girl, yes?"

Something in that girl's gaze felt far too much like she was being read like a book.

"Bad not to, yes?"

Odette swallowed, nodding.

Halushia smiled, clapping her hands together. "So! Should talk! Stolen gem, yes?"

She waved a hand out across the city. "Let us go."


She twirled the tea in her cup into lazy patterns. You could actually do that in here.

"So... what now?"

Roche shrugged. "Guess you're a little stuck, princess."

"...Don't call me that."

"-Heh, sorry."

Renza let out a weary sigh. It was... almost nice, being here. Almost calming. Almost as if she could relax, and have all her worries fade away...

...But.

"...I messed up, Roche."

That feather in that hat bounced. "Hm?"

She grimaced, sinking uncomfortably into her seat. "Ciardo. I messed up. I got myself injured, and now..."

Roche looked at her, pitying. "He's worryin'?"

"...Si."

An empty silence, for a problem without an answer. Renza returned to her cup.

"I still think about it, you know?" She spoke softly. "What would have happened to that girl had I never broken into her life. Would she have been happy, lived long? Would her life have even existed?"

Twirled the patterns.

"Did my wish create Renza Veneti, or did my wish overwrite Renza Veneti? I don't know what to say. Is Renza Delgado getting to know her father for the first time, or has she stolen his daughter away from him? They're not questions I know how to answer."

Roche shrugged. "So don't."

...She glared at her over the rim of her cup.

Roche just shrugged again, completely unflappable. "No, seriously. You think anyone's gonna answer that? There's gonna be some crusty old professor somewhere with a book on it? There ain't an answer, so pick what's best."

Renza looked away.

Her friend threw her arms out wide abruptly, flashing a dazzling, easy grin. "Renza Delgado gets the life she never had, meets the parent she never had, makes all the awesome friends she never had! Don't that just sound spectacular?" She laughed. "Like, 'Wish come true!', right?"

She grimaced, voice tired. "I lost some things too, Roche."

"I know, I know, but what y'gained ain't stopped existin', right?"

Renza looked at her, pointedly.

"...W-Well," Roche scratched behind her ear, "...besides, y'know..."

She let out a sigh, leaning forwards over her cup. Its red contents swirled.

"It's not that simple. I exchanged; I didn't gain."

Roche looked at her speculatively. "...I guess that's how you would see it."

"You think I'm wrong?"

Her friend tilted her head. "Well, you wished to get out of it, right?"

She felt herself twitch, expression darkening. "...Right."

Roche shrugged. "Y'said you wanted to meet him, so, here y'are. Seemed to me you were happy at least. F'what it's worth."

Her friend kicked her under the table. "Hey! It wasn't a bad wish. Don't go thinkin' that."

The tea in her cup swirled dark and red.

"...Right."


Halushia had stopped.

Odette paused, before dropping back a step, having been leading the way through one of the quieter Commercial districts back to Renza's bola (again...); the foreign girl was looking about, frowning; grimacing like there was a bad taste in the air. The Incubator sat back on its haunches and watched.

She frowned. The girl had been doing that all morning.

"...What is it?"

The foreigner clicked her teeth, flipping her swordstaff off her shoulder so she had it carried in two hands. The childish lilt had disappeared entirely, leaving a dark seriousness that put her on immediate edge.

"Miasma." Halushia said, bluntly. "Is thick all over city."

Odette paled. Holda sent an odd telepathic burst of reassurance, its weight heavy in her hand. "-What?"

The foreigner looked over her shoulder. "Couldn't tell?"

The flickering non-reality, the cardboard smoke stacks and forests of chains-

She brought Holda up into a combat stance, trusting her back to the foreigner and watching the rooftops. Petals on Holda's rosette ignited into ruby light, springing to her command. "Where?"

A hand on her shoulder. She almost half-turned in confusion, but couldn't take her eyes off the skyline.

"Not here. Old."

She frowned. "...They moved on?"

"Avoiding us."

"...Preparing for an ambush?"

Another click of her teeth. "Nie, Daemons not that sloppy. Trails unique. All. All through city."

...Her blood ran cold. Holda's rosette sparked as she scanned the streetline. Miasma? Trails?

She tried to sense it, smell it, however it worked. A growing sense of unease. A rising malaise. Holda's rosette, flashing a sequence she just somehow knew how to understand...

Trails. Daemons had passed through here, criss-crossing, using the old undercity more often that not, out of sight save for the shedding of grief and pain...

...She's right. Scheisse, she's right-

Could they walk on water? Were they affected by water at all? Was there a horde amassing deep below their feet, even now, in a city so big it would be criminally easy to avoid just a few people's notice...?

Halushia spat. "Wylęgarko!"

The Incubator tilted its head. "Tak?"

The foreigner opened her mouth- then paused, sparing her a glance over her shoulder. Breathing getting heavy. She realised her hands were shaking. Shit.

Halushia shook her shoulder. "Odya."

Instinct - her own, not that weird Puella thing - wanted to call up a shield, a protective barrier, anything. She swallowed it down, and gave a nod.

"Wylęgarka, tell. Belkanye."

"Tell what?" The Incubator asked, innocently.

Halushia grit her teeth, sending her a pained expression. It took another pointed look at the Incubator before Odette caught on.

"Incubator," she ordered it, "explain the trails."

It answered her easily. "They were left by Daemons, of course."

She growled. "Then why are there so many?"

The little white creature paused, regarding them at length; its gaze feeling almost calculating. Then it began fluffing its tail.

"There is a horde growing." It told them, casually. "The signs have been there for a while."

Odette flinched. "-A horde?!-"

Halushia exploded. "Ty Mnie posłałeś hordę?!"

"We admit we underestimated its severity, but the recent events make it undeniable. The rage and grief of the city is causing Daemons to spawn at an accelerated rate, in turn spreading further misery and despair amongst the populace and further destabilising the situation. On her own, Renza was never able to keep their numbers down sufficiently; the cycle has been brewing for some time now."

Halushia was seething. "Dlaczego więc zadzwonić do mnie?"

The Incubator tilted its head. "We were not expecting the riots to escalate this quickly. It was too late to call you off afterwards. It was our own mistake."

Odette stared at the pair of them.

"W-Wait, what does a horde mean? That's a horde of daemons, right? How many is...?"

Something in the silver of Halushia's sword-staff resonated; gleaming unnaturally in the air with focused power.

"'How many' is 'too many'? Is a balance, yes? Horde is when balance..."

The foreigner faded off into a bitter grimace, then simply tipped her hand. Like a bridge tumbling over into the sea.

"Daemon propagation is exponential in nature." The Incubator chipped in helpfully. "Most commonly, a 'horde' is defined by Puella Magi as when their number and spawn rate in a given area grows beyond their ability to contain it. The numerical definition thus varies by local Magi and is very imprecise; it's truly problematic..."

Halushia spat. "Jebać! We go. Run. Leave now."

Odette snapped to attention. "What."

"Łatwo przyszło, łatwo poszło. Will not die here." They put a hand on her shoulder. "Can break out. Teleport, yes? Other city."

She stumbled back, mind whirling. Just leave? Run? But that wo-

The foreigner growled. "Gówno, fine! Save Veneti girl, but run!"

Odette choked- "-We'd leave Valezorro to die!"

"Will die anyway, this city!" Halushia tossed her arms out wide; encompassing the empty street, the scattering trash, the distant smoke and rumbles. "Is gone! You stay, die with; you leave, live on!"

"B-But-"

"...Are 15, yes?" The foreigner stepped away, pity in her eyes. "Young, Belkanye. Are young. Live longer than this. Proszę."

"But the Daemons-" the numbers they'd get from eating an entire city- "they'd be unstoppable-"

The Incubator shook it's head, disappointed. "The horde cannot sustain that population for any length of time, and the geography of this planet will keep it contained. It will explode as it consumes victims, then collapse when the food source is depleted. It's a simple feature of population dynamics even your race has observed-"

She glared at it, fists clenching. "Fuck. Off."

The Incubator tilted its head at her, then turned to the foreigner as if distracted. Halushia, for her part, seemed to be frowning at it intently. A telepathic conversation, she realised.

At length, the Incubator stood on its feet, and calmly walked away. Halushia let out a breath.

Her hands were still shaking.

"Odya," Halushia began, warily.

"I'm fine."

"Kłamca. No-one fine."

She shuddered. "I have-" choked - "I-I have family here. Friends."

She felt the hand on her shoulder, the impact shaking her life a leaf in a loose breeze.

"Odya."

She looked back up. Autumn scents were playing beneath her nose again; the rustle of trees and grass. Calming.

Halushia was waiting, thinly attempting to smile.

"Save Veneti girl, yes? Need the numbers, either way."

She sighed, hollow and tired. "How?"

A shrug. "Is Gem, yes?"

She nodded, frowning.

A flash of silver, and Halushia detransformed to leave her Gem balancing on her finger. In the morning light, it flashed a sudden, interpretable sequence.

"Was show you anyway... " She shrugged, grinning, like it was the simplest thing in the world. "Find Gem. Will train."


The ice was biting into her hands.

The rising, brassy hum was rattling the walls, the alleyways rippling and twisting around her.

Her legs pounded like lead.

She ran.


Holda's rosette flashed, and suddenly she knew exactly how to read.

"-Wait!" Odette started, making Halushia look up from where she was concentrating over her Soul Gem. "I got it!"

"Ah, gratulujemy!" The foreigner began. "Now, should-"

Odette took off, hunting the signal across the spires and the rooftops.

"...Or you could do that..." Halina muttered to herself, before flicking out her scarf and joining the pursuit.


"How are those two anyway? Forgot about them..."

Renza swirled the cup. "Samara's fine. Odette contracted, though."

"-Eh?" Roche nearly lost her hat. "¿En serio?"

"Si. En rigor." She sighed, hollow.

"For, er... for what?"

"Me."

A sympathetic wince. "W-Well... at least you're not alone anymore, right?"

She looked away. The red banners fluttered in a sudden breeze, the cup cold in her hands.

Why is this place so blue...?

Roche tried cracking a grin. "S'not so bad though, right? Y'even match!" Threw her arms out. "Can be the princesses of Valezorro!"

There was a pause, as the accused failed to respond. Looking up, the fractal cerulean sky seemed to flicker; a tape going off its rails.

Tucking her knees in under the table, she hunched over her own teacup, cradling it in her fingers. A Flores, one of the old antique brands from Castilla's time as a Galean holding before the Warring States threw everything into the air; fine ceramic painted with delicate spirals of red and gold, engraved with a matrix inside that would heat up its contents with a little application of mana. Her tea even had milk in it; a luxury raising the dark, bitter colours to a deeper, richer red.

Far and a cry above the cheap, mass-produced thing Roche had been so inexplicably fond of.

...I don't feel thirsty anymore.

"Say, por favor," she said, switching to a higher register of Castillan as the gulls landed in a neat, even circle around them, "could you please just let that drop?"

Roche blinked. "-Eh?"

"Calling me 'princess', calling me a 'Delgado'."

"I didn't-" She stumbled- "But- you are-"

Odd patterns began emerging in the fractal sea. Frost patterns.

She watched them spread with an idle, exhausted eye. "I am Renza. Renza Veneti."

Darkness was staining the waters now, like pooling, roiling ink.

No, hair-dye.

"Renza-" Roche was tapping the table.

"I was born in the Clinico; to a dead mother and a living father." A cold, empty recital, like a memory being read off a reel. "I was raised in a flat; I was raised in a bola when the work dried up; driven all the way to the sea. But we were happy; life was good. That's all I wanted to be."

There was a shnnk, like a guillotine; her long blue hair abruptly terminated, flying off in the breeze and leaving behind a short, slightly slanted cut above the shoulder. The ink and dye roiled and spun, staining the gulls black as they greedily devoured the off-cuts, cawing.

Roche was standing now. "Renza stop it-"

She raised her teacup, the red contents within overflowing and pouring down her sleeves; staining away the blue of her dress into the red and filigree of a proper Castillan lady. "Don't you remember? It was something you said. Something you laughed at, when I explained it all to you."

An arbalest appeared in a flash of golden yellow. "-Damnit Renza!"

The ink stained her hair, covering over the blue to an almost dark, almost natural black. Stained like tar compared to Roche's natural glossiness.

Not a hint of blue in sight, save for the eyes.

She smiled, serene, as she sipped the red liquid in her hands, ignoring the weapon being levelled at her face.

"Con el dinero baila el perro."

And everything went black.


She ran, and the ice cracked in her fingers.

Natalie stumbled, leaden feet finally failing her. Crashed down amidst the trash and the gently raining paper, missing how it all drifted back down in a perfect circle.

The brassy hum was bursting her ears.

Even for all that, she couldn't let go out of it. It was weird; a ornate, bejewelled, blackened, filthy thing, oil slick and cracking ice and holding a death grip in her fingers-

The brassy hum stopped.

She blinked, eyes looking up to find the figures watching over her. Too tall. Too false. Heads an impossible, fractured mess. Standing there. Watching.

The ice cracked in her fingers.

Trash and nonsense fluttered down in irregular patterns, the walls of the alleyways twisting up in impossible ways to the somehow visible sky. The figures waited, cloaks fluttering. She watched them, hands freezing. Like a key scene in a play, but all the actors had suddenly lost their lines.

"Who are you?"

She turned. The ground had turned frozen now, red banners fluttering down from the walkways. Organic black ironwork growing in plant-like patterns. Castilla, intruding in improbable ways.

It was a kid. A kid with black hair; real shorty, barely up to her chin. Kid in a fur-lined dress, red, clutching a white teddy-bear, staring at her with confusion and condemnation in an 8-year old's eyes.

Natalie stared. The tall figures behind her kept their silence.

Had she seen this kid before? She felt pretty sure she didn't know this kid. This had to be some upper class brat, that hairpin a Castillan thing. What was a Castillan heir doing here? The red banners fluttered in the nonsensical breeze. What was Castilla itself doing here?

Kid stepped forward.

"I said," voice shrill, angry, betrayed, "who are you!?"

...Wait. No. That voice...

Her hands felt extremely cold.

Natalie stared in disbelief and a mounting sense of dread as the child continued to glare. "...Veneti?"

The kid just looked confused. And still so, so angry, angrier than an eight year old should ever be allowed to be.

"Who's 'Veneti'?"

Her throat clammed up. "U-Um..."

She - it? that? - was staring at the ice in her hand. Looking down, it had become black as pitch and somehow darker still; swirling and sick like oil and paint and water sucking the life out of her hand and Kaisers staring at it hurt-

-cracks forming on the edges creeping out into spider webs before her eyes-

-ice splintering under your feet and nothing but the cold of the canals below-

-pixel faced watchers giving no sound. Gave no movements, only watched with confused reverence and paradoxical familiarity-

-kid drawing up haughtily, holding a tiny mittened hand over its heart. "I'm ███████! The █████ of Royalty! You're not supposed to be here!"

Natalie staggered. This wasn't right this couldn't possibly be right-

The kid scowled, feral. "I said-"

Charged. No, that couldn't be a kid, it had mirrors and puppet strings and Saints Above those eyes-

"-YOU'RE NOT SUPPOSED TO BE-"

The clap of hand on shoulder was infinitely louder and infinitely softer than it should have been.

It... took her a moment to process the scene.

A white-gloved hand resting softly on the shoulder of - she blinked - a girl in a red dress, reaching out, just inches away from taking Natalie's own hands into her tiny little mittens, breath fogging before a bright, flushed face.

So very small and innocent. Big blue eyes. Kinda cute in that automatic, kiddish sort of way. She blinked down at the kiddo, still just moments from touching the jewel in her hands.

The woman the glove belong to pulled the girl back into a sad, parental embrace. Against the woman in white, the little girl barely reached up to her waist, staring up in confused wonder. Immaculate hair, improbably pink, flowed away behind the woman in a river beyond sight and the white dress spooled out over everything; frills and lace and a peaceful black in the underside.

...No., not black. Stars. In the inside of that dress, she could see the stars. The woman's feet weren't even touching the ground, just drifting and floating. Serenely. Gently. Peacefully.

The woman simply watched, holding the tiny girl to her side with sad, golden eyes and an achingly beautiful face.

Volk-

No. That didn't seem right. Her name. Her name...

Ma-...?

The woman just shook her head; sadness, hope and acceptance all in one; still holding back the child; now seemed lost and confused, blinking up innocently at the woman and the world around her. Was this snow? Motes of light? Flying up? What were they even standing on-

An eternity hung, between those lonely three.

Then the world snapped back into reality, into an alleyway on the edge of the Industrial district, with the heavy thud of an impact behind her, the crash and retort of laser fire and a clink and a draining and an armoured hand holding a fistful of cubes against a gem in her hand that lit up in blue and leaked away the black...

"Found you." Stated Odette Camar.