Many thanks to Assembler, frustratedFreeboota, skyrunner, BeaconHill, and ShadowStepper1300 for betareading.

Many thanks to MugaSofer for fact checking.

Blaze 7.2

On the one-week anniversary of Leviathan's attack, my alarm woke me to the smell of frying bacon and eggs.

This was unusual. Dad didn't get up early enough to have breakfast cooking when I woke, ever. Maybe I was being paranoid, but so many things had changed so quickly that I found myself growing nervous.

I carefully drew the covers away from myself and swung my legs over the side of the bed. My bare feet didn't make a sound as I stood. On my finger, Vilya was already shimmering in response to my feelings.

Rather than make straight for the bathroom and shower, I crept downstairs. The stairs creaked under my feet once or twice. Instead of fear, though, the sounds sent me into mourning. I'd never been so careless with Nenya.

At last I reached the base of the stairs, and poked my head out into the kitchen.

There was Dad, already dressed. His back was to me, and I saw his ring glinting in the electric lighting. The skillet in front of him was hissing and smoking slightly, and I could smell the delightful, sharp scent of greasy bacon, making my mouth water.

…Was he humming?

"Dad?"

He turned, startled. "Oh, Taylor! I didn't hear you get up. How did you sleep?"

"Well enough. What are you doing up so early?"

He shrugged, smiling slightly. "Lot of work to do," he said. "There's not much of a dock anymore, not that there was much business to begin with. Getting the guys new jobs and organizing them for repairs and salvage operations is my responsibility. Besides"—he jerked his head at the fridge—"getting fresh groceries is going to be harder now. I'd rather eat it while it's still good."

I studied him. "You're okay?"

His smile remained, but his eyes grew sad—but only slightly. "I'm okay, Taylor. Thank you."

Slowly, I nodded. "Good. Do I have time to shower before breakfast?"

"If you hurry. I'll save you… mm, maybe a quarter of the bacon?"

I grinned. "I'll hurry."

"Move your feet!" I ordered. "It's not a shield, and you're not a phalanx!"

"The hell even is a phalanx?" Sophia growled through teeth gritted in concentration.

We circled one another, wooden approximations of swords in our hands. The Wards had their own sparring mat in the PRT building, along with blunt training weapons. Sophia had offered to partner with me for swordplay, though she didn't know the first thing about the art.

And so now I was teaching her.

"Phalanx," I said, my eyes darting over her guard. She was a fast learner, I had to give her that. Her guard was clumsy, but complete. I could break it, but I saw no obvious holes to take advantage of. "A military formation used by the ancient Greeks. Wall of shields in the front, with spears poking through from behind. Sometimes with shields overhead to protect from archers. Sort of an infantry battering ram."

"What does that have to do with—"

"You're holding your sword too stiffly, and moving too methodically. We aren't on a grid, and you aren't a block of organized soldiers." I swung in a feint, and then whirled as her guard rose to block, dancing around her and striking her a glancing blow across the side. "It's a longsword, not a claymore. No need to carry it like a crowbar."

She grimaced. "I don't think I have a knack for this."

"I disagree." I struck again, this time a testing blow, and was pleased when she parried and even counter-struck. I danced away from the swing, smiling. "Your guard's making serious strides, and your cut's improving."

I deflected a couple more strikes, waiting. Then, when she overcommitted to an attack, I parried her blade away and delivered a thrust to her thigh.

"Still don't understand how you can do that," she grumbled, wringing out her hands where the shock of the parry had jolted her. "Your wrists are perpendicular to the hilt! How can you control it well enough to be accurate?"

I shrugged. "Partly, it's a sword, not a crossbow bolt. Doesn't need to be that accurate. And partly, just practice."

"You've only been using a sword for a few weeks!"

I smiled sheepishly. "Well… I've been practicing a lot?"

In truth, it felt like much longer than a mere few weeks since I'd first taken up the blade. Narsil's weight and shape had been familiar to me from the moment I'd first made it. The sword itself was new to me, but I felt even then as though I'd been using swords for many years.

I didn't really know what to chalk that up to, except talent or powers. And the question of my powers was still bothering me.

Sophia's eyes were narrowed at me in what, on someone else, might have been called a pout. "Fucking combat thinkers," she muttered.

I shrugged.

Just as we were about to cross swords for another bout, the monitors around the room flashed yellow and the alarm blared. I stuck my sparring blade under my arm and crossed to the side of the mat to pick up my helmet, Sophia at my heels, making for her mask. The door opened not long after we'd masked ourselves again.

"Miss Militia," I said, saluting her with my wooden sword. "You need something?"

"Annatar, Shadow Stalker," she greeted. "Yes. Annatar, Panacea is currently finishing her negotiations with the director regarding her Wards contract."

I smiled. "Great. It'll be good to have her." Amy had been in and out of Piggot's office for days. I was glad they'd finally settled things.

"In addition, Aegis has been recalled from his current patrol. When he arrives, Director Piggot wants to see the both of you. It's about Grue."

"What about Grue?" Sophia asked.

"Has Piggot heard back, then?"

Miss Militia nodded. "Apparently, she has the PRT's blessing to use her judgement on this matter. She wants to see you and Aegis about it."

"What matter?" Sophia sounded tense, now.

I turned to her. "Grue's probably joining the Wards," I said.

She stared at me. I couldn't see her face under her mask, and even her eyes, normally so expressive, seemed dark and impassive. "You're kidding."

I shook my head. "I know you have problems with him, but we need everyone we can get on board. I talked to him, and we worked out a deal."

She was staring at me. I wished I could see her face.

"What do you even have against him?" I asked. "I don't think you ever told me."

She took a moment before answering. "If he's serious about working with us, nothing." She sighed. "It's petty, I guess. His power interferes with mine. I don't like not feeling…"

She trailed off, but I filled in the blanks. Not feeling in control.

"I understand," I said. "Can you work with him?"

"Yes," she said, without an instant of hesitation.

"Are you sure?" I pressed.

"If you want me to, I can work with him." Her voice was firm.

I nodded. "Okay. Thank you." I turned back to Miss Militia. "Where is Aegis, anyway?"

"He was patrolling the south side of downtown," she said. "He should return shortly. I'll have someone text you when he arrives."

"This is a bit different from last time," Dennis drawled, his feet up on the coffee table.

"What," Vista asked. "You mean we don't have Armsmaster in the other room, and one of us isn't in danger of being kicked out?"

"I mean I was more thinking that Annatar wasn't a villain, but yeah. That too."

We were seated around the coffee table in the Wards' little lounge in the PRT building's underground—the very same room where, only a month and a half ago, I had introduced myself to the other Wards.

Amy raised her hand. "I'm not a villain."

"None of us are villains," I said. My voice came out a little harsher than I intended. "If we were, we wouldn't be here."

"Uh," Grue said, raising one finger.

"Are. Present tense."

He lowered the finger.

"Seriously though, Annatar," said Chris. "You're not expecting us to unmask in front of him, are you?"

"I'm expecting you to do what you can to make this team work," I said. "If you can't comfortably unmask, fine. But if you can, please do."

"Well said," agreed Aegis, and raised his hands to take off his mask. He set it on his knee and stretched out a hand to Grue. "Carlos Casiano," he said, smiling.

For a moment, I wasn't certain Grue would take the olive branch. Then, hesitantly, he reached up and took off his helmet, revealing the dark face I'd spoken to yesterday.

"Brian Laborn," he said, and shook.

"Amy Dallon," said Amy, with a roll of her eyes. "You all do realize how weird this is, right?"

I laughed as I took off my helmet. "Useful, though," I said. "And you all know me already."

Sophia, of all people, was next to follow suit. "Sophia Hess."

Sam was next. "Sam Keene," he introduced.

I realized in that moment that Sam, out of all of us, was the most seldom unmasked. Even among us, he seemed always more comfortable with his face covered. Receiving Ondoya had not changed this. But he had changed—the young man I saw now had an open smile upon his lips, and eyes which twinkled with life. It was a far cry from the closed, quiet boy I'd met in April.

"Well, seems like everyone's sharing." Dennis pulled his faceplate away, revealing his red hair and freckles. "Dennis O'Donnell."

Chris grumbled. "Fine. Chris Thompson." He pulled off his visor.

Missy sighed. "Missy Biron. What is this, show and tell?"

There was an awkward pause for a moment, before Missy prodded Dean's knee. He started, as if roused from a stupor, and immediately pulled off his helmet.

His eyes were red, but clear. "Dean Stansfield. Sorry."

"Don't be." Amy's voice was soft. Their eyes met, and I found myself looking away.

"Anyway, Grue." Carlos' voice broke the moment. "Have you talked to Piggot about rebranding? 'Grue' doesn't scream hero material."

Brian frowned slightly. "I kind of like this identity," he said. "It's—I don't know, it's mine."

"Did you choose it?" Sophia asked. "I remember I didn't choose mine. Independents get saddled with them, a lot of the time."

Grue actually smiled a little. "Yeah, I've heard of that happening. I did choose mine though. 'Grue' is Old English, means creepy or scary. Reputation's important, and the first part of building a reputation is a good name."

"You can do better than being named after an obscure Old English word," I said dryly.

He blinked at me. Then he grinned. "Yeah, I guess I can."

"You've got time to think, anyway," said Carlos. "You're not going to be patrolling for at least a week or two while the image department figures out what they want to do. I'm sure there'll be a press conference or something."

"What about me?" asked Amy. "I'm already pretty well established, and people will figure out I'm not with New Wave anymore pretty quickly."

Aegis shrugged helplessly. "I don't know. I'm just the Wards captain—you'll have to ask your image guy, or Piggot. I doubt you'll have to rebrand, though."

"I might rebrand anyway," said Amy grimly. "I'm really tired of being New Wave's pet healer."

"It wasn't like that," I said quietly.

Her eyes met mine. I saw mingled there hurt, and grief, and bitterness, and determination.

"I know," she said eventually. "But I'm not a forgiving person, by nature."

"Does that mean you're not going to be volunteering at the hospital anymore?" Dennis asked.

"No, I probably still will be. I'll just, you know, be doing other things too. Why? You have someone there?"

Dennis looked away. "No, it's—" He sighed. "I know you don't take requests."

"His dad," I said for him. "Leukemia."

Amy nodded. "All right. I'll see what I can do. Which hospital?"

Dennis was blinking at her. "Uh. Brockton General."

She nodded. "I'll keep you posted."

"Amy," Dean said slowly, "you set that rule for a reason. Are you—"

"Rules," Amy interrupted, "are ways to hide from choices you don't want to make. A way to keep doors closed that shouldn't be opened. And that's good, if you have options you're afraid to take."

An image flashed in my mind at her words. A Ring of Power, quite unlike any of the others. I forced the thought away. That's my rule.

"I," Amy said with a tight little smile, "am not afraid anymore. There's nothing left to fear."

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