This chapter is slightly shorter than my usual minimum of 2,000 words. It was cut down during editing.

Many thanks to BeaconHill and GlassGirlCeci for betareading.

"Hey, Taylor." Dennis glanced up at me from the laptop on the table in front of him.

"Hey, Dennis." I sank into the couch beside him, leaning back, my eyes drifting shut.

"How'd things go with your dad?" he asked.

"Really well," I said, a smile crossing my lips. "We talked. He's… he's trying to keep up, and I'm trying to let him. It's not going to be easy, but it'll be worth it."

Dennis was silent for a moment. "Yeah," he agreed at last. "Yeah, it will."

I turned my head to study him, my brow furrowing. "Is there something wrong?"

He made a noise in the back of his throat, his fingers tapping against the chassis of his computer. "It's... things are okay. A little tense, still."

"With your dad? Why?"

He didn't look at me. "He wanted to pull me out of the Wards," he said. "When we were fighting Valefor and Heartbreaker, and while we were shutting down the rest of the city's crime. He thought it was too dangerous."

I considered him. "If you were a normal boy, he'd have been right," I said. "Even a normal cape, maybe."

Dennis snorted. "No such thing," he retorted. "Besides—I'm not. I'm a Ring-Bearer. If I wasn't a Ward, if I hadn't stuck with you, he'd still be dying of terminal cancer."

"He was just worried about you, Dennis."

Dennis' lips twisted, as if something bitter was on his tongue. "That's not what bothers me."

"I know." And I did. "He doesn't understand."

"He doesn't even want to understand." Dennis rubbed at his eyes. "And when I say that—when I try to tell him that he's not getting it, I sound like an angsty teenager. He just tunes me out. But it's not like that." He sighed. Then, gripped by a sudden impulse, he stood up and walked a few paces away from the couch, before turning back to me. "Why did you give us these Rings?" he asked, holding up his left hand. On his index finger, Silmaya twinkled silver. "With the Three, you were more careful. You took your time to find the right bearers. Was it just luck that the Seven's right bearers were all in the Wards, or were you less careful?"

"Neither," I admitted. "The Seven are different, Dennis. The Three were each unique, from the very beginning. They were designed without my input. The Seven were always intended to be more… open-ended. They draw their unique potential from your uniqueness, not the other way around."

Dennis pursed his lips. "There had to be better choices," he said lowly, staring at the glimmering band. "We were—are—children. Except maybe Vista and Sophia, none of us had even seen much serious combat before. You had to have better options than us."

I smiled slightly. "Better how?"

He frowned, his eyes darting to my face. "I don't know. Older? More experienced? More powerful?"

"I didn't need any of those," I said.

"Then why?"

"You were my friends," I said simply. "The first I'd had in a long time. I trusted you. There was no one else I could say that about. There still aren't many."

He sighed. "That feels… is that really a good reason for giving us this kind of power?"

"I don't know," I said, spreading my arms to the sides. "I suppose that depends on what you do with it. I certainly don't regret my decision. And I can't say that about many of the decisions I've made lately."

His lips twitched. "I guess that's comforting," he said.

"I hope it is," I said. "But I understand how it might not be much comfort to your dad."

"Yeah."

"But he will get it, Dennis," I assured him. "I'm sure of it. One day, he'll look at you and instead of the child you were, he'll see the man you're becoming."

Dennis closed his eyes. "You think?"

"I do," I said. "I've seen it before."

Dennis swallowed. "All right." He smiled at me, a frail, tenuous expression. "For what it's worth—I'm glad we're easing off. I was happy to follow you while we cleaned up the city, but I was having to ignore some misgivings."

"Everyone was," I agreed. "You're a good man, Dennis. It was against your nature, and I'm sorry for putting you through that."

He shook his head. "It wasn't…" Then he hesitated. "…Well, I'm sorry too," he said at last. "Sorry that none of us were able to see how much you were hurting, or to help. Except Sophia, of course."

I smiled. "I owe her everything," I agreed. "But—don't blame yourself, Dennis. It's in the past, anyway. Tomorrow looks brighter."

"Yeah." He grinned. "Yeah, it does."

The days passed. Dad grew stronger with each sunrise. Color returned to his face, meat returned to his bony frame. Within a week he was walking again.

"He'll be fit to go home in a couple days," Amy told me over dinner. "By that time, his metabolism should have normalized again, too, so he won't have to be shoveling down twice as much food as usual."

"Thank you, Amy," I said. "I really appreciate it—all of it."

She grinned at me. "Glad to be of service," she said.

At that moment, Shaper slipped into the seat beside her. Their brow was furrowed as they prodded at the meatloaf on their cafeteria tray with a fork. "Amy," they said, "do you enjoy this?"

Amy blinked at them. "Uh… I guess it's fine? It's not great. It's cafeteria meatloaf, what do you expect?"

Shaper pursed their lips. They reached out suddenly, a sharp movement, and touched Amy's cheek. Then they nodded and scooped a generous helping onto their fork. "I like it," they decided. "Intriguing."

I raised an eyebrow. "How so?"

Shaper took their bite and spoke while they chewed. "Our bodies are identical," they said. "Down to the neural structure—though, of course, the prefrontal cortex had to be modified to allow the signal to more directly traverse from the gemma. Our tastes in food should be identical. They are not."

"That is weird," Amy agreed, frowning at her power. "Any guesses as to why?"

"I would assume that the neural modifications made to the prefrontal cortex of this body had ripple effects," said Shaper, taking another bite. "But neither of us can see both of our brains to compare."

"Speaking of which, why can't we?" Amy asked. "I'd have thought, with you being the actual power, that you'd be able to break your own Manton limit."

Shaper shook their head. "The Manton limits, and other curtailments of our abilities, were imposed upon us when we were released to seek human vessels," they said. "I could no more break them than you could fly, though Nenya does give me some freedom."

"Why?" I asked.

Shaper blinked at me. "Hmm?"

"Why did the Warrior limit your powers like that?" I asked.

"The reasons vary by Shard," said Shaper, rolling a pea around their plate with their fork. "In my case, the reasons were twofold. The ability to modify the flesh of their kind was curtailed—though not totally removed—in an attempt to prevent me becoming a threat. The ability to modify my host's biology was removed to prevent the host from either killing themselves or becoming too powerful to provide useful data."

"How would being able to modify my own biology make me suicidal?" Amy asked blankly.

"I did not say it would be deliberate," said Shaper, and their ink-black eyes seemed to deepen somehow. "It could be something as simple as forgetting to include enough lung capacity to support your body, or failing to implement the necessary fail-safes for heart palpitations. In addition, there was the possibility that you might modify your own gemma or corona pollentia, which would have been problematic at best."

"I guess I can see that," Amy admitted.

"But you can act on Amy's body?" I asked. "And vice-versa?"

Shaper nodded. "One of the many ways in which Nenya has afforded me further freedom," they said. "I am individual, now. Thus, I have my own individuated limits." They glared down at their tray. "I do not like these," they declared, spearing a pea with their fork. It splattered against the plastic surface. "They are tasteless and uncomfortable to chew."

"They're good for you," Amy said automatically.

"Yes, yes," Shaper said impatiently. "Carbohydrate fibers, Vitamins A and C, et cetera. I still do not like them."

"Tough nuts," said Amy dryly. "I'm not trimming your weight down if you eat too much junk food."

Shaper's black eyes narrowed. "You did it for Vicky," they accused.

For a moment, I tensed, worried that the sudden reference would make trouble. But Amy, after only a minute hesitation, just rolled her eyes. "I don't like you as much," she told her power.

Shaper stuck their tongue out at Amy, and then reluctantly began to eat their greens.

The knock on my forge came as a surprise. Generally, the only people who visited me in my workshop were Sophia and Dragon, and neither of them knocked, as a rule. I halted my hammering at the steel. "Come in!" I called.

There was a pause, and then the door opened. "I need a word."

I turned, setting my hammer down on the workbench, on a mound of the gathered shards of Búrzashdurb. They made a soft, gravelly crunch as the weight fell upon them. "All right," I said. "What is it, Genesis?"

Genesis considered me for a moment. She was looking up at me, and yet her hard gaze still managed to pierce me like a fly on the wall. "A week and a half ago, Sundancer and I decided to stay here in order to do some good with our powers," she said. "Maybe make up for some of the crap we caused. Now, we've enjoyed the break, but—"

"...When do we start?" I finished for her.

"Yeah. That."

"I suppose I haven't exactly been quick on the draw," I admitted with a rueful smile. "I've been recovering."

"I get that," said Genesis. "Really, I do. But it feels like we're all sitting around twiddling our thumbs. Sure, we're patrolling, and I'm glad Sundancer and I are at least on the patrol rotation with the rest of you. But when are we going to do something?"

I thought about that for a moment. "There's a few things in the air right now," I said, partly to myself. "Eidolon is off chasing his clones, the ones that escaped when Noelle died. If he finds them, he may want our help taking them down. Then again, he's not the type to ask for help."

"A couple weeks back, you went after Nilbog," said Genesis. "From what I've heard, you regret how you took him down. Sure. But can't we go after some other villain group? The Fallen? The Teeth? The Slaughterhouse Nine? You've pretty much emptied this town."

"The Empire is picking itself up," I countered. "They've realized that I've settled down, and they're starting to come out of hiding again. And Lung is still unaccounted for."

"Then send us after them," said Genesis. "But do something. We're getting—"

At that moment, my phone chimed in my pocket. I pulled it out.

It was an alert from Sophia. Her location, along with one word. Empire.

My expression must have darkened visibly, because Genesis immediately asked, "What's wrong?"

"You want to do something?" I asked. "Come on. The Empire is attacking Sophia—out of costume."