A/N: Look, I know I owe everyone in this fandom an apology. I've been on hiatus for over a year, and I know I've left a lot of people hanging because none of my chaptered fics have seen an update in a very long time. I'm really sorry for this jerk move. I don't know how many of you are still interested in reading my fics, but if you are, please let me know, and I will try my level best to give those fics as much closure as possible.

Regarding where I stand in terms of shipping and other viewpoints in this fandom, a lot of that has changed, too. I was twelve years old when I first started reading the AF series, and aside from The Cross Species Battle and Key to Ethos, I no longer hold the views held in most of my fics posted here. That does not mean I'll be taking them down, I just felt I had to point it out.

But I'm excited to announce that I've started on a new work for the AF fandom, one which I will be periodically updating in the coming months. The new fic aims to provide more backstory for Commander Root's character, and explores what his relationship with Vinyáya could have been. Lots of worldbuilding and angst will ensue, and I'm giving you this because we know we all deserve more Root.

Here's an extract from the fic, Error of Disinclusion, which can be found in my bio and currently has two chapters up. Thank you so much, I hope you enjoy it!

milk toffees and regards,

Shaadia.

Haven City, sanctuary for the People like the name suggested. Carved out of impenetrable rock and technology that was decades ahead of anything available on the surface, it spoke volumes about the adaptability of a race forced into self-sufficiency, and secrecy. Here, the ultra-modern could blend with the super-futuristic as well as the rustic past and not look an inch out of place; everything was perfect, geometrically slotted, and everyone had their role to play.

Everyone, that is, except the goblin gangs who staged fiery protests in the late hours of night, setting fire to the symmetrical sidewalks and screaming themselves hoarse and demanding that the police set free their brothers caged in Howler's Peak.

Root cursed explicitly and without abandon as he pushed his way through a crowd of nervous onlookers. He cursed them, too, for leaving their buildings when the streets were literally on fire, but he kept those sentiments to himself. He was not in uniform; he didn't have any uniform as such that would entitle him to order them around- and he didn't have the years on him that would command respect regardless. No, he should be staying sensibly out of the way until the LEP responded, but he found he really couldn't do that when historical monuments were being burned down and the LEP was setting a record in delay time.

"Oy! Out of the way, young 'un!"

"Where do you think you're going?"

"Excuse me, sorry, sir- D'Arvitting mutts- excuse me, coming through."

He managed to push his way to the forefront, felt the shape of his blaster tucked under his shirt. The full extent of the damage the goblins were wrecking became apparent now- Haven's central statue of Ta'Fei was engulfed in orange flames that lapped at the artificial sky, and fireproof goblins dangled recklessly from its arms. They screeched for their rights and justice while hurling fireballs at the city around them, and sooner or later, this stupid crowd would be hit, too.

He could not pull out his blaster. Firstly, because he was in civilian clothing, and civilians weren't allowed to carry guns, and Academy students weren't supposed to take their weapons out of the Academy's gates in the first place. Secondly, producing a gun in this already-on-edge throng would light the final fuse for panic, and thirdly, it wouldn't help deal with the goblins anyway. Nevertless, his fingers twitched around the shape of the blaster. It was increasingly becoming a good feeling, feeling closer to his someday-career because of it.

"You there!"

Root looked around in surprise for the loud, hoarse voice. He was startled to see one of the gang leaders staring right at him.

Shite, had the blaster been spotted? Had he just given himself away to a dumb goblin of all things?

"Yes, elf, I'm talking to you!"

The leader had blue eyeballs and dark black irises- tattooed, cheap ink by the horrifying look of it- and a prickly orange hide. He wasn't much taller than Root himself, but his back was on fire and his nails were sharpened to razors, not forgetting the extra help he had at his disposal. A multitude of scalene heads and tattooed eyeballs had turned Root's way. The eyes of the idiot crowd were also fixed on him.

He slowly slipped his hand away from his blaster, slackening his posture so he didn't look like a threat. He didn't know for sure that they'd seen.

"Me?" Root feigned innocent surprise, like the forty-something elf he was supposed to be.

"You look like law enforcement!"

What? Root frowned. "I'm not sure I understand."

"Yes, you do," the gang leader was now steadily approaching him, brandishing a fireball that grew dangerously bigger with every passing second. "You are. I've seen you. Seen you in those parts, with those leppers."

It momentarily startled him that a goblin could possess the memory capacity to remember one random face out of many, but Root chose to react without giving his thoughts away. If he came off as clueless enough, the goblin would think he was mistaken and go back to his rampage. Inclined as he felt towards putting a stop to this madness here and now, he was clearly outnumbered, and if the situation transpired into a bigger mess because of his intervention his career would be over long before it could start.

"I'm just a normal commuter. I walk by Police Plaza every day."

"Not those parts!" The goblin hissed, his reptilian tongue flicking all the way out, briefly threatening to strike Root in the face. "The lepper Academy! Those tropics that you pay for with the blood of my brothers!"

Root exhausted his reserve of patience, and huffed. "Would you care to explain? That doesn't make any sense."

Three things happened very fast. The lead goblin snarled something foul and hurled his fireball into the air, over the heads of the crowds. His backup started setting more of their surroundings on fire, making the crowd scream and erupt into a tightly-packed mass of panic, and somewhere in the distance, he heard the sirens of an LEP response team.

Root had very little time to act. There was a horde of civilians behind him and any moment now they could get charred in this fire. He tackled the lead goblin, blaster drawn, and whirled them both to the center of the square where everyone could see. It was enough to distract the others from their destructive frenzy.

"Keep that up," Root shouted, "And your leader will get it. Back away now. Back away!"

The goblin tried to thrash in his grip, but Root had him tightly secured, even if he did have to hold back a wince when harsh reptilian scales dug into the flesh of his arm.

The rest of the goblins- five, six of them he counted- did take the hint, and stopped generating fire, turning to look his way with newfound precaution. Precautious goblins- now that was something you didn't see everyday.

Impossibly, things got worse.

"Do away with 'im," hissed one of the goblins, stepping forward. A large specimen, male, possibly middle aged and jacked up on illegal steroids. Eyeball and chest tattoos. Pierced tongue. Obviously another alpha of the pack. "We don't need 'im. I'm in charge now!"

A crowd of the goblins cheered, but a good half started to look righteously affronted. Their attention as a whole diverted from Root and his hostage to each other. There was a lot of arguing and shoving. The civilians doubled back. Someone conjured a fireball.

The sharp trill of sirens pierced the air then, cutting through the vocals of the sweating masses. People shuffled over to the pavements, finally drawing away from the spectacle. Mothers tucked babies under their chins. The goblins turned on the defensive, prepared to hollow their throats out with fire and burn down the rest of the street. The black fireproof uniforms of a heavily armed LEP response team blurred out of the distance.

Root mentally ran through his extensive vocabulary of multilingual swears in search of a phrase that accurately described his feelings towards the rapidly escalating situation.

He finally settled on an old favourite.

"D'Arvit."

Immediately after, his hostage choked out the same thing.

Julius Root was once young, impulsive, reckless and stupid.

Well, maybe not stupid. Root liked to think that at fifty years old, fresh out of the Academy, he was a smarter rookie than most, and his calm under fire and quick-thinking ability helped him up the ladder of rank.

Julius Root was once young, promising and at the top of his class. Then the Academy's only female elf, the headstrong and doubly promising Raine Vinyayà, broke a flight speed record.

Find Error of Disinclusion in my bio!