Sherry loved mountains. She grew up in them, surrounded by their majesty. And on dark nights like this, as they drove through the city and its many streets, seeing them on the horizon was often her only comfort in Santa Fae.

“Attention, this is Knight Karn from House Aran on Perlitas Boulevard, all is quiet, over,” said the voice on the magic-powered radio, which she ignored.

It was the dwarves who chose the location of the city; just a few miles from the base of the Dragon-Tipped Mountains (their human name long lost), since it was to them that the project was entrusted after the war with the humans. They argued many reasons for it, but everyone knew of their love for their hollowed halls and the mining they could do there. Still, many argued that if it was truly going to be a haven for all of us, they couldn’t exactly deny them that.

And if that wasn’t enough argument for it, many species of dragon liked to make their nests on the tall peaks, making the mountains as much a home for them as for the dwarves. Despite their great wisdom, they had lived mostly on their own throughout the centuries, jealously guarding their treasures, and avoiding humans until they couldn’t. This was the first time in the long history of all races that the Dragons had made an effort to join them in society. This city represented the spirit of a new beginning for all of them.

“Understood Aran, all is quiet here as well. Rull, what’s your status, over.”

Sherry frowned, drifting back from her thoughts as she picked up the radio on the dash to reply, feeding it the magic to revive the circuitry just like with the engine of the car.

“This is Rull,” Sherry answered dryly. “My path leads towards Wisp Hill. Priority one. Do not call for us unless it is an emergency.”

Sherry could hear the knight’s partner in the background of the radio, sniggering and saying something that sounded a lot like ‘The Chief’s pet’.

“Don’t worry Rull, we got the fancy streets covered tonight. Over and out.”

Sherry suppressed a displeased grunt, she was used to their insinuations and comments, but they never failed to grate her to some degree. It was only thanks to her partner's reassuring smile next to her that she could swallow it. 

He was sitting in the passenger seat, leaning back and looking as relaxed as his clothes; nothing but loose jeans, a brown leather jacket, and a bright red flowered shirt more fitting for the beach than the grimy streets they worked in. A colorful contrast to her entirely black armor and dark demeanor. Mort had always been fascinated by human culture, and it wasn’t just his preference for their style of clothes, those had become more popular of late anyway, but like many Fae of their generation, he grew up with their movies and stories. Sherry had not.

“Should we get something to eat first?” offered Mort, pushing his long blond hair out of his face. “You do look like you could use some noodles, or perhaps something más caliente?”

“I care not, do as you wish.”

“You know you’re still doing that, right?”

“Doing what?” 

“That old dramatic speech thing,” said Mort critically. “You sound like my grandfather did a thousand years ago, like that time I said ‘this is impossible’ about that case with the stolen gold, and you replied ‘Agreed, not in a hundred lifetimes could they have done this.’…which, you know, felt like a bit much.”

“My way is my own,” said Sherry, ignoring his comment. “Most of my family spoke like this when I was growing up, so I see no reason for shame in it.”

“Of course, you do you amiga, not like it’s gonna make you any more popular with the other knights anyway. Certainly not with me walking around,” he added with a sardonic laugh.

Sherry turned the car on the corner of Onyx and Agata, entering Wisp Hill. This was a very different view of the center of the city. Skye Street was the shiny, clean, and pretty side that people liked to think of as the face of Santa Fae, but Wisp was old, dirty, and barely lit by the neon signs running on old batteries and pale blue fires that gave it its namesake. Very pretty at night, but many considered them a bad omen. Not the most popular neighborhood despite its location.

Mostly Houseless elves and outcast dwarves lived here, and Perhaps some Orcs who didn’t see eye to eye with their more civilized brethren, along with the halflings with little gold to their name. Sherry didn’t mind herself, it was close to HQ and in the heart of the city, keeping her close to the action. She was perhaps the only member of a House to live here, but she felt right at home with the outcasts of the city.

She parked the car a block away from their destination, a classic 1970s Black Ghost Dodge. Even now she felt a deep fondness for the muscle car, black like her armor, a gift from Mort when she first moved here. She was also the only one among the knights not to drive the recommissioned human patrol cars. Another mark of her pride, tolerated grudgingly by the others only because the Chief allowed her. Perhaps she was something of a teacher’s pet, but she didn’t care.

“We’re getting the hang of these stakeouts lately,” Mort said, tying up his long blond hair in a ponytail.

“It helps that they are always so close to home,” Sherry replied and started putting on the rest of her armor as best she could inside the car.

“You sure they’re going to meet here? It’s just an old office building.”

“The word on the street is not very subtle,” said Sherry as she tightened her greaves in place. “The Blue Dwarves are acquiring faster than they can sell; they are looking to move their human weapons and these houseless elves are somehow getting the gold for it.”

“Still, why do we always have to be the ones to bust these meetings?” asked Mort fairly. “This is the third one this month in this area.”

“The other knights do not care,” said Sherry harshly. “You know this, Mort. They would just kill everyone inside and be done with it.”

Mort looked kindly at her, Sherry knew he understood despite the complaining. It wasn’t just that she considered this area her home, but she cared about the people, too. Elves with no magic or house to their name, desperate to feel some measure of the power denied to them. 

Even these outcast dwarves were just looking for some gold, the mark of status among their people. All this was just to feel like part of who they were again, with stolen gold and human weapons. The truth is Sherry couldn’t help but understand them, and she felt they deserved better than a one-sided massacre from the other royal knights.

“Watching you put on all that truly makes me not miss my armor,” commented Mort as they waited.

“Just be ready all the same, we know how these meetings tend to go. It is not a question of whether it will go sideways or not, but how quickly these fools remember they hate each other.”

“And yeah, the weather isn’t gonna help,” said Mort. “Nights this hot, makes me wonder why we ever left our cool and cozy forests after the war.”

Sherry paused before placing the last piece of her armor, “I am surprised to hear you say that.”

“I'm a proud woodland elf, Sherry,” he said smiling.

“No, I meant…I forget you still can feel things like the weather.”

Mort looked down with a wry smile, “Ah, yes, I still feel it. A lot of things actually, like this seat warmer I installed, which you should really try-”

A loud crash and the shattering of glass killed his next words, as a male dwarf fell on top of their windshield, cracking it. Mort looked stunned, but Sherry was barely surprised. 

“Looks like they remembered,” she said and placed the dark helmet on her head.

“I also felt that, just for the record,” said Mort as they got out of the car.

She opened the car door and went straight across the street towards the front of the building. Thankfully the area was deserted this late at night, “Does the dwarf live?”

“Yeah, I think he’s still among the living,” said Mort while poking him slightly, making the dwarf groan weakly.

Sherry opened the front door and went through the small lobby straight to the old elevators with Mort behind her, “which means the fall was not too high.”

“Looks like the third floor to me, but it’s hard to be sure with so many windows already broken and…” he was cut short by the eruption of gunfire above them. “Oh, never mind, it’s definitely the third floor.”

The elevator doors opened and Sherry punched the button for their target. Mort got in after her looking relaxed as always. She almost envied that. No elevator music played, thankfully. Just the quiet echoes of the bullets above them as they got closer, it barely left them any time to discuss options.

“Same as always?” was all Mort asked.

“Yes, I will put their fire out with my own.” 

Sherry began to concentrate and summoned the magic to her right hand. She tapped into that large pool with her consciousness, feeling the vastness of it, and easily, so easily, she drew upon it like taking a cup of water from a lake.

The cool surge of energy rushed through her body and focused on her palm as she held it there, gathering just enough before snapping her fingers for a spark. The magic erupted in a large ball of blue fire, hovering just inches away from her hand, and just in time as the elevator doors opened.

The scene was chaotic; a trio of dwarves had taken cover behind an overturned desk next to the now-shattered window their friend had fallen from. An elf lay dead in the center of the room next to an open chest full of human guns, bleeding from several bullet wounds, and two more hid behind a pillar taking fire as they tried to reload their weapons.

Both elves wore long wine-red robes and hoods covering their faces, something they had been seeing a lot of lately among these houseless ones looking for weapons. Both also failed to notice Sherry or Mort behind them as they looked upon the scene, the fireball still burning in Sherry’s hand. They were too busy arguing.

“Hey, can you still do a fireball?!” said one loudly over the gunfire.

“You know that was one time!” replied the other elf.

“Well, I’m out! So give it a try, will you!”

“Shut up you pointy-eared bastards!” shouted one of the dwarves from across the room.

“Should have known better than to trust a filthy dwarf!” replied the elf on the right as he confirmed he was out of bullets. 

“Ok, um, let me see…I only feel the tiniest bit of magic anymore but…just need a spark…just a tiny…” the elf frowned and gritted his teeth, trying to concentrate to draw even a drop of what Sherry could summon so easily.

Finally, a tiny ember of normal orange fire flickered in between his hands, barely worthy of being called light, but they both looked at it with incredible relief and joy, and Sherry felt sorry for them.

“You did it!” exclaimed the elf, excitedly. “Can you make it bigger?”

“Don’t ask for miracles man, I’m barely holding this,” replied the other.

“It should be more like this,” said Sherry, and they both finally turned to notice her and the great big ball of blue flame on her hand. Bigger even than a sports ball, making the small lighter size flame between them look useless.

“You’re both gonna wanna dodge now,” said Mort from behind Sherry, smiling apologetically.

Sherry pulled back her arm, just slowly enough for them to recognize the sign, which they did, as they both threw themselves on the floor in front of her as she tossed the ball of blue fire against the pillar. It went right through it like it wasn’t there and exploded once it hit the floor in the center of the room like a bomb, covering the spot and part of the roof in flames.

An inferno raged above them, but Sherry walked through the pillar of fire without effort. Mort would call this her penchant for the dramatic, but if it put an extra ounce of fear in those she needed to stop then all the better. Behind her, Mort bent down next to the two elves, cuffing them.

The three remaining dwarves peeked from above their cover to look at her slowly walking through the blue hell towards them. She could see the fear in their eyes, and not just from the magic. They feared what she could do to them; even with just her fists. They knew they could not win. All except the one on the right, who yelled ‘For Honor!’ in old dwarvish and leaped towards her, ax in hand and aiming for her neck. She stopped him in mid-air with a high kick, holding him there with his breath knocked out of him.

“Um excuse me, Miss Knight?” asked one of the remaining dwarves nervously as he stepped out, hands in the air. “Would it be ok if we surrendered?”

She turned to look at them and finally lowered her leg to allow their friend to fall to the ground. “Yes, that would be ok.”

The other dwarf dropped his weapons and joined his friend on the ground with his hands behind his head as Sherry cuffed them as well. Most dwarves would fight until the end; often preferring a worthy death over imprisonment, but then again these were exiles for a reason: No honor among them. 

“That thing is filled to the brim with these handguns, and I have to say, they do not look centuries old,” Mort said approaching, but Sherry’s attention went straight to his chest, and the bullet hole in it.

Mort saw her mortified expression and finally seemed to notice the mortal wound himself, before giving a small laugh. “Ah, I didnt even feel it in all the rush.”

Sherry felt a heavy lump in her throat constricting at the sight, even as Mort tried to wave off her concern. She knew that the bullet couldn't hurt him, that the wound would heal. He was already dead, after all; killed by a bullet just like that many years ago, and at that moment she could remember the sight so clearly. 

She remembered Mort lying dead, a hole in his head, and all the screaming and weeping in the world couldn't bring him back. Only magic, used in the most forbidden way could, albeit temporarily. Mort could only still be here, with her, as long as she held him there…but if she ever let go…

“Stop it,” Mort said sternly, and she snapped out of it, realizing she had been instinctively reaching out towards the wound.

“I…I am…” she tried to say, but words failed her.

“You look deader than me, Sherry.” Mort grabbed her hand with both of his, and despite the gloves he wore, she knew how cold they were. “You can't fall to pieces every time something happens to me; we agreed on that.”

“I… do not want to be alone again,” Her words were small and weak, which was unlike her, but it was all she could manage at that moment. The iron will she kept up at all times failed her, and she felt frail as she looked at her best friend, whom she had dragged from the grave against everyone’s wishes, defying the law, just so she couldn’t feel like that again.

“I promised you, I am here until you don't need me,” Mort said, embracing her, even as their prisoners watched, confused. And in the background, they could hear the sirens of the other Royal Knight vehicles approaching to take them in.