Alexander woke up with a start. As soon as his eyes opened, the nightmare began to fade. There was a brief moment of silence, then his senses returned along with the susurrus that instinctively made him frown. 

He didn’t need to look far to find the cause - a few meters away, the junior member of their party was pouring a bagful of rice into a pot that had been constructed over a fire.

With a grunt, he sat up, feeling his back and neck protest from being on the hard ground for too long. He rolled his head to relieve the stiffness and called out, “Where are the others?”

Mulley, who had been stirring the rice in the pot, looked over in surprise. “You’re awake, Commander!” He put the lid on. “Petra went to scout and gather some firewood, and Tide...” He looked around the clearing. “Tide went with her, I think?”

“Of course he did.” Alexander mumbled then finally got to his feet with a huff. He approached the fire asking, “What about the Mercs?”

Mulley pointed to a darkened side of the clearing. “Their tents are up, and they set up the wards in exchange for us making dinner. One of them went to scout when they were done.” 

There were two single-person tents that Mulley had pointed out belonging to the Mercs, and a little further away was a trio of grey tents. Alexander felt a smile pull at the corner of his lip. There were four tents just last night. These kids were moving fast.

With protective wards up, their little camp should be hidden from the eye, and anyone who approached the area would unconsciously feel like circumventing them. A sister sigil was needed in order for the others to find them. Of course, this did not stop a random person from stumbling across them. 

“Who went?” Alexander asked. 

Mulley looked thoughtful. “The one with the tear on his mask. He’s the taller one, yeah?”

Alexander hummed. He patted the boy on the shoulder. “I’ll take over. Take a break.”

“I’m fine, Commander,” Mulley protested. “You should rest in your tent. Petra set up some warming wards for you.”

Alexander made a shooing motion that brooked no argument. He plucked the ladle from Mulley’s unresisting fingers and opened the pot lid as the boy made room for him. 

Without a change in his expression, Alexander said, “Who taught you how to cook?”

“Um,” Mulley’s nervous gaze flitted to the pot. “No one did, sir. I learned from watching people.”

Fishing a slim pack from his pocket, Alexander pulled out a disc and tossed it into the pot with a murmured spell. There was a sloshing sound, immediately followed by the excited gurgling of boiling water. 

“Watch the whole process next time.” He said as he stirred with the ladle and checked how thick the layer of burnt rice at the bottom was. “You need water to cook rice.”

Mulley’s face turned an obvious red even with the warm glow of the fire. “Y-Yessir.”

Alexander glanced at him. “What else?”

“Sir?”

“What else is going in here?”
“Ah!” Mulley hurried to a nearby pack and retrieved a disc similar to what Alexander had just used, but double in size. He whispered a spell and the disc disappeared, replaced by a small bundle of vegetables that tumbled heavily to the ground. 

Flustered, he rushed to pick them up. Just as Alexander was about to take pity on him, he heard approaching footsteps. 

Leaving Mulley to pick up the assortment of vegetables, Alexander turned towards the new arrivals. 

The pair walked into the firelight with their shoulders bumping with every alternate step, their conversation bright with underlying laughter. Alexander watched them walk towards the fire, completely oblivious to their audience. It left a sour taste in his mouth. 

“Took your time,” he said by way of greeting, and to interrupt the sweet, bubbly atmosphere. 

Predictably, both looked shocked to see him standing there. They immediately separated. Petra was the first to recover, sending him an innocent smile. 

“There wasn’t a lot of good wood nearby,” she placed her pack down near the fire. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m fine.” Alexander replied, ignoring the twinge in his side. “I’m not old, stop treating me like an antique.” 

“It’s not about age, Sir,” Mulley piped up, arms full of root vegetables. “That was a hard hit. We all saw it.” 

Alexander cast his glance between the two, then looked at Tide in a last-ditch attempt. His signal for backup was completely missed, as Tide had not taken his eyes off Petra. 

Clicking his tongue, he gave Petra a heartfelt scowl. “Show the kid how to cook properly.” He turned, doing his best not to look like he was giving in. “Tell me when dinner is ready.”

A chorus of ‘Yessir!’s followed him into his tent. 

Like their backpacks and most storage devices, the tents they used were larger on the inside than they appeared. As soon as he entered, his line of sight fell on the bed and bedside table that had been set up for him. His gaze paused on the small framed photo that he kept in his pack which stood alone on the tiny table. 

He huffed out an exasperated laugh and picked it up. His expression softened into a wistful smile - an unconscious response to the smiling woman in the photo. 

This was the only time Riza had managed to wrangle all three kids into a formal photo with their perpetually absent father. 

Her expression was the only thing that was serene in the scene. 

In her arms was a baby reaching for a toy held out of frame. On Alexander’s lap was a toddler in a white shirt and suspenders, with his soft hair perfectly coiffed - in the midst of kicking his older sister in the back. Between the parents stood their seven-year-old daughter in a beautiful white dress. She had her hands primly folded in front of her skirt and wore the long-suffering, stilted smile of an older sibling who was about to turn around and hit her brother.

Alexander recalled the exhaustion from that day. He and Riza had sworn that they wouldn’t attempt the same thing again until the youngest was in his teens. In the end, they managed to get a couple of ‘proper’ photos which now hung in the family home. 

This one, though, had sat on Riza’s bedside. 

Alexander sat on his bed, staring at the picture absently as he recalled what happened a few hours ago. 

The armadillo had come out of nowhere, barrelling towards their party with territorial rage. Even though they had avoided tragedy by staying in the vehicle, Alexander had been taking a nap in the back of the truck and had been tossed from one end to the other, somehow managing to land on an edge that he could swear had been put there just for the occasion. 

Who knows how long it took for the creature to tire of beating up their tin can. Time slowed down when you were in a rattling cage. It was while they were assessing the damage and discussing where to set up camp for the night that the pair of Mercs happened upon them. 

He was somewhat familiar with Mazari, having been put on the same expedition groups in the past. Even so, he had been surprised when the other had suggested that they camp together, as the area was known for having several roaming large predators. 

At some point in their interaction, he began to notice that she had a habit of turning her masked face to the left when listening, and a propensity to tap her thigh with her index finger when in thought. While her voice was magically altered by the mask, the inflictions on the end of her words were almost identical. 

Almost. 

Perhaps he was finally losing it. Desperately looking for any sign that she hadn’t been taken somewhere that he had no chance of reaching. 

Or perhaps it was no coincidence that this masked woman that appeared right when he was about to give up and go home shared the traits of his missing wife.