“Anyone with a proper brain ought to know the last speech of Fridewald III was nothing but the man’s attempt at petty revenge. What better way to thumb his nose at his otherwise victorious enemies than to tempt them into losing their lives chasing a fantasy? Sad to say it worked about as well as a Scepter-cast mind control formula. That’s the problem with skillful orators: they can convince the common man to do or believe just about anything with enough conviction and a bit of good ol’ fashioned drama in their voice.”

-Jem Redd, of the Ten Blades Mercenary Corp.

Nemira gripped the edges of the sink with shaking fingers, staring at her reflection in the mirror and completely unable to perceive it.

You have left a lot of work undone.

She could perceive him, however. He stood behind her, in his plain but stately garments and his hands clasped behind his back. His face, as always, a great burning hole in her memory. Not that it mattered. If his goal had been for her to forget him, he had failed miserably.

Do you hear me, child? Your purpose is greater than this.

Nemira's insides constricted into themselves. A hideous fire ignited up her throat. Every nerve in her body convulsed in warning. That burning void of a face leaned forward, until he was over her shoulder and too close to her ear. Digging too deep into her brain.

ANIMA REX AWAITS YOU.

She pushed away from the sink, stumbled into the restroom stall behind her, and retched violently into the toilet. It was mostly acid at that point. With streaming eyes and drool dripping from her bottom lip, she watched vacantly as the thin contents of her stomach splashed into the bowl and evaporated at the command of whatever arithmantic formula dealt with waste. Water poured in from the edges, then vanished down the plumbing. The swirling liquid roared between her ears. It felt like she stood there for a frighteningly long time.

Eventually, reluctantly, she staggered out of the stall and back to the sink. Limbs on autopilot, her mind a blank and terrible expanse, she splashed water on her face, rinsed out her mouth, and re-tied her headwrap. She looked at herself in the mirror again. It was just her reflection this time, as it always had been. Her eyes were red-rimmed and wide open, her mouth pressed into a tight and trembling line. She reached up and pinched a freckled cheek until it hurt. The sting cleared her head just enough for her to release a breath she did not know she had been holding.

"My name is Nemira Bizen-Rava vah Sahas," she reminded her mirror image. "And there is no point in listening to a dead man's nonsense."

Her words rang hollow. This too was always how it went. She wrenched the faucet back on and splashed more cold water over her throbbing eyes.

Once she was as presentable as she could make herself, she grabbed her torch — the pneuma in its lantern now reduced to a few sputtering licks of icy blue flame — and attempted to march out of the women's restroom with a façade of vigor to her steps. She didn't even fully pass the threshold when she almost ran face-first into Lena.

"Whoa, where's the fire?" She took a wide step back just before they collided, holding a mug out of the way.  

"Beg p—" Much to Nemira's mortification, her words came out in a guttural tangle.  She cleared her throat and tried again. "I beg your pardon, Detective. With my tasks here concluded I wish to make all haste to Ewald Vale. I'd rather not have to find this man after sundown."

"I'll only take a moment of your time." She sounded so strange without the angry bite to her voice. "Here, have some."

Nemira blinked at Lena, then at the mug of water she held out to her. “Did Detective Maybard send you after me to apologize?”

“He did,” Lena confirmed brusquely. “And since I meant most of the words I said, an apology to you would be meaningless. Take it.”

She proffered the cup to Nemira again. It was water. It was just water. Nothing would happen to her if she drank it.

Take this and drink, child.

It took every ounce of her willpower to clamp down on the sickening shiver that gripped her innards once again and politely shake her head. "I...appreciate it, but I cannot drink that. My condition can be delicate at times."

Lena narrowed her eyes. They were a murky hazel, set under rather thin auburn eyebrows. "I didn't spit in it if that's what you're worried about. I'd have only done that to your knight friend."

"It'd be a wasted effort, as he cares very little about what he puts in his mouth for sustenance so long as it isn't actively toxic."

Lena shrugged and took a sip of it herself. "You still look like shit, Master Nemira. There had to have been an easier way to free those aetherians"

“Easier for me, not for the aetherians. With so many of them trapped inside the corpses, performing the extraction a little at a time would have agitated the ones left behind and increased the odds of aberrant transformation. The side effects I experience after releasing them all at once are far easier to deal with.” She swayed unsteadily where she stood. “The stars they formed were lovely, weren’t they?”

Lena pursed her lips. "Sure thing. Maybe sit down for a spell if you’re still this out of it."

“Where is this sudden concern coming from?” Nemira’s laugh wobbled strangely on its axis, but she was too tired to correct it. Again, she found herself clutching her torch with both hands to steady herself. “I am an agent of the Council that encroaches upon the territory of the Supernatural Public Guard, remember? The less you involve yourself with my doings, the faster I get out of your hair.”

“You getting out of my hair faster isn’t the issue and you know it,” said Lena, frowning. “You can’t tell me the Council is forcing you to apprehend Black all by yourself. Are you at least taking the Beast Champion along as a meatshield?”

“He has only recently recovered from his own poor experience in the Vale,” Nemira told her. If she had been in better condition she probably would have lied outright. “I’m not going to throw him back in so soon.” 

Lena regarded her with a deeply furrowed brow. “And none of our guys are good enough to tag along with you?"

"That depends," said Nemira. As much as she hated to admit it, focusing on the conversation helped regain some of her concentration back. "Do you have any Scepter-certified arithmancers available?"

The frown on Lena's face deepened to impressive degrees. "It's been years since a Scepter lowered themselves to guardsman duty."

"How about a forecaster officer that specializes in instantaneous short-range premonitions?"

"You'd have better luck waiting for a Scepter to join our team than for Vittora to let any of their good forecasters out of their clocktower."

"Then I suppose a thaumaturge guardsman proficient in something along the lines of Glorious Leaping Frog style will suffice, if they're willing to join me."

"Now you're just fucking with me," said Lena, scowling.

By contrast, Nemira's mouth curved up into a little smile of surprisingly genuine humor. The man in the mirror felt like a nightmare she had experienced a long time ago, nothing more than foggy bits and pieces of a horror that had never happened. That was enough for her, for now. "Not at all, Detective. I've lived among thaumaturges most of my life. That style doesn't even crack the bottom of the list of curious arcane fist names."

"You're being obnoxiously blasé about this," Lena replied, her tone dry and unamused.

"Forgive me," said Nemira, endeavoring to sound as contrite as possible. "All I'm trying to say is that if I cannot get anyone who knows prohibitively complex protective formulae or possesses a rare arcane tool like Sir Sai-em's sword that can resist infestation, then I need someone who's very good at dodging. Failing that, I simply go alone. It is the least dangerous option by far."

"And what about you," the detective retorted. "Is flying on your staff going to be enough to get around whatever cursed art he's got in that ring that lets him stuff aetherians into mortals like we're trash bags?"

So the detective really didn't know a thing about summoners. The realization saddened her a touch. For the first time in a while, she truly missed her time in Yet-daka, capital territory of Rhuz. They taught children in primary school what she was about to tell Lena. "My good detective, I needn't worry about his ring even if I had to face him while tied to a chair. The birth of a summoner is the best case scenario after experiencing the awful, agonizing event of aetheric infestation. We're completely inured to the danger. He'll have to employ another tactic if he wants to kill me."

Lena didn't say anything to that. She didn't need to. The look on her face was response enough. 

Nemira gave a slight, knowing laugh and straightened her back. Much of the buzzing nothingness that had invaded her mind had finally dissipated. It was time for her to continue her work. "Now, if you have a spare moment, would you be willing to escort me up to the roof?"