It was late at night when Serra and Seren finally settled into bed together, the gentle glow of their digital clock read just past eleven.

Seren, recovering from breathlessness, pressed the palms of her hands onto Serra’s back. Her hands knew every scar and every mark. She traced gently downwards, memories of axes and blades, arrows and bullets, chains and the esoteric wounds of magic.

Her hands met the familiar, obscuring shroud of wrapped bandages, fresh wounds she would come to know in time. Her wounds had been the worst, even the healing magic of the ancient forest could not completely soothe them. Seren sighed, quietly, and rested her forehead against Serra’s back, appreciating the comfort of familiar musculature, “you know I love you.”

“Course I do,” Serra reached back, taking a handful of Seren’s hip and squeezing gently, “what’s on your mind?”

Seren took a deep breath, massaging Serra’s back gently.

“…love?”

“You’re gone for four days, you come back with new wounds, again.”

“Well, yeah, but…” Serra’s eyes traced the silhouette of their room in the darkness, “that’s the life, ain’t it?”

“Of course, I just… I don’t know.”

“I’m sorry, but adventurin’…”

“Mhm,” Seren wrapped her arms around Serra, gently rubbing her girlfriend’s sides. She felt Serra’s tail, spikes withdrawn, wrap around her leg, “can’t coop you up, where it’s safe, it’s not fair.”

“Safe ain’t all bad,” Serra rolled over, scooping Seren into a huge embrace, pressing the spirit into her chest, “can’t do this without it.”

Even as well as they knew each other, the faceful brought a distinct blush to Seren’s face, “all those wounds and you’re still not tired?”

“Not even close.”

“Good,” Seren smiled.

-

Autumn woke slowly at their desk, the light of the moss and mushrooms outside filtering through the blinds. Their eyes whirred and refocused gently, processing the change.

“Ah, fuck,” they startled back as realization washed over them; a half dissected engine now sat on their desk, where they had passed out the night before. With a deep breath, they stretched their back out, metal creaking and groaning in a simulation of organic aches. A half-dismantled engine lay on the desk before them, parts and pieces of mind-boggling mechanical complexity strewn haphazardly about.

As they stood, joints clicking and cracking into motion, they stretched their shoulders out and swiped their phone off the desk, stepping out of the room. Joy was passed out on the couch, one leg up on its back, her arm hanging off the front. Autumn grabbed a blanket from the armrest and threw it over her, typing a quick message on their phone:

“I could use a break, breakfast at the Nook?”

With a deep breath, Autumn placed a hand on their hip, their eyes drifting from the phone to their filthy clothes below. With a quick sigh, they sent another message and headed for the bathroom.

-

Morning came soft and sweet, its light muffled by the curtains, birdsong announcing its arrival with annoying joviality. A very tired Serra rubbed her bleary eyes, looking about the darkened room. Familiar shapes stood out in the darkness, a wardrobe against the far wall, a peek of Seren’s desk behind the screen they used to separate it, her swords hanging in pride of place above the bed. The alarm clock glowed gently, reading a quarter to nine.

She stretched a little, her tail sliding out from beneath the blanket, eliciting a tiny shiver. She wrapped her arms around the gently stirring Seren, taking a deep breath.

“Slow morning?”

“Slow morning,” Seren agreed in a sleepy murmur, nestling closer to the demon.

Serra’s phone buzzed gently from the bedside table. She retrieved it with a bit of searching, squinting to avoid being blinded by its light.

“Or, brunch? I need to clean myself up.”

Serra smiled a little, sent a message back and tucked the phone safely beneath the pillow, squeezing Seren tightly.

-

Roxie woke herself with a painful thump, rolling out of bed in a thick, pink, cowhide blanket. From the floor she wriggled free, regretfully hauling herself back onto the bed, wings waving slowly. A bass tone played from somewhere within the bedding’s folds, and she slowly produced her phone, rolling onto her back.

“Brunch, Seren. Roxie?”

Roxie sighed dramatically, resting her phone on her chest. She stared at the ceiling for a while, running her fingers up and down her forearms. White scars like lightning now marked her pitch black skin, her limbs had never felt so heavy, a part of her hoped the others would cancel.

After some time in the silence of the room, she sent back a message.

“Lunch? Pls?”

Roxie rolled onto her stomach, feeling her own weight press against her chest and stomach, breathing deeply.

“We will bring you something.”

-

It was just after ten when they arrived at Roxie’s home, sun rising towards its crest. Roxie’s home was larger than either of theirs, with an attached garage, though her car was far too large to fit inside. The oversized sports car sat now in her driveway; a low, long, boxy car with leather seats and interior wood paneling, a gorgeous classic model that she was very fond of.

The automobile-obsessed fairy staggered out to meet them in baggy pants and a torn t-shirt, tucking a mug of coffee between her elbow and torso. She gratefully seized a breakfast burrito, shoving cash unbidden into Serra’s hands.

“Mmm… perfect,” she mumbled through a mouthful, accepting a one-armed hug from Seren, her miniature wings fluttering in delight, “any luck?”

Autumn turned over a cylindrical device in their hands, a piece of the larger engine that, even now, they continued to poke and prod at with what tools they had brought along.

“High end, deep abyssal alloy, dwarven smithwork, six varieties of magic-” Autumn’s screwdriver lit up, its metal head taking on a sudden, bright orange glow, melting into a pathetic puddle on the ground, “...seven. And very, very unwilling to answer questions.”

“So…” Roxie paused to force down an oversized bite, “dead end?”

“I only need more time,” Autumn assured her, “there has to be something, a serial number, or-”

“Oi!” they were interrupted by a shout from the street.

A familiar face had called to them; Amaryllis, an adventurer and old friend of Serra’s, alongside whom she had battled out of hell itself. A demon like Serra, with bright red skin and yellow eyes, but no tail, and only short, nub-like horns. She was slightly taller, but leaner, clad in black armor befitting a classical samurai and carrying a kanabo iron club, though she chose to forego a helmet, displaying locks of wild hair the color of fresh snow, cut just above the shoulder. Beside her stood a towering wolf, more the size of a horse, thick white fur and a perpetually excited expression.

“Ama!” Serra scooped the demon into a hug, “I couldn’t reach you, you got my message?”

“Course!” Amaryllis smiled as she was lifted off the ground, patting Serra’s shoulder, then turned to Roxie, “bringin’ yer wyrm back.”

“Macchiato!” A small dragon, about the size of a moose, bounded forward to greet Roxie. Rich brown scales, marked by white markings like lightning, and burning orange eyes that examined her with delight. Dwarfed by the wyrm, Roxie stuffed the last of the breakfast burrito into her mouth and gleefully scratched its chin, rolling up her sleeves to reveal the fresh scars beneath, “we match now, see?”

“Melted a big ass hole in that compound wall,” Amaryllis laughed.

“And made a fine meal of the knights within,” a tiny man joined the group, tawny skin and short black hair, clad in loose, obscuring fabrics, a blue as dark as the night sky, bound tight at the ankles and wrists, wrapped at the waist. A short, triangular blade like a needle rested on the back of his waist, painted over a matte black to hide its shine. He wore reflective black sunglasses, from behind which yellow eyes betrayed a nature beyond human, “like shattering a crab’s claw for the meat.”

“It is information we require, not meat,” Autumn fumed, turning the mechanism over and over in their hands.

“C’mon, baby,” Roxie patted the side of Macchiato’s head, and the dragon’s form diminished, shrinking till it was barely larger than a housecat, “let’s figure this out inside.”

“Stay, Tempo,” Amaryllis ordered. The oversized wolf planted himself happily beside the door, panting quietly.

Roxie’s home was plenty large enough for the group, spreading out amongst the open first floor. Autumn paced the floor, while Seren and Serra found seats on one end of the living room couch. Amaryllis took over an armchair nearby and Roxie took Macchiato to the kitchen, preparing some leftovers from the fridge for the little beast. Frosch remained by the door, leaning against its frame.

“So, you two were helping with the Knights?”

“Oh yeah!” Amaryllis laughed, leaving her club against the chair.

“More’n them, we had folks all over,” Serra added.

“Shire disposed of an outpost East of Nixielogue, and the Raven Riders ran down troops coming from their main base in the North,” Autumn explained, “and, I believe, reinforced the two of you afterwards?”

“We hardly needed them, the main compound was all but deserted,” Frosch scoffed, “the handful we faced never suspected their ends.”

“And what of information? We need something to go off.”

“I personally surveyed every inch of that compound, nothing more than an abandoned factory turned training grounds. No tracks, no trace of anyone but the Knights.”

“We should ride out! You could take a look, see what retrocognition can tell us,” Roxie suggested.

“Only another way I can fail,” Autumn shook their head, abandoning the inscrutable engine part on the counter, “unless I know when to look, I can’t find anything.”

“What about Shire? Maybe they turned up something?”

“Shire vanished after the assault, they’re hard to contact at the best of times,” Frosch responded, “and the Riders have never cared for detail.”

“Maybe if…”

Autumn left them to their conversation, joining the group in the living room.

“You see they found more things from your mom?” Seren asked, “it was in the news after you left.”

“Another archeologist called, I ignored them. That is the last thing I need,” Autumn sighed, leaning against the back of the couch, “jumped eight thousand years into the past and left me to handle her work. You think they’d get the idea I don’t care to hear about her.”

“Said before, lemme answer next time, they’ll never call again,” Serra laughed.

“Forget it, we ought to focus on the task at hand,” Autumn straightened up, “we’re not tracking the Knights anymore, whoever may be at the heart of this conspiracy is subtle.”

Autumn moved back to the kitchen, picking the engine piece back up, “they almost enabled the end of the world, and I am certain they will make another attempt.”

“They have to be rich, right? You need a lot of cash for stuff like this,” Roxie chimed in, “doesn’t narrow the list much, but it takes it from anyone to someone.”

“Lemme see,” Serra reached a hand out, gently taking the piece.

The demon turned it over and over in her hands, examining it closely. The piece was exquisitely made, but clearly machine-worked, it lacked the imperfections that came with handmade parts.

“Nothing identifying, I’ve looked it over a hundred times, like I have half the accursed machine,” Autumn sighed, “I’m certain I’ll have found nothing when I finish examining the other half.”

“Then let’s retrace our steps!” Roxie suggested, “we had to drop some less important leads, let’s follow up!”

“But where shall we follow up first?”

“Library?” Serra sat forward, “the Knights hit eight places around the city before heading for Nixielogue.”

“In pursuit of the seven pieces of Reverberance Arch, yes.”

“Yeah, seven pieces, they never got one from the library.”

“Because it was discovered under the bank.”

“Mhm, but what if they knew?”

“They had the same information we did, the coordinates led to the library, nobody could have known it had been moved to beneath the bank.”

“Hang on, we didn’t know,” Roxie interrupted, “Knights blew the bank floor three days later.”

“Blew the bank floor?” Seren asked.

“Yeah, snuck in four pounds of c4, they’re still patching the hole in the vault.”

“Four pounds into a bank? That sort of operation requires planning,” Frosch spoke up, “they must have organized it well in advance. Three days isn’t enough time.”

“So there was something else they wanted,” Autumn scratched their chin, “the means to another Apocalypse Trigger?”

“We’ve wiped out every trace of the Knights, and found nothin’,” Serra pointed out.

“It could just be info we missed, not physical.”

“Regardless, our unseen foe may be in possession of whatever it is,” Autumn shot up, “then our first stop is the library, either we learn what they’ve learned, or uncover what they’ve taken!”

“Best of luck,” Frosch nodded, “we have a contract in Finadala.”

“Oh, Ama, before you go…”

A bass tone chimed from Roxie’s pocket. She quietly slid the phone out, tearing her eyes from the group to check the screen. A message from an unknown number sat there like a foul omen, “Emrys, we need to talk.”

Roxie quickly swiped the notification away, refocusing her attention on the group, “so! The library?”

“Yes!” Autumn, galvanized by the sudden materialization of a lead, headed for the door.