Tazaro looked up and over at Sheeva as he collected himself, then wiped his eyes with his sleeve. He rolled onto his knees and stood, aching and groaning from the effort, finally aware of how drained he was. His feet scuffed along the rubble of bricks as he staggered towards her, and as he ungracefully took a knee, he plopped himself down beside her to weakly pull her into his lap.

  Sheeva didn’t stir after he called to her softly, though he doubted his voice even carried well when he could barely hear it himself. Trying to gather enough wits, he trailed the scanning sigil slowly, hands shaking as he gently tapped her forehead. The usually straight unscrolling of symbols and numbers wavered, then dived as his arm fell to the ground, too exhausted to hold it up.

  She was exhausted, obviously, more so than he was to be in what looked to be a pretty heavy state of sleep, and Tazaro let out a tense breath at the fact. With the amount of effort she poured into her healing spell on his shoulder, he worried she had done more harm to herself.

  Physically, she would be alright; nothing a few days of rest couldn’t help. But mentally?

  Tazaro cringed and winced as he recalled her shrill shriek of panic and agony as he stepped in to block Zakaraia’s strike. His shoulder twinged at him, and he looked; the wound was still bleeding, albeit mildly so. He sighed and trailed another sigil, doing his best to keep his hand in place while the magic worked. As soon as he felt the wound close up, he dropped his arm and dipped his head, trying to quell the blood rush of exertion that pulsed in his temples.

  His body began to tremble as his brain pointed out that, had Zakaraia run him through, or that Sheeva hadn’t healed him as well as she had, he would likely be dead, and as the unsettling rationale weighted his gut, he began to shiver so intensely his back ached. The need for comfort drove him, and he found Sheeva’s hand and held it as tightly as his tired self would allow and clutched her to his chest, placing a thankful kiss on the top of her head.

  He snapped his head up and jerked it to the left as sounds of talons clicking on bricks reached him, and Tazaro worried that Zakaraia had not actually left and that he’d imagined the entire ordeal. As Bartholomew came into his blurry view, Tazaro watched in awe as the ta’hal tapped his chest. The magnificent armor folded itself up and returned to the stone wheel it had appeared as before Bartholomew hooked it to his backside, and it sunk into his blue scales. He waved the sword, and it, too, returned to limestone, and Bartholomew slipped it into his shoulder.

  “How is she?” Bartholomew asked, stooping next to them and spiraling his tail to sit back upon it. He lifted his arm and touched a wound, hissing as it began to bleed again.

  “She’s asleep. Hard, too. Want me to heal that for you?” Tazaro offered. Bartholomew turned his arm over and looked at the other side. Apparently, he’d been run through and hadn’t noticed it.

  “Suppose. If you can.” He agreed. “I’d do it myself, but I’m not able to yet.”

  Tazaro gave a small “hm,” because he couldn’t think of anything else to really say, still reeling from everything that had happened. He focused and reached out to heal the wound, resting his hand on the smooth scales, surprised to find there were small spots of fur peeking out from between them. He lifted his hand to look at it as warm, black blood covered it, then caught himself testing the stuff between his fingers.

  He wasn’t sure what he’d expected; they hadn’t mused on the state of a ta’hal’s blood before, but it was incredibly similar to theirs–viscous, slick, and reeking of metal. He wiped his hand clean on his pant leg.

  As outcries of abject horror and astonishment reached his ears, Tazaro turned to look. Patrons were crowded around the statue of their beloved leader, some with mouths agape and others with tears of fury on their cheeks. He felt his face heat in shame once more and sharply looked back, gut tying itself in knots. He couldn’t even look at Sheeva since, once she came to, she would also be mourning the loss of the man she considered her father.

  Somehow, he felt responsible.

  He flinched and stilled, squeezing his eyes shut as footsteps approached him.

  “What-what happened?” Cassie asked, voice taut and with pain.

  Tazaro glanced over his shoulder. Hasch and Cassie stood there, Hasch with his arms crossed and a pained, furious expression on his face. It further drove Tazaro’s disappointment and shame, and it strangled his guts.

  “He, uh…” Tazaro began, wondering how to even say it. It seemed hard enough to believe, though he’d witnessed it with his own eyes. He dropped his gaze to his hand that held Sheeva’s tenderly in it and fidgeted with her hand in nerves.

  “Fucking tell us!” Hasch demanded in a bellow, causing Tazaro to flinch once more. By the saddened quaver in his voice, Tazaro was sure the broken man was holding back a breakdown with everything he had.

  He took a deep breath and swallowed past the knot in his throat, refusing to look at the two.

  “Aglis forced Zakaraia out and reformed the veil. He...turned to stone.” Tazaro stated, unable to decide another way to say it. Blunt and straightforward would have to do. “I, I’m sorry.” He admitted, wondering if he should verbally claim responsibility for the circumstance.

  “And, Sheeva? Is she…”

  Tazaro’s eyes widened, realizing how grave they’d anticipated the situation to be, and finally turned to look at them.

  “She-she’s ok. Sheeva’s out, but she’ll be ok.”

  Hasch let out a huff to mask a chuckle, and a thankful smile broke on his face. Tazaro watched as they both visibly relaxed. Cassie took a knee and reached out to set a comforting hand on Tazaro’s shoulder.

  “I’m glad you both are alright, and Bartholomew, too.” She offered them both a smile.

  “Is that who that is?” Hasch asked, staring at Bartholomew and pointing at the hunkered down being. Tazaro nodded and shifted to his knees, attempting to pick up Sheeva, but as he made to stand, his legs gave out, and he buckled to the ground with a pained grunt.

  Hasch uncrossed his arms and knelt down to assist, helping to position Sheeva comfortably, trying to be mindful of the feathered wings. Cassie wrapped Tazaro’s arm around her shoulders and helped him to his feet, nodding in response to his tired, mumbled, “Thank you.”

  Tazaro kept his head down as they passed the crowd of people weeping and whispering among themselves around the statue, and Bartholomew held the towering red double doors open for them as they passed through, then shut them as quietly as possible to avoid drawing attention.

  The academic foyer was untouched, unharmed, and as he saw the rest of the hallways were free of damage as well, Tazaro felt the relieved smile on his face, taking pride in their hard-fought efforts to protect the place he now called home. Even the stone-path courtyard with their favorite wisteria tree, marble bench, ornate furnishings of the support beams, paper windows, and the steps to the Master’s Quarters that hid their secret passageway to the training grounds greeted him in gratitude, the vibrant colors pleasing to his eyes.

  However, as Cassie and Hasch attempted to veer him away and out of sight of Altea’s statue, Tazaro noticed something disturbingly different about it and stopped.

  “Wait. Wait, something’s not–

  His words stuck in his throat as he gasped in dread.

  The once beautiful alabaster statue was now sullied, blemished. Altea’s right shoulder showed evidence of charred stone by flames. A shimmering ebony Lichtenberg pattern traveled down her exposed arm from a lightning strike. Her sandaled feet appeared weathered by exposure to harsh winter’s bite. Half of her head lay on the ground in pieces with what seemed to be a perfect crack, and as Tazaro took a closer look, he noted the scrapings of bark and residue of tree sap–no doubt from a flying branch thrown by the tornado they’d witnessed that could have sucked them all up with it.

  He began to shiver with the realization that the statues were directly correlated to the veil, and he felt his face drain with the conclusion that the statue was Altea, in much the same manner that the statue guarding the plaza was Aglis.

  It was a sobering epiphany, and he closed his mouth, unwilling to share the revelation.

  “Come on.” Cassie urged, pulling him gently in the direction of the hospital wing. He let her guide him the rest of the way, buried in morose thoughts, remorse, and overwhelming guilt.

  As they stepped into the small waiting room, Dr. Marx had apparently been busy gathering things that he thought he might need. Tazaro scanned the objects on the rolling cart he kept handy and felt a spot of appreciation for the man’s call to action in his own way.

  “Here. Sit.” Cassie murmured, pulling up a chair beside the bed that Hasch lay Sheeva down in.

  “You guys really don’t have to–

  –shut up.” Hasch cut him off, fluffing a pillow beneath Sheeva’s torso and head. He seemed grateful and flashed an apologetic look towards the medic as he intervened and began to work his ways, forming the scanning sigil far quicker than either of them could and unscrolling the strange strand of information for him to read. Ivan’s worried, terse face relaxed as he let out a relieved sigh and waved his hand to dismiss it.

  “How are you, Tazaro?” Ivan asked him, the salt-grey hairs of his fading black hair shimmering from the orb of light hovering overhead. Tazaro fixed his gaze on the light, no longer worried about the tire of his body or the ache in his bones. He was far away, swimming through the thick slurry of pitiful ponderings, stark realizations, somber epiphanies, and frightening what-ifs, and as he dropped his gaze to the floor, he leaned forward to prop on his elbows and gave a heavy sigh.

  He barely understood Ivan waving away the other two and the squeak of the wheels on a chair as Ivan rolled it closer to him and sat down on it, backward, as he tended to favor.

  Uncharacteristically, Tazaro swatted away Ivan’s hand as he attempted to get a read on him, surprising both the experienced medic and himself, and, rather than apologizing immediately, acted even more out-of-place as he grumbled a “leave me alone.”

  “I need to make sure you’re at least not injured; you’ve got blood on your shirt. Don’t make me paralyze you.” The man threatened. Tazaro blinked, mildly brought to reality. Unlike Vincent, Ivan would carry through with his threat.

  He gave a slight nod and sat back, laying his head on the chair as he stared at the ceiling, unwilling to read the signs flowing out of his forehead.

  “You got hit pretty hard on your shoulder there. Little too close to your neck for comfort, and pretty deep, too.” Ivan muttered, dispelling the scan and reaching for a pair of scissors to cut away Tazaro’s shirt. Tazaro shivered, more from the confirmation that the strike could have been the end of him and not the cold, metal scissors that brushed along his chest. He winced as Ivan gently separated the spot of fabric that had stuck to the coagulating wound, voicing his discomfort with an “ugh” of distaste.

  “I can numb you. Do you need that?”

  “No, it just feels weird. Like peeling skin from a sunburn.” He protested, lip curling in memory of a particularly harsh summer when he and his friends had gone swimming in Ponche’s Lake in what had to be hundred-degree weather. They were already as red as boiled crustaceans by the time they realized how badly they’d screwed up and were forced to walk home clad in only their swimming trunks.

  “That’s natural. This looks like it was done in a hurry.” Ivan commented. Whether for babble’s sake while working or a sly prod for information, Tazaro wasn’t sure, but he felt his scowl of disappointment grow as Sheeva’s outcry of agony rang in his ears. He stood at Ivan’s behest, moved onto the other bed, and lay back when Ivan bid him to.

  Ivan set to cleaning the wound, brushing off Tazaro’s hiss and groan from the foam of antiseptic.

  “Brace yourself,” Ivan ordered, and Tazaro stuffed the nearest thing in his mouth: the tattered remains of his shirt that he still somehow clasped in his white-knuckled grip.

  His eyes widened, and his skin flared, and he sucked in a short breath before biting back a scream as Ivan set to healing the deeper part of the wound. An intense burn ripped through his shoulder, and he wrenched his eyes shut as the searing pain shot down his back.

  Tazaro’s arm fell useless as Ivan severed the panic-driven and crude attempt at a reconstruction of muscles and tendons, determined to finish the job as he worked to reconnect the now cleanly severed things, pausing to cast a quickening spell for rapid-bone regrowth as he noticed a decent nick on the poor man’s collarbone.

  “It’s not like Sheeva to botch something this badly. She must have been, uh...” Ivan trailed off, unsure of how to place Sheeva’s state of mind at the time since “panicked” did not seem like her at all.

  If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement.

  Tazaro chose not to say anything at all, instead grunting through his pain with a rude “vilg sa!” when he felt the pull, twinge, and stretch of one of his muscles as Ivan fused it to the tendon of his bone. His head lolled back onto the pillow, vision blurred by tears and eyes stinging from the sweat he’d broken into.

  Tazaro barely noticed Ivan’s free hand touch his temple with another spell that put him to sleep.

  ***

  Tazaro woke with a start, fighting to place his whereabouts for a few dull moments. He sat up and rubbed at his eyes, then raised his arms and arched his back in a much-needed stretch. He must have slept heavily, and his torso and arms shook with his efforts.

  As an unfamiliar fabric bunched around his shoulder, he turned to look; where the wound had been lay strips of medical tape. Peeling them back, his eyes widened, and brows raised at the sight of a gnarly, purple bruise and a fresh, healing, pink scar that wrapped around and disappeared at his backside. Disturbed, he winced at himself and gently stuck the tape back down in place, then looked to Sheeva’s bed.

  She was not there. The bed was neatly made, pillow fluffed, and ready for the bed’s next unfortunate occupant.

  On his bedside table, a folded piece of paper caught his eye, and his stomach dropped in nerves. With a trembling hand, he reached out for it, trying to assure himself that it was simply a note that she would be right back, having gone to get food or bathe or some such thing, and not that she’d...left, for any of the dozen reasons now rapidly firing through his head.

  His chest dropped quickly with his sharp, relieved huff as the note told him to meet her in the plaza and that she desired to talk to him.

  Eagerly and with a warmed feeling in his face, he pulled himself out from underneath the covers and swung his feet over the edge of the bed, but as he remembered what now stood in the plaza, his feet felt colder than the floor he’d set them on. He felt pale, and he stared in guilt at his boots.

  Better to face our demons, hm? He thought, willing himself out of bed to change from the baggy sweats and shirt Ivan must have slipped him into in his deep sleep. His muscles fought him through every motion, and he pushed through as well as he could to massage what he could reach. Annoyed with the gauze pad rubbing against his healed wound with the simple movements, Tazaro tore the blasted thing from his shoulder and chucked it in the trash on his way out the door. He didn’t bother taking Tyrj with him and left his weapon hanging on the chair’s back by his table.

  He shuffled his cold, numb hands into his pockets and fixed his gaze to the ground as he walked, not willing to see the defacement of Altea’s statue. He wondered how Sheeva had reacted, imagining her further heartbroken at the sight of it, and although she had been unconscious for the whole ordeal, she would have likely pieced together the events leading to Aglis’s petrified state. A bizarrely calming thought rose in the back of his mind that Aglis could foresee the future and knew of the events to pass long before any of them could anticipate them.

  Further comforting thought made a tiny curl of his lips form and lift his eyes as Tazaro felt that Altea and Aglis were reunited after decades of untimely death had separated the two.

  The eventide glow and the fading palette of dusk greeted him, splayed in the sky like a painting, but as he surveyed the damage done to the mighty walls and decorated plaza, it did little to pacify the rage and sadness welling within at each new unsightly discovery. One of the patterned mosaics had been ripped from its foundation in their efforts at shielding themselves from the dozens of icicle spears hurtling toward them at top speed. The watchtower guarding the entryway’s left side lay in shambles, entirely demolished by the magical onslaught, the red-brick roof leaning slack in the corner beneath it. Recalling how a tree had pierced their tower, he lifted his eyes in worry to see if their sacred place had been demolished, like blowing up an unwanted building.

  Indeed, much like an arrow, the tree’s apex jutted out from the middle of the spiral-fractured layout of stone, no doubt blocking the way of its winding stairs at some point, but the tower itself still stood, and it gave him a speck of peace.

  With a foolishly hopeful look, he dropped his gaze from their tower to search for Sheeva, locating her standing in front of Aglis’s statue with her back to it and hands clasped tightly behind her. It wasn’t a stance she often used, reserved for moments when she needed to “logic out” cold, calculating fury.

  Bartholomew stood off to the side, arms crossed and tail swishing from side to side, and Tazaro briefly wondered if it was something the ta’hal did when uncomfortable since as soon as he willed his feet to move him, the air became close and thick with airlessness. Noticing Tazaro walking by, the ta’hal moved away and flew up to the drake’s head overlooking the valley. Shame the red-slat, scaly visage hadn’t come to life as Tazaro once thought it could; perhaps the temple would have been left in less disarray.

  He cleared his throat as he approached Sheeva, trying to avoid glancing at Aglis as he passed. She didn’t turn to face him and only acknowledged his presence with an icy “that’s close enough” that made Tazaro stop, taken aback. She seemed pissed at him, and as his mouth hung open, he felt the chill run down his spine. The hairs on his arms stood on end, and confusion hit him as he realized he’d pulled his hands from his pockets to hold them at his side, ready to block a sudden strike.

  Guiltily, he looked at his hands, turning them over, then crossed his arms, determined to tell himself there was no need for his worry. He shivered and rested his fingers in the crease of his inner elbow to occupy the nervous need for fidget.

  “Sheeva, I…” He began, then closed his mouth. Here he was, ready and willing to apologize, but for what, he wasn’t sure. His courage left him, and he frowned at something in the distance as he thought that perhaps she was furious with him for intervening when he did. The frown furthered into a scowl, and he scoffed at the indignance.

  “If you want me to apologize for stepping in to save your life, I’m not going to.” He growled defiantly, finally lifting his gaze to direct his scowl towards her. She gave a haughty scoff, shook her head, and turned to face him, the whites of her eyes bloodshot and lashes wet with tears.

  “You shouldn’t have done that. You could have been killed!” She argued. The pain in her voice was undeniable, but something about her telling him he shouldn’t have done what could only be considered natural fueled the angry fire in his belly.

  “No? I shouldn’t have?” He asked, feeling his throat constrict with frustration. “Too bad–I’d fucking do it again.” He defied.

  “You said you wouldn’t. You promised.” She countered in a bare, pleading whisper.

  His lips curled, and his eyes narrowed at her.

  “I never agreed to anything.” He corrected.

  “Yes, you–

  –I told you I wouldn’t promise that. That’s insane; it’s selfish!”

  “Insane? Selfish?” She barked, stepping forward, threatening to get into his face. He didn’t budge and hardened his glare.

  “It’s not selfish! How is that selfish? I can’t believe you!” She scolded, and he finally moved, jerking his head back as she shoved a pointer finger in his face. “What if you had died?”

  He uncrossed his arms and stood tall, leering down at her, simultaneously amazed that she refused to see how her asking him to stand by and let her be murdered in front of him was selfish and just as infuriated at the nefarious “what-ifs.”

  “But I didn’t. I’m here, and I’m alive, and you need to stop being selfish and focusing on those ridiculous what-ifs!” He retorted, brushing her finger aside with an arm, not appreciating the digit in his face.

  Tazaro stumbled back, then gaped at her in shock as she raised her hands to his chest and shoved him, not expecting such a thing. He didn’t imagine her doing it again, but the rough thrust of her palms against his pectorals that made him grunt out an “oof” proved that she was really stooping to such a level. He righted himself, attempting to calm himself.

  “Stop that, Sheeva! You’re being childish! We don’t need to–let’s not fight like this.” He pointed out, raising his hands to signal surrender.

  “Childish? It’s your fault!” She snapped, rushing for him and pushing him back again. Stunned by the accusation, her shove sent him stumbling further back than the first one did, and he blinked away his visible confusion, another offended scoff tearing from his throat.

  “My fault? How the hell is it my–

  –Yes, your fault!” She accused again, and he managed to take a few steps back as she advanced on him again.

  “If I, I’m childish and selfish, then it’s because of you trying to play hero and damn near getting yourself killed! Your wasted death would have meant nothing to him, and you're a damn idiot for trying!” She screamed, striking his cheek with her palm with such force it sent him staggering to the right a few steps. He brought his cold hand to his already warming, stinging cheek and stared at her with a stupefied gape as he registered what she’d just done. His eyes widened in further astonishment at the second open hand aimed for his face, and he whipped out his hand to grab her wrist before her palm could connect with his face.

  “Sheeva, stop!” He commanded, emotional pain tightening his throat. “You don’t–He stopped and swallowed the lump in his throat. “You don’t mean that.” He begged softly, reaching for her cheek to stroke it tenderly.

  Instead of leaning into it, she shook her head away from his hand and scowled at him.

  “No, Tazaro! You’re a damn idiot, and you had no right to risk your life like that!” She repeated, pushing him away and then closing the distance to drive her palm into his gut. He blocked her strike and retaliated, wholly lost and driven by anger at the mere mention of his assumed stupidity. As his punch met her sternum, she powered through and delivered a fist into his mouth that split his lip.

  As he felt the warm, metallic-tasting stuff seep into his mouth, he succumbed to the mass of wrath in his chest.

  Sheeva wanted a fight?

  Fine.

  She’d get one.

  Blind by rage, Tazaro rushed for her, securing a punch that would have collided with the soft cheek he’d just been attempting to caress. She blocked it with her forearm and tried to backhand him with her fist. He stopped it from hitting his cheek and swung with a right hook; Sheeva ducked it, rolled behind him, and swept him off his feet with a mighty bash of her leg against his ankles.

  He landed on his back, and as she brought her heel down to drive it into his stomach, he caught the leather-studded boot and twisted it sharply. Sheeva managed to turn with him to avoid a complete twist of her ankle, but when he heard her sharp cry, he pushed her away and flipped onto his feet as she clambered to the ground clumsily.

  "You're being selfish and ridiculous, and that's fin–He stopped and barked out a surprised yelp as roots sprung up from the ground to snatch at his feet. He jumped in the nick of time as they clasped around air, then looked up as Sheeva charged for him again with a yell and a readied punch.

  "The hell I am!" She argued, trying again to strike him.

  Few strikes actually landed as the fight grew more and more vehement, buffered by passive shields and well-timed leaps, ducks, and checks.

  When Tazaro made to grapple her from behind, Sheeva broke out of his hold and rolled forward, aiming to kick him in the chin as her foot flew past his face, but he jerked his head back and grabbed her leg. With a mighty heave, he threw her across the way. She tumbled as she broke her fall, then stood to face him.

  “Are you done trying to–

  –shut up!"

  He stopped as she rushed forward, elbowed him in the chest, and as he doubled over, drove her palm upward into his chin to throw his head back. Tazaro staggered backward, and as he opened his eyes, he barely witnessed her reach into her side-pouch before throwing a black cloud of funguar spores in his face. He cried out and squeezed his eyes shut before the sticky, black spores met his eyeballs, then wiped at his eyes with his hands to clear them of the stuff. It didn’t work well enough, caking and obstructing his view, only able to see perhaps a foot or two in front of himself. His eyes burned when he opened them, and as he felt streaks down his cheeks, he hoped his eyes would quickly clear of the gunk she'd thrown in his face.

  He couldn’t believe the dirty trick she’d pulled, and Tazaro did his best to search for the blur of Sheeva through bare squints as she flashed by with repeated strikes each time she passed him. He took to shielding his head with his forearms as he hunkered down to protect himself.

  So, she fights like this when she doesn’t get her way? Fine, Tazaro thought. He’d just have to be the better fighter.

  Tazaro listened hard as Sheeva appeared to have stopped moving as he no longer heard the clicks of her boots on the bricks. Still, he could hear her heavy breathing, a slight, pained wheeze hidden within. Forming a pool of energy in his hands that made the air around him extremely cold, he took a deep breath in through his nose and slowly exhaled through his mouth. His eyes remained closed as he opened his hands to cast an explosive net of sensors that warmed the air around him. As specks of light spread forth in darkness and began to take shape, Tazaro found himself able to "see," though roughly.

  The particular tactic wasn’t something he had time to toy around with lately since he had only thought of it a few nights ago, but as he expanded the field with a push of his hands, he could see a dim, green outline of Sheeva’s body, with a shimmering pulse-wave of energy from her heartbeat, pumping fast with adrenaline.

  As the outline neared him, he waited, surprised to find that he could see her mouth moving as she spoke.

  "What was that?"

  "You blinded me, so I had to figure out how to see you somehow. Not bad for an 'idiot,' huh?" He snapped. "Dirty-fighting, selfish–

  He stopped and jerked his head back, then successfully managed to slap a punch aside. As he felt her wrist in his palm, he snatched it in his hand, held it up over his head with his left, and jabbed her chest with his right elbow. She grunted from the impact, and he shuffled his right hand beneath her armpit, lifted up, and twisted. Her sharp cry of pain reached his ears, and he immediately let go, pushing her away from himself, hoping she was done attacking him.

  He watched as a dense cloud of green formed in the outline of her hand, then traveled to her shoulder as she apparently cast a healing spell on her twisted shoulder, then shook out the residual ache. Tazaro tried again to wipe away the gunk shrouding his eyes. The attempt was just as ineffective as the first, forcing him to settle again and cast his sensory net, lighting Sheeva up in even more detail as she appeared to his left in her lime-green hue.

  He sidestepped and blocked a punch towards his jaw to expose her chest, and he struck with a flurry of blows, determined to make her stop her relentless assault. Finishing his combo with a well-aimed punch to her gut, the green-silhouette amid darkness fell backward, and as she caught herself on something appearing blue, he realized she’d used the statue to steady herself.

  He used the moment to try to clear his face of the thick, gunky spores blinding him, and as he resorted to scratching the stuff away from his caked eyelids, Tazaro had a little success when he found he could see well enough upon opening his eyes.

  She pushed herself off of Aglis’s statue and charged for him once again. Hoping to finally make her stop, he caught her fist in one hand while she caught his fist in hers, and they found themselves on equal footing as they pushed against each other.

  “For fuck’s sake, you two, you’re both being idiots!” Hasch barked, jumping into the fray with a heavy-handed smack. Tazaro barely witnessed Bartholomew swoop down and knock Sheeva upside the head with the side of his tail-blade before Hasch bounded for him and delivered a punch to his gut and then his temple, registering himself slump to the ground, fall broken by a quick grasp of his collar.