Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Kaela is busy.

Sunlight’s precious as the cold approaches. She does most of her heat treatment when it’s warmest outside, both to keep her hearths at proper temperature and save fuel; when the day winds down, she splits her attention among the orders that don’t need too much fire– swaging, hammering, and imbuing with magic.

That magic has been the forge’s specialty for as long as it’s kept records. Her father knew how to make lessons stick, and the simple fire magic she’s been taught allows her to at least manipulate the heat in her hearth. That and the durability spell etched onto her hammer help with any last-minute adjustments, even as the temperature drops and the sky turns orange.

Dusk feels like it’s arriving sooner and sooner. It doesn’t just feel like the seasons are changing– it’s her, too. Her back aches, and it’s not the soreness of a day full of hammer-strikes, it’s the fuller creaking of aged, battered metal. Her arms tremble a little more every time she notices. Her hair, once praised by suitors for being the color of dandelions and gold and sunshine and whatever other yellow things they could come up with while strutting around, has been fading into streaks of pale white.

Not a single one of those suitors had been looking at her– they’d been looking at the forge, at the large and opulent house behind it, and the stability of its business. To them she’d have been a gilded circlet to wear– fragile, flashy, a symbol of the business they would then own– renowned, sure, but far from the Kingdom’s capital and thus less lucrative: something they would surely view as a flaw to rectify. 

Thus, to her, they were customers.

She is glad they’ve stopped coming. Still, the emptiness of that queue is a reminder of how long she’s been doing this, and a question of how long the forge will keep going. 

She sighs as she sets weather-proofed cloth sheets over the open gaps in her forge’s walls, tying them down with strong, imbued knots. 

Heirs were out of the question at this point. She should schedule a day off to go down to that artist’s shop– Iofifteen, was it? She’d see about commissioning some flyers for an apprenticeship. Hopefully she wouldn’t get too many takers– crowding a hot forge would be kind of unbearable– but she knew of a few capable regulars around town who’d shown interest.

She wipes her forehead with a calloused hand, then casts a simple lantern spell on the head of her hammer and holds it out like a torch in the dimming light, inspecting everything to make sure it is secure.

As the first stars appear in the sky, a single step sounds on the cobblestones.

“Good evening,” a voice says. 

Kaela turns around in surprise. The woman is tall, nearly as tall as Kaela herself, cloaked richly in blue and gold threads draped over her shoulders. Sapphire eyes glint coolly from beneath a cowl. Her low accent doesn’t sound like she’s from the capital, though Kaela’s only ever heard it from passing nobles.

“Sorry, I just finished closing,” she says, hand on the entrance gate’s lock. “You can come back tomorrow.”

“If I come back tomorrow, it will be at sunset again,” the woman replies matter-of-factly. “Won’t you hear my request? It’s not urgent.”

After a moment, Kaela shrugs, pointing her lit hammer at the empty forge. “Okay. Come in.”

She touches the hammer to one of the smaller braziers so she can see more clearly as they enter. The woman pulls the cowl down and Kaela's taken aback– the lines of her face are razor-sharp, almost statuesque; foreign and beautiful, but honed by age in a way part of Kaela relates to, and appreciates. Her dress, black and white with a sky blue ribbon in front, is just as unfamiliar– though it looks like it costs more than the whole forge.

The woman quirks up an eyebrow. Kaela realizes she’s staring a little too hard, and clears her throat, averting her gaze.

“What’s your request?”

She reaches into her cloak and pulls out a golden pocketwatch wrapped in cloth, its face cracked, fizzing with sparks.

“Ah,” Kaela begins, “there is a watchmaker’s shop two streets across from here. You should ask for–”

“It’s magic,” she’s cut off as the watch is held up to the light. It ticks, but irregularly, sparks fizzing from the seams. “I’ve heard that you’re the one to consult about magic items.”

“I…” 

Kaela takes the offered instrument carefully. The sparks don’t bother her as she turns it over. The dents and fractures in the metal– surely it can’t be all gold, perhaps some sort of alloy– make it easy to pry off the back cover, exposing an array of busted clockwork that she can’t even begin to figure out right now.

“... I don’t know if I can do this,” she admits. 

“No? Not up for the challenge?”

There’s a slight, knowing smirk on the woman’s face that irritates Kaela.

“I’m warning you now, this is outside my area of expertise. If I break it any more…”

“It’s already broken,” the woman shrugs. “But if you don’t think you can repair it, I’ll take my business elsewhere.”

Was she taunting on purpose? Her tone is just nonchalant enough to bite under Kaela’s skin.

“...It will take a few days.” Her face feels hot. She’s oddly embarrassed, as if she’d fallen for some bait. “And I will have to charge it as a special order.” She gestures to the prices listed on a wooden sign. “Is that okay?”

Another eyebrow raise. “You’re asking me if I can afford it?”

Ah, of course. She expects me to know who she is. Kaela nearly feels disappointed. She’s seen enough of these spoiled types, throwing around enough money to try and obscure any glaring character flaws. She knows how to deal with their pride.

“Yes. I am.” She holds her ground, making her face as blank as possible. “Why? Are you a noble or something?”

“... Haha… Hahahaha!”

Her expression melts as she laughs. It’s surprisingly loud coming from her and now a small, petty part of Kaela is jealous– her own laugh, practically silent, had earned her a lot of ribbing in her younger years. A laugh like that, turning this stranger from a regal noble into someone approachable– she hated how much she liked it. 

She remains stoic as the laughter subsides.

Finally, the woman swipes at her face with a finger. “Oh, that’s good. I like that,” she nods. “So, will you fix it? You can take your time figuring it out.” She smiles again at her own statement.

That... definitely wasn't the response she was expecting from a noble. While pondering what to say next, Kaela turns the watch over again. Sighing, she wraps it up in the cloth and places it in a hollow beneath one of her countertops.

“I accept.”

“Thank you.” The woman nods once more, stepping back, pushing the entrance gate open behind her. “See you around, then, Miss Kovalskia.” Pulling her hood back on, she rounds the forge wall, behind the sheets that were tied over it earlier.

“Wait! What’s your name–”

Kaela steps out into an empty street. She doesn’t even hear any footsteps.

She looks around for a moment, then sighs and turns towards home.

“If you’re not there to pick it up when I'm done, it'll be your problem,” she mutters quietly into the air.

Chapter Text

It’s another busy day.

The temperature has dropped again. Everything’s askew– the forge needs to be stoked just a little more, the metal needs to be heated for just a moment longer. It only adds to the ache in her joints, but neither business nor the weather will wait, and her window for optimal heat treatment is getting smaller.

There’s a special order for some pickaxes from the Mining Commission. North Section Chief Bijou comes down personally in the afternoon to write it up. The Commission often goes into the nearby mountains in order to extract precious ores, so Bijou is often stationed nearby, leading to an unlikely friendship.

“Your jewelry’s flashing the sun into my eyes again,” Kaela grunts, slamming her hammer onto a fresh plate. “Over there, please.”

“My bad,” Bijou, who seems much too young and undignified to be adorned in accessories and medals (though this was an endearing trait, in Kaela’s eyes), smirks in her playful manner. She waggles her fingers, resulting in some more glints off of her multicolored rings, before she finally steps out of the light and lays a case and a scroll on the counter. “Here’s your half in advance, as per the usual arrangement.”

“Give the Commission my thanks. The usual deadline, as well?”

“Yep!” Bijou crosses her arms, leaning over to watch her work. “So… found anyone yet?”

“Hup–” CLANG! “No.”

“So blunt. Are you hiding them? Gonna save it for when I invite you for a cup of tea with the girls?”

“No, I’m not hiding anything,” she rolls her eyes, putting her hammer down. She looks over at Bijou– who’s still smirking at her– but her gaze is suddenly drawn to the counter with a hollow underneath.

“Oh. That reminds me.”

“YES! You did find someone!”

“No, I–”

“Who are they?” Bijou’s eyes sparkle, almost as bright as her jewels. “Are they dashing? Did they kneel down and kiss your hand?” She gasps dramatically. “Tell me everything. ”

“I didn’t find anyone,” Kaela insists, twitching at a pinprick of unexpected feeling. “I just remembered someone made a special order last night.” She walks over, lowering her voice. “It might have been a secret, so don’t tell anyone.”

“A nighttime rendezvous!” Bijou puts her hand to her forehead and pretends to swoon.

“No,” Kaela says, deadpan glaring through the antics. “It was one of those snotty nobles anyway. That was what I was going to ask– were there any delegations recently? I didn’t recognize her, so I thought maybe she was from a different territory.”

“Ooooh, a pretty girl then?” But Bijou frowns. “No, no, I haven’t heard anything. What did she look like?”

“She had dark blue hair, blue eyes. She was definitely dressed like a noble. Looked different, too. Very… royal-ish. You know?”

“Yeah, I know. Makes you want to bite their ankles.” Bijou shrugs. “Maybe it is a secret. Don’t tell me what the order was, then. I might have to go into hiding.”

“She didn’t swear me to secrecy or anything, though…” Kaela wipes some sweat off her forehead. “Eh, whatever. I’ll just ask her when she comes to pick it up again.”

She pushes off the counter and frowns, rotating her shoulder cuff with a wince. It’s sore, but she’s dealt with worse. “Thanks for the company, Biboo.”

“Always a pleasure, Kaela! I should get back, too. I’ll try to see if I can find anything on your mysterious date, then.”

Kaela turns to scowl and catches one last ray of light directly into her retinas as Bijou waves. “Bye-bye!” she says cheerily, before leaving the smith to work and wonder.

The counter catches her eye again right after she draws up the shop’s curtains. She’d better get down to figuring out how to fix this damn thing.

She rummages in the back corner of the forge for a set of smaller instruments– ones for tinkering projects. She’s only ever really needed them for engraving designs or words, but she figures they’ll do for a cursory inspection– if she needs any more, she’ll pop down to the watchmaker’s to borrow some more specialized tools.

Sparking her finger to light a lamp, she sits down.

The gears and needles and wires get more confusing the more she looks into it. Some of them are still rotating, causing the erratic ticking, and she can’t quite trace anything back to its origin. She feels like she’s tracing a broken Möbius strip, every part leading back to itself.

The magic side of the problem yields no better. She concentrates with all her might, but the energy she senses is like nothing she’s ever seen. The cold feedback gives her a headache, like she just gulped down a bowl of ice cream– it reminds her of a frost enchantment, but it doesn’t respond that way to her probing. None of the basic elements do. It must be something more specialized.

She puts her chin in her hand and sighs, turning it over. The hands and face seem mostly undamaged. It’s only the crystal– the glass over it– that’s cracked. She can start with replacing that.

She scribbles down a reminder to buy some–

“How’s it going?”

“GAH!”

She jumps out of her chair, narrowly missing the woman peeking over her shoulder, who smiles in greeting as if she didn’t just spike her heart rate to levels she really shouldn’t be experiencing at this age.

“How did you get– how are– what the hell ?” she sputters.

“How am I? Doing great,” the Blue Lady says, a smile dancing across her lips. “I just saw someone do something really funny… oh, maybe four and a half seconds ago. How about you?”

Kaela glances at her curtains. They look undisturbed. If Blue Lady had entered normally, she had been too absorbed in the watch to notice. “... What, can you teleport or something?”

“Teleport? Oh, no. Nothing like that. Why would I transport myself to where I already am?”

… Now she’s speaking in riddles. This doesn’t help Kaela’s stupefaction. She decides to be a little more direct, and levels her hammer, channeling heat into its blunt end. “Who are you, really?”

Completely unbothered, Blue Lady smiles. “I’m a customer. I’m here on completely legal business, aren’t I? Can’t I visit and see how my order is doing?”

In a blink– that’s how it seems, that Kaela must have blinked and not realized it– Blue Lady is next to her at the table, leaning over the broken watch, her hands clasped behind her back.

“Well?” she asks.

Kaela, startled, lowers the hammer and turns to face her. “Well, what?”

“What’s wrong with it?”

“... Oh.” It’s not typical of her to get flustered, but her disquiet has an underlying layer to it. Someone was in her workplace, and quite close to her, but there’s a sense of eagerness to Blue Lady that has her feeling more put on the spot than anything– like a teacher watching a student call for help.

“Well, the inner workings will take me a little bit to figure out. I could ask some colleagues–”

“I’d prefer it if you didn’t,” interrupts Blue Lady.

“... Is this supposed to be secret?”

“Yes. Let’s say that.”

Kaela squints. She suspects there’s something more, but that cool smile gives nothing else away.

“Then it will take a few more days. I will start by replacing the cracked glass, which I will have to order. I will add it to your bill.”

She expects a little irritation, at least, but Blue Lady doesn’t bat an eye. “Sure. And what about the magic?”

Those piercing azure eyes bore into her, and she feels a tugging in her gut. There’s that sense of challenge again. Like she’s being goaded into this.

“... I need a few days to figure that out, as well,” she admits gruffly.

Blue Lady nods.

“You’ll have a few days,” she muses to herself.

“Are you sure there is no deadline?” Kaela asks, warily. She’s had problems with customers like that before– insisting she take her time, then suddenly demanding urgency.

“You will be able to fix it in time,” Blue Lady promises, laying a hand on Kaela’s aching shoulder. She instinctively moves to brush it off, but there’s a tingling cold in the gloved fingertips that makes her gasp in surprise. It’s soothing.

She touches her own hand to the sore spot. “Did… was that healing?”

The smile is gone from Blue Lady’s face, replaced by a strange, contemplative look.

“Not exactly,” she says after a moment, pulling away. “You should still treat it. That was temporary.”

She heads for the door as Kaela rotates her shoulder– yes, the pain’s still somewhere there, but the cold seems to be keeping it at bay. Not numbing it, sort of... hiding it. Delaying it.

“See you again, Miss Kovalskia.”

She’s gone in another moment, and for the second time that day, Kaela is left to work and wonder.

(She pores over the watch for another hour, managing to draw a rough sketch of its insides before she heads home to apply a proper ice pack to her shoulder. It’s annoying to do when it’s already so cold, but it is what it is.)

Chapter Text

It’s even colder the next day.

Sensing the impending chill in the air, Kaela decides to work through most of the heavy stuff in the morning. The strain of constant heat magic leaves her a bit burned from the elbows down, but it pays off: when she looks up from the racks of cooling metal molds, the sun hasn’t even reached its apex yet.

A new record? At her age?

Instinctively, she glances at the nearest clock before remembering it’s the still face of a busted pocketwatch. She sighs, rubbing her shoulder. It’s as good a time as any to head over to the glassware shop.

The cool wind soothes her arms as she walks. It’s a nice break.

The rest of the day, she spends cutting out a round of glass from the thin sheet she bought, apparently special-made for watches and similar pieces, reinforced with eonquartz.

It’s difficult, working on such a small scale when hammering on large, heat-softened surfaces has been her whole life. Her hands are clumsy from a lifetime of calluses and scars. Her overuse of fire in the morning doesn’t help.

In the end, though, she succeeds in sealing the slightly domed glass over the watch’s face. She breathes a sigh of relief, wiping beads of sweat from her forehead despite the growing chill. Step one is finally finished.

She’s too tired to be surprised when a shadow falls over her.

“Nice,” comments Blue Lady.

Kaela blinks, her eyes coming unfocused after staring at a fixed point for too long. “Aren’t you early?”

“Maybe.” It’s the same attire as always. Does she have rows of identical dresses, stacked in some embellished royal closet? “Can I help you close?”

“Huh?” Kaela watches her lean carefully over the anvil.

 Her nose wrinkles, but she doesn’t comment on what. “You know. Uh, tie down the curtains, and all that.”

This only adds to Kaela’s fatigued confusion. Partly because– well, nobles don’t ask to help. They ask for help, which usually means can you do this for me while I waste my time in ways that look important? But there’s an awkward stilt in the way Blue Lady is strutting around, glancing over her forge, avoiding eye contact.

“You want to… help?” she finds herself asking.

“Uh… y-yeah. You just looked tired, is all.”

“... Fine.” 

It turns out to be a thoroughly entertaining decision as Blue Lady sputters and fumbles over the knots to tie down the sheets. Kaela demonstrates, her patience helped along by the fact that she’s busy keeping herself from laughing.

“Dammit,” Blue Lady grumbles, after the third time the rope straightens out in her hand. “How the hell–”

Kaela turns around and pretends to cough, for once happy that her laugh is inaudible. Straightening, she leans over and takes the rope. Their fingers brush, a contrast of texture. “It’s okay. I’ll do the rest.”

“But you look tired–”

“I’ve been tired before.” 

She can feel herself being eyed as she finishes closing up shop. There’s a question there, brimming between them.

“Tell me,” Blue Lady says. “Why do you hate the nobility?”

Kaela turns, startled.

“Oh, I could tell from your eyes the moment you saw me,” she continues, smirking. “I’ve been trained to recognize that sort of thing.”

Kaela leans against the corner pillar. “Why should I tell you?”

Blue Lady shrugs. “I can tell you why I hate them first,” she says casually.

Kaela doesn’t respond to that. Again there’s a transformation in the chiseled face, more weathered lines appearing as if etched by the air. She leans on the wall too, a few steps away. 

She looks up at the sky. She looks as tired as Kaela feels.

“ Bloodline is their word of choice, all the time,” she says softly. “All of their parties I’m invited to, every single conversation I have with them is about strengthening their bloodline. ” She says it like a cursed incantation. “Your magic. Did you inherit it, or did you learn it?”

Kaela tilts her head. “... I learned it from my parents. Is that both?”

A half-amused snort. “Of course you learned it. Anyone can learn it. You– and other common folk– learn simpler magic and use it to ply trades. For some reason the nobles still have a weird insistence that only those born with talent– those who manifest magic early– are capable of wielding it to the fullest. They view magic as an ingredient to mix into their own bloodline, to give themselves credentials in each others’ eyes.”

Kaela can pick up on where this is going. “They want to marry you for your power.”

She nods. “And it won’t even work. I damn well earned every drop of my mana. And my protégé will have to earn it, too.”

“You’re… not of noble blood?”

“No.”

That’s a lot more surprising than Kaela expects. “But you look so…” she trails off, noticing the raised eyebrow, the curved lip. “Snooty.”

“Pfft. I’m perfect and you were about to say it.” Blue Lady grins, shining fangs in the late-afternoon light, but it disappears quickly. “I had to fight for my position. I had to fight… a lot. And now I’m told that once I retire, I should be worn on someone’s arm.”

“You’re one of the High Mages,” Kaela whispers.

That was the only thing that made sense. They were a secretive bunch– hooded in their depictions, treated as a last resort wielded by the Kingdom against monstrous threats, but it was for good reason. Unlike regular soldiers, who use conventional weaponry imbued with spells, the High Mages fight entirely with magic, and stories tell of them bringing down even dragons with fire and strangling roots.

Blue Lady doesn’t answer. She stares for a moment at her hands, then turns to Kaela and outstretches them. “Come closer.”

Kaela’s taking the revelation rather calmer than she thinks she should. This woman could kill her. She could have killed her at any time, from the moment they first met. She probably wouldn’t even face any consequences. 

But she didn’t. Maybe that’s why Kaela steps toward the proffered hand. 

Maybe she’s just too tired.

A gentle touch runs over her forearms. Blue Lady mouths something, and she exhales softly as again there’s that soothing cold feeling– a balm, not a chill. Just like yesterday, the pain seems to submerge, scattering under smooth fingertips.

“It’s time magic,” she says in response to Kaela’s expression. “I’m delaying the pain and accelerating the regeneration slightly. The body won’t be able to keep up if I make the dilation stronger, so… get it treated, okay, Miss Kovalskia?”

She doesn’t sound much like a noble anymore. She sounds… Kaela isn’t sure if she’s imagining it, but all of a sudden her voice sounds similar to her own. Weatherbeaten, with a crease of worry at the bedrock.

“Miss Kovalskia?”

“Call me Kaela,” she says.

“... Kaela. Get it treated when you get home.”

The grip tightens on her arm, just a little.

“Yeah, I know,” she grouses, heat rising to her face.

Blue Lady smiles, and it’s better than her taunting, goading smiles, “I’m Kronii.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Kronii.” She nods politely, but the grin is infectious.

“Now, tell me why you hate the nobles.”

Kaela takes a deep breath.

“... Remember when you mentioned marriage?”

“He handed me this really long sword– it was too heavy to lift properly, so he had to slowly push it on the counter– and he said that it was his family’s sword, and it was unbreakable like his love for me. He told me to test it as much as I wanted, and if it didn’t break, I was to marry him and give him ownership of the forge.”

“Oh– pfft, compensating much?– so what did you do?”

“... It bent when I hit it with my hammer, and he went home.”

“Gh– hahahaha! Oh, gods– that reminds me of this prince from the southern colonies–”

“And then in this really deep voice– you could tell he was faking it– he said, ‘you can stop my heart at any time, dearest.’”

“Eugh.”

“Tell me about it! Well, he gave me permission, so…”

“No way.”

“He moved in slow motion for the next hour. Kept trying to ask other women for a dance, and then they’d get weirded out and move away before he could get his first sentence out. It was fun to watch the whole thing.”

“That’s– ghk!– that’s fantastic-”

“… Is that… your laugh?”

“Hm? Oh. Yeah, it’s silent… I’ve always laughed this way, sorry–”

“No, no! Don’t apologize, it’s… I’ve never heard… or not-heard a laugh like that before. It’s really cu– ahem. It’s a nice laugh. Really.”

“...”

Kaela arrives home with her heart beating loudly, mixing with the enormous laughter lingering in her memory. Her chest feels warm and light, but not from the soreness of the forge.

They must have been trading stories for hours, she thinks, but the sun hasn’t even set yet.

Chapter Text

“Already?” Bijou's eyes are wide with surprise. “I only came back down to check up on you!”

Kaela wraps five pickaxes together in a bundle of rope and stuffs them in a sack, the blades poking out. She puts them on the counter, next to four other bundles, packaged similarly. “I managed to get a lot done yesterday. This morning was just the final touches.”

“No sign of slowing down, huh?”

That brings a small smile to her face. “You know what, I am pretty proud of myself. Ow!”

Bijou has to lean across the counter to pinch her on the arm. “Sorry, just had to pull you down a bit from the clouds. So: order of twenty-five tempered steel pickaxes, imbued with eonquartz, etched with durability and sharpness runes?”

She nods. “Complete.”

“Yay! Thank you again– here’s your payment.”

The bundles get exchanged for an equally heavy leather case. Kaela opens it, running a hand over the bars, counting them slowly.

“Huh! No trust!” Bijou sticks her tongue out. “It’s all there, plus a bonus, since we can start operations ahead of schedule.”

That earns a proper sigh. “Just business, Biboo.”

“Ah, speaking of business, how’s your mysterious, dark, brooding date? I haven’t found any info on that, sorry. Not that I was looking or anything…” she trails off under her breath.

“It’s okay. I, um, she came by again and I figured it out myself.”

“Did you! Oh, you must come over to the Commission’s station one day, and tell me and the girls about it! Rissa’s been starving for some new gossip, I think.”

“Um. Right.” The notion of pouring a cup of tea and loudly announcing that one of the High Mages looked pretty was kind of ridiculous–

Wait.

What?

She shakes her head, more to clear it than to admonish the Chief. “She was just checking up on her order, Biboo… again, just business.”

“Mhm.” Bijou looks slyly at her. Could she recognize something? Was it written all over her face?

Wait, no. What was there to even recognize?

“Well,” Bijou cheerfully shrugs, “the invitation still stands. Tea with us! Send a letter ahead so we can schedule it!”

“Okay, got it. Here, let me…”

She steps out of the forge to help Bijou strap the bundles onto a faintly glowing cart. The Chief touches one of her rings to it and it rolls briskly off down the street.

“Bye!” Bijou calls, hurrying after it.

Kaela raises her hammer and waves. Just in time, too, because the first drop of rain hits her head just as Bijou disappears around a corner.

The cold takes on a new dimension when it rains. It’s no longer something she can dispel with a few sparks and a proximity to the hearth; she does get the curtains down and tied before the brunt of it hits, but it’s enough for her to feel soaked to the bone, the relentless pattering amplifying every ache she feels and sapping the energy from her legs.

Pulling the heat from the flames with what mana she can muster, she rubs her hands together; then, seeing nothing else to do, she moves a small worktable and stool to the fireside and places Kronii’s pocketwatch atop it, along with the sketch she made the other day.

She didn’t really see another method to this order– she’d have to sit down and figure it out.

Piece by piece, cog by cog.

Lonely isn’t a word in her lexicon. But the sound of the rain, the occasional twitch in her fingers as she carefully pulls the watch apart, and the sticking chill that hangs off her limbs all combine to leave her feeling… wistful for another voice in the room. Suddenly all that courtroom gossip she’s overheard from the locals doesn’t seem so dull when told in Kronii’s dry, smirking tone.

She sighs, pulling a particularly tarnished gear from the assembly.

It feels like it takes hours of slow, delicate work to identify and remove the pieces that are misshapen, coated in rust, or are leaking magic from corroded runes. As she carefully plucks them, her mind wanders to their conditions. 

The physical faults are easier to fix. Total replacement will be a bit difficult without exact schematics, but even the misshapen ones can be adjusted back into the cogwork when she fits it all back together. There’s only the magical part– the odd, biting feedback that she now knows is manipulated time– that worries her.

She’ll just have to ask–

“Speak of the devil,” she says out loud, turning.

“Aha, you sensed me coming in this time,” Kronii has a self-satisfied look on her face, like she’d somehow trained Kaela to do it.

“I was just scanning the magic of the gears, so I…”

“Picked me up, eh?”

Kaela rolls her eyes, but there’s no denying the newfound warmth in the room.

She scoots to the side to allow Kronii a view. Kronii reaches over, turning a gear between gloved fingers. 

The proximity bothers Kaela, but for reasons that feel different than the usual bristling she feels at having someone in her forge. 

“These runes are corroded,” Kronii mutters. “Do you know how to inscribe them? And why are you looking at me like that?”

Kaela shoves the feeling away. “I was going to ask you. I didn’t know when you would visit next, so…”

“Yeah. I guess it’d be hard to find resources on time magic outside…” She taps her chin exactly three times, and Kaela’s reminded of clock hands, which she finds funnier than she should. “Very well. I’ll take a scroll for you next time.”

“It’s not just that,” Kaela holds a spring to the light, noting the partially melted end. “The runes don’t just activate the magic. They need to be imbued with the correct spell. Now that they’ve been corroded, time magic needs to be recast on them.” She looks sideways– Kronii’s brow is wrinkled, her mouth open slightly. “You knew that, right?”

“I– of course.” The High Mage clears her throat. “Can we save that for the last step, then? When everything is done.”

“I think so.”

“Great.” Kronii leans against the curtained counter, sighing in relief. “It’ll be over soon.”

“What do you mean by that?” Kaela means to ask it idly, nonchalantly, but from the way Kronii looks back in surprise, it must have come out sharper than intended.

“Just thinking out loud,” she says after a moment. “Sorry.”

Kaela grunts, but something in her won’t let it go. She goes back to her tinkering, using a heated needle to scrape off what bits she can, refusing to utter another word. The silence settles and grows thicker under the blanket of pouring rain, only broken by the keening of metal.

Kronii chuckles. Kaela glares sideways. “Your fire magic sputters when I irritate you. Noticed it the first night.”

Kaela squints in response.

“Fine, but if you tell anyone you’re dead,” Kronii continues, the threat so casual Kaela isn’t sure how serious it is. “I’m retiring.”

Kaela stops short. “What?”

“Hey, magic doesn’t make us live forever, you know. The watch is for my… successor. Soon she’ll take my position.”

“And you?”

A long exhale. “... I suppose I’ll have to find something to do.”

Kaela hesitates, scraping harder to fill the silence, “...by yourself?”

“Yeah,” the answer comes easily. “Think I’ve earned a few years without being sought out for my mana.”

That was hard to argue with. Kaela knows the feeling well enough.

“Hey, what about you? What’re you gonna do about this forge when you can’t run it anymore?”

Kaela puts down her needle.

“I’m going to put out some flyers for an apprenticeship soon,” she says, keeping her gaze on the broken watch.

Kronii seems to catch the unfinished end of the sentence. “But what?”

“Huh? Nothing.”

“But what? ” she insists.

Kaela turns, but she's suddenly caught under the chin by Kronii's hand.

The face looking down on her is one of a High Mage– harshly elegant, blindingly perfect– only flawed by a knot of concern. It's quite unfair, the way she can compel herself to look like this on command, Kaela thinks.

"But what?" Kronii presses, firm and gentle.

“I… I don’t know," Kaela says, squirming under a gaze that could pull the truth out of any silvertongue. "I’ve worked here all my life. I... worry about leaving it to someone else. And I can’t imagine… just not being at the forge.” A light chuckle escapes her. “I guess I won’t have to keep myself busy for long.”

"Oh, don't say that," Kronii says, so softly that Kaela almost winces. "You’re not out of time yet. Neither of us are.”

It’s cold. She feels cold. Kaela exhales, taking Kronii’s hand from her chin and pushing heat magic into the glove. She feels Kronii twitch, unsure, her brow furrowing for an instant; and then she reddens.

“Sorry,” she mumbles. “It’s kind of the other way for me… I don’t want to think about already having spent my life training and fighting. I want to look forward to what I have left.” She glances back, the worry even plainer on her face. “And… well, if we’re thinking the same things, maybe we can help each other figure it out?”

It’s all sentiment Kaela’s heard before, including from arguments with herself, but coming from Kronii it seems to unknot something in her chest. She'd planned on retiring and keeping mostly to herself, but her and Kronii... helping each other figure out the future, however little of it was left... it sounded awfully nice.

“I guess I’ll start with fixing your watch,” she finally says.

Kronii looks down at the splayed-open mess. “Yeah. Maybe we should start with that first, huh? Maybe hurry it up a little...”

"You said there was no deadline!"

"There isn't, but I mean, we aren't getting any younger!"

The tension melts, and they’re grinning at each other again.

“If you're gonna sit here and make fun of me, at least share some more stories,” Kaela scoffs, reluctantly letting go to pick the needle back up. She feels like a schoolgirl again, asking for gossip.

“Oh, absolutely. Let me tell you about this knight who wore a suit made of mirrors to try and ask for my hand in marriage...”

"Oh my gods..."

Chapter Text

  Cold…

It’s impossible to think of anything else. Kaela has to concentrate to even light a spark, and the soreness of her joints is only exacerbated further. She bundles up a scarf around her neck.

Mercifully, there’s no rain, but the roads are still slick from yesterday’s downpour, stubbornly refusing to freeze. She clutches her hammer, handle glowing red-hot, close to her chest as she tries not to slip.

(There’s a balladeer singing from a nearby tavern, about holding hands to warm up. A ghost of an ironic smile tilts her lips. The only hands she remembers aren’t warm at all.)

The hearth takes a while, sputtering and protesting, to light. Red jitters across the makeshift curtains, stark against a desaturated forge.

There are no new orders submitted, and the streets are empty– there likely wouldn’t be for the rest of the day. She could really do whatever she wanted. She could even go home right now. In fact, she should; she needs to do a check around the house, winter-proof everything that wasn't already.

The watch is wrapped back up in cloth, next to a small box with all the parts she couldn’t fit into its puzzle yet.

She pulls up a chair near the fire.

Thunder calls out, distantly booming, but there’s no lightning yet, no patter of rain. Just her, the lantern, and the ornate inner workings of a magical device she can’t quite fathom. Magic was as natural as the partridges and pears, her father had always said, and there were traces of proof even in metalworking– the fire guided the tools to the shapes she wished, provided she was focused enough, taming an almost real desire– to burn and melt, to consume.

She wonders what secrets Kronii knows about magic. As she stares at the schematic, making minuscule adjustments to the last few parts with her implements, her mind starts to wonder. Who made it? What was it for, exactly? She tries to zoom out her perspective on it. It feels like staring at one of those paintings Bijou had shown her once, hanging over a room in the Commission’s local office– a mash of color and shape, abstract, hazy, challenging her to understand what it represented.

If Time was magic, what did it desire? How was it wielded by the High Mages– by Kronii? 

She remembers yesterday, of the harsh worried lines etching Kronii’s face, the way she cupped Kaela’s face– hands that weren’t cold in the way… everything else was right now, but that had held her with a softness she hadn’t really experienced– calming, slowing, comforting.

She remembers the words– “I want to look forward to what I have left.”

(She wishes she’d met her earlier. To go her entire life– her hair now dull white, her face deemed no longer suitable to be wed, her body actively fighting against the forge that keeps her alive– and to have never felt that balm until now… is regret the right word for what she feels? Is it nostalgia?)

Something comes into focus, then, and her left pinky ignites, softening a gear tooth that was off-center. Looking away from the schematic, she reaches into the watch with a pair of tweezers, aligning it with its brethren.

Surgically, she works. It’s… somehow, much more difficult than yesterday, without Kronii around. The final schematic is already laid out, but the process is still arduous and unfamiliar. Her arms shake, all the harder when she needs precision, and fatigue and chill excruciate the process. She needs several tries for every little adjustment she makes, the puzzle growing clearer in her mind’s eye. There’s that strange feeling of time magic creeping over her, pinpricks of frost pervading her perception. 

It wants control, she realizes as she pushes a small rod upright. It’s the warden of a flowing, marching thing, a dam against an infinite river. It wants more of itself– time to spend on experiences, on duties, on people – time to do everything.

She thinks she might resonate.

There’s no telling how long she sits and tinkers, reaching across the physical protest of her own arms. The sky remains secretive and murky, no matter how many times she gets up to check. But there’s no loud bustle of lunch hour, no shadows of passersby across the curtains– the cold wouldn’t dissuade those, and she’s used them as her own personal timers during long workdays.

That’s okay. She’s almost done here, anyway. Then she’ll just have to wait for Kronii to inscribe the runes, and this order will be finished.

All she needs to do is finish assembly. This gear here between these two, and this gear just above, and this spring between these two ends behind them, and this divider preventing these two segments from scraping against each other, and then another layer of gears over that, and then this rod is slipped through the holes of these gears as a conduit to let the magic flow, and then…

And then…

Gods, why is she so tired? It’s not even midday yet; the outside is still quiet, unmoving. The thunder is still calling from far-off in the distance. She mustn’t have been at this for a long time.

Cold…

Her head feels foggy. Yes, that’s it– she hasn’t taken a drink in a while. She brings her hip flask to her mouth, and it’s shaking so badly that water spills over her lips.

She curses these old joints.

At least that seemed to help, a bit. She focuses back on the work-in-progress…

It’s done.

There are no more pieces left. Only a whole watch, silent, expectant.

Dimly, a light of triumph is set off in her brain.

I did it, she thinks, half in disbelief. I don’t even remember completing it.

How long did that take?

There’s a sound of sheets being flung aside.

“KAELA!”

She turns towards the familiar voice, the one she’d been eager to hear today, and instead slumps forward onto the desk.

Chapter Text

Somebody’s carrying her. 

There’s a tenderness to it that makes her heart leap, but beneath that something itches, deeper, sadder, and slowly she comes to realize with a disappointed pang–

She must be dreaming.

There the cold still nipped and wore, under the surface-haze that dreams often have at the corners of one’s vision– her arms still ached mightily, her back curved in a way she might feel for the rest of the month, at least.

Besides, who would be holding her like this? Not since her youth had she been picked up and held so carefully, so affectionately. Surely it was her memories of her parents, muffled in conversation that she can’t make out, that were taking her home– swaddling her in wonderfully warm blankets, tucking her in for a good night.

Secure in a dream, she sleeps.

Then, she wakes, as simple as that: one breath she’s comfortable in nothingness, and the next she’s sitting up– warm, but the warmth of being underneath her sheets, huddled up against the now-familiar winter that’s only ever kept at bay.

Her body is sore beyond words.

Her bedroom comes into focus, the same as it ever was– nightstand with a glass of water on it, small bookshelf filled with metalworking notes and old children’s tales.

Something’s amiss, and it takes her another second to place it– her gaze turns, and the light of the window falls upon a silhouette leaning on the sill, looking out at a misty drizzle.

“You’re awake,” Kronii says in surprise, pushing away from the window. Kaela tries to push herself out of the bed, but a wave of pain crashes her back under the sheets with a groan.

Gentle gloved hands catch her. She realizes how bad she’s shaking. The temperature and proximity raise goosebumps. “Don’t push yourself,” Kronii admonishes, eyes bright with an expression that looks foreign on her regality. “Here, some water.”

She picks up the glass from the nightstand and helps Kaela drink. She hadn’t realized how thirsty she was, and when she says “Thank you,” it comes out a strained croak.

Kronii smooths some hair back from her forehead. Her hand lingers, then quickly retreats. “Do you know what happened?”

Kaela shakes her head weakly.

She watches Kronii reach into her cloak and take out a dangling object on a chain. The watch, complete, gleaming gold.

Kaela opts to tilt her head instead of asking.

“To be honest, I’m not entirely sure of the specifics. You might have been fixing it up really well, or there was more residual magic left than I realized. I think it… leaked out, created a sort of time bubble around you.” 

Kronii gestures to Kaela’s arms, which looked otherwise fine, but felt as if she’d just built an entire carriage by herself. “You spent almost a whole day’s worth of time in an hour, and your mind didn’t realize your body was giving out. It happens… more often than you think, working with time magic.”

Kaela looks down at herself. “So…” she mumbles, unsure of what any of that meant.

“So you need rest.”

The word rest suddenly snaps her alert. “Wait,” she rasps. “How long… was I asleep?”

“It’s just the morning after,” Kronii says. “Not long enough to recover. Last time I chronofatigued I passed out for almost seventy-two hours.”

“The forge…”

“The lady from the Mining Commission was passing by when I carried you out,” Kronii explains. “I told her what happened, and she agreed to take care of it. She seemed to know what she was doing.”

“Bijou…?”

“Yes, her." Kronii smirks and lowers her palm, indicating a short height. "She said she would write up any orders for you when you got back.”

Kaela acknowledges this with a nod. Bijou would make sure it was okay. She tries, again, to get up, but it’s still too much. A frustrated noise escapes her.

“Rest,” Kronii insists.

“But I…” 

“Come on. Don’t.” 

Kronii’s hands are fussing with the edges of the bed, reaching out and withdrawing, hesitant to draw closer. A ball rolls, uncertainly, in Kaela’s stomach. “I’ll wake you once I get some food ready.”

“I have to…” Kaela mumbles, but her eyes are already closing again. She hadn’t noticed it before, but Kronii smells of clean, polished glass, and it’s strangely comforting.

“Don’t make me speed up the process,” the High Mage’s half-chuckle is the last thing she hears.

When she regains consciousness the second time, it’s to the smell of food.

There’s a tray, the very same one her dad had pulled out every time she had fallen sick as a kid– a little hammer emblazoned on the rim. It had probably been sitting in one of the cupboards, but here it was now, with a hot bowl of soup and a crust of buttered bread laying on top, and a note.

I’m downstairs, call out if you need help 

- Kro

She’s able to prop the tray up on her knees and eat. The soup is plain, but hearty with the bread. Her arms are sore again by the time she finishes, but she’s able to climb out of bed and take slow, measured steps.

She must’ve made more noise than she realized, because she hears charging up the stairs as she encircles her bed, holding on to the frame. Kronii appears in the doorway. “You’re up! Hey– be careful–”

Kaela wobbles, and Kronii is there to prop her up. “Lean on me.”

It’s a silly feeling. Kronii is far less muscled than her, and it makes her all the more self-conscious as she leans– strong smooth gloves against weak, toned arms. She rubs her shoulder, irritation flaring at herself.

Kronii seems to see it. “What’s wrong?”

“I need to…” She growls, stepping away, holding out her arm when Kronii tries to follow. “I need to check around the house. Make sure all my winterproofing is still intact.”

“Can’t you do that tomorrow?”

“No,” she looks at Kronii, sudden desperation bubbling up from her. “I have to. Please, just…”

“Hey,” Kronii catches her once more as her legs lose their balance. “You know no one’s thinking any less of you for needing to be taken care of, right? For one day out of however many you’ve been working in that hot forge?”

The words strike her, but Kronii’s expression strikes her harder, sending the ball in the pit of her stomach tumbling madly. There’s that sternness again– a basilisk’s stare, freezing her in place, the trembling jelly of her legs petrifying to stone.

She looks away, unwilling to show just how much Kronii’s hit the mark.

After a moment, Kronii sighs and pulls her closer, letting her lean against a slender frame, breath huffing against Kaela’s ear. “I’ll walk you around the house, and you tell me where to go. Is that okay?”

“...Okay,” she grouses.

“Fine. Come on, then. I'll take you to the bathroom first, get you washed up.”

"You're not-"

"No, I won't!" The redness on Kronii's porcelain cheeks is worth it. "I'll wait outside!"

The goosebumps rise as they loop their elbows together. Kaela’s unsteady gait causes their shoulders to bump repeatedly, and she keeps glancing to the side only to face a reassuring smile that seems, with a magic all its own, to keep the cold at bay.

The guide of Kronii’s gait is easy, striding straight and elegant, as a noble would. She’s a dancer, gracious and poised, allowing the clumsy and rough-hewn blacksmith to lead her; her hand is always on Kaela’s waist, or holding her shoulder close, keenly aware of their balance.

She wonders if Kronii’s danced before. It’s a silly question– of course she has. She’s attended parties in the capital, hasn’t she? She’s certainly told enough stories of them, of glamorous sycophants and shadow-faced plotters extending her courtesy for one motive or another. There’s no way she hasn’t at least accepted a number with them, out of politeness.

No, it’s Kaela who’s never danced before, never had to trace a path alongside someone else– guiding and being guided in tandem, conscious and adapting of the other person.

Maybe she could teach me.

Curious feelings bubble up as she detaches herself to lean against the corner of the foyer, inspecting the metal bar she’s run along a seam. The runes on it are a faint orange. She pokes them with a finger.

“Warm enough?” Kronii asks, idly.

Kaela finds herself reaching out behind her. Kronii picks her up again, offering her side for support. She glances down at where their arms intersect.

“Yes, warm enough,” she says quietly. "That should be the last one."

“Good. Then let’s get you back in bed.”

It’s stopped raining, for now.

“You’re a workaholic, aren’t you?” Kronii blurts out.

Kaela arranges herself so the bed is a long chair, conscious that Kronii was sitting beside her, but Kronii’s grin is a knowing, teasing one as she continues. “My protégé– she keeps asking for assignments way above her level. Like, three of them at a time. She keeps demanding that the watch be fixed already so she can get back to it, the little brat.”

She runs her hands over her own shoulders, feeling the ache, the tightness. “I guess it’s just… my father liked to keep busy. I do, too. It clears my mind. If I don’t, I feel… useless.”

“Ah.” Kronii taps her chin– three times, three seconds, clock hands. “Yeah. I… know how that feels. But you need some time to rest, right? To enjoy some time alone, away from everyone? Especially– forgive me, but– especially at our age.”

Kaela’s smile fades.

“I think I've gotten too used to being alone,” is what she says. Especially now that I’ve gotten to know you, is what she doesn’t. 

“You talked of an apprenticeship?”

“Yes,” Kaela answers.

“That would be good, wouldn’t it? Someone to help you out.”

"Yes. I suppose."

A moment passes awkwardly. A question stirs in Kaela’s gut.

“Is the watch finished?” is not that question, but she asks it anyway.

“Oh. Right.” Kronii takes it out again, swinging on its chain. It almost looks eager in the thinning gray light, its new glass face ready to be used for... whatever it did. She pushes a fingernail underneath the panel on its back, exposing the finished puzzle, the surreal spiral of clockwork Kaela had exhausted herself for. It’s smaller than a child’s palm. “It looks all done, but I thought I should ask you first before I try to rewrite the runes.”

Kaela looks at it, the intense focus she’d had yesterday gone, replaced with blurry memory.

“I think so.” She honestly can’t tell anymore.

“Great.” Kronii fishes out something else, thin and expensive-looking; it must be a stele, Kaela surmises, specifically made for those with high positions in the study of magic. A stylus and a magical battery combined, allowing for quick inscription. “Can I use your nightstand?”

“Let me light the lantern.” Even a small flame seems to drain the energy she has left, but she grits her teeth to ignite the wick. Kronii smiles, a brief appreciative smile as she pulls up a chair.

“Are you sure you can do it?” Kaela leans over.

“Yeah, I’ve done it before. Why?”

“Well, when you were tying the knots…”

“ …listen, I'm good at writing, at least!”

That manages a small laugh.

She is a little worried, but it evaporates fast. The clumsiness in Kronii disappears as she writes. Her posture is perfect, her lips slightly parted as she flicks the stele across metal, its scraping noises whisper-quiet. Kaela is almost in awe. She didn't expect that.

Finally, in much less time than she thought it would take-

The silence is broken by Kronii sighing, leaning back to stretch her arms. “See? I can do some things.”

“Good job,” is all Kaela thinks to say. “Does it work?”

The High Mage closes the back panel, then wraps the chain around her fingers as she clenches her fist. There’s a little crackle, a cyan glow, and then there’s relief in blue eyes. They both exhale at the same time.

“Great.” Kronii stares at the instrument in her hand, relief and a dash of weariness etched in the lines of her face. “It’s… it’s done.”

"Let's celebrate," Kaela says dryly. She throws her arms up, then winces. Kronii giggles.

"Maybe let's save that for next time, eh?"

Next time. That assuages a little of the worry in Kaela's gut. "So you're coming back?"

"Well, yeah. I still need to pay you, don't I?"

"Oh." Now she feels even dumber. "Right."

The question bubbles up again, but something holds her back. Kronii is smiling, reaching out to pat her shoulder. It's tentative, mindful of her pains but also of the space between them, one that seems to grow tumultuous as Kaela zeroes in on it.

"I think I'm gonna sleep again," she mutters, to explain away the weakness, the sweat beading on her forehead, the flush.

"You better." Kronii stands. "I... uh... I have to go now, but I'll be back. As soon as I can. Don't push yourself, okay?"

"With the gold?"

Kronii rolls her eyes. "Yeah, I guess. But also to see that you haven't worked yourself into an ash pile on the ground, you idiot."

Kaela exhales sharply.

"See you," she says at last, her eyes closed.

"See you." The response is a lot softer, veiled in darkness.

The blankets, something to hold on to, comfort Kaela as she slumbers.

Chapter Text

Kaela blinks in surprise at the vivid yellow sunlight that floods her bedroom.

It’s as if the outside world is taking a last gasp of life. This deep into the seasons, only the smallest and hardiest of plants are still there to display their greenery, yet display they do, making a green, sparkling dew-speckled carpet of the sides of the roads as Kaela looks out at the way into town. It’s even gotten warmer, just enough to make you think time had rewound a few weeks. She can open the window without her breath steaming.

In some ways, Kaela supposes, it reflects her. The pains of yesterday have mostly subsided back to dull aches, and she’s no more tired than on a regular day of work. She feels, at least, physically refreshed, though not back to her full self just yet.

In others…

She washes and gets dressed, the movements slow and jerky. Every sound, every creaky floorboard and draft in her house seems to echo, ringing hollow in her ears. With the presence in her house gone, the chill in the air, however slight it was in this fine weather, nags at her.

Makes it sound like I’m being haunted, she thinks to herself, and she laughs a small laugh, because Kronii would find it funny.

To say things are back to normal doesn’t feel quite right.

Yes, the forge is up and running again. Yes, there are a few orders coming in, although only minor ones: damaged implements and warped heat-runes, some solved almost on the spot. The town seems to be taking the fresh air as an opportunity for one last rush of preparation (and a little enjoyment; the vivid verdancy seems to be invigorating everybody who walks past) before the winter comes in full force. 

But there’s been a change in her, one that tingles rather pleasantly in the tips of her fingers, but one she worries is irreversible. Once, a few days that span a lifetime ago, the crackle of the hearth, the grip of the hammer, and the satisfaction of a gleaming, polished product were enough.

Now they are not. The hollow, person-shaped space in the forge contradicts the swell in her thoughts; anecdotes, jokes, even little observations that form and then wither, unsaid, as their moment passes. She was never one to speak out loud to herself, but now she finds her mouth forming words that go unspoken, waiting for someone to come by and hear them, to react to them– to accept the piece of Kaela being offered- and yet every passerby just sinks her into disappointment. It's a specific, certain someone.

It’s scary, in a sense, but fear has long since ceased to be a deterrent, not since her first time lighting a spark. All she recognizes is the longing.

How is it that the days are supposed to be getting shorter? As she sits on the counter, head on her palm, watching the world go by, the journey of the sun seems excruciatingly sluggish across the sky.

It’s idleness, she decides, from the lack of major orders. There’s nothing to do.

There’s a hunk of scrap bronze, long forgotten, in the small storage area. She comes across it as she rummages. It’s not really worth keeping– she wonders what an afternoon’s work could turn it into.

Most kinds of bronze can’t be tempered– it needs to be worked with cold, otherwise it won’t harden. It’s a little more labor-intensive, and thus the aches from yesterday remind her of their existence as she swages the metal, forcing it through a die to flatten it out into a long strip. Hammering it on the anvil forms a large ring, about the size of a carriage wheel. It’s not a perfect circle, but a few adjustments will get it there.

She lets herself rest as it waits atop the anvil. What was she even making? It was just a flat ring. There was an idea there, fluttering in her mind. A careful, methodical hand pulling her along by the waist. Dark blue hair, its luster untainted by age. A smile that makes her heart tick irregularly. The tapping of fingers on a chin.

Her eyes flutter. The forge sports a rare look– the hearth being unlit allows the darkening sunset to cast the furniture in orange-gold. 

It’s nice, but it could turn even nicer.

And then– in the creaking of the entrance gate, in the pleasantly cool air that wafts in– it does.

“Hey,” Kronii says. Her smile freezes, and she’s striding across the room before Kaela can respond. “You okay? What happened?”

“I’m okay,” she tries to fight off the hands that cup her jaw and examine her, but not that hard. “I was just resting.”

“You’re sure.”

Her limbs feel like a large bruise, but that’s nothing she hasn’t dealt with before. She stands up and stretches. “Yes, I’m sure.” 

“Kaela.”

“I’m fine,” she insists. “I didn’t do any more work than usual.”

Kronii reaches forward slightly. There’s that familiar icy sensation, actually visible on this warmer day, emanating from her fingertips in a faint, misty curl. “Where does it hurt?”

She begrudgingly obliges her shoulder. Kronii keeps eye contact as she touches it, and she can’t suppress the relief crossing her face, escaping her lips. It’s less embarrassment and more admission of defeat, a jab at banter she has to take.

“Knew it,” Kronii smirks, but it’s only half teasing. Her hands work their way down, pressing lightly on sore muscles.

It’s a lot harder to breathe, but for a different reason than yesterday. Her arm slowly drops a leaden weight. She lifts her shoulder and it’s light as a feather.

“How about the other one?”

“... It’s fine.” Keeping eye contact suddenly, inexplicably, burns. She fights the urge to step away, because it’s a reflex, not a want. “How are you? Is the watch working okay?”

“Oh, absolutely,” Kronii waves her hand. “My protege’s turned back to her usual annoying self. She almost outpredicted me when we sparred today– I couldn’t believe it.” She catches herself about to ramble, then clears her throat. “So it works perfectly.”

“Good, that’s good.”

There’s a heavy pause in the air that she struggles to put a name to. Kronii’s fingers drum on the countertop as she looks around, the confident smirk from earlier drained out, replaced with a nervous energy.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Kronii says, a little quickly. “Right– your payment.”

A sour ball drops into Kaela’s gut at the sight of the case. It’s almost as large as her usual commissions from Bijou. All that for a watch.

“Thanks.” She watches as it’s pushed towards her. She looks at it for a second, her jaw thick.

“You wanna count it? Just to make sure.”

No, Kaela thinks. But she does, unlatching it to count the brilliant, treasury-stamped gold bars that lie in neat rows within.

“... Yeah. That’s everything. Thank you,” she says, mechanically.

“Uh. You alright?”

Kaela grips the corner of her table.

What is wrong?

“No,” Kronii concludes after a moment. “No, you’re not.”

She stays silent as the aches rush in, reminding her of their existence at full force. Her legs pitch, and it’s embarrassing how quickly her elbow is caught, how eagerly she accepts the support. Rich blue eyes, so unfairly compelling, peel her poker face apart. “You must still be exhausted. I’ll walk you home.”

“No, it’s okay,” she manages, steadying her voice as she closes the case, strapping it to her back, hefting her hammer. “I’ll be okay.”

“I insist.” There’s the stern tone again. Kronii loops their arms together, like yesterday. She tries to shake her head, to pull away, but she just ends up making herself look even clumsier.

“Come on,” Kronii says softly. “Lean on me.”

“Are you leaving?” 

“Hm?”

The words crumble like gravel in her mouth. “Will I… see you again after this?”

Silence. The moment stretches, and all she can bear to look at is the pattern of the sunlight, shining in long, segmented rays through the forge.

Then, a burst of high-pitched giggles, and her support shakes violently.

“Pffhahahaha–!”

Kaela finally looks up in sheer surprise as a head, shuddering with echoes of laughter, comes to rest on her shoulder.

"Oh, Kaela, Kaela," Kronii warbles, and it's almost a song she's made out of her name, "why do you think I came to this quiet little town in the first place?"

"I... uh... why?"

"I told you. Because I was looking for a place to retire to. Somewhere quiet and out of the way." A wind blows, and dark hair flutters against Kaela's cheek. Her heart soars.

"You mean..." she can barely speak, but for a different reason, a reason tilting the corners of her mouth impossibly upwards.

"Yeah. I was going to see if I could move here. Then I heard about you when I was asking about repairing the watch." Kronii's shoulder bumps her, teasing. "Even if I wasn't, do you think I'd just leave a friend like that? What in the world is your impression of me, man?"

Kaela nearly topples the two of them with a frantic burst of inaudible laughter that gets painted over by exuberant guffaws that turn into half-choked yelps.

What was that about wisdom coming with age? She proves it wrong, in one sweeping blow. She’s stupid. Gods above, she's never been more grateful to be a fool.

A friend, she realizes, catching her breath, and though she's happy a small part of her unfurls greedily, wanting more than the syllable.

"So, about that thing I was gonna ask."

Kronii lets her go briefly, keeping a hand on her forearm as the High Mage faces her with a playful grin.

"Kaela Kovalskia, would you help me find a place here, and show me around to get me situated?"

Her voice, strained by laughter and freshly-dismantled stress, comes out quieter than she means to, "Yes."

"Great. Now we can walk you home." Kronii glances at the anvil. "What were you making, by the way?"

Kaela looks out at the world, awash with orange, as the wind starts to kick up, carrying with it reminders of the encroaching winter. "I'm not sure. I think I was... making a clock."

"Ah. Actually," Kronii says, a sly look on her face, "that reminds me. There was one more thing I was gonna ask."

Lips tickle Kaela’s ear as Kronii whispers.

Her eyes widen.

"I..." she stutters. "Are you sure?"

"Of course.” Kronii looks at her expectantly. “If you want."

"... I'd love to go."

Chapter Text

The carriage ride isn’t as impressive as Kaela had thought.

For all the praise that her father had given the engineering scholars at the capital, the ride was still rather bumpy, jerking and juddering over what seemed like every pebble in the road. All the gold lining and plush seating in the world couldn’t help, only serving to make Kaela feel out of place in her usual smithing outfit, despite assurances that she didn’t need to pick out anything fancy.

At least there’s a nice view to look out at, watching as the shallow, sparse valley-plains grew denser in hardy, narrow-leaved spruce trees, then suddenly gave way to a large, flat, uniform mat of dark green.

She sees the edges of a gruff beard in the corner of the window; the carriage pauses, and a few words are exchanged between the driver of the carriage and whoever is inspecting it. A brief peek into the window; she gazes back at the person, draped in rich red and wearing a hat that seemed to extend into the sky, and tries not to look too nervous.

Then the carriage rolls again, and she exhales. Only a few minutes pass of narrow roads and strange, tall glass structures, and finally, the driver announces a stop.

The door is held open for her. The air that flows in is strangely charged, a thousand little impulses that sharpen her senses with every breath. Mana.

When she steps out, she’s standing on the doorstep of a massive spire, its walls twisted like the ridges of a screwbolt. Large obsidian triangles seem to anchor it to the ground below, each one inscribed with innumerable runes she can only recognize a fraction of. It looks simultaneously like an ancient monument and a futuristic, impossible structure.

She feels smaller, younger– an occurrence that was growing more common as of late, but this place exerted that feeling in a different way. It made her feel insectlike in its grandeur, ignorant in its sheer display of magic knowledge, like the few times she was brought to her father’s meetings with important customers– left in chambers in the capital, to sit and gaze at art pieces she couldn’t fathom while giants discussed things beyond her.

More easily understandable is the plaque in front of the high-walled pearlescent gate that is already swinging open for her:

MESTARIEN MESTARI SANCTUM

CAMPUS OF MAGICAL MASTERY

CEREMONIAL THEATER

Kronii must be somewhere inside the massive thing, getting ready for her ceremony.

“Wonderful,” the green-haired woman says. “Absolutely perfect.”

Kaela stares at herself in the mirror. The beige shirt, crimson tie and dark corset all fit her perfectly. The black and red skirt flares out when she walks, decorated in a repeating mandala she’s seen before, back home- not lately, as the capital's fashion sense had spread out since then. Similar designs adorn the cape, draped over her and tied with gold thread.

She shifts her stance, taking a few steps in the narrow black shoes. She’s shocked at how light it all feels. Though this fitting room was as grand as the rest of the building, furnished with mirrors and drawers and expertly carved wardrobes, it wasn’t as well insulated– perhaps due to its architectural position at the far end of a long walkway– but the clothes somehow banish the rest of the winter chill.

“Jewelry next. Let's see...” Her dresser, a green-haired woman with a similarly elegant white, green and dark blue dress lined in gold, pulls out some bracelets from a large pearlescent strongbox and hands them to Kaela, gesturing that they are to be fit over her hands, with the grace of a kindly grandmother. Kaela had liked her immediately; she didn’t fawn or fuss too much, instead directing Kaela to the washroom, then laying out the clothes for her and only stepping in for the finer adjustments. For all the noblewear she’d seen, she hadn’t imagined them to be so… easy to slip into.

Last comes a necklace, a large fiery gem that changes color in the light.

“There you go, dear.” The green-haired woman claps her hands, clearly pleased at herself. “I did some studying in the mining valleys, one year, and I tried to design some fabric based on what I saw the locals wearing. Do you like it?”

“Yeah,” she murmurs, stroking the cape, wondering what exactly it was imbued with. It was an incredibly fine latticework of magic- sunken into, or woven with, the individual threads. If there ever was a place that had such vestments, it would be this one. “I recognize the patterns. It’s… it’s nice.”

“I’m happy to hear that! I must say they fit you perfectly.” Bright yellow eyes scan Kaela up and down. “Now, let me reassure you that the passing down won’t require anything from you– all you need to do is sit in the audience, and then Kronii will find you once it’s done. If she doesn’t, ask one of the attendants for me– Fauna, the Lifeblood Mage. Understood?”

“I– yes.” She flushes, a bit ashamed– she’d thought the lady herself was an attendant, or a disciple, but Fauna did carry a familiar hum of power around her. Hers was a lot warmer than Kronii’s, but also gentler than fire– golden sunlight, and something that pulsed like an amplified heartbeat. “Thank you, Miss- er, Lady Fauna.”

“Oh, don’t mention it,” Fauna giggles, a strangely musical sound, as she reaches for a tea kettle on a tray. “You know, this was a favor for Kronii. She– have a seat, have a seat!– she saved my life once, almost twenty years ago.”

“Twenty years?” Kaela muses, thinking back as she tries to relax on a small sofa, recalling what news had come back then.

“Oh, you wouldn’t have heard of it. This was just a small expedition. We were climbing a mountain, and I nearly slipped. Kronii and I were tied together, but gosh, the way I screamed– it’s a miracle I didn’t cause an avalanche while she was reeling me back up.”

Kaela smiles nervously as Fauna hands her a teacup. “She’s never told me that.” In fact, she had only ever been told stories of court gossip and other political escapades– nothing about the other High Mages.

“No?” Fauna takes a sip of her own tea. (Kaela follows suit– it’s sweet, citrusy, and warms her all the way down.) “Well, she only tells stories about people she doesn’t like. I suppose she’s confided in you about all her suitors.”

“She has.” A thought makes her freeze up in sudden panic. “Did– did she– tell you about me?”

“Oh, don’t put yourself down like that,” Fauna admonishes with an amused wink. “All she said was that you were from the valley, and that you would need help with your wardrobe. I suppose she wanted me to see you for myself.”

A relieved puff of air escapes Kaela. “I never thought I would see a High Mage in my life. Let alone two.”

“More than two, in a little while,” Fauna motions to the door. “Oh, don’t be nervous! They’re absolutely lovely people– and I must say, you’re a lovely person yourself. I can see why Kronii likes you.”

“I–” she reddens, “well– thank y– I mean, you too– what do you mean, she likes me?”

“Well,” Fauna’s eyebrow raises knowingly, “an invitation to the campus for an outsider– she likes you quite a bit, doesn't she?”

A knock sounds on the door while Kaela stares down at her hands. A brown-haired girl with owlish eyes peeks in. “Lady Fauna,” she whispers, “the ceremony is starting soon.”

“Ah,” Fauna stands. “Thank you, Mumei, I’ll just show our guest where her seat is.”

Kaela straightens, and the butterflies in her stomach drop to cluster around the knees, but she strains through it. She meets Fauna’s eyes and nods.

For all the buildup, the ceremony was… a bit of a confusing mess.

It was mainly for the sake of tradition, Kaela surmises, but it didn’t help that the opening of the ceremony was a long-winded speech chronicling the history of the campus and the circle of High Mages. The orator didn’t do a very good job explaining, and kept pausing to take a sip of water and refill his glass magically mid-sentence. Maybe that’s because there were only a few dozen people in the audience, and all of them already knew, but it was still frustrating– it was probably a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to learn more about the whole order, but all she really learns is the right timing to clap. 

She does perk up when the procession actually starts. The curtains behind the orator’s podium rise to a half-moon of a stage, painted dark blue and studded with strange azure crystals, flecked with gold. (Magic constructs, she assumes.) The floor is polished so that it looks like the surface of a midnight ocean. The podium shimmers and reappears to the side, out of the way, and the titles of the High Mages are called out, one by one.

It was vastly strange, Kaela thinks, how the titles the Mages wear have some relation to, but don’t exactly parallel, the elements she’d been taught; fire, water (and by extension ice), air, and simple energy (for strength and speed). In fact there were more of the titles, and some of them even seemed to overlap each other. 

Death, is the first call, and in from the right walks a woman with pink hair and a cape of pure night, impaled with spikes of bone. She looks younger than Kronii, but not by much. Her power stings like a nettle, goosebumps raising on Kaela’s arms in warning as she passes by the column Kaela’s seated in. She pauses at a fixed point at the other side of the stage.

Phoenix’s corona of heat dwarfs Kaela’s forge on its best days, much less her sparks. Gravity is astoundingly tall, and her core of magic is balanced in a dense, perfectly shaped sphere, contrast to the two comet-ribbons of hair flowing free behind her. Void flickers with tendrils and blobs, like splattering ink, and her signature is eerily cold. Lifeblood, and Fauna winks happily at her. Song has both frost and warmth, reflected in heterochromatic eyes, harmonizing with each other– Kaela hadn’t known magic could have a melody like that. Ocean is the shortest of them all, and her shifting, breezy aura does have a tinge of salt to it. 

Their ages vary, and not all of them appear of noble birth, but they all arrange themselves in a crescent with the same imperious, haughty posture that must have been taught to them quite unforgivingly. The stage buzzes with power.

Time, is the last call.

Kronii strides up, in full regalia, and a step behind her trails a twitchy girl in brown robes, her mop of dirty blond hair and slouch decidedly un-ceremonial, which immediately endeared her to Kaela. 

The duo pause center-stage, and the semicircle around them joins hands in a practiced, incomprehensible chant. It doesn’t seem to do anything, at least magically– the stage lamps don’t flicker off and go out, nor does a raging inferno burst out from backstage to a sound like howling banshees. They simply speak their lines, and then Kronii kisses the younger girl tersely on the cheek before drawing out a familiar golden watch. The girl swipes and pockets it with all the reverence of robbing a fruit stall, and Kaela has to stop herself from laughing out loud at the expressions on some of the Mages. Kronii just rolls her eyes.

And then, an eruption of applause, and– that was it. The Mages- including the new addition- don’t even bow; they just walk offstage, and the people in the darkened theater begin standing up around Kaela, streaming towards the doors.

Unwilling to be left alone, she stands and follows, craning her head to see out of the exits; all she sees, however, is the light that must be coming through the glass on the outside.

There’s a rush of cold wind beside her; the line nearby parts, some with bowed heads or frightened whispers of apology, and then there is Kronii, tinges of pride lingering in her glowing blue expression.

“Hey,” she says.

“Hey,” Kaela replies, though her tongue is trying its best to curl up. Kronii looks at home here, a candid study in sapphire amidst the deeply-shadowed opulence. Her ceremonial dress is a lot showier, a lot more flabbergasting, than her usual. Up close the heat flooding Kaela's cheeks almost counteracts her passive chill.

Kaela's offered an elbow. “There’s an afterparty. Come with?”

Chapter Text

The afterparty, honestly, wasn’t all that much either.

She expected, from Kronii’s earlier descriptions, a grand banquet of gem-studded lace stretched floor to ceiling as party streamers, exotic meats from all over the country, and a hundred judging stares from the nobility.

The version she got was scaled way down. The room was appropriately sized for fifty people, but would have been stuffed for another twenty; the food was good, but didn’t contain any exuberant delicacies; the stares leveled at her were mostly of curiosity, with little disdain. Kronii explains that ceremonies like this one were exclusive enough that relatively few noblefolk were invited, and modest enough that even fewer bothered to come.

The highlight, of course, is her graceful guide.

She’s led around the clusters of chatting people, one of her arms still looped around Kronii’s, the other clutching a berry-topped confection that she had recognized from one of Bijou’s tea parties. Kronii raises her chin, and Kaela follows her gaze to see Fauna and another of the Mages (Gravity, she remembers) waving at them.

“Hello,” Fauna greets, the amusement plain in her voice as her eyes flit between the pair, making the blacksmith redden.

“Yo,” Kronii nods. She ignores Fauna’s teasing wink with the ease of someone who’s had to practice. “Kaela, you’ve met Fauna– this is Sana.”

“Hello!” Gravity– Sana– pumps her hand up and down, her accented tones permanently cheerful. She seems to twinkle with something that had the luminosity of starlight; Kaela wonders if there was an object in the world she wouldn’t look at that way. “Nice to meet ya, Kaela. Kronini here’s told us to expect you– and here you are, with impeccable taste in pastries! I could use one, myself.”

There’s a flare of magic, its elemental signature entirely foreign to Kaela, and Sana gestures at a nearby table, where a similar snack whizzes straight out of its tray to land in the middle of her palm. 

“Wow,” Kaela responds to the greeting in mute awe.

Fauna is saying, “ –our prodigy? I’d have thought she’d be eating her fill.”

Kronii sighs, the action shuddering slightly through Kaela from their interlinked arms. “Went straight to her room. I suspect she already stole what she wanted from the trays here. Responsibility bounces straight off her damned head, that one.”

“Oh, it’s not like we’ve all been subordinate, right, Faufau?” Sana lightly pokes Fauna, who jabs an elbow back in a short jousting match that the taller girl wins by wrapping an arm around Fauna’s shoulder. (Fauna leans in with such casual fondness that Kaela’s heart skips a beat.) “Ame will learn, like all of us did. She has plenty of years to do so.”

“She better,” Kronii drawls. “I won’t be there to spar ‘duty and responsibility’ into her that often.”

“Ah, yes.” The smile tugging at Fauna’s mouth fades slightly. “We did want to discuss something with you, Kaela.”

To have two pairs of eyes glittering with power, two mana signatures as far removed in intensity to Kaela’s as the Sun was to her forge, staring at her was nearly heartstopping. She’s suddenly an old and brittle woman, looking to Kronii for support, but Kronii’s expression is just as bewildered.

Briefly Kaela tries to remember what she wrote in her will.

And then the two High Mages clasp their hands together and give her big, puppy-dog eyes.

"Can she visit on the weekends? Pleasepleaseplease?" they say, in unison.

"Huh? Wha-?" Kaela blinks as Kronii lets out an exasperated groan.

"I mean, we know Kronini will be livin' it up in retirement," Sana says. "But we'll miss her!"

“And she’ll miss us, we know!”

“Girls…” Kronii puts a hand to her forehead as Kaela flusters. “Ignore them, Kaela, they’re teasing.”

“It's fun to tease Kronii,” Fauna agrees cheerfully. “Anyway, we’ll be the ones to drag her here, whether she likes it or not.”

“If not," Sana finishes for her, "we’ll come over ourselves. You’ll be there, I trust, Kaela?”

This makes Kaela take a long breath. “I… well, yeah,” she mumbles.

“YES!” The two Mages, untold beacons of power, dance around. “She’ll never be rid of us,” Fauna crows triumphantly, like she’d just made an infernal contract.

Kronii sighs again. Kaela thinks she must sigh frequently here. “You’ll have to get used to them,” she says to Kaela, who tries not to think about the fact that the High Mages of the capital might end up comprising most of her friend circle. “And they won’t actually all show up. It’d cause too much of a ruckus. We use wormholes."

Before Kaela can ask her to elaborate, there’s a commotion near the middle of the room that pulls their attention away. Someone seems to have conjured a round platform entirely out of those crystalline constructs that decorated the stage at the ceremony, and the Song Mage– a youthful-faced woman in an ornate, flowery cherry and white dress– is gathering her footing atop it. 

“Well, we’re in for a treat today,” Kronii laughs softly. Sana gives a little cheer of what sounds like “Iris!” and moves towards the platform. Fauna glances back at them, a coy expression on her face, before following.

Music fills the air, a gentle warble, a capella hums layering upon themselves and projecting around the room as Song raises her arms to the ceiling and opens her mouth wide . It doesn’t seem to fluctuate in volume as Kaela takes a near-involuntary step closer; the sensation fills her limbs with a nameless, but potent energy, the vocalizations neither too loud nor too soft– simply folding around her, letting her listen.

“Wow,” Kaela says.

“You should hear her in an actual party,” Kronii drawls. “When she gets drunk the music gets too much for me to keep up.”

Around them, people were forming pairs, bowing, circling each other in dance. Kaela barely has a moment to register this before there’s a hand, gloved in cool midnight blue, proffered to her.

“A dance, milady?”

Kronii’s smile has softened around the edges– it’s tender, almost nervous– and heat rushes to Kaela’s face. She takes the hand.

“Don’t be scared. Just like when I walked you around your house, yeah?”

It’s just what she was thinking, but there’s a world between that moment and this. What if she flounders off the beat? What if she trips into Death, and gets vaporized? What if she steps on Kronii’s very nice shoes? She tightens her grip enough to make Kronii wince.

“Sorry,” she mutters, pulling her fingers back. “It’s…”

“I got you,” a reassurance melding with the melody, not letting her go– the other hand settling around her waist, formal and respectful, but still nerve-wracking. “Just pay attention to me.”

Kronii’s right leg steps back, and the corresponding arm tugs gently. Kaela’s left leg fills the space it left behind.

“That’s all you need,” Kronii chuckles, repeating with the other. “Now you step back first– yep, like that– sync it with the beat- oh yeah, it’s old people dancing time.”

Kaela snorts.

It’s not exactly right to say that Kronii calms her. Rather, the quiet, guiding motions– little pulls on her sleeve, directing and forewarning their next move– give her eyes something to focus on, a simple pattern to follow. She feels that funny swoop of irony again; that her hands in this setting are rough and inelegant, clumsy despite their repair just days earlier. Kronii’s arms are slender, but they find purchase whenever Kaela wobbles or steps off the slowly intensifying beat– gently coiling in, taking them back into the melody. 

“Not bad,” Kronii’s voice brings her fully out of her concentration. She glances up and realizes they’ve done almost a full circle around the room, all the while avoiding every other dancing couple; it’s a miracle. The singing pitches up and intensifies; the crowd thins out a bit, and they step to one side, both catching their breath.

“How was that?” Kronii asks.

“My back aches,” she mutters, but she squeezes Kronii’s hand gratefully.

It's late, and frost has begun to coat the world over again under the silvery moonlight. Kaela's new shoes– now officially hers, after a bout of profuse thanks to Fauna– make icy cracks with every step across the cobblestones. 

“You can lean on me, you know,” Kronii nudges with her shoulder.

“I’m okay. And you’re cold,” she complains, though their hands are still interlinked.

They make it to Kaela’s front door. The carriage, a little off the side of the path, waits idly– it would take Kronii back, to fully sort out her affairs before the move.

“Shall I guide you upstairs, too, old lady?”

“That’s very forward of you,” Kaela says, giving her a stare. 

It takes a moment to sink in, and then Kronii turns bright red. “Wha– um. That’s not… um.”

“They were right,” Kaela smirks, novel feelings coursing through her. “Teasing you is fun.”

For that she gets an icy index finger jabbed into her cheek. “I should have never asked you to come. Now I have to deal with you, too.” But she’s laughing, nervously loud, and it’s warmer than the lantern-light.

“Thank you for taking me home,” Kaela says. “Take care on the way back.”

“I… yeah. I will.”

She lets go and steps away to unlatch her door, smiling to herself, but–

“Kaela.”

“Yeah?”

Kronii rubs the back of her head, awkwardly beautiful, lit from both sides by lantern and moon. “Thank you. For, uh, coming. And being my friend.”

“Of course,” she nods, confused. 

“I mean,” Kronii seems to be stumbling. “I mean, you know. I love the other Mages, and all, but… the capital was never my place to be. I wasn’t always… I mean, I… feel a lot more peaceful here. And… with you.”

“Is this what teasing you gets me?”

“No,” Kronii deadpans, just for that word, before turning nervous and scratching her head again. “I just wanted to say thank you. That’s all.”

“For fixing the watch?”

“ No – Kaela.”

“I… you’re welcome? I didn’t really do much else, though.”

Then Kronii sighs, so powerfully that it blows a visible cloud into the night air; and then she strides forward, a single step that closes the gap in an instant, and she kisses Kaela on the cheek- chaste, fleeting, paralyzing.

“Thank you,” Kronii says, the temperature of her breath doing nothing to halt the nuclear fusion that begins on Kaela’s face. “I’ll see you soon.”

Kaela’s last memory of that night is a pair of lips, quirked smugly upward, like they were saying, that’s what teasing me gets you.

Chapter Text

Bundling up makes her feel clumsy.

The forge has a furnace and her home has a hearth, and she rarely has cause to leave them for too long in the winter months; her aging frame, protesting as it always is, necessitates some extra layers even beyond her worn fur coat, despite the lamps hung up neatly in front of every house.

She pauses to inspect one. A simple brass base, glowing with heat runes. There’s no flame, but heat radiates off of it, causing a thin sizzle as small flakes of white pass close by, landing as water and vapor. She holds her hands out in front of it, enjoying the warmth.

“I haven’t seen these yet,” she muses.

“They’re a pretty new design,” Kronii remarks, sidling up to her. She’s dressed down, incognito– Kaela had thought the haughtiness of her posture would make her status as a High Mage impossible to hide, but in a thick fuzzy coat and a woolen scarf, it mutes itself into a softer kind of confidence, lightly dusted in snow. There’s a funny little smile on her face that makes Kaela think, incredulously, of pinching it. “Must have come from the capital. These trade roads are a lot better than you described, you know.”

“... I haven’t been here in a while,” Kaela admits. Her causes for going deeper into town since taking over the forge had been few, far between, and often very brief. Quietly, she marvels at how much she’d been missing.

“Or maybe you’re going senile.” 

Kaela humphs. “You just said they were a recent development.”

“Yeah, but I meant like, a month or two ago, Kaela.”

Kaela crosses her arms and starts walking again. “That’s still pretty recent if they had to be transported here.”

“Sure, sure. Let’s get you to the next house, grandma.”

“Grandma-?!”

Kronii falls in step, grinning, bumping her shoulder like they’re two youths out on a hearty walk. It’s not mana nor temperature that has Kaela bristling.

(If she stops looking around and focusing on the sights too much, the memory of the kiss would come up again, like a mold of bubbling metal– left alone, overheated, overflowing.)

Kronii touches her arm, and she pauses, halfway around the corner. 

“We're here,” Kronii’s pointing to one of the houses on the street. “Where are you going?”

“...My bad,” she grumbles, trying and failing to muster a good reply. She just hopes the cold's been explaining away the red on her face.

There’s a rime of frost visibly creeping in through a gap in the window frame, and Kronii’s sighing in disgust.

“Horrible heatproofing,” she says as she tries to jam the frame in, making the whole wall rattle. “I can feel the mana in the runes leaking from all the way out here. And the person who was supposed to show us around didn’t even show up. Is there seriously no decent place for sale?”

Kaela steps around the living room. It’s at least spacious, enough to justify its price tag if it weren’t so derelict. It looks like it was purchased as an afterthought by a noble who wanted a vacation home but never went on vacation. Even unlocked, there’s no water or light, and it’s far too cold to consider staying in.

Kronii slumps over a worn, dusty chair, refusing to actually sit on it, but sprawling around the arm like a grumpy cat. “Man, and all that walking tuckered me out, too. Ugh, house-hunting sucks.”

There’s something in her stretch, drowsy and half-lidded, that steals Kaela’s breath. Even in this dreck, even in her winter getup, she looks comfortable, reaching an arm out towards Kaela. “Pull me up?”

Kaela grumbles something indistinct as she does. They end up face-to-face, hand in hand. Kronii tilts her head, smiling slightly, as Kaela quickly lets go and averts her eyes.

(The memory’s crept up on her, jarring out of her usual, fairly silent enjoyment of Kronii’s company. It’s been coating the edge of their conversations like that frost. Skirting around it is tiring. Acknowledging it… scares her. 

It shouldn’t. They’re both too old to be bothered by kisses on the cheek, and Kronii is the same as always. So why is she such a mess inside?)

“Where’s the next house?” she asks, rubbing her shoulder.

“Mm, blast the next house,” Kronii says, stepping around her to throw open the door. “Let’s go home, why don’t we?”

Home. Like it was hers too. The leaking cold makes Kaela’s cheeks feel ever hotter, but Kronii tugs at her arm. 

“You’re being cranky,” Kronii nudges lightly. “I think the cold’s getting to you.”

“I’m not–” she tries to protest. 

“Home,” Kronii orders, cutting her off, pulling her out of the house. “I’d rather not get you sick again so soon.”

They walk out into the street in silence, mitted hands swinging between them. 

Maybe Kronii’s right. Maybe it’s just the cold throwing her off balance, clouding over her thoughts.

“I really haven’t been here in a while,” she mutters, passing some new and shiny-looking tavern that she swears was in the spot of an old jeweler’s shop. 

“It’s not familiar to you?” Kronii raises her eyebrows.

“Not really. I mean, the streets are… kind of.”

 “Maybe we can walk around when it’s warmer.” Kronii reaches out, a little ice chunk melting in Kaela when she loops their arms together, a familiar action by now. 

It's a relief to be home.

“Oh, right,” Kronii says, rummaging through her coat as Kaela hangs hers up on a branching rack, shaking the last flecks of wet snow from herself. “I, uh, actually got you something.”

The something taps Kaela’s shoulder, and she turns to see a small bound book with a black, slightly tattered spine. She reaches up to place a hand on it, scanning the title: Cuisine from the Northern Capital.

Maybe it’s because of the fatigue, but she can’t stop her smile from forming. “I… really? What for?”

“When I made you that soup, when you got sick,” Kronii says, her fingertips messing with the fringe of her hair, “I saw a lot of the same ingredients we use in your cupboards. So when I was cleaning, I came across this old thing… I thought you might like it.”

It doesn’t look like anything special, but the wear and tear on it, the slight crease of the pages, endears it more to Kaela. It feels like a personal gift. Something specifically from Kronii to her. Words constrict her throat.

She manages a stilted Thank you. They’re just standing in the foyer, Kronii’s coat still half on, the tepidness of the house already sweltering after their outside excursion. “I’m sorry we weren’t able to find you a place yet.”

“Aw, don't worry about it. Are you feeling better?”

“I’m fine.” Her response is automatic. She finds the nearest chair and sits, inhaling crisply. Rune-warmed air fills her lungs. Home. Comfort.

She looks at Kronii.

“I don’t wanna go back to the capital yet,” Kronii sighs. “Can I hang up my coat here, too?”

“Yeah, sure.” The grace in her gait never wavers. Kaela can’t help but watch, a fascination tightening her chest. It’s one of those moments where the world pauses and her gaze focuses on a line cut into the furniture, a leaf swaying in the wind.

(Kronii’s lips are pursed. As the first wave of tiredness settles over Kaela she finds herself smiling at a memory, and then she’s quickly jolted out of it by Kronii smiling back.)

“Want me to cook for you again?” Kronii gestures to the cookbook. Her gloves are off, Kaela realizes, and something about that makes her nerves tingle. “Look for something in there that you like.”

“No, I can do it–” she gets up, and Kronii’s laughing like tinkling crystal, draping an arm around Kaela’s shoulders.

“What?” Kaela grumbles.

“Ahahaha! I knew you wouldn’t let me,” Kronii leans on her, and strangely it’s not as cold as she expected. Maybe they've both been warmed by the house. “You’re just so averse to being spoiled.”

She flushes.

“C’mon,” Kronii points at the doorway to the kitchen. “March, march. Let’s do it together.”

(She has an idea.)

Vegetables are laid flat and peeled side-by-side; she has to search through the drawers for a spare knife. She gives the main one to Kronii while she washes this one. Kronii’s chopping is smooth and even.

(It’s been in her head for a while now.)

Her stove is four runeplates on a brick counter. She touches one, and the etchings glow orange. Kronii touches it and turns it back off. Kaela shoots her a look and she laughs. “I just wanted to try it.”

(It’s practical, right? A good way forward.)

They argue over the seasonings. Kaela follows the recipe, noting the exact weight of a teaspoon. Kronii insists on rifling through her cabinet and adding her favorites. 

“I want to know what the recipe tastes like first before changing it!”

“Listen- no, you gotta trust me, Kaela. It’s gonna be good.”

She snatches the small glass jar of dried leaves away. 

“Just a little?” Kronii pleads, rubbing a sprig of herb between her fingers. There’s mischief on her face, but Kaela winds up relenting anyway. 

(So why is it so hard to suggest?)

The pot boils, filling the air with a savory, spicy scent. Kronii takes a seat at the dining room table, resting her chin on her hands. Kaela follows suit beside her and opts to slump her head into crossed arms.

(Maybe another day? Or would it be too late?)

Quiet falls. The faded gray of the snow outside is starting to darken. It’s pleasantly dim. The tiredness is settling fully onto her now, and she yawns, grateful for the silence, just lidded bubbling and the sound of ticking.

Ticking.

“Ah!” she exclaims softly, jumping upright. 

Kronii blinks, “What?” but Kaela’s already striding out of the room, grabbing the round cloth parcel.

“I had a gift for you too.”

She lays it on the table and pulls the cloth away, revealing the thing she was working on the other day.

The back is transparent glass, showing a labyrinth solved in bronze and cast carefully, delicately, in tubes and rods and fine-toothed gears. A soft teal glow pulses in the center, letting everything turn. She turns it to reveal an ornate, snow-white face with dark blue etchings, numbers and lines, three gold bladed hands ticking happily away.

“Oh, Kaela,” Kronii breathes, her voice suddenly, newly small.

“I got some help from a watchmaker I know,” Kaela explains, “for the inner workings. And I gave it a magic battery, it should last for ages. It was going to be for your housewarming–”

Two hands take two hands. Kronii clasps Kaela’s fingers and stares, a cloudless deep blue sky. “Kaela.”

So much is conveyed in that word, things that Kaela’s poor old heart just can’t quite parse. “Kronii,” she mimicks.

“Kaela.”

“Kronii?”

“Kaela,” Kronii squeezes their hands together.

“Kronii.” Saying her name is a raw delight.

“Kaela,” Kronii blinks at her through long lashes. Her smile wrinkles the corners of her eyes. There are more flaws, Kaela realizes from up close, thin and fine marks of age that accentuate her expression. She’d never realized those lines could be so elegant. “Kaela, can I stay here a while?”

She blinks, stunned, at the idea. 

(The idea that’s been bouncing in her head for so long now, being spoken aloud.)

“What?”

“Like. Do you have a spare room I could stay in? It would only be until I found a place, you know.”

Hesitation. Anticipation. The soft hands around hers have the slightest tremble.

“Kronii,” she says dumbly.

“Kaela?” Kronii tilts her head.

(Her mouth is closer than it’s ever been.)

“Kronii.”

A short laugh, a burst of warm breath felt at the tip of her nose. “Kaela.”

She cringes, scrunching up her face, gritting her teeth. “I…”

(She’s had no shortage of suitors to try and make her feel this way. Now, in the aftermath of a few short days, she asks: is this what has eluded her?)

“If you’re having trouble talking,” Kronii whispers, the words tangible in the way they set goosebumps across her shoulders, “you don’t have to say anything.”

(Frost ignites flame, blazing across her.)

In the cozy heat of the house, the natural cold signature of time magic is soothing. It’s odd, for a blacksmith like her, finding this pleasant at the advent of winter.

That may have been what Kaela would have thought if her brain hadn’t died the moment Kronii’s lips touched hers, a gentle tentative question that has all the air leave her body in a rush of a giddy answer. She teeters, and their arms reach up to support each other– a firm grasp on the grooves of her biceps, pressing into old, tiny scars, affirming them, affirming her, using them to hook her closer into the kiss.

It takes a suspiciously long moment for them to break apart.

(Time dilation?)

Kronii smiles again, stoking the hearth in her chest.

“Were you just nervous this whole day?” she asks.

Kaela buries her face in Kronii’s hair and grumbles.

Chapter Text

Winter begins to bite with full force.

Snowflakes tumble from the sky in greater and greater flocks of white fractals. They pile up, melting around the sides of rune-warmed houses, surrounding them in slush and muddy soil. Right where the metal bars etched in orange are placed, the precipitation sizzles and evaporates. There’s a pleasant, transient mist that shrouds the streets on days like these. Sunlight fades between the clouds and turns as precious as gold, and Kaela burns low as the hearth burns high.

Time passes slowly, but it’s from a pleasant sort of tiredness– a workout, a satisfied aching of the muscles that sharpens her senses and brings to attention every small shift in the fog. She mops her forehead carefully as she puts the finishing touches on the pickaxe– the sweat quickly growing unpleasantly icy on her skin– and she smiles to herself, lost in a daydream.

“Hey, Kaela! Over here!”

Bijou waves, slapping down a small sack of gold onto the counter. Her cart is behind her, half-sunk into the wet ground. “Sorry again for the short notice.”

“It’s okay,” Kaela shrugs. She takes the repaired pickaxe, gripping the still-warm metal of the blade just to absorb the heat for a moment, before offering it over the counter. Bijou snatches it quickly, the cart juddering forward to let her drop it in amidst a load of what look like ordinary pebbles on a sheet of old canvas.

“Don’t break it again,” she calls as Bijou turns. “I won’t be open for a while.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll tell the new girls– wait, what do you mean you won’t be open?”

“I’ll be closing up for a few weeks.”

“Closing up?” Bijou’s eyes narrow as she looks back. “Who are you and what have you done to Kaela Kovalskia?”

Kaela snorts, leaning her hammer on the anvil so she can pull her gloves back on. She doesn't look at Bijou.

“Oooooh," Bijou says after a moment. "Oh, I get it.”

“Shut up.”

“I didn’t say anything,” Bijou smirks.

“You’re smiling. So shut up.”

“I still haven’t met her, let me remind you.” Bijou nudges the cart with the tip of her boot. It hauls itself back onto the snow, and Kaela swears it creaks in protest. “When this weather clears up– tea. Both of you. With the girls. I have to know how you pulled her.”

“Pulled?”

“Yeah. You know.” The Mining Chief pantomimes pulling on a fishing rod.

Kaela gives an incredulous chuckle. “You and your slang.”

“Tea with the girls!” Bijou points threateningly. “This is your first and only warning. And Kaela…”

“Yeah?”

“You look happier. I’m glad to see it!”

Kaela’s heart gives a traitorous little flutter at the thought. “Thank you, Bijou. Tea. Soon.”

“Good. Take care, now.”

The Chief waves as she disappears into the snow and mist. Kaela waves back, then turns to the dying embers in the forge. She reaches out, allowing them to help fuel the simple heat spell she’s cast on herself. She exhales. It was time to close everything up.

There’s a bristle in the air as she pulls an extra overcoat on, and she looks up. 

“Kronii.”

“Kaela,” comes a voice, not out of place in the wintry scene.

“Kronii…”

“Kaela.” Covered arms encircle her waist and pull her backwards. She huffs in surprise, but allows herself to lean back.

“Why are you here?” she asks.

“Why not? Maybe I missed you a little.”

“No you didn’t, Kronii. It was like three hours.”

“It was long enough,” she can hear the pouting. “And I wanted to make sure you got home safe.”

“Ugh… I’m fully recovered already...”

“Still.” Kronii circles into view, azure and smiling, a roguish spark in her eyes. She takes Kaela’s hand, her eyes closing as she brings the fuzzy glove up to her lips.

Kaela shuts up quickly, burning red. She can’t even feel the kiss and it’s sending goosebumps across her, curling under her skin in a way even the freezing winds cannot hope to match.

“Just making sure,” Kronii says. Since she moved in, those smile crinkles at the corners of her eyes have grown more prominent– or Kaela’s just learned to distinguish them more. She’s half-expecting Kronii to laugh every so often.

She takes the proffered elbow, unable to match Kronii's gaze.

There are exactly two new additions to the old house’s furnishing.

One is a plush settee, wide and proud, pale and sparsely studded with curved, almost serpentine designs across the backwood of its frame, installed right next to the fireplace in the center of the living room, its back to the windows.

“It didn’t fit with the current fashions when it was made,” Kronii had explained, “so it was placed in the campus storerooms. They wouldn’t miss it.”

(She also called it a loveseat. When Kaela first heard the name she’d nearly combusted then and there.)

The other addition is above that fireplace, calmly and contentedly ticking away, its sound carrying throughout the house.

“Hey, question. Do you know if there are any good fishing spots around town?” Kronii asks, settling on the far end of the loveseat.

“There is a lake to the west,” Kaela muses, loosening her scarf. Kronii’s quick to wrap an arm around her as she sits, and a happy jolt cuts through her worn and waning joints. “It’s way too cold for any fish, though. No point in going.”

“No point in going yet." Kronii sounds amused. “It might be nice in the spring, wouldn’t it?”

“I suppose.” Kaela closes her eyes. Kronii’s pulling closer, and the cool signature of her mana is an afterthought to the warmth of the house, and the incandescence in Kaela’s chest. “It won’t be for another few months.”

Kronii laughs lightly. Kaela risks a glance sideways; Kronii has a strand of her hair, silvery-yellow in the dancing firelight, between two fingers, and is staring at it like the most interesting thing in the world. She smiles widely when she catches Kaela looking back at her. “You’re not really one to make plans, huh?”

“...No.” 

It had only ever really been routine for her. The forge and the house. Every so often, shops and stores. Rarely, Bijou’s invitations. She couldn’t believe how upended her weekly schedule had become, and now she was closing shop. 

“That’s okay. You just leave it to me,” Kronii assures.

(Maybe, she grudgingly admits as she leans her head on Kronii's shoulder, some time to spend with her new housemate wasn't too bad of an idea.)

There is snow and wind, rampaging across the world with all the inconsiderate wrath that only nature is afforded the right to.

There are cold days, and colder days, and there are days where the two oranges of runed metal and flame mix together and hopelessly fail against the monotonous gray of winter; days that would once have been spent shivering and dark, underneath layers of blankets, waiting and hoping to muster up the energy to charge through the pain and get to the forge, to work away the loneliness with brute force.

This time there’s someone in the way. A hand presses to her forehead, laying the shivering mass of her back under the warm sheets.

“It’s okay,” Kronii says. “I’ll take care of things if you need to rest.”

Her protests are muffled by a pair of lips, just cold enough to stoke her heart into sputtering embers in response.

She can feel the rigid, inflexible need to do something being picked at, carefully insistent, the lack of hammering filled with a thousand other tiny occupations. Learning about Kronii feels like learning about magic, complete with the same tingling sensation ablaze in Kaela's fingertips when they brush against each other.

There’s a vast, glittering starscape visible when the light reflects off Kronii's irises just right. She quickly depletes their stores of preserved meat when she adds some to dishes that don’t even list it. She sometimes doesn’t even notice when she forgets her coat and runs out to buy more. She knows some exercises, which she does with Kaela to keep them both active and burn the cabin fever off, and she's good at massages- she kneads out some knots Kaela was sure were permanent. Cool fingers sink into grooves and old burn scars and tense, stretched muscles. It’s a blessed relief.

She’s a good organizer. She helps Kaela plan– portioning out their supplies when the worst blizzards hit, scheduling when to open her apprenticeship in the spring. She complains, loudly and endearingly, about the state of Kaela’s shelves and drawers, mostly full of old papers and things she’d never remembered to throw away. She makes Kaela sweep the house side-by-side with her, turning it into a competition. Her own room, of course, is flawless.

(That room becomes more of a study as the weeks pass, where she occasionally writes letters to her friends on campus and does routine exercises where time magic dances around her. As a spare bedroom, it doesn’t get much use.)

“Hey,” Kronii’s voice softens. Dark blue hair falls, featherlike, across the side of Kaela's peripheral vision as she curls up. “You remember what I said before? About figuring out the future.”

Kaela remembers. “Together.”

“That’s right," fingers interlace hers, "together.”

She exhales. Feelings click and whirr. For a fire user, there’s been a lot of frigidity inside her lately, thawing and changing in a new, slightly discomfiting, excitement. “You know, I… I didn’t think… well, I thought that after a while you just… become set in your ways. I’ve seen it in other people.”

“Mm,” Kronii muses, squeezing her hand idly. “Are you saying I changed you?”

“...Hmph.” 

“I’m starting to think you can’t get enough of me. I was starting to get that vibe after kiss number twenty-five or so.”

“Ugh,” she bats at Kronii, who's grinning. “It’s just.”

Putting her thoughts into words was another thing that she was getting used to. “I thought I’d be working at the forge for the rest of my life. It was okay with me, to just keep doing the same thing over and over. And now…”

And now…

“...I just wish I’d met you sooner, I guess.”

“We still have time,” Kronii says, “a lot of time.”

“...Not as much as I’d like.” The fire flickers and her eyes are stinging.

“It never is.” Kronii’s reaching for her jaw. A kiss presses against her cheek, firm and reassuring. A new discovery. She never knew kisses could be messengers. “It never is. But it’s still a lot.”

“I suppose… you’re the expert.” 

(Every pillar of reinforced metal inside her is melting, embrittled by cold and heated beyond the point of tempering, reduced to a liquid, mercurial warmth held in soothing arms.)

“That’s right,” she can feel the laughter vibrating through both of them as she turns her face and aims a kiss back, somewhere, anywhere her lips can land. “On my power, I’ll grant you plenty of time to get tired of me, Kaela Kovalskia.”

“I was tired of you from the day I met you, Ouro Kronii.”

The fire roars. There’s plenty of fuel to keep them warm until the winter ends.