It’s been two days since Fort Kroeder, and we’re in the showers after a training drill. Melee combat this time, hand-to-hand and dummy weapons. Imeshan has even less fight in her since Getye’s death- understandable, but how will she serve our Queen if she can’t pull herself out of this malaise? Sholanan proved a surprisingly formidable opponent, her docile state hiding a ruthless ferocity. She bested me at least as often as I did her. The real surprise, however, was how often I beat Brea.

The other shift has been Sholanan. She pads up beside me, inserts herself into the radius of my shower. A moment then as she looks me over, until she traces a finger along my collarbone, her touch so light it’s almost ethereal. Again it feels wrong that she should be made a soldier. She looks up at me, seeking permission. I smile. She’s learning so fast. We all belong to the Queen-Minister, but within our own little hierarchy, she belongs to me. Our lips find each other’s, and before long I have her up against the wall. The others must then listen to us. I feel them- or at least Brea- staring, just as I feel the needles of warm water falling over me.

That night Sholanan sleeps curled into me, ozone in my nose and gentle breathing in my ear. This has become the norm. I always linger a little while after she’s drifted off, twining her hair between my fingers, tracing the tip of my nose across the gentle lines of her face. She sleeps through my play now. She’s learned and accepted her place here at my side, my pet sister. The Proxy has yet to comment. Anxiety hangs at the back of my mind, a lurking fear that she might judge us too close. But then, she never did that for Imeshan and Getye. She’s never even tried to break up my and Brea’s rivalry. As long as I don’t interfere with our Queen’s control over Sholanan, why would she disapprove of this?

And that’s when I see Brea. She’s sat on the edge of her bed, one head in her hand. How long has she been there? I hadn’t heard her stir. The shimmer of her eyes flick up to catch me staring. Pushing her short bangs back from her face, she straightens to face me. There’s still that damnable knowing in her stare. That she can just stride across our quarters and run her hands over Sholanan, and that I can do nothing to stop her. She’s heard me blaspheme. As if sensing my anxiety, she stands and ambles easily to my bedside. There she lowers herself, watching Sholanan sleep in my arms. Again her eyes meet mine, their golden shine stark against the darkness. Two full moons glowering across the night sky at me.

Brea takes my arm and unfolds it from Sholanan’s chest. Then she runs her fingertips up her forehead, into those wild curls. Our sister’s eyes flutter open. Again she lifts her chin as she registers Brea, struck by some charm I can’t fathom. But this time, she turns back to me, doe eyes seeking clarification.

Standing, Brea slips her arms under Sholanan and lifts her, cradling our sister’s dainty form to her body. Sholanan watches me fall away beneath her, before turning to peer up at Brea with those sweet, vacant eyes. I bury my face into the mattress, planning to shut this out. Wait until Brea has had her fun. For a few moments, this works. Until a quiet moan reaches my ears. I dare to look out.

I forget myself. Leaping up, I storm across to them. Never mind the consequences. My punishment will be harsh, but Her Grace won’t cast me down over one mistake. Even once I loom over them, heart hammering like a machine gun, Brea doesn’t stop. She just slips me a sidelong look, then returns her attention to Sholanan. A flush has risen in Sholanan’s cheeks, her breath quickening. She has eyes only for Brea, focus only for the fingers playing her like an instrument, a slick damp sound matching the rhythm.

Until I grab her, one hand taking her jaw, the other her hair, and roughly turn her face to me. Then I kiss her. Rougher than in the showers those weeks ago, my teeth scraping her lips as I press in savagely, tongue invading her mouth. She’s stunned a moment, eyes as wide and dumb as Sholanan’s. Then she pushes into me in turn. “Kiss” is a generous word for it. Our positions are awkward, me half-stooping down to her, her head craned up at an uncomfortable angle to meet my lips. We are two beasts, fighting for dominance, me lowering my weight onto her, her fighting not to be shoved down onto the mattress, where she will lose all leverage. In this state, scalding hate-lust pulsing in my head and my heart and my loins, I really might harm her. Sholanan stills hitches and moans between us, Brea’s hand pleasuring her, though its rhythm is wavering.

Brea and I blink after them, dumbstruck.

She looks to Sholanan, face softening back to sorrow. Sholanan, uncertain, sets a hand on her thigh. With a quiet sigh, Imeshan pulls them both down to the mattress and drapes the sheet over them. Neither moves again.

***

We could tell she was different as soon as the Proxy showed us the photo of her, during the train ride out. At first we couldn’t tell what we were looking at, hunched over the image with our hands braced on our benches as the train rumbled along. We could make out the desiccated skyline of the town, a deep grey sky above. In it hung what could have been a star fallen to earth. A flare of pure white, points extended at the edge of its light. Six of them, almost like wings spread wide.

The Proxy is with us now as we creep into Illenka, the hood of her trench coat up and a service pistol prominent on her belt. Despite the damp meat squelching softly beneath out boots, a current of excitement runs through us. Collecting a new sister for our choir is cause for anticipation. Especially this one.

As we approach the bridge connecting the two halves of Illenka, built up on both banks of the river, the Proxy whispers, “Imeshan, Sholanan, stay on this side with me. Brea, Lakera, take the other side.” With a point she adds, “Do not wander far. Stay within town, and if you encounter any Host, rally at the bridge. We’re not looking for a fight today.”

Somewhere down the street, a small clatter. Like an empty can falling.

Around the corner, a damp sound. Like a boot stepping a little too heavily onto the meat-growth.

The black beady eye of a pistol barrel stares back at me. It shakes, the hands clenched around its grip unsteady. Behind it are a pair of bugging eyes, green and bloodshot, set in a tan face smudged with dirt. This takes me aback more than the weapon. I know that face, the messy sandy blond hair around it and pretty sprinkling of freckles across the nose and cheeks.

Yes, it’s her. The girl from the truck and the dugout.

Her green uniform, now darkened with filth, hangs a little looser on her frame. I feel for her. Such a charming little lamb shouldn’t suffer so.

I nod.

I nod.

I’m not sure why I’m helping the girl at first. While the Proxy might approve of me rescuing a few soldiers which could still serve Cratavn, my mission is to find my new sister. This is costing me precious time. When there’s no response, the girl goes to knock again. I step up beside her and do it first, harder. She flinches from the sound, those big green eyes flicking between me and the door.

No response from inside the temple.

I look her over. Her helmet and rifle are missing, and her hair has grown out a little. It’s impressive she’s lasted so long in enemy territory. But it’s not a trial she should have had to endure, and it’s clearly scarred her. I’d be doing her a mercy, wouldn’t I? My prey are always so happy when I devour them. My light burns them for only a moment before they feel only its warmth. There is no sorrow or terror in the sanctuary of my belly.

I could do it quickly. Empty her, then find Sholanan and share her. I would have her soul, of course. My sister will have to earn such prizes herself. As for the girl’s companions, I begin to doubt they’re going to answer. The girl with her soft little heart shackles herself to corpses. What a shame her innocence found its way out here to shatter. Mercy, then. It’s mercy.

I wipe a brownish stain from her cheek. No one needs to know.

Before she can wriggle free, I undo the straps of my mask and pull it away from my face. I will take your pain away, little one.

I cup her chin, beaming down on her. It happens so quickly. Her eyes fading as my radiance burns her mind to cinders. Her face slackening, lips twitching with words she can no longer form. It hits me how hungry I am. Rewards are so rare. Besides, this is better for both of us. I can see her pains and fears melt away in those wide eyes, the void left in their place refilling with hollow bliss. She’s already starting to smile. If only I had more time to savor her. Really, I don’t even have time to get Sholanan. I’ll share the next one with her. This treat is all mine.

I move my lips to her neck.

I pull back. She’s still got that look of doll happiness on her face, as she should. But then she adds, “I’m lucky. I know I am, getting to see you like this.”

Suddenly the girl turns her head to the temple doorway. I neither see nor hear anything, however. Not at first. Then I spy it- a soft silver glow, hovering high off the ground and drifting towards us. Brightening as it approaches until it fills the doorway. Through it, I can hear light footsteps and faintly spy the outline of a tall person with a vast cloak spread out behind them. I squint into the light as it floods into the square. The cloak looks to be made of many distinct parts- at least six- and, if the illumination isn’t playing some trick on me, they seem to raise and fold against their back, like...

The girl’s face lights up to match the shining figure. With a sudden strength she twists out of my grip and runs into the doorway. Inside she drops to one knee. Head down, hands folded on her raised leg.

This is my new sister.

The heat in my skull begins to pulse. At first this raises the discomfort to pain. After a moment, however, I catch onto the rhythm, like the click of a metronome. I acclimate to the rolling heat until it starts to feel almost soothing. It pulls me into a lull, my sister’s golden eye a beacon I long to follow.

My sister raises her head, alerted. Even the girl peers back at me. “Miss?”

With a little sigh of happiness, the girl melts into the touch. A misty grey glow materializes around her neck until it forms into a halo. Or rather, a collar. I can’t tear my eyes from the scene. In the true hierarchy, most mortals are below us, yes, but we have no real dominion over them. This is the Queen-Minister’s truth. We kneel before Her, then we obey Her Proxy as an avatar of Her authority, and then we move as wolves through a flock of sheep with the rest of humanity. Able to break and consume them on a whim but restrained by our Queen’s will.

Then her attention returns to me, sweeping over me like the creeping light of sunrise. She crosses the porch to me, her approach cautious. “Sister,” she says, her voice so deep and serene one can’t help but be pulled into its calm abyss. “Where have you been?”

“Mother has been calling you.” She stands over me now, taller even than myself. “She’s been calling all of you, for years. We feared you all dead, Lakera.” Her voice has begun to tremble, and she pauses to compose herself. “We wept for you.”

“Lakera.” She sets a hand on my shoulder. I can feel her warmth through both our layers of armor. “Please say something.”

Still my sister waits for a reply. When none comes, her shoulders heave in a labored sigh. Her light fades further, until her wings dissipate into a mercurial sheen and disperse. Even that single golden eye in the center of her helmet burns out. Then she removes her helmet. Her face beneath it is human- flawlessly beautiful in a way humans rarely are, but human, with hazel eyes and auburn hair slicked tidily back. She searches my face a moment. The longer she looks, the more her expression twists into sorrow.

I do not.

Of course it’s my halo. The Queen-Minister gave it to me.

I nod three times, then shake once.

Until we come to a line in which the melody lowers a note. She, instead, goes up a note.

The girl, who has so far just watched us with that dog smile, becomes deathly serious. “Miss Vaschael,” she cries, “what’s wrong?!”

Of course it is.

Once my vision stops swimming, I find her face above mine. Horrified still, but there’s something new in her eyes. Streaks of gold burning through the hazel. A fire. A rage. I don’t recognize the sight. But somehow, as if instinctually, I know to be wary of it.

Her servant asks, “What about the others, Miss?”

A gunshot cuts her off, followed by a sharp ping as a dart deflects off of her shoulder pad. Springing back from me, Vaschael shoves her helmet back on. Aware again, I ready my rifle as well. Before I can find a gap in her armor to exploit, brilliant light erupts from her, burning me blind for a moment. I catch the beat of heavy wings, then the rush of powerful winds, pushing me back down into the street. Blinking hard to speed my vision returning, I find the spot within the temple where she and the girl had been empty. On either side of the street my sisters close in, rifles raised and blinking against the light as well. For a moment I’m terrified we’ve lost her.

Finally, Vaschael softly says, “It’s all of you, then.” A pause, her wings folding in. “Getye as well, I take it, before...”

Her face lowers. “Will any of you tell me what’s happened?”

“Tell me this, at least. Do you intend for it to happen to me, as well?”

A long, heavy exhalation. “Charith is involved, isn’t she?”

“Never mind, for now.” Vaschael leans down towards us. “I’m taking you home, sisters. You will hear Mother’s voice again, and you will soar anew in her love.” Light washes over us as she spreads her wings, then warm gusts as they carry her into the air. A silver spear shimmers in her hand.

“No,” she calls, an edge to her voice, “come after me! Up here!”

Again the unblinking golden eye of her helmet bores into us. “You...” She lowers herself back onto the ledge. “Sisters, why don’t you fly?”

Her focus darts between us, weapon lowering. “Sisters,” she asks, voice flat. “Where are your wings?”

There’s a faint crackle in the distance. A pop of static followed by a dissonant warbling, half-heard voices trilling within its course- the Hymn. The Proxy would have heard the shots, perhaps seen our new sister hovering above us, and played it. We look to the sky, pulled upwards into the clattering music, rattled empty by it. We almost don’t notice Vaschael screaming, spear falling from her hands as she throws them over her ears.

Nearby the Proxy calls out, “Go.”

But Vaschael, even as she gasps for breath, is ready for us. She turns to us so the volley breaks against her armor. With a beat of her wings she vaults over us to her spear. Then she’s on us. Her movements are lightning, blinding swift with brutal impact. She hits me first, sweeping my legs out from beneath me with her weapon’s length, my shoulder hitting cobblestone hard. I hear holy metal chime against rifles and armor hit stone. In the seconds it takes me to get up, Imeshan is crumpled against the porch of the temple, blinking a daze from her eyes, and Sholanan stumbles back as Vaschael knocks her rifle away with an upwards swing of the spear’s butt. I don’t even see Brea.

She kicks Sholanan away and snaps to me.

My heart soars and I take my chance, charging towards her. I aim to swing my rifle into her knee in hopes of slowing her down. She meets me with a swing of her spear but I duck under it. She means to subdue us, using only its butt and length. But I’ve closed in and take my swing. She’s still too fast, steps back out of it, the rifle’s butt skimming her greaves. I use the momentum to throw my shoulder into her chest. This connects but it’s like running into the side of a tank, it staggers me as much as her. Before I know it she’s slipped the length of her spear behind my shoulders, cutting me off from escape, that single point of gold staring into me.

I do that first thing that comes to mind. I sing the hymn we shared earlier. The line where we differed.

“St-Stop,” she pleads, grabbing for my face but I get the length of my rifle in the way. “Lakera, stop.”

Another voice joins us, a powerful soprano echoing through the town. As I rise I see her. The Proxy, standing stark white and unblemished amid the red-and-brown of the ruin around us, her hands clasped behind her back and a cool smile on her face as she adds her voice to the choir. She sees our work, and is pleased.

Vaschael’s face is marble, as pure white and luminary as the Proxy’s coat, with a pair of two smaller wings at her temples folded over her eyes. Around her head is a shining golden halo, warmth rippling from it, an orb of sheer light set in the center- her true eye. My own halo tightens again as its heat washes over me.

I stroke her cheek with one hand. Soon you’ll understand, sister. With my other, I grab a tranq dart from my belt pouch and press its point into her neck, just under the corner of her jaw.

Finally Vaschael buckles to her knees, bringing me down with her, her head coming to rest against my shoulder. The sound she’s making could be hoarse hitching pants, or weak sobs, or both. Unwrapping myself from her, I take her cheeks in my hands and lift her face to mine. The single golden eye of her halo has dulled. All of her light has dulled. Those small wings wrapped around her face twitch, fighting to stay in place.

Though heaving for breath myself, I nuzzle my mask against her lips. My sisters are watching- glaring, seeing me revel in my victory. But they heard me sing first. They watched me inject her. She will be so pleased with you, Vaschael. She will be so pleased with me.

Taking the collar before any of my sisters can, I fasten it around Vaschael’s neck, careful to ensure the needle pierces her skin. She flinches again.

As I reach to do so, Vaschael jerks her head up. The eye at the center of her halo flickers as she turns towards the Proxy. “You.”

“Canrie told me about you.” Vaschael’s gasp has sharpened to a low hiss. “That you have some sway over my sisters.”

“There is no pit deep enough to bury your blasphemies,” Vaschael growls, the light of her halo stabilizing. Again I feel its heat, and that agonizing pressure. “But I will find the deepest I can.”

With a grunt Vaschael begins to struggle again, if weakly. I slip my hand under the hair flowing down her neck and find a small tab on the back of the collar, and fiddle with it until it slides to the right. A few moments later Vaschael begins to sag, until she is held up only by the four of us cradling her.

“There was a girl with her,” I answer. “The one who intruded on our dugout at the Ghost Forest.”

“And you,” she adds. “Well done.”