Chương 21: Individuation (End of Arc 3)

Individuation Shrike flips through the pictures of the rockslide. This looks nothing like her work, she thinks to herself. First, she hasn't killed any humans recently. Second, the rocks appear to have fallen completely naturally.

"Martin, why was the event investigated for magical traces?"

"Because rockslides aren't targeted. It's a five mile long trail that has maybe ten people on it a day, and the rockslide covered maybe fifty feet of it. Mathematically improbable." He continues plotting someone on mapping software.

"I understand. Certainly not Cain's doing, he would have left a long trail."

"Cain? Oh, Cain, the guy with the memory thing. He has actual magical abilities besides being forgotten about?"

"No." Shrike flips through to the photos of the bodies. Bent, torn, more like crumpled paper than humans.

"Two dead adults and a dead child. I assume it was targeted at the adults?"

"Yeah, we assume so."

"We should converse with surviving relatives for information on any enemies or grudges." Shrike looks at the child's hands in the photo. Frozen in place as if grabbing something. Perhaps a parent's arm?

"Shrike, I'll speak to their family. You should let me do it alone. This is extremely sensitive, and, well... you're very direct."

"I understand. I should examine the bodies, then."

"Also no. I really, really doubt MBR or Counter-Magic would want you, a self-admitted human eater, near them."

"It has been hundreds of years. Regardless, does the embalming process not also render them inedible?" Martin pats her on the head.

"See, that's why you can't talk to the families." - Shrike glares at Norwood. He is currently supervising her while Martin is in California to speak with the victims' families. Apparently, a second lieutenant in Counter-Magic can do whatever he wants in regards to magical beasts, and right now he wants to make sure one is staying put. She sits defensively in front of the fireplace, her mementos once again resting above it. Norwood sits on the couch, flipping through the TV.

"Kynde, wanna get me a beer?" Shrike maintains her sharp look. He looks at her without turning his head.

"You don't have to make this difficult. I know you're cranky, but your staring is putting me on edge."

"We are both tense, then." The fire crackles behind her, recently fed and blazing bright.

"It's a hundred degrees in here. Just get me the damn beer, or I'll turn down the temperature." He nods to the thermostat. Shrike gets up, and looks through her bookshelf next to the fireplace. She withdraws a manilla envelope, and hands it to him wordlessly.

"What the hell is this supposed to be?"

"An explanation on why you should not disrupt the projection I will place in front of the thermostat if you attempt to alter it." He opens it, and starts reading. Refraction. Casualty report. 100 million dollars in repairs. He silently returns the report to the envelope, and offers it back to her. Shrike takes it, neatly returning it in place. She sits back down in the same position.

"Allow me to provide a glimpse into my thought process. From your perspective, there are two possibilities. The first is I am a hateful creature who seeks the death of humans. The second is that I am not, and you accused me of it, which resulted in confining me in hellish conditions for several days. In which of these situations is it ideal for you to be an enormous ass?"

"Either of them, because you don't scare me. You went comatose for a week after that thing you showed me. You won't do that to yourself." He gets up, moving to the thermostat.

"I propose a compromise," Shrike says.

"I do not trust you to remain here alone. You do not trust me to remain unsupervised, and you require colder air. Typically, I would be outside today, aiding in the neighborhood. Would you be against accompanying me?"

"Screw it. Better than boiling alive in here." He moves to the door, holding it open for Shrike.

"Kyndes first."

"Shrike! Who's your friend?" The other John from the block over, Shrike remembers. Not the John with the two daughters.

"Good morning, John. Norwood is not my friend, he is my..." Shrike fumbles for a word, waiting for someone to fill in the gap.

"Supervisor." Norwood finishes for her.

"Supervisor. He believes I am a dangerous murder-minded threat." John nods, amused by the idea of Shrike being dangerous.

"So what, you have the ghost of Christmas past following you now?"

"Until Martin returns from his trip, this specter indeed haunts me. He seeks to keep me on the good and righteous path." She and John share a slight smile. Norwood doesn't speak up.

"Anyway, Shrike, what I really need help with is getting rid of that darn tree stump. I tried to dig it out, but no luck. I swear I pinched a nerve in my back too."

"I can do so without issue. Would you additionally like the woodchips? If not, this will be quicker."

"You're fine. I'll make some... it's a little warm for hot cocoa." Shrike smiles wider as she angles a shaft of light that slowly disintegrates the visible part of the stump.

"You forget who you are speaking with."

"Oh, duh. I'll be right back. Should I get Norwood something, too?"

"No." John chuckles to himself before heading inside, letting Shrike work.

"Alien!" A young child points at her. Daphne, daughter of Lenora and Paul. Every child in the area believes she's an alien, some rumor fabricated a few months ago. It does make sense, in a way, given the strange lights she's occasionally put in the sky.

"Daphne, you are distant from your home. Do you require assistance..." Shrike trails off, rethinking the approach as she sips from her foam cup of hot chocolate. A child with limited vocabulary, likely sees her an authority figure, therefore best to rephrase as a question.

"Do you want to go home?"

"No I'm here visiting Timothy." Timothy, son of Georgia, lives in the house she is in front of. So much information to categorize and store, yet she's done a fairly good job of it, in her own estimation.

"Where is Timothy's mother?"

"Inside but she's sleeping." Sleeping with a child outside is dangerous. Unintentional, certainly.

"I see. Hold my hand?" Daphne does so, and Shrike pounds on the door loudly. Georgia rushes to it, clearly exhausted, blinking away grogginess.

"Oh god, Timothy!" She runs into the backyard. Shrike waits for a few seconds, until she returns with him in tow.

"Shrike, I can't thank you enough, I've been so exhausted, I just-""It is understandable. This is your solitary day off per week, and you additionally attend church services today. Would you appreciate me watching the children for..." she checks her phone "... two hours?" Norwood watches Shrike's hand. She's constantly adjusting her grip on the child's, moving up the forearm to the elbow, back to the hand, and repeating the cycle. Bizarre.

"Would you mind? I'm sure you're busy, and... wait, who's this?" She looks at Norwood.

"Counter-Magic second lieutenant Norwood, who is shadowing me today." Georgia looks at him warily.

"Why is there a Counter-Magic officer following you around?"

"He believes I am a threat, and as such, is ascertaining my intentions. Worry not, his actions are not malicious, just misguided." Georgia bites her lip, trying to focus her eyes.

"Two hours, I just need a quick nap. Thank you so much, Shrike."

"I am happy to do so." Shrike enters into the small home, seeing Timothy watch her warily from behind a chair as Georgia flops back onto the couch. She turns to Norwood for a moment, whispering as quietly as possible, using especially verbose language to prevent the children from overhearing the violent language.

"Children typically respond positively to my illuminant displays. Please refrain from dangerous casting indoors." Shrike releases Daphne, and sits down on the floor.

"Hello, Timothy. What is your favorite animal?" He stays quiet for a moment, before having a brief exchange with his mom. He turns his head back to Shrike.

"I like snakes." Shrike nods. Snakes are easy enough, and a common choice when she poses this question. She closes her eyes, envisioning a caricature of a snake. A simple curling line, a larger head, an extended, y-shaped tongue. It requires a lot of finesse, but her control over her projections has continued to improve with practice. When her eyes open, she sees Timothy and Daphne both looking at in wonder. Extending in the air above her outstretched hand is a crude snake.

Timothy comes over to touch it, to which Norwood attempts to stop. Shrike silently puts a barrier in front of him, letting Timothy touch the cold light in the air.

"Why is it slippery?" Timothy asks, grabbing it.

"Snakes are slippery." Shrike dismisses the barrier behind her, worried Norwood will lose his composure.

"Oh." The rest of the visit is spent in much the same way. Children are substantially easier to talk to. Far more direct. Constantly, Norwood watches her, as if at any second she's going to reach out and impale one of the children. Shrike replies to something in the group chat as she leaves Georgia's home, who was very grateful for the nap. Still a few hours left in the day. Norwood clears his throat.

"Why were you doing that thing with the little girl's arm? You kept grabbing different parts of it." Shrike extends her hand.

"Take it." Norwood skeptically does so, spellbook in his other. Her hand is warm. Very warm. Not hot, but a little uncomfortable. Maybe it would be painful after a while? Shrike lets go.

"I was casting a dark ritual, hexing the child." The Counter-Magic officer watches her from a few yards away as she goes to greet yet another person. After a short conversation during which Shrike points to Norwood, the man Shrike is speaking with quickly jogs inside, and returns with something Norwood can't quite make out. Shrike pockets it quickly, followed by a short handshake. She starts walking back to her house. Norwood follows right behind her.

"What did you do?"

"I purchased heroin for recreational use."

"Kynde. I order you to show me."

"Orders, now? Who am I do disobey?" She thrusts an unmarked aluminum can into his chest, which he reflexively holds on to as Shrike leers at him. He holds it at a distance. It's cold.

"What the hell is in this?"

"The concentrated extract of sixty-eight venomous snakes."

"I'm going to drop it."

"It is beer, you nuisance. I cannot attest to the quality, but Martin does not drink, and I personally find the taste repugnant and cannot be intoxicated by it. Jackson is very proud of it, however there are few who consume alcohol in this neighborhood. Drink it or do not, the gesture has been made." Shrike walks through her door, holding it open so it doesn't slam in Norwood's face, but also not letting him in first.

She sits down in her nest after lighting the fire again, taking an identical position to where she sat three hours ago. Norwood pops the can, and takes a hesitant sniff. Ehh... he takes a tiny sip. A bit sweet. Not his thing, but inoffensive. He takes a larger drink as he looks at Shrike's piercing gaze. He sighs.

"I'm ordering takeout. What did you want?"

"I have decided against eating for the next two days. The hunger will keep me alert." This time, he can't sense any sarcasm in her tone.

"You're going to sleep on an empty stomach?" She says nothing, the crackling fire steadily building behind her.

"You're joking."

"You undervalue the importance these items hold for me. I do not trust you. I can suffer without food or sleep for two days to keep them safe." Norwood gets up with a grunt.

"You're really starting to irritate me. I was doing what any sane person would do. Kynde kills someone, there's one kynde. Stop being so obstinate about it. I'm trying to bury the hatchet here."

"Your irritation is irrelevant. I will remain awake and alert. If I begin to drowse, I will call for assistance from another." Norwood folds his arms defensively.

"Who might that be?"

"I have many friends who would do this thing for me. I have one in mind, in fact. An expert at keeping watch, who never sleeps, who could monitor your every move." Isopod would likely be willing. He is amiable enough, and she could provide him with something in return.

"You know what? I tried to be nice. But you're starting to sound really damn threatening." You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

"I am staying awake and potentially inviting a friend over, neither of which are threatening."

"You think I can't read subtext? I've given you a lot of courtesy here, and you've thrown it in my face. This has gone on long enough." What subtext was there that she missed? It wasn't a threat, only a statement.

"I did not have any intentional subtextual meaning to my words."

"Uh-huh. Let's step outside for a minute."

"Will you be accompanying me?"

"After a few minutes."

"Then I remain, until we leave together."

"Out. Fucking. Side," Norwood snaps at her.

"You will obey, or you will be dealt with." Shrike stands up. There is no further room for discussion, all avenues have been closed, leaving only one potential path forward.

"I will not waste more words. I do not want violence. However, I will fight you if you attack. You may die, as I will seek to limit damage to the building over protecting your life." Norwood grimaces.

"Let's have a little sparring match then. You're way too arrogant for your incredibly tenuous position. Let's settle things between us."

"I suggest we not make a scene if you wish to engage me. There is an abundance of space away from prying eyes." Shrike turns forlornly to the freshly lit fire, smothering it with a projected dome.

"Fine," he spits.

"What's closest?" - A short ten minute walk, and they are at an empty field, obscured by trees on all sides. The sun hangs low. Shrike centers herself.

"Allow me to live video stream this to my group messaging. Four others like myself are there. If you wish to assert dominance like an uncivilized animal, this is expeditious."

"Go for it. Send it to the world. I haven't had a proper fight in a minute." He dances on his toes, his spellbook held in his hands. Shrike carefully angles her phone against a tree, before returning to her original position, taking a simple grounded stance.

"With respect, Andre Norwood, I do not intend to allow your victory, knowing what is at stake for myself. You may begin at your leisure." He smirks, extending his spellbook upward. It levitates from his hand, centering itself squarely above his head, and flipping to a page with a fairly simple looking magic circle. Thin spires of condensed water pulled from the air and turned into ice fly forward, each colliding and shattering against Shrike's barrier, shrouding the area in a small haze of frosty mist."

She waits for the inevitable surprise attack, reacting to the sense of someone coming from her right side by strengthening the barrier. She notices him coming from the other side too late. A powerful, energy-charged kick crashes through a thin defense and connects with her shoulder, sending her spinning twice, barely staying standing. She maintains composure, but winces as she holds her shoulder. Broken? No, this is sparring. Dislocated, certainly.

She slams it back into place against a barrier she projects, and recoils in intense pain, cursing under her breath. Broken. Definitely broken.

"You haven't fought an actual opponent before, have you? A person? Someone who can think?" Norwood taunts, smug. Shrike stays silent, ignoring the pain. It will heal eventually. Perhaps he failed to realize the extent of the injury?

"My shoulder is broken."

"What a shame." He rushes forward. Shrike summons a simple, dull blade of light forward. Norwood easily clears it with an enhanced jump. He runs up to her with surprising speed, another kick leveled at her head. Shrike, expecting a feint, dodges back instead of summoning a barrier. Norwood lands on his foot, kicking forward with the other. Shrike has no choice but to block it, and take the recoil of her barrier cracking under the immense strength. That could have killed her if it landed. It likely would have.

This isn't sparring. On Norwood's next assault, Shrike looses a wall of light, which Norwood sidesteps. As his foot hits the ground, she projects a blunt spike, hard at his foot. It is partially absorbed, but makes him lose his balance. For a second, anyway, as he lands on his other foot without missing a beat. Shrike closes her eyes. She realizes she has very few options beyond the slow and lethal tree, and he is trying to severely injure her, if not kill her. She might die here.

Something snaps into place in her brain. She's been here before. Facing another magic-using human out for blood. Norwood bounces on his feet.

"I've been wanting to do this since meeting your arrogant ass. Thanks for giving me the excuse, beast." She's absolutely been here before. She sees the warrior in front of her, ready to kill, while she has the intent to subdue but leave alive. Just like always. After all, it makes little sense to sacrifice a dead person to the gods. Shrike reaches out her right hand, projecting a sword made of light that nestles itself in place.

It looks almost like a cricket bat, but the edges are lined with jagged and sharp protrusions. It's held in a hand that's clearly experienced with it, the grip perfectly form-fitting in her hand to maintain her slippery projection's stability. It's instinctive, routine, even. Norwood goes to kick her again, but Shrike blocks it in full with a much thicker barrier. She dismisses it the instant Norwood breaks contact, swinging her weapon wide in front of her with what force she can muster.

The sword is largely for intimidation, a threat to keep foes from getting too close. As Norwood dodges back, she releases spikes from behind him that reach up from the ground. Norwood's spellbook rapidly flips, and a gust of wind pushing him up, which Shrike addresses with a volley of tiny darts of light. Several pierce into Norwood, but his next spell turns him immaterial, until he comes back after Shrike's volley. Norwood's breathing starts to hasten as he tries to keep up.

The kynde is animated now, clearly enjoying herself, maintaining solid footing as if she has nowhere to be. She refuses to give him a second of relief. Pillar after pillar of blunt, hardened light thrusting from all directions at Norwood, mostly being dodged, some being countered with a kick. And then, he is covered in a burning ray of light descending from above. It's not solid, but it eats at his skin, stinging like fly bites. This is completely new to him, nothing like this was in any of her files.

He rushes at Shrike, aiming to break her concentration on whatever she's doing. Yet, Shrike meets his magically-infused kick with the edge of her own weapon, making his enhancement fail as her own weapon is shattered. Shrike intensifies the disintegrating light that eats away at him, the beam now more like stinging hornets, as she projects another sword into her hand. How many times can she do that? His own mana is already running thin, but this creature seems to have a bottomless reserve.

Shrike smiles widely, mouth hanging open slightly. Her eyes betray a frenzied state as she watches him burn away. No, not just frenzied, he thinks. This is genuine malice. The harsh light is cracking away his skin, making thin lines of blood ooze from a dozen places as his outermost layer of skin starts to flake away. He's running out of energy, as a surprise shaft of hardened light knocks him to the ground.

Shrike takes advantage of his weakened state, summoning bindings that grasp around Norwood's feet and hands, pinning him to the ground, spread-eagle.

"Andre Norwood," Shrike announces with sudden and atypical reverence, heavy and heated breaths steaming from her mouth.

"You fought well. Rejoice in chalk and feathers." As his spellbook tries to flip to a darkness spell, hundreds of brilliant, pure white arrows of light fly towards him. The darkness spell is too far removed from the last spell he used, the spellbook above his head can't flip fast. He is going to die here. He feels an arrow pierce his forehead. And then they are gone, the arrow only briefly having touched his head. All of her projections are gone, with him being released from the bindings unceremoniously.

The only evidence of it even happening being a line of blood trickling down his forehead, and the crimson cracks across his dry, exposed skin. He's alive. Because she decided to let him live. Shrike stands in place for a moment, before walking slowly over and collecting her phone, ending the stream without a word. She turns to Norwood, her face once again expressionless, though her eyes are squinted.

"You were half-correct in your assessment. Centuries have passed since I fought humans, and I assumed that knowledge was lost. Yet, I remember now. That period of my extensive life where I fought and lived in Tenochtitlan. Seven years without hibernation, then returning to the earth with the New Fire. I thank you for reminding me of it... though it is a sordid history." Norwood stands up, slowly, brushing himself off.

"I'm going back to Counter-Magic. There's a lot to discuss." Shrike walks home alone, holding her broken shoulder. When she makes it, she half-collapses into her nest of blankets. She adds a log to the fireplace, lighting it quickly, and falling asleep within minutes. CA: Did anyone catch what she said? CZ: behold CZ shared a video IR: what the actual fuck happened DE: Goodness... As Norwood sits in his car, he looks for a hotel on his phone, but his fingers shake too much to type in the words.

He drives a few blocks in a haze, before unceremoniously pulling onto the curb. He stumbles out, vomiting onto the street, as drops of either sweat or tears fall in. Shrike has to go, he thinks. Somehow, someway. - She has a friendly conversation with her fellow warriors, as they excitedly usher her inside the temple. Here, she assists the priests with a ritual, offering her own blood as a sacrifice. With the sun god sated, her victory is assured.

She knows not where she came from before ascending from the earth, but she knows why she is here now. Her foe is chanting as he fights, energy from an unknown source flowing though him, thrusting with two spears at high speeds. Her barrier deflects each thrust at an angle, causing them to glance off. She runs forward, between his spears. Before he can draw a mace, she kicks him backwards into the ground, and pins him to the ground with sharp shards of light. A clean capture. He will be an excellent offering.

She carves the heart from the captured warrior, raising it up and burning it with a flame in her hand before kicking the corpse down the temple steps and onto the sacred stone at the bottom in honor of the sun god Huītzilōpōchtli. It's a unique honor to perform the sacrifice as a woman, but her connection to the sun and skill as a warrior are seen as providence. She shares in a quiet moment with her friends and comrades. The end of the 52 year cycle is close at hand.

The New Fire ceremony will be in only a few weeks. She is chosen to be the one to make a sacrifice of a young girl. She accepts the honor with a proud smile, and shares in a grand feast with her fellow warriors, laughing and joking along with them. She smashes her macuahuitl against a rock with all of her might, splintering it into wooden shards and volcanic glass, unintentionally sending one sharp chunk into her shoulder. She scoops up a young girl, soon to be sacrificed, and runs.

Faint memories of great beasts in the past had recently found themselves in her head. How could the world be ending if life had persisted for thousands of years without sacrifices? Was everything a lie? The child looks up at her, terrified. She will not sacrifice a child without a reason. If the world was stable, what reason is there? The young girl lays dead. Disease, contracted through unknown means. Perhaps, she thinks, the girl was destined to die.

The gods themselves reached down and took their sacrifice for themselves. She burns the body before entombing herself in the ground. Maybe the next time she awakens, things will be better. Her name is Necahual, and she will be known as a blasphemous traitor. - Shrike wakes up, in pain, but not as bad as yesterday. She stands, reaching to the mantle picking up the piece of obsidian and holding it to a scar on her shoulder. A perfect fit. She puts it back on the shelf, careful not to cut herself.

She moves her broken shoulder. Still healing, as expected. She makes a simple breakfast, taking it outside to stare into the sunlight. Her eyes burn, but eventually start to adjust. SC: Good morning everyone. CA: Dibs IR: dibs DE: Dibs! CZ: it is 7: 32am you wretches Shrike scrolls up in the chat. Dozens of messages, and apparently an argument on who asks a question first. She smiles as she starts typing. SC: Cain was first. CA: Whatever the hell happened, it was definitely ancient Aztec.

Was it like a fugue state thing where you just channeled your old self? SC: More similar to unrepressed memories. Partially unpleasant. Many abhorrent to modern sensibilities. IR: did you ever see an actual human sacrifice? SC: I performed one. The details are not pleasant. IR: what the fuck CA: ^ DE: I'm next! Are you okay, SC? I hope so. SC: I am physically, though my shoulder was broken. Mentally, it is a difficult history to reconcile, but my own.

IR: you mentioned volcanic glass in the list of stuff cz took, and according to wikipedia it was used in an aztec weapon called the macadamia IR: macadamia IR: autocorrect is a ducking menace SC: Yes. Macuahuitl. I smashed mine while attempting to rescue a young girl who was destined for sacrifice. I had been sacrificing warriors up until then, but other memories reemerged, and led to a realization where I couldn't do it to a child. The obsidian I have was part of the weapon. IR: trying to rescue?

did it not work out? SC: An unknown disease. I hibernated immediately after. IR: jesus CA: That's traumatic. I'm sorry. Shrike puts her phone down. She has a sun to stare at, after all. - Caribou wanders the spirit world. A calming thing. Everything here is peaceful, without the strife of mortal life, or the consistent buzzing of his phone. Everything except that strange black blob.

"Strange fog."

"Ahh, a person! Finally. I hoped to see someone in my dreams."

"People are plentiful in the mortal world, if you are desperate for attention."

"Not humans. I mean people. Like us." Caribou understands in an instant, and walks away without a word, despite the foggy blob's voice behind it. It has no patience for a spirit that calls humans animals, the same as a human calling a spirit an animal. To live between worlds is to not take sides. Martin walks through the door. Shrike is staring into the fire.

"Hey, I-" Like a flash, she wraps her arms around him tightly. Martin hugs her back, kissing her on the top of the head.

"I take it you missed me."

"I did immensely. I must tell you something."

"Alright, alright. Go for it." Shrike sits down on the couch, patting the space next to her. Martin sits down, as Shrike begins talking about her newly found memories. The sacrifices, the battles, the ill-fated rescue. Everything she can. Martin listens patiently, absorbing every detail he can.

"That's... heavy. Are you okay, love?"

"You are not the first to ask. In truth, I am happy to remember these things. A lost part of myself, even though reprehensible today."

"Was that where the name Achiq came from?"

"No. I believe that came later. Martin, I love you, and I understand this must be difficult to accept..." She grits her teeth, resigned to take his decision. Humans find human sacrifice abhorrent. New information may make him reconsider their partnership. He laughs, before stifling it. He hopes she knows it wasn't meant to be rude.

"Can't shake me that easy. I already knew you ate a guy, fighting against other warriors is hardly surprising. So, where did the memories come from? They just showed up?"

"I believe there is a video you should see." Shrike downloads the video she took to remove it from Cain's influence, and shows it to Martin. Though distant, it's clear what is happening the entire time. He watches with a twitching eyebrow.

"Shrike... Do we have to skip town?" he asks with a pained smile.

"No, it was a sparring match. He only broke my shoulder, and he did not suffer more than a particularly bad sunburn."" What?" His expression turns grim quickly.

"No, never mind, I can't handle both human sacrifices and you fighting a Counter-Magic officer at the same time. One insanity at a time." - At dinner, later that night, he's finally wrapped his head around everything. He leans in a bit.

"Time for the topic at hand. I learned a lot about the victims of the rockfall. Notably, the daughter took her camera, since it wasn't in the family's home. We never found a camera, even after clearing the rockslide."

"So the perpetrator stole a camera?"

"Yep. It gets better. The father was mid text conversation with his sister-in-law, and she mentioned feeling like she was being watched."

"I understand."

"Yeah. So they get murdered by a kynde at sunset and the camera is missing. Sounds like the daughter took a photo of something she shouldn't have. The implication is that the kynde is hiding."

"Interesting. However, why would a kynde be so intent on remaining undetected? We typically blend in seamlessly with humans."

"Guess we're going to find out. We're going hunting in a few days."

"Would sooner not be better?"

"Ehh. Tomorrow's important." - Shrike walks down the steps the next morning, stretching. It's strange, she thinks. She's walking and even stretching slightly differently now with the memories returned. She heads to the kitchen, past the people in the living room, and sleepily finds Martin, hugging him from behind and gently rocking from side to side.

"Good morning, Martin."

"Morning... did you say hi to the people in the living room?"

"I shall." Shrike walks back, still dazed from waking up. Spread across a bunch of folding chairs and what furniture is in the room are Ferret, Moth, Possum, Opie, Gary and his son Joseph from next door, Cain, a very annoyed looking Caribou, someone she recognizes from photos Caribou sent as Elk, Damselfly and who she assumes to be Dragonfly, Isopod, and certainly Woodlouse. They all go quiet at seeing Shrike. In unison, they say "Happy Staying-Warm Day!" Shrike freezes in place.

"... hello. I do not understand." Martin leans against the doorframe.

"It's March 28th. The day we met. Since your birthday is unknowable and the one you picked was kind of lackluster, I figured I might as well make up some kind of anniversary to give you a proper party."

"Ahh. I see." She turns to the crowd of people.

"And you are all here for that purpose?"

"I am here despite my protests." Caribou says.

"Everyone else is on their own volition."

"Oh." Shrike looks at the crowd for a few more seconds. She hasn't cried in a while, she thinks, as fat tears slither down her cheeks. Immediately everyone comes to comfort her, which only makes her cry more. The party is moved to the fenced off backyard. Brunch food, lawn games, a bunch of tables to chat at. Shrike smiles at everyone getting along, leaning against the fence to take it all in. Isopod and Moth are laughing about a joke involving a brick while they throw beanbags at a board with a hole in it.

Shrike doesn't understand the joke, but is happy to see them enjoy themselves. Gary is awkwardly petting Opie, listening as Possum as explains what a hoar hound is. Gary isn't following, but Opie seems to like him. Joseph is talking with Ferret, Elk, and Woodlouse about their jobs. Joseph nods along in amazement as Ferret and Elk get into a ridiculous big fish story contest about who killed the biggest monster.

Woodlouse is trying desperately not to burst out laughing as Ferret describes how he personally killed the last dragon in Utah with a fireplace poker. Dragonfly sits alone awkwardly as Damselfly chats to, from Dragonfly's perspective, no one. Cain makes a joke, making Damselfly laugh. Quietly, Caribou slides in next to her along the fence. It's silent for a moment before speaking.

"You should know how difficult it is for everyone to avoid talking about you defeating the Counter-Magic officer with your ridiculously dramatic attack."

"It is a human sacrifice method I remembered, though never participated in. Chalk and feathers is a euphemism for such. I shall spare you the details."

"Ridiculous and dramatic, as I stated," Caribou grunts.

"How are you feeling?"

"I... am fine. It is odd. I feel more complete, while also knowing I killed at least a dozen foes. I was in good spirits after the magical beast prison as well, because I was warmed and properly fed after."

"Good. You had me worried. You are one of scarce few people, human or otherwise, who I genuinely enjoy seeing."

"I am hard to break. Especially now." - Norwood peels a fleck of dead skin off his arm, putting yet another adhesive bandage on it. According to the doctor, the light Shrike used on him must have been intensely ultraviolet. He's not covered in burns from heat, just intense sunburn from the UV rays. He's currently wearing about three boxes worth of the bandages, as he sits across the table from Major Anton Krastev. His immediate superior, at the moment.

"And you say she attacked you?" He asks, half-listening.

"Yes. It was friendly sparring, but she took it seriously, sir."

"I thought you broke her shoulder." Krastev looks down his bifocals at Norwood, as they seem to shimmer with a flash of green light.

"I did, by accident, sir."

"Dismissed. I have something to attend to."

"Yes, sir." Norwood leaves the room. Krastev has always been rational. A peacetime general, for certain. Norwood hopes he sees reason.