Rarely had Triella been called an exemplar of intelligence, but she had enough wits to assume that it was an ill omen to pass by masses of refugees who were headed in the direction she had just left. Unwashed and hungry they were, and scared, and worst of all, there were so many of them. Triella had no illusions about Loclain not being exactly as horrible as Stel had often described, nor had she doubted the concerning news that began flowing south right as the Blossoms were culled by cruel fate. Even so, it was only upon seeing over a thousand frightened and weary peasants that the scale of the threat became truly clear to her.

  “The Gairnites have grown bold,” explained a man whom Triella and Cecilia questioned alongside Sieglinde. He carried even less than the rest of the refugees, and was alone, with no family accompanying him. “Here,” he pointed at the map Sieglinde brought with her. She allowed her younger bloom-sisters to ask the questions, and only took notes when the man answered. A finger black with soot called attention to the southeastern parts of the map, beyond the jagged mountains that surrounded Agaepsonia. He had come a long way from home, and still had many more miles to go before reaching Cartasinde.

  “Were your villages attacked?” Cecilia asked.

  “Some, aye. Most of the folk here abandoned their homes before they could be put to the torch, though. When word reached them of the Gairning Host’s advance, few chose to chance their lives. Wise. Those diabolists are out in force, I tell you, and are uninterested in taking prisoners or leaving anything unburnt. Outriders came to my village and set our homes ablaze, but they were not the main force, or else I’d not be here.”

  “You say word reached these people…” Triella remarked. Some parts of Loclain might have warning fires, but her guess was that the warnings were given in person, hence this intense flux of humanity departing Loclain. “What sort of word?”

  “The grim kind. This lad arrived bloodied from the town of Silvanis, with a gruesome tale to share. He was hysterical, poor thing, like a woman, but none could judge him too harshly when he explained what happened. He was the only one allowed to leave, to spread word of the atrocity. Silvanis was thoroughly despoiled, both the town and its people. Fifty of the townsfolk were chosen to have their hearts ripped from their chest in sacrifice to demons, and the rest were thrown into a pit and burned.”

  “If they wanted this tale to spread,” Cecilia said, “then the Host likely wanted all settlements there to be deserted. What for? If they wanted sacrifices, they would not have allowed their quarry to leave Loclain. It’d be our great fortune if they started to sacrifice one another, I suppose.”

  “No such luck, my lady Blossom.”

  “I thought as much. Mayhaps they mean to draw us out. To measure our strength and the numbers we are committing to Loclain. No doubt the… Our difficulties are known to all.”

  “They are,” the man said meekly. “That is why… Not to imply that we’ve no faith in your Rose, but…”

  He didn’t need to say any more. It wasn’t a matter of faith. The Red Rose could maintain its accelerated pace in recruitment for a decade and it wouldn’t come close to regaining its former ranks. And the sudden loss of so many Blossoms could not be concealed. The Gairnites wasted no time in seizing this opportunity.

  “For much of my life, we could live undisturbed by the Host,” he said. “They demanded tithes, but we were spared their raids. We were too afraid of seeking help from the Blossoms of Agaepsonia, because it had always been easier to give a portion of our harvest than to chance retribution. Our folly, perhaps… But not one we deserved to pay so severe a price for.”

  “Not at all,” said Triella. “I understand… I understand all too well what it’s like to live in such fear that you dread retaliation as though they could do worse to you than they already do every day. Even though such arrangements cannot last forever. The demands would grow ever more unreasonable, but by then you’ve grown tangled deep within the situation. But we are here now. We will keep you safe.”

  “We thank you, my lady Blossom,” he said, words well-rehearsed, betrayed by his fidgety hands. Triella could not fault him for this, either. Such small comfort it was to see your saviors arrive after your home was already burned and your people butchered. He must judge us to be but children. And is he wrong?

  They lacked for numbers, but their supplies abounded, so they shared with these desperate people, so plainly relieved to enjoy a full meal after weeks of running. They did not seem quite so withered afterwards, the children less scrawny, the elders less decrepit. Dignity has a way of making you human again, she thought, recalling the weight of a plate, so heavy on bony hands, the biting pains of deprivation and the relief that came from a full belly and a cup of water. She wondered if, all those years ago, the Blossoms that had saved her understood the significance of their deeds, just how much they meant. Only those who knew hunger and fear could truly understand, but it mattered little. Even if they did not fully know what that pain was like, that weakness and dread, it was love and duty that put them in Triella’s path, that had them receive a thousand half-dead refugees with smiles and kindness. Triella smiled, too. She smiled, and looked each and every person in the eyes as she handed over some food, some drink, some words of comfort.

  Not long after, a man was seen looking for a Blossom, one whom no one could claim to know. Must be some madman, Erika Chantesse said. Many who lose their home and their families tend to lose their wits as well.

  “Well, who is he seeking, then?” Triella asked, returning alongside her peers to the line of wayns, as some of the refugees were back on the road due south.

  “Someone named Vilrema Acatlis,” said Riza. Triella tried to conceal her understanding, though she had always been ill-suited for subterfuge.

  “It might be a trick,” she lied. “That’s a blatantly false name. Give me a moment and I’ll go question him.”

  “Should I accompany you?” Cecilia asked.

  “Best not to,” Triella came up with an excuse as quickly as she could. “Let’s not give him any cause to believe we’re suspicious, or he might not cooperate. Besides, Erika’s most likely right that he’s mad. If so, I’ll politely send him on his way.”

  Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  Her companions had no cause to question her, so she left them to seek this odd stranger, knowing full well that he was no madman. Vilrema Acatlis, it was true, was no real name that anyone in Siodrune was likely to have, and thus it was a perfect code to identify one of the Rose’s assets. It was one of the names in Lune’s notes, to let Triella locate those she sought - and, in turn, a safe way for them to reveal themselves to the Blossoms without fear. Triella found it ingenious; she wouldn’t have thought of that on her own. She wondered if that was indicative of Lune’s competence or her own lack of wits. Better perhaps not to know.

  “Lady Acatlis has turned to tailoring,” said Triella to the man. His posture was stiff and awkward, and his relief was evident.

  “I’ll ask her for green trousers, then,” he said. Triella tried to recall what exactly that indicated. Each asset was assigned a different response, and green trousers were for… Some man named Jerik, if she remembered correctly. There was too much to memorize, and though to her it seemed needlessly convoluted, she trusted Lune and her predecessors that this secrecy was needed. Triella reached into her bag and produced a small sealed envelope, placing it discreetly into the man’s hands.

  “We can talk here,” said Triella. “Amidst these travelers, do you suspect anyone of being a Gairnite agent?”

  “I doubt it,” he said. “Then again, the point of agents is subtlety, is it not? But there’d be little to gain from hiding amidst this group… If the Red Princess seeks to wield tools of subterfuge, I’d wager it would be one of the hundred or so poor fools who decided to remain in Agaepsonia.”

  “That’s where we are headed,” said Triella. “So I shall keep an eye out. Tell me what you’ve learned.”

  “Other than the ruin brought upon your Rose?” He blinked hard, as though he hadn’t slept in days, which may well be the case. Triella noticed his sheathed sword, and knew there would be few fighters in this mass of humanity, and they would be afforded very little time to repose. “We don’t know the extent of your loss, and I believe neither does the Gairning Host, hence their open aggression and provocations. Though I suppose it’s not my place to make such assumptions, so forgive me for that.”

  “Worry not. The Rose thanks you. We are not yet ruined, I promise you, and we will not have your loyalty go unrewarded. The papers I gave you will grant you passage to a safehouse in Cartasinde. Now, there’s more I need from you.”

  “Of course. I’ll tell you what I’ve learned. Mostly I received reports from our other friends in Loclain, some of whom informed from within the Host… Of those I know very little. Word is that some of the Host’s ranks were purged when the Red Princess consolidated her power. But I know no more than that.”

  Though concerning, these news were not surprising. If the Rose’s informants were ever found out, there would be no mercy for them. I’ve no option but to presume that they’re all endangered to some degree. If the Ruby Blossom could not protect its own allies, there would be no salvaging its reputation, and with most of the magical girls dead, they would not be able to walk back from that. I must find them. I must save them.

  “We shan’t abandon those who have kept faith,” she promised. The man appeared doubtful. “There is more on your mind.”

  “There is. We have passed by Agaepsonia, I told you that much, but those of us who are here did not stay because we felt our chances there were slim. The Blossom there, she…” He hesitated. Triella urged him to speak freely. “She’s been holed up inside Agaepsonia since… Well, you understand. She guided hundreds of survivors to the safety of the castle, but would let none inside, forcing them to, instead, settle the outer fort rather than grand Agaepsonia herself. The outer ring is safe enough, but it is guarded only by walls, not at all like the narrow passages and tall towers of the main citadel. Truth be told, Agaepsonia is too large. It is too large for a thousand refugees, certainly too large for a lone Blossom. The outer ring was built precisely for practicality’s sake. But Her Lady Blossom is said to roam those empty halls alone now, eating very little, refusing to contact anyone and disposing of the few messages that made their way to her.”

  Could it be grief? To watch one’s world upended after a single catastrophic day could damage the most stalwart minds, and not everyone was so strong, not even Blossoms. That is not my concern now, but it shall be, soon. Triella recalled her own childhood, when she was as lost as these people. The first Blossom she saw was, in her mind, the Blossom, the way all Blossoms everywhere was. And I never even learned her name. She asked for no thanks, and smiled so softly, so kindly… But a Blossom who locks herself away from the people that are rightfully her responsibility to defend could hardly inspire a child to dream of magic and light.

  After requesting a list of the aliases of possibly compromised assets, Triella excused herself, and bid the man goodbye. Jerik, I think is his name, but she would never know. Once he melted into the marching crowds, he was gone, nondescript, his features quickly fading from Triella’s recollection. That was for the best. What mattered was the names she had, and their assigned stations; they were many, too many for Triella to investigate on her own, but Luneciel had made it clear that it was best to refrain from sharing any information about her task. Triella would not immediately betray her trust, even if she knew that her fellow magical girls were themselves worthy of trust.

  Still pondering these matters and questioning what her next step might be, she watched the crowds pass her by, now fed and somewhat recuperated, and - she hoped - most importantly, their faith in the Rose renewed, if only a little. When at last they were gone and the Blossoms alone trod this worn path, their footprints indistinguishable from the hundreds by their sides, Triella found herself alone with Ise, the other Blossoms lingering behind. Neither of the two said anything, but the discomfort still irked Triella. I should just leave her be, she thought, but they were sworn sisters within the Rose, meant to face the future together… But that did not seem to be something Ise would appreciate hearing.

  “Um…” Triella began, awkward. Ise did not pause nor turn her head towards her. “Loclain is a strange land to you as well, is it not? Though far more distant from your homeland than from mine…”

  “It is,” said Ise. Triella had expected harsher words, and was surprised at how gentle Ise’s voice could be. It was a cold softness, but not unkind. Yet, though her temper had cooled since the first time they talked, when Triella so gravely blundered, the way she carried herself had a familiar sorrow and rage, one which Triella knew too well. “I offered my name to Sieglinde. I would not have been summoned to this task otherwise, but it was not my desire to sit idly and wait at such a crucial moment.”

  “Most of us have volunteered,” Triella said, as though Ise wouldn’t already know such an obvious fact. “For Stel’s sake… And because I know what it’s like to lose your home.”

  “Hm…? You are from…?”

  “Altengrie,” she said. “The Nighting Coast, before it… Well, you know. It’s not on the maps any longer.”

  “So you do know,” Ise said, but did not elaborate, leaving Triella wondering what exactly she meant. I know what you’re suffering, she thought, though she wouldn’t say it to Ise. I know what it’s like for your world to end and for everyone you love to die. But those were not words of comfort. That would never ease such burdensome grief. “I know of Loclain only what I’ve studied. They are a resilient people, to have only now begun to leave, and those are but a fraction of the people of the realm. That resilience is both our glory and our shame. It is a remarkable thing, to be strong… And regrettable as well. For none have ever chosen to be strong. Strength is forced onto us. What are we to do but to endure whatever fate ordains?”