Already, Kyo would have to deal with a new problem.

They had finally gotten a moment of relaxtion, then bright lights flared overhead. Kyo had to resist the urge not to look up.But a single glance stopped him in his tracks.

it was his cafe.

The one they went to as a kid. the one that closed

how were they here?Was it an illusion? Immediatly after asking themselves these two questions, they prepared their bow "Who is the owner of this establishement?"

The bell over the door answers first, the same two-note chime Kyo used to hear as a child, and with it the smell of coffee and butter, low jazz playing somewhere in the back, the warm yellow dimness that has nothing to do with what time it is outside.

A few tables in, a teenage girl is gathering used cups onto a tray. She's in a half-apron, hair pulled back at the nape with a clip that's losing the fight, a few strands working loose at her temples. Aiko looks exactly the way Kyo remembers her: same age, same face, same everything, as if no time has passed for her at all. She catches sight of Kyo, and the cup in her hand stops halfway to the tray.

"Oh, Kyo, come in!" Aiko half-turns toward the curtained doorway behind the bar and calls back through it. "Mom! Kyo's here!"

From past the curtain comes the clatter of something being set down too quickly. Then the muffled scuff of footsteps on the kitchen floor, getting closer.

Tomi pushes through the curtain a moment later, hair pulled back from her face. Her face is the same one that used to set cups of cocoa down in front of Kyo, year after year. She takes one look at Kyo, weapon and all, and shakes her head with a smile.

"Well, look who it is. Put that thing down and have a seat." On the way to the counter, she adds: "The usual?"

Even though taken aback by surprise, Kyo quikly regained their posture and took in a small breath, trying to figure out if they still wanted their usual of coffee and a cookie. Finally, it sounded good. That would be nice. Thank you. Their features relaxed, Then tensed up for a moment as Kyo seemed to glimpse a group of people. They mutter under their breath Must be seeing things.

Kyo then places a crisp 20 dollar bill in Tomi's hand. Keep the change.

"Coming right up." Tomi takes the bill without looking at it and heads back behind the counter.

Over at the sink, Aiko has her hands in the soapy water, working through the cups from her tray. When she notices Kyo still standing there, staring at something across the room, she glances up, follows the line of their gaze, then looks back.

"Yeah, lots of new faces today."

Behind the counter, Tomi puts the kettle on and gets the grinder going, humming something tuneless under her breath as she works. The smell of fresh-ground beans rises into the room, dark and slightly burnt at the edges. By the time she's done, she's got a paper filter folded into its dripper, settled over Kyo's cup, waiting on the water.

Kyo silently thanks Tomi, and fufilled his usual role of materialising the water to make the coffee. They agreed with Aiko that there were quite a lot of new people here. But there should'nt be as many on break from guarding.

Then They saw them again. A group of people, one with what seemed to be a garden, flickering on and off. Have you branched out yet, Tomi and Aiko? I mean serving people other then Shintakes. Never had they seen humans here, much less a group of them.

Over at the sink, Aiko looks up from the soapy water with a small frown, clearly confused. "...Branched out?" she echoes. After a glance over at the other customers, she looks back at Kyo. "You want to sit at your spot? Or do you want to check out the new people? Maybe even say hi?"

Someone new had entered the booth. A well-dressed gentleman, fitted in a coffee-coloured vest and a shiny wristwatch. He’d entered the bar, swept his gaze across the room and, just like that, decided that their booth was the one that he simply had to go to.

A new visitor? wondered Teresa as she scooted over to make room. Or is he another manifestation of this strange place?

Either way, the addition of another stranger in this oddball group wasn’t doing much to settle her strung nerves. She’d barely said anything about Caden, but already it felt like she’d said too much. Her mask sat on her face like a judge, accusing her of being too unprofessional, too mouthy, too out of line.

Then it wasn’t quite so metaphorical anymore.

---

White walls. White uniform. The Council seemed fond of the colour. Something about the purity and safety it signalled to the people who saw it. Teresa wasn’t so sure; the colour did nothing to assuage her growing doubt right now. She was seated in her supervisor’s office, across the woman herself. Her supervisor held a petite frame. Round face. Gold headband. Her lips were thin as she moved her stylus across her desk’s glass surface.

‘You are out of line.’

‘They were going to hurt people–’

‘They’re always hurting people. That doesn’t mean you get to disobey orders, Silver Blade.’

Recrimination in a simply said statement. And still, her supervisor hadn't looked up once since she spoke. Her stylus tapped once. Something blipped in the corner of Teresa’s vision. A new received attachment.

‘You’re benched,’ said her supervisor, curtly. ‘Until you can convince us that you’ll listen when we tell you to cease pursuit.’

‘Sidra–’

‘Is that clear, Silver Blade?’

Teresa’s skin itched.

‘Crystal.’

---

Another day, another battle. The sputtering squeals of the dying monster in front of her grated on her ears. This one, for all intents and purposes, looked like a massive hedgehog. That wouldn’t have been so bad, except for the fact that it could spray spikes out of its back like no one’s business. Those spikes wouldn’t harm anyone now, blackened and charred into crumbling ashes. The hero stood next to her, dressed in gaudy red and yellow, was two years her senior. He snuffed the blue flames flickering in his palm.

‘Well,’ said Crisp. ‘That was messy.’

Teresa's glaive was light in her hands, and grew lighter with every bead of red that dripped from its blade. The monster had quietened down. Its form shrunk, slow and grotesque, until they were no longer looking at a giant hedgehog, but the unmistakeable shape of a limp body. A gloved hand clapped against Teresa’s shoulder. A thin cloud of ash followed.

‘Didn’t take you for the squeamish type, Silver,’ he said. A joke, derisive and light-hearted in a way that didn’t warrant a reaction. ‘Why the long face?’

She turned to him. Perhaps she’d done something with her expression that the mask couldn’t hide; Crisp’s smile fell.

‘If you had been less messy,’ she said, ‘we would have killed him faster.’

---

Laughter, chatter, the clinking of glasses. People milled about Tipsy Chambers, from individuals who kept to themselves to rowdy groups who yammered on about everything and nothing. There was the occasional couple seated at the bar counter, in the booths, their conversations swallowed up by the racket.

Teresa herself was seated in one of the booths in the back of the bar. Across her sat Caden, wearing an easygoing smile. On the table, two neat whiskeys. Or rather, one neat whiskey and the few remaining drops that were left in Caden’s glass.

She remembered this moment. She doubted Caden did. Unmasked and unarmed, Teresa felt laid bare as Caden leaned back in his seat. Amusement coloured his expression.

‘Well, now,’ he said. ‘Look who’s thinking like a villain.’

---

And on it went. Bits and pieces of past mistakes and old wounds raking their remnant selves across the surface of her memory. They nipped at her skin beneath the fabric of her costume.

Why was she thinking of this – all of this – now? Was this her Catharsis? Was she meant to review every little moment that had gone wrong in her life to, what, repent?

I’m a hero. The thought clung to her like a parasite, repeating itself like it could change anything. I’m a hero. I’m a–

The booth was empty. The bar was empty. Sirpa, Jay, Floriano – they had all disappeared. Her mistakes lingered somewhere in the wallpaper. And in that moment of stillness, that dull, grey orb she’d seen before floated above the table.

Then control yourself.

---

The doctor sat next to her. The staff member and Sirpa asked Jay their questions. Teresa was back where she’d been, like she’d never left. She... hadn’t left. She remembered Jay opening up about her... story-telling group, was it? Floriano leaving. And Dr. Everson’s arrival. But she also remembered being lost in incessant memory...

Her head hurt. Would she look crazy if she said anything? Probably. The next best thing, then.

She leaned forward, picked up her glass and downed the rest of her whiskey in one go.

Kyo appeared to zone out for a second, then quickly snapped back to existence. i'll go say hi. They started walking over to the new guy, with a garden around him, and offered him a hand to shake.He wasn't a Shintake, but so what?

That attitude immediately changed when an eye glimpsed what was… was that an elder wyrm? not again. Kyo instantly drew their bow yet again, not daring to take their eyes off that monstrosity.

Kyo let the arrow fly.There was a permit to fight here, and no one else noticed it.They drew their sword and charged.