Forging Ash of the Beloved
Book One: Air and Ash and All We Lost
By Jesse Annette
Posted: Mar 19th, 2026
Approx. Length: 3.1k words
Week Two
Austra- Habits
Austra kept returning to Daria’s room each night as if pulled by a tide she couldn’t fight. The pattern became familiar, almost natural: slipping in after lights-out, Daria opening the door without a word, as though she’d been standing just on the other side listening for her footsteps. Every night ended the same way, Daria’s breath warm against her collarbone, an arm curved around her waist, lava-light painting slow patterns across the basalt ceiling while Austra lay awake beneath the weight of everything she wasn’t saying.
Their “secret” spilled into the caverns in fragments.
Austra leaped over a broken ledge and landed hard in Daria’s arms.
“I knew you’d catch me.”
“Stop trusting me so much.”
“I can’t.”
Daria threw up flame barriers without hesitation, shielding Austra mid-strike.
“You okay?”
“I am now.”
Late-night squad briefings dissolved into laughter, then silence, then hands braced on a map table while the others filtered out.
Daria touched Austra’s cheek after every mission, thumb brushing her skin, grounding, steady. Austra murmuring into her hair, “You make me want to be better.”
They shared heated kisses stolen in shadowed corridors after missions. Austra traced fire-lines along Daria’s arms in the dark. Daria brushed loose strands of silver hair from Austra’s face with a tenderness that made her chest ache.
Austra told Daria secrets. Real ones. Careful ones. The kind that felt like truth. She never told her the biggest one.
Daria- Hiding
Daria had spent years mastering restraint. She buried emotion beneath discipline, honed duty until it swallowed want, filtered every feeling through strategy. Emotions made leaders soft. Soft leaders made dead soldiers.
Then Austra laughed at something Darvin said, head tipped back, eyes bright as dawn, and something inside Daria shifted like tectonic plates grinding loose. She hated it. Hated the way her pulse stumbled when Austra’s hand brushed her sleeve. Hated that Austra fought with a grin. Hated how easily she read Daria’s moods, how often she knew what Daria needed before Daria said a word.
Daria told herself not to look. Her eyes found Austra anyway. And when Austra caught her gaze and held it, warm, open, unguarded, Daria always looked away first.
Always. Because if she didn’t, she was afraid of what she might reveal.
Austra- Her Squad
Austra didn’t realize how fast the Crosswinds moved until she was nearly hurled off a ridge.
“Jump!” Mika shouted, already halfway across the gap.
“I am jumping!” Austra yelled back, sprinting hard. Varn caught her wrist at the last second and hauled her over with a grunt that sounded suspiciously like laughter. He rarely laughed. Austra grinned anyway and didn’t let go of his wrist until her footing was sure.
They jogged along the Caldera rim, scouting one of the old ash vents. It was supposed to be a simple perimeter run, but with Mika’s reckless enthusiasm and Darvin’s relentless we can go five more miles stamina, Austra learned quickly that “simple” didn’t exist here. Rill called out sulfur deposits and wind shifts without being asked. Darvin paced them with infuriating ease. Varn kept silently adjusting their spacing, always putting himself between Mika and danger.
Austra noticed. She noticed the way Mika always doubled back if someone lagged. The way Rill automatically matched her stride. The way Varn handed her water without comment, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.
By noon, they were sprawled along a rocky ledge, eating scorched root wraps. Mika reenacted Austra’s near-fall with dramatic flair, badly. Rill and Darvin corrected him with meticulous footwork, which was worse. Varn snorted into his lunch and passed Austra the better half of his wrap without looking at her.
Austra laughed until her ribs ached. She hadn’t meant to let it happen…this warmth, this ease…but it slipped past her defenses anyway. Somewhere between shared canteens and shouted warnings and hands grabbing her out of danger, the Crosswinds had become hers. Not by blood. Not by oath. By rhythm. By repetition. By choosing each other over and over without ceremony.
She kept glancing toward Daria, who stood a little apart, arms crossed, scanning the horizon. But every time Austra laughed, Daria’s shoulders softened, just a fraction. A tell. A quiet approval. Austra held onto that warmth all the way back.
Daria- Scouting
Daria watched her squad from a distance as they ate, joked, and moved with the unguarded ease of people who trusted one another. She didn’t join them, not because she didn’t want to, but because she never quite knew where to put herself once the formalities dropped away. Still, she stayed close enough to hear the laughter. Close enough to see the way the group bent instinctively around Austra now.
Mika’s explosive loyalty. Rill’s sharp attention. Darvin’s steady calibration. Varn’s quiet vigilance. And Austra, who had slipped into the Crosswinds as if she’d always been meant to stand there. Austra laughed with her whole body, head tipped back, shoulders shaking, hands briefly covering her face as if the sound surprised her. It did something to the others. It anchored them. Daria told herself she was observing morale. But she was watching Austra be held. When Mika exaggerated the fall, Rill corrected him. When Darvin pushed too hard, Varn reeled him back. When Austra laughed, they all leaned in, just a little, like gravity had shifted.
Daria hated how much she liked it. Worse, they were becoming real. A unit. Not because she’d drilled them into it, but because they’d chosen it. And Austra was at the center of that choice, bright and unguarded in a way Daria had never learned to be.
A good commander adapted. A good leader recognized momentum. But as Austra planted her hands on her hips and challenged Mika to a footrace, something tight and hot twisted under Daria’s ribs. This wasn’t just integration anymore. This was belonging. And Daria felt herself lighten at the thought.
Austra- Armory
One night, after a brutal day of squad training, Austra found Daria alone in the armory. She sat on a stone ledge, sharpening a dagger with slow, exact strokes. The only light came from a low-burning ember sconce, bathing Daria in warm gold and catching in her hair, her eyes softened by shadow. Austra lingered in the doorway for a moment, watching the rhythm of it…the scrape, the pause, the breath.
“You’re tired,” Austra said gently.
Daria didn’t look up. “I’m always tired.”
“Not like this.”
Silence. Steel on stone. The emberlight flickered.
“You talk about rest like it’s something meant for people like me.”
Austra stepped closer. “It is.”
“No.” Daria’s voice stayed level, practiced. “If I falter, someone else bleeds.”
Austra swallowed. She recognized the shape of that belief, the way it hollowed a person out and called it duty. But this went deeper. This was a daughter raised to lead, a fighter trained to endure, a woman taught never to ask.
She moved closer, quiet as falling ash. “You don’t have to be strong all the time.”
Daria’s hand stilled. Her shoulders lifted with a slow, controlled breath. “You say that,” Daria said carefully, “like strength is optional for me.”
Something tightened painfully in Austra’s chest. She sat beside her, close enough that their thighs brushed. The low light carved shadows across Daria’s face, sharpening what was already restrained. Austra reached out and gently took the dagger from her hand, setting it aside. Daria stiffened, but didn’t pull away.
“Let me sit with you,” Austra said.
Daria inhaled as if the words scraped something raw. But she didn’t say no.
“You can let me in,” Austra added softly. “Just a little.”
Daria finally looked at her. Weariness lived there. Longing. Fear, sharp and guarded, like a blade kept hidden until needed.
“You shouldn’t want to know me,” Daria said quietly. “It will hurt.”
Austra smiled, small and warm. “I bruise well.”
A faint huff escaped Daria before she could stop it. A victory, small, real. Her hand shifted, barely an inch, but enough. Austra covered it without thinking.
Daria didn’t pull away. Austra stayed. She offered touch. Silence. Presence. Everything that felt safe to give. She did not offer the truth burning behind her ribs.
Daria- Caution
Austra had become a presence she couldn’t filter out. Like heat. Like light. Like a risk she couldn’t calculate. One night, Daria lay awake beside her, staring at the stone ceiling while sleep refused to come. Austra’s hand rested on her ribs, warm and unguarded. Trusting. Daria had no right to that kind of trust, not with the decisions she’d made, not with the blood she carried, but gods, she wanted it. She wanted it more than safety. More than control. The words slipped out before she could stop them. “If I let you in too far…” A pause. Her heartbeat thundered. “…I might not know how to let you go.”
Austra went still. Daria kept her eyes on the ceiling. If she looked at her, she would fracture. Instead, Austra lifted herself just enough to cradle Daria’s face in both hands and kissed her, slow, soft, reverent. Like a benediction.
“I’m not going anywhere,” Austra whispered.
It sounded like a promise. It felt like one. And that terrified Daria more than any threat she’d ever faced. She closed her eyes and let herself lean into it. Let herself be held. Austra curled into her arms easily, as if she belonged there. Daria wrapped herself around her and held on, knowing, somewhere deep and unspoken, that Austra had offered comfort, not certainty. That she had given warmth, not the whole truth. And even as Daria let herself soften, let herself fall, a quiet dread settled in her chest. Soft things never lasted.
Austra- More Reporting
The hardest moment came again. She forced herself from the warmth of Daria’s bed, careful not to wake her, moving like a thief through the soft dark of the room. The stone floor was cold against her bare feet. Every step felt too loud. She paused at the door, breath held, listening for any change in Daria’s steady breathing. Nothing. Still asleep.
Austra slipped out anyway, hating the way it felt, this quiet retreat, this borrowed tenderness she kept leaving behind. She climbed toward the upper exit with her shoulders tight, already rehearsing what she would say. What she could say.
Her next report was shorter than the last. She kept her thoughts clipped and controlled, because anything lingering too long risked revealing how deeply she was already entangled. She spoke of training schedules and patrol rotations. Of squad cohesion. Of efficiency. She flattened Mika’s terrible humor, Rill’s fierce protectiveness, Varn’s steady kindness, and Darvin’s watchful attentiveness, all into sterile phrases, stripping them of warmth, of laughter, of loyalty.
When her mind drifted, just for a heartbeat, to Daria’s hand at the small of her back, to the way the squad looked at their commander with something like faith, the stone pulsed hotter, impatient. Austra forced the thought away. Captain Cross’ leadership remains precise and effective. The lie fit cleanly enough to pass. She shaped the rest with care, pared everything down to what sounded useful and harmless, and sent it before she could falter. The stone cooled in her palm, satisfied.
Austra tucked it away and stood there for a long moment in the night air, guilt buzzing beneath her skin like a second pulse. Then she turned back, retracing her steps through the tunnels, back to the room she wasn’t supposed to want this much.
She slipped into bed again, easing herself against Daria’s warmth. Daria shifted in her sleep, an arm finding Austra’s waist as if she’d never left. The familiarity of it made Austra’s chest ache. She lay awake for a while, staring into the dark, the weight of the report pressing harder than the stone ever had. And she wondered, briefly, helplessly, how many truths she could keep carving away before there was nothing left that still belonged to her.
WEEK THREE
Austra- Maps
One night they stayed behind in the map room long after the rest of the caverns had gone quiet. Daria worked in near silence, charcoal scraping softly as she traced patrol routes and fallback lines across the parchment. Austra lay sprawled on the table, chin in her hands, watching her without pretense.
“Stop that,” Daria murmured, without looking up.
“Stop what?”
“Watching me.”
“I can’t.” Daria paused, fingers hovering over the map. Austra grinned. “You’re very watchable.”
“You’re very distracting,” Daria said, finally glancing at her.
“Thank you.”
“That wasn’t a compliment.”
“It felt like one.”
Daria exhaled, a sound caught between annoyance and reluctant amusement. Austra slid closer and rested her head lightly against Daria’s shoulder. Daria stiffened, then, after a breath, allowed it.
“Is this acceptable?” Austra murmured.
“No,” Daria said.
She didn’t move. Austra smiled, warmth blooming quietly in her chest. They stayed like that for a while: Daria thinking, planning, bearing the weight of command; Austra watching her work, memorizing the slope of her shoulders, the small thoughtful sounds she made, the way she worried her lip when something didn’t quite fit.
And if Austra fell a little more in love with those details, if she let herself sink into the comfort of simply being near her, that felt less like a mistake and more like routine now. She didn’t say it aloud. She never did.
Daria- Knife Tricks
They were in the training hall after hours, torches burned low, the stone floor cool beneath bare feet. Austra was practicing knife tricks, unnecessary, reckless, and infuriatingly graceful.
“Watch this,” Austra said, spinning a blade between her fingers. “I call it the please don’t drop your weapon, Austra flourish.”
Daria pretended not to watch. She watched anyway. The blade flicked upward, too high, slipped, and for half a heartbeat the world narrowed to motion. Daria moved without thinking. Her hand shot out, catching the knife inches from Austra’s shoulder.
Austra stared. “You caught that?”
“Yes.”
“That fast?”
“Yes.”
A pause stretched between them. Austra stepped closer, eyes bright with something unreadable. “Daria?”
“…Yes?”
“You like me.”
Daria froze. “Mistaken conclusion.”
“You saved me from embarrassment.”
“You’re embarrassing regardless.”
Austra smiled. “You’re adorable when you lie.”
Daria turned away too sharply. Heat crept up the tips of her ears.
Austra pressed a hand dramatically to her chest. “You’re blushing.”
“No.”
“You are.”
“Austra.”
“Yes, dear?”
Daria’s breath caught despite herself. “Go wash up,” she ordered, voice clipped, controlled.
Austra obeyed, but her smile lingered, soft and satisfied, as she walked away. Daria watched her go, hands still tight around the knife. She almost followed. Almost pulled her back. Almost let herself say something that couldn’t be unsaid. Instead, she stayed where she was, mastering the quiet again, and hating how much it cost her.
Austra- Stakeout
They were stationed on a narrow ledge overlooking a Zephyrian guard outpost, watching patrol patterns loop and repeat below them. The silence stretched thin and deliberate. Daria was focused, precise, and still. Austra was bored. She leaned just close enough that their arms brushed. “Hey,” she whispered. “Want to hear a secret?”
“No,” Daria said flatly.
“Great.” Austra grinned. “I’ll tell you anyway.”
Daria closed her eyes for a brief second, an expression that said why do I allow this, but Austra noticed the subtle shift of her weight, the way she leaned closer as if bracing herself.
Austra nodded toward the outpost. “See that guard over there?”
“Yes.”
“His posture is tragic. Slumped shoulders. Spine curved like a melted candle.”
Daria blinked. “You think I care about his posture?”
“Yes,” Austra said proudly. “Because you respect structural integrity.”
A beat passed. Then, barely, the corner of Daria’s mouth twitched.
Austra gasped softly. “Did you just smile?”
“I did not.”
“You did. I saw it. Daria, you smiled at my joke about posture. I am unstoppable.”
“Austra,” Daria warned, “if you speak again, I will push you off this ledge.”
“You won’t.”
Daria didn’t answer. Austra felt warmth bloom beneath her ribs, not fear, not bravado, but certainty. She was falling for this woman. She saw everything Daria tried to keep buried: the tightness in her voice when Austra was hurt, the way her gaze tracked her in crowded rooms, the panic she masked when Austra disappeared from sight too long. Austra collected those moments quietly. Treasured them.
That night, Daria fell asleep with her fingers curled into Austra’s shirt, breath warm against her shoulder. Austra brushed her lips into Daria’s hair and whispered, barely louder than a breath, “You care about me more than you want to.”
Daria didn’t wake. But her hand tightened.
Daria- Accidental Touches
Daria didn’t mean to touch her, not with the entire squad crowded around the wash station, steam rising, voices echoing, exhaustion clinging to everyone like damp ash. Austra stood at one of the basins, sleeves rolled to her elbows, hair tied back, water running over her forearms.
Daria had walked past her a dozen times without incident. But this time something slipped, something in Austra’s posture, or the tired slump of her shoulders, or the way her hair clung to her cheek. Daria’s hand lifted before she could stop it. Two fingers brushed the back of Austra’s neck. Warm.
Austra inhaled sharply. Daria froze. Mistake, her mind supplied immediately. Weakness. But when Austra turned, eyes wide, breath caught, Daria didn’t pull away. Not right away.
“Daria?” Austra whispered.
Daria couldn’t answer. Her pulse thundered. Her hand stilled, then lowered, carefully, deliberately, as if nothing had happened. She stepped back, every movement controlled. Inside, she felt flayed. As though she’d said something dangerous aloud without ever opening her mouth.
Austra- Splitting
The third report since joining the Crosswinds was the worst. She avoided the sending stone for two full days, telling herself she just needed the right words. But the right words never came. Every version felt like a betrayal…of Daria, of the Crosswinds, of herself.
She finally left the caverns just before dawn, hands shaking as she tried to compress a week’s worth of laughter, trust, and quiet intimacy into something her mother could consume. She stripped away everything that mattered: the way Daria’s thumb brushed her jaw during sparring corrections, the late-night laughter in empty halls, the brief, impossible moments where Austra felt safe. She reduced it all to phrases like increasing trust and growing rapport, hoping neutrality might pass for truth. The stone pulsed. Stored. Sent.
Austra returned to the caverns and slipped back into Daria’s arms, feeling heavier than before, like she was slowly becoming someone she didn’t recognize, someone split cleanly down the middle between what she gave and what she hid.
© 2026 Jesse Annette. All rights reserved.
Forging Ash of the Beloved 
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