Forging Ash of the Beloved
Book One: Air and Ash and All We Lost
By Jesse Annette
Posted: Mar 26th, 2026
Approx. Length: 2.8k words
Content Note: 3x Hot
Austra- Puns
She started piecing together Daria’s tells. They were small and almost invisible to anyone who wasn’t watching closely. Daria’s breathing changed when Austra brushed her knuckles against her hand. A muscle jumped in her jaw when Austra complimented her. Her ears warmed, just slightly, when Austra said her name softly. When Daria was annoyed with others, her voice sharpened. When she was annoyed with Austra, it softened instead.
Daria never leaned in. But she never stepped away either. And when they passed each other in narrow corridors, Daria’s fingers sometimes ghosted, just barely, along the back of Austra’s hand. A semicircle of warmth. A touch kept deliberately small. Daria probably thought Austra didn’t notice. Austra noticed everything.
She had tried flirting. Teasing. Leaning close. Breathing against Daria’s neck during stealth training. Even finger guns, multiple times, despite clear evidence that they were dangerous. Daria resisted all of it with iron discipline.
So Austra tried something else. She waited for the right moment: a quiet morning, pale sunlight filtering through cavern vents, Daria moving through slow, precise sword drills. Austra leaned casually against the wall.
“Daria,” she said solemnly, “I have something important to tell you.”
Without breaking rhythm, Daria replied, “Say it.”
Austra cleared her throat. “If you were a blade,” she announced, “you’d be… a cut above the rest.”
Daria’s sword strike faltered. Just barely.
Austra gasped. “You paused. That’s practically laughing.”
“I did not pause,” Daria said, resuming her form.
“You did,” Austra insisted. “A hiccup of amusement. A tremor in your stoic composure.”
Daria inhaled sharply through her nose, the sound she made when she was exerting heroic effort not to react. Austra grinned. A victory. Small. Hard-won. Glorious.
Daria- Jokes
Daria did not laugh easily. Or often. Her life had been shaped by discipline, leadership, and survival. Her mother had taught her that emotions were liabilities, especially joy.
Then there was Austra. She slipped into Daria’s defenses like sunlight through cracked stone. Too bright. Too persistent. And when she made terrible jokes, truly offensive ones, Daria felt something tug low in her chest. She hated it. She loved it.
During a weapons-cleaning session, Austra had said lightly, “You know, Daria… every time I see you, my heart ignites. It’s a flame cantrip. You understand.”
Daria nearly dropped her blade. A sound escaped her, not a laugh, but dangerously close. A sharp exhale through her nose. Barely there. Austra’s eyes lit up like she’d been handed a medal.
“There it is!” she declared. “The legendary micro-laugh.”
“It was not,” Daria said.
“It absolutely was.”
“Austra.”
“Daria,” she replied serenely, “face facts. I’m hilarious.”
Daria did not smile. But her shoulders loosened. Warmth spread through her chest, unwelcome and undeniable. Gods help her, she was falling. And she still hadn’t figured out how to stop.
Austra- Fallen
She realized she had passed the point of no return during a sparring match, so suddenly it nearly knocked the wind from her. Sunlight filtered through the cracked roof of the training atrium, catching the copper in Daria’s hair. Sweat traced the line of her jaw. Her breathing was steady, controlled. She moved with lethal elegance, expression calm, precise.
Austra lunged. Daria dodged. Steel rang as their blades met again. Daria shoved her back; Austra caught her wrist, and suddenly they were chest to chest, locked in place. Daria’s gaze flicked to Austra’s mouth. Barely. Just barely. But Austra saw it. Heat flooded her chest.
“Commander?” Austra murmured, smug and breathless.
Daria swallowed. “I do not yield,” she said stiffly.
“No,” Austra replied, leaning in the smallest fraction. Daria’s breath stuttered. Her pupils widened. Austra felt the heat of what Daria refused to name. “You never let yourself lose.”
Daria’s voice dropped. “I lose to you more than you know.”
Something bloomed painfully in Austra’s chest. With devastating clarity, she understood. Oh. Oh hell. She was in love with this quiet, disciplined, dangerous woman, with her restrained touches, her silent tells, her iron-walled heart that Austra was unlocking piece by careful piece. And Daria didn’t even realize how much she was giving away.
Austra lifted her thumb and brushed it along Daria’s cheekbone. Daria closed her eyes. A surrender no one else would ever see. Austra felt breathless. I’m yours, she thought, dizzy with it. And you don’t even know you’re allowed to claim me.
Daria- Softness
Daria was not accustomed to surrender. Not physically. Not emotionally. Not ever. So when Austra kissed her that night, slow, lingering, hungry but patient, something inside her gave way. Austra’s hands settled at her waist. Her breath warmed Daria’s throat. Her voice was gentle. “Let me take care of you.”
No one took care of her. Ever. Daria hesitated. Held her breath. Fought a familiar internal battle. Then she leaned into Austra’s touch.
They undressed each other gently, hands memorizing skin, lips marking warmth. Austra kissed down her jaw, tender and reverent. Daria let her. Austra lifted Daria’s chin with soft fingers. Daria let her. Austra traced her fingertips over Daria’s breasts, slow enough to unravel her. Daria let her.
When Austra kissed down her stomach and paused with her head hovering in between her thighs, looked up at her with their eyes locking and whispered, “You’re safe with me,” Daria’s heart stuttered. When Austra’s tongue dipped below her belly button, and her mouth devoured her, Daria broke.
When Daria finally collapsed in waves of fire, breath trembling, she pulled Austra close and kissed her like need and want and fear had all collapsed into one. Austra matched her intensity but kept the pace gentle, grounding, deliberate…loving. Austra’s fingers traced patterns along her breasts, her stomach, and then down further in lazy circles as Daria writhed against her.
Austra continued to kiss her slowly and deliberately as her fingers slid inside her. Daria moaned before she could hold herself back and arched deeper into Austra’s kiss.
“Good?” Austra murmured.
“…Yes,” Daria whispered into her mouth. Too soft. Too honest.
When she peaked again, Austra held her heated gaze with tenderness and molten desire. Daria melted into Austra’s arms. Her heart nearly stopped when Austra locked stormy eyes with hers, pulled her fingers from in between Daria’s thighs and put them into her mouth, a soft moan escaping her lips.
Fire leapt up Daria’s spine as she pinned Austra beneath her in one fluid movement, straddling her hips and grinding into her. She was captivated by the sight of Austra beneath her, her body writhing as she moaned Daria’s name, peaking. They melted into a puddle of heated breaths and warm touches.
Austra trailed tiny, whispered kisses down Daria’s neck as she sighed gently. Daria’s eyelids fluttered closed. Austra stroked her hair, heart swelling. “I like you like this,” she said lightly. “Soft.”
“I am not soft,” Daria protested, breath hitching.
“You are with me.”
Daria went still. Then she exhaled. “…Yes,” she said quietly. “So don’t break it.”
Austra kissed her forehead. “I won’t.”
Austra- Strategy
The first time Austra sat in on a real GPR strategy review with the Crosswinds, her heart nearly stopped. Maps sprawled across the stone table in Daria’s private war room. Ink-lines traced the Queen’s Guard patrol patterns. Rill argued with Varn over supply routes. Mika asked too many questions and failed to apologize for it. Darvin anchored the discussion with quiet, measured corrections. Austra kept her hands folded neatly in her lap, posture perfect, because gods, every mark on that map mattered. Every route was something she could be asked to report. Every detail was a betrayal waiting to happen.
But as the meeting unfolded, something shifted. She stopped hearing intel. She started hearing people. Rill argued for safer evacuation paths. Mika pushed loudly for shielding families on the Caldera rim. Darvin pointed out where elderly Fire Genasi clustered in the lower vents, voice careful, precise. These weren’t schematics. They were lives. Lives she was supposed to hand back to the Queen.
When the discussion turned to risks along the southern ridge, Austra spoke once, carefully, diplomatically. “There’s an unstable lava chute here,” she said, tapping the map lightly. “If the supply line shifts fifteen feet west…”
Daria looked up at her. Not irritated. Focused. “Good catch,” she said quietly.
Warmth bloomed beneath Austra’s ribs. Shame followed close behind. This was the fourth week since she’d become Oathsworn. Her fourth report to her mother loomed in days.
By now, she was practiced at omission. Too practiced. She knew which emotions to smother before they reached conscious thought, which truths to blunt until the sending-stone couldn’t taste them. Her reports were clean. Efficient. Harmless on the surface, summaries of duties, notes on cavern infrastructure, scheduling shifts, and minor surface observations. Never the real things. Never the truths she was beginning to care about. The stone always warmed when she hesitated, when she almost thought of Daria’s mouth, her laugh, the way her breath caught when they touched, the quiet warmth of waking tangled together. Austra crushed each thought down before the stone could latch on.
Each week, the lies grew more precise. Each week, the truth grew harder to face. And still, every night, she returned to Daria’s door. Every night, it opened. Every night, Daria pulled her close like it was the most natural thing in the world, like Austra was not a spy, like she wasn’t lying by omission to someone she had fallen for, like her loyalty wasn’t shifting by degrees she refused to name. Austra had fallen for all of them: Daria, the squad, the fragile rhythm of belonging she was never meant to crave.
The sending-stone had become the only place she pretended otherwise. Her mother received three flawless, unremarkable reports. Austra knew what they really were: Three perfect lies. And every one of them hurt.
That evening, draped across Daria’s chest, listening to the steady thrum of her heartbeat, Daria whispered, hesitant, “Austra?”
“Yes,” Austra murmured, half-asleep.
“Stay tonight?”
Austra lifted her head, stunned. Daria stared at the ceiling, jaw tight, as if bracing for rejection. Warmth surged through Austra so sharply she nearly cried. She kissed Daria slowly, tenderly, cradling her face.
“I’m not going anywhere,” she whispered.
Daria’s breath shuddered. She wrapped her arms around Austra without restraint, holding her close, tight, as if afraid the world might steal her away. Austra held her and thought, I would burn down the sky to protect you. Even knowing, fully knowing, that she was lying by omission. And lies grew teeth. And teeth always demanded blood.
Daria- Humming
One quiet night in her quarters, Austra sat cross-legged on the floor, polishing her daggers and humming terribly off-key.
Daria watched from the bed.
Austra glanced up. “What?”
“You’re humming,” Daria said.
“Am I?”
“Yes.”
Austra tilted her head. “Is that… not allowed?”
Daria hesitated, then shook her head. “No.”
Austra smiled, warm, unguarded, soft in a way that made Daria’s heart stumble. “Well,” she said lightly, “if it bothers you, I’ll stop.”
“It doesn’t,” Daria said, too quickly.
Austra’s brows lifted. “Oh?”
Daria swallowed. “It’s… nice,” she admitted, quietly.
Austra blinked, slow and gentle, as if the words mattered. Daria looked away before she could give herself away completely. I’m doomed, she thought. For once, the realization didn’t frighten her. It thrilled her.
Austra- Choices
By the end of the first month, Austra had learned Daria’s rhythms. In the mornings, Daria was quiet but warm, letting Austra kiss her cheek without protest, eyes still closed. In squad meetings, Daria’s gaze softened, only a fraction, whenever Austra spoke. When they sparred, Daria fought her harder than anyone else, as if she were sharpening Austra into something unbreakable. And at night, when they lay together, Daria always kept one hand on her, at her hip, her ribs, her thigh. Grounding. Possessive only in sleep. A promise never spoken aloud.
Still, Daria revealed almost nothing directly. No confessions. No public affection. No declarations. But Austra understood restraint as a language. When Daria murmured, Tell me where you are on every mission. I need to know, Austra’s chest ached with tenderness. When Daria whispered her name in the dark, voice hoarse, that was confession enough. When Daria kissed her like something precious and dangerous, Austra knew, hopelessly, irreversibly, that she was in love.
The first real test of loyalty came three days after Austra’s first full strategy read-in. They had remained behind in the war room after the others left, maps still spread across the obsidian table. Daria stood close at Austra’s shoulder, voice low, precise. “The northern ridge patrols don’t rotate the way the Queen’s Guard expects,” she said quietly, tapping a charcoal-marked line. “There’s an unguarded maintenance cut here, old and unstable. If they learn about it, they’ll seal it. Or worse, weaponize it.”
Austra looked up at her. “You’re not putting it in the reports.”
Daria met her gaze. Held it. “No.”
The weight of that trust settled between them, heavy, unmistakable.
“This stays with us,” Daria said. Not an order. A choice. “If Zephyra learns about that access point, people die.”
Austra nodded. She didn’t hesitate. She didn’t ask for clarification. She simply said, “I won’t tell anyone.”
Daria’s shoulders loosened, just slightly. She reached out, fingers brushing Austra’s wrist once. Gratitude. Relief. Trust.
That night, Daria slept with her forehead pressed to Austra’s collarbone, breath slow and unguarded. And that was the secret Austra carried when she woke before dawn to send her one-month report. She lay still for a long moment, suspended between warmth and obligation. Daria’s hand rested loosely at her hip, possessive only in the way of someone who slept without fear. Lava-light painted Daria’s bare shoulders in soft orange, unreal, like a guardian statue brought briefly to life. Austra should move. She had a report to send. Daria murmured her name in her sleep and nudged closer, and Austra felt herself unravel.
She slipped free carefully, sitting on the edge of the bed with her face in her hands. “One month,” she whispered. “And I’m already breaking.”
She dressed quickly and quietly, brushed back her hair with her fingers, and slipped into the cooler corridor. By the time she reached the cliffside path, the sky over Pyronous had bruised into violet, ash haze drifting like slow smoke. She knelt at her usual outcropping and unwrapped the sending stone.
It flared warmly at her touch. She shaped the first lines with practiced precision: Month one complete. Integration successful. Full access secured. Pulse. Acceptance. Squad operational effectiveness high. Cohesion strong. Roles well distributed. Another pulse. The stone warmed further, waiting.
Austra’s breath shook. She spoke carefully, flattening her thoughts into something safe: No significant internal fractures observed. Minor interpersonal tensions resolving naturally. Captain Cross demonstrates disciplined leadership and strategic competence. All of it was true. None of it was complete.
She did not mention the northern ridge. Did not mention the maintenance cut. Did not mention the map Daria had trusted her with while standing close enough that their shoulders touched.
The stone hummed, confused, sensing distortion. Austra clenched her jaw. She realized then that she needed a new mask, not just for her mother, but for the stone itself. A consistent emotional shape. A pattern of omission stable enough to pass as truth.
Because if she kept reporting while her heart fractured open, the stone would eventually taste it. And her mother would notice.
She steadied her breathing and added, deliberately: Recommend continued observation. No intervention advised at this time. She almost stopped there. Almost. Then she added one final line, slow and careful, shaped like a warning without a confession: Some external intelligence regarding local access routes may be unreliable or intentionally misleading. Will reassess as data stabilizes.
A half-truth. A shield. A choice. The stone pulsed. Stored. Tap. Tap. Sent. The warmth faded. Austra pressed the stone to her sternum, chest aching. Below her, Pyronous stirred awake. Somewhere beneath the mountain, Daria slept, trusting her.
Austra knew, then, with terrifying clarity that she was stepping over a line she could not uncross. And for the first time, she suspected, deeply, irrevocably, that when the moment came, she would not choose the side her mother expected.
© 2026 Jesse Annette. All rights reserved.
Forging Ash of the Beloved 
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