Forging Ash of the Beloved
Book One: Air and Ash and All We Lost
By Jesse Annette
Posted: Apr 2nd, 2026
Approx. Length: 2.3k words
Half-Truths and whole Hearts
Daria- Routines
Daria had rules for herself. No attachments. No distractions. No softness. Austra broke each one with a kiss. It happened gradually at first…one night turning into another, one touch becoming permission, one whispered stay becoming routine…but the realization arrived like a blade between her ribs: Austra was hers. Hers to lead. Hers to trust. Hers to lose.
Daria hated the feeling. Hated how possessive it made her, how quickly it turned strategic, how her mind began mapping risk around Austra like it was a battlefield. But she couldn’t stop. Their nights were breathless and addictive, an intensity Daria pretended was just stress relief, just hunger, just physical.
It wasn’t. She tried to keep her hands gentle. Tried to keep her voice even. But sometimes she wanted Austra with a fierceness that scared her, wanted her pressed close, wanted her quiet, wanted her safe. Wanted her where no one else could reach her. And Austra always met her there without flinching, returning every kiss like a vow.
Inch by grudging inch, Daria let her in. And every time Austra touched her cheek, or murmured her name like it belonged to her, something inside Daria cracked open and warmed. She hid it the way she hid everything: behind discipline, behind routines, behind orders barked too sharply.
The squad was nosy enough without having leverage. But the morning-after chaos was humiliating. Varn smirked when Daria entered the mess hall with her hair braided too fast and her collar a fraction crooked. Rill’s eyes flicked over her once, approval or assessment, Daria couldn’t tell, and she nodded like Daria had passed some test. Mika nudged Austra hard enough to make her stumble and stage-whispered, “Someone’s glowing.”
Daria threatened disciplinary action. It did nothing.
And every night when Austra appeared at her door, Daria let her in without hesitation. Without restraint. Like she’d been waiting. Like the room itself had been holding its breath.
Austra- Belonging
She learned the Crosswinds the way she learned lockpicks and escape routes: by heart. Mika’s reckless devotion. Varn’s steady strength. Rill’s practical calm that hid startling intensity. Darvin’s quiet perception and his annoying tendency to notice things Austra wanted buried. They weren’t polished soldiers, and that made them more dangerous, because they fought like people who cared whether their squadmate lived.
They became a strange kind of comfort. Mika dragged her into footraces she never meant to win and then yelled accusations when she inevitably did. Varn taught her how to read the Caldera’s tremors through her feet, how to tell when the mountain was restless versus angry. Rill showed her the war maps’ coded inks and the subtle ways GPR scouts marked safe passages without ever writing them plainly. Darvin introduced her to dagger tricks so flashy they should’ve been illegal and then grinned when she outdid him.
And Daria…Daria began softening in ways Austra could feel more than name. A lingering correction of her stance. A hand that stayed at her lower back a second too long. A quiet murmur of approval that slid under Austra’s skin like heat. A subtle shift during patrols so Daria was always just near enough…close enough to catch her if she fell, close enough to kill anyone who tried anything. Every brush of contact made Austra’s heart skitter.
Every night in Daria’s quarters made Austra feel fuller and emptier at once, safe in a way she hadn’t expected to crave, wanted in a way she hadn’t expected to survive.
And underneath it all, she built something else. Her spy mask didn’t announce itself dramatically. It formed in small, disciplined choices: a swallowed detail, a softened sentence, a truth trimmed until it stopped bleeding. She practiced omission until it became instinct. She learned how to think around the sending stone, how to keep her mind from snagging on warmth, on laughter, on Daria’s mouth, on the fierce tenderness of Daria saying stay.
Her weekly reports became works of careful craftsmanship. Nothing of consequence. Harmless summaries. Blunted details. Curated truth shaved down to a shape the stone could swallow cleanly. Every message protected the Crosswinds. Protected Daria.
And the more Austra gave Daria, real smiles, real laughter, real softness in the dark, the more she withheld from everyone else. She handed Daria her tenderness like it was honesty.
She buried her secrets deeper. She told herself it was safety. It was protection. It was control. She told herself she believed it. And some nights, with Daria’s hand heavy on her hip and her breath warm against Austra’s throat, she almost did.
Daria- A Unit
Daria kept her stride even along the upper ridge trail, but something in her felt… unsettled. Not in the dangerous way. In the irritating way.
Mika jogged up beside her, breathless with excitement. “Commander! Crosswinds formation is ready!”
Daria didn’t look up. “Stop calling us that.”
“Yes, Commander,” Mika chirped, then immediately cupped his hands and shouted over his shoulder, “YOU HEARD HER! CROSSWINDS, ON ME!”
Daria exhaled through her nose, sharp, disapproving, professional, and absolutely did not allow the faint upward tug at the corner of her mouth to show. She hated the name. She told them she hated the name. She disciplined them for using the name.
But privately, silently, she loved it. Crosswinds sounded like motion. Like force. Like a unit that belonged to her. Like something she’d built. And that was the problem: she shouldn’t feel this attached. She especially shouldn’t feel attached to the silver-haired Oathsworn slipping into formation with controlled grace, wind curling around her ankles like a loyal pet. Austra.
Daria stiffened automatically, she always did when Austra came near, but a month into their nights together, she recognized the difference. Her tension wasn’t fear. Or defensiveness. Or suspicion. It was anticipation. Gods. That was worse.
Austra took the right flank, offered a simple nod. No chaos today. No flirting. No finger guns. No mischief that made Daria want to set the ridge on fire. Just quiet, respectful acknowledgment.
The nod hit Daria like a strike to the ribs, and she noticed something new had grown deeper in Austra. Not the fire between them, something else. Trust…Austra trusted her. And the unnerving, unacceptable truth curling like smoke in Daria’s chest was that Daria trusted her back.
She realized it in pieces throughout the morning. When Austra corrected Mika’s grip with gentle competence, Daria trusted she wouldn’t humiliate him. When Austra scouted ahead without being told and returned with sharp, clean intel, Daria trusted her judgment. When Austra caught Varn before he slipped on loose scree, Daria trusted her reflexes, her awareness, her instinct to protect. When Austra looked back for direction, quiet and steady, Daria trusted that she would follow her lead. And trust, Daria knew, was the most dangerous weapon of all.
Halfway through the march, Mika jogged beside her again. “Commander! Did you see Crosswinds out there? That was our tightest run yet!”
Daria scowled. “I said stop—” but Mika was already sprinting ahead, unrepentant.
Austra slowed just enough to be within earshot, her eyes sparkling with barely-contained amusement. Daria pretended not to notice. She also pretended not to feel the warm twist in her stomach, the one that came whenever her squad moved in sync. Whenever they acted like a unit. Whenever Austra fit into them like she’d always belonged.
Daria watched her team, her Crosswinds, and for one dizzy moment, she let herself feel proud. Then she shoved it down hard. Because pride was dangerous. And trusting Austra was something else entirely.
When the run ended and they paused to rest, Austra drifted subtly closer, arms folded, expression neutral. Daria kept her voice cool as she demanded reports, kept her posture rigid as stone…but when Austra spoke, clear and measured and quietly determined, something inside Daria steadied. She trusted this voice. This warrior. This woman. This Oathsworn she should never have let into her life. And with sinking certainty, Daria understood: the trust had already taken root. And it was growing.
Austra- Devotion
They learned each other’s bodies the way they learned blades: slowly, deliberately, with devotion. Daria’s restraint cracked only when Austra whispered her name. Austra’s composure shattered whenever Daria kissed her like she was precious.
But mornings were chaos. After almost two full months of Austra’s flimsy “morning routine” excuse, the squad had absolutely put it together. Boundaries were thin underground; footsteps echoed; beds stayed empty; timing became impossible to hide.
Mika wiggled his eyebrows every time Austra walked in with her hair half-tamed and her tunic suspiciously straightened.
Varn asked, with infuriating sincerity, if she’d slept well.
Rill merely observed, flat as fact: “The Commander seemed in a good mood today.”
Austra nearly died on the spot. She wasn’t supposed to love Daria. She wasn’t supposed to want this…this warmth, this belonging, this terrible ease of being held. But she did. She felt it in every kiss. Every protective gesture. Every quiet touch after missions. Every time Daria’s voice softened only for her.
And the worst part, the most dangerous part, was how badly Austra wanted to be known. Not just wanted. Not just touched. Seen. The messy parts. The soft parts. The parts she had never been allowed to show her mother, her sister, her queendom.
One night, tangled together after a mission, Austra confessed into the dim heat of Daria’s throat, “I’ve never had this before.”
Daria’s eyes softened. “Had what?”
“This.” Austra pressed her face to Daria’s jaw, voice muffled and honest. “Someone who looks at me like I’m… worth seeing.”
Daria went still. For one awful heartbeat, Austra thought she’d said too much. Then Daria’s arms came around her, slow, careful, like she was afraid of doing it wrong.
“You are,” Daria murmured, and her voice cracked on the words.
Two words. A spell. Austra kissed her cheek, soft, reverent, and Daria didn’t move. Didn’t pull away. Her breath shook like she was holding something breakable.
“Austra,” she whispered, so vulnerable it hurt to hear. “Don’t say things like that unless you intend to stay.”
Austra swallowed hard. Her heart thundered against her ribs. “I intend to,” she whispered.
And the lie didn’t show on her face. Not at all. Daria closed her eyes. And Austra felt her fall, not fast, not loudly, but deeply.
Daria- Vulnerabilities
Austra came to Daria’s quarters the way she always did: quiet as breath, sure as dusk. Daria felt her before she heard her, the shift in air, the soft scrape of the door, the warm presence filling the room like flame finding oxygen.
Austra murmured a gentle, satisfied “Hi,” as the door clicked shut.
Daria kissed her, soft at first, a few lingering presses of lips, and then they sank onto the bed together like exhaustion had finally earned them peace. Daria lay with her head on Austra’s chest, listening to the steady rhythm of her breath. They didn’t speak at first. It was a kind of silence Daria had never known before Austra: uncoiled, gentle, permissive.
Austra nudged her shoulder. “Long day?”
Daria huffed. “Every day is long.”
Austra tilted her head. “This one felt heavier.”
Daria clenched her jaw. She loathed how Austra sensed the subtle shifts in her, like a barometer tuned specifically to Daria Cross. But Austra didn’t push. She rarely pushed. She waited. And that was what undid Daria, the patience, the steady presence, the quiet certainty that she didn’t have to perform strength every second just to be allowed to exist. Daria stared at the ceiling until the words slipped out like something finally breaking loose.
“My mother’s expectations of me are… overbearing.” Her voice sounded clipped and controlled, like she could package it neatly if she tried hard enough. “She used to drill me on blade forms until my hands bled.”
Austra’s body went still. “The High Priestess?” she whispered.
Daria’s throat tightened, but she nodded. Austra didn’t react with shock. Didn’t recoil. Didn’t offer pity. She simply held her a little tighter. Daria swallowed. The memory rose anyway, firelit chambers, her mother’s gaze sharp as broken glass, each mistake punished like treason.
“She believes strength is the only currency that matters,” Daria said. “Weakness is… unacceptable. Punishable.”
Austra stayed quiet. Let the space hold it. Let Daria speak. “She trained me until I couldn’t feel my arms.” Daria’s voice went lower, rougher. “Said pain was just another kind of lesson. Taught me to crush any emotion into fuel.”
Austra’s thumb brushed over her knuckles, slow, steady, grounding.
“I don’t talk about her,” Daria admitted.
“I won’t tell,” Austra murmured immediately.
Daria’s voice cracked on the answer before she could stop it. “I know.”
And something about that, about trusting the words, hit Daria like a blade catching her unguarded. Austra didn’t try to sweeten it. Didn’t turn it into something pretty. She simply pulled Daria closer and pressed her forehead to her temple, holding her like she was something worth protecting.
Daria exhaled, barely more than a tremor. “Why do I let you in?” she whispered.
Austra’s breath warmed her cheek. “Because you like me.”
Warmth slid under Daria’s ribs where fire should have been. Daria let her fingers curl into Austra’s hand, gripping tight enough to betray herself. “Stay tonight,” Daria murmured.
Austra smiled against her skin, soft and sure. “I always do.”
And for the first time in Daria’s life, letting someone stay didn’t feel like weakness. It felt like choosing her own strength.
© 2026 Jesse Annette. All rights reserved.
Forging Ash of the Beloved 
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