Forging Ash of the Beloved
Book One: Air and Ash and All We Lost
By Jesse Annette
Posted: May 7th, 2026
Approx. Length: 4.1k words
Daria- Lunch Meetings
At another one of their lunches, the Priestess gestured to three points on the map with two sharp fingers. “Here, here, and here. Coordinated pushes.” Her nail tapped stone hard enough to click. “The Queen will be forced to commit forces to the shelf. If done correctly, she’ll expose the palace-run conduit.” A pause, deliberate. Predatory. “A single breach there…” Her eyes gleamed. “…and we can send someone in to kill the Queen.”
Daria stared at the marked points. She saw the logic. The tactical opening. The beautiful, brutal efficiency of it. She also saw everything else, the civilians routed into panic corridors, the miners caught in the wrong tunnel at the wrong hour, the way a “single breach” turned into a thousand bodies because no one counted the cost until after.
And a strange thought struck her, sudden and intimate as a hand against her throat: Austra would already be mapping counter-moves.
Austra would already be thinking about who got caught in the crossfire. Austra would already be reading the emotional temperature of the squad, who would push too hard, who would break too quietly, who would blame themselves for surviving.
Daria’s throat tightened. She wanted, desperately, to talk to Austra about this. Not as a commander. Not as the Priestess’s daughter. But as the woman whose heartbeat lulled her to sleep. As the person whose hands found her in the dark and made her feel like she was allowed to be more than a blade. She swallowed the wanting. Duty first.
But this time the words didn’t taste like victory. They tasted like fear. She left the meeting hall with her shoulders squared and her face composed, the practiced posture of someone who never wavered. The corridor outside was dim and warm, lava-light flickering beneath carved basalt.
And there, leaning against the wall like she belonged there, like she’d been waiting patiently for the world to spit Daria back out, was Austra. One brow arched. Expression easy. Not worried. Not prying. Just present. Daria’s chest loosened with a kind of relief that irritated her on principle. Austra fell into step beside her without asking.
“Lunch with the Priestess again?” she asked lightly.
“Yes.”
“And your blood pressure didn’t spike?” Austra’s mouth curved. “Amazing. Should we celebrate?”
A sound escaped Daria before she could stop it. A snort. A real one. Austra froze like she’d been struck by lightning. Then she grinned, bright and delighted, like she’d won a prize. Daria scowled instinctively, but her irritation had no teeth. Austra’s shoulder bumped hers as they walked. Daria bumped back, smaller, subtler, so quick it could be mistaken for accident. It wasn’t.
For these few days, Daria let herself have this. The quiet. The warmth. The softness she used to treat like an enemy. The moments of joy Austra slipped into her days like stolen gifts. For these few days, she felt steady. For these few days, she felt like she could win everything. And that was the most dangerous feeling of all.
Austra- Scars
Daria sat cross-legged on her bed one night, braiding her damp hair after evening drills with precision and absolutely no grace. Strands slipped loose. Her jaw clenched. Her brow furrowed every time the braid unraveled and she had to start again, stubbornly, like the braid was a rival she needed to defeat.
Austra leaned against the side table with her arms folded, biting back a smile. “You know,” she murmured, “you could just let me do it.”
Daria didn’t look up. “No.”
“Why?”
Daria yanked at a stubborn strand. “Because you’ll do it better,” she muttered, “and I’ll get attached.”
Austra’s heart did something humiliating and bright in her chest. She crossed the room and settled behind Daria on the bed, close enough that her knees bracketed Daria’s hips.
“Let me,” Austra whispered.
Daria stilled. Not resisting. Not agreeing. Just… softening. That was permission enough. Austra gathered the loose strands and began again, gentle fingers smoothing through damp hair. Daria lowered her head slightly to give her better access, the quietest kind of surrender.
And that was when Austra saw the scar again. It ran from just in front of Daria’s right ear, cutting diagonally down her neck and disappearing behind her collar, clean-edged, deep, an old wound that still remembered itself. Austra had seen it before, of course. First on the overlook the night Daria became real to her, more than a name, more than a mission. Then in flashes: early mornings when Daria’s collar slipped, lanternlight catching it when they stood too close, when she fell asleep on Daria’s bare chest.
But tonight, with Daria warm and calm between her knees, Austra let her fingertips graze it, barely a touch. Daria tensed. In memory. Austra didn’t pull away. She leaned close enough that her breath warmed Daria’s skin. “Tell me?” she whispered.
Daria’s shoulders rose with a slow breath. She hesitated long enough that Austra thought she might refuse. Then, quietly, “Tunnel breach. Years ago.” The words were clipped, filed into order. “Queendom ambush. I was seventeen.”
Austra’s hands paused in Daria’s hair. Daria lifted her chin slightly, exposing the scar as if offering evidence.
“They overwhelmed our flank,” she continued, clinical but strained. “Collateral fire caught the stone shelf. Everything collapsed.” Her throat pinned. “I got pinned. A rescuer dragged me out. The blade of his broken spear caught my neck on the way.”
Austra’s chest tightened painfully. “Gods,” she breathed.
Daria shrugged, like she’d learned long ago to store pain where it couldn’t interrupt duty. “I lived,” she said.
“That isn’t the same as not being hurt,” Austra whispered.
Daria didn’t reply right away. Her jaw set in that familiar way that meant she was feeling more than she wanted to admit. “You always look at it differently,” Daria murmured. “Not like a flaw.”
Austra leaned forward and pressed a slow, gentle kiss just above the scar. Daria inhaled sharply, barely audible, but real. “It’s not a flaw,” Austra whispered against her skin. “It’s a story you survived.”
Daria’s breath trembled. Then, after a beat, she said, voice low, “Your turn.”
Austra blinked. “My turn for what?”
Daria’s hand reached back blindly until she found Austra’s thigh. She squeezed once, firm, grounding, like a promise.
“I want to know one of yours,” Daria said quietly. “You have a scar above your hip. Right side. Thin. Curved.” Her fingers flexed once more. “You always shift when I touch near it.”
Austra’s heart punched against her ribs. Of course you noticed. Of course Daria noticed everything.
Austra swallowed. “It’s old.”
“So is mine.”
Austra hesitated too long. Not because she didn’t trust Daria. Because she did. She couldn’t tell the real story. She couldn’t tell her about the test job. The Zephyrian soldier. The blade meant to incapacitate, not kill. The mission she’d failed and the lesson carved into her bones afterward that mercy was a liability, and hesitation was blood. So Austra gave Daria a version close enough to pass as true.
“That’s from one of my first jobs,” she said softly, fingers still woven through Daria’s hair. “I was young. Overconfident. Eager.” She chose each word carefully, shaving edges away. “I was caught by a Zephyrian soldier before I could accomplish my task. I took him down easily, but…” She exhaled. “…I hesitated to cause real injury, and he took advantage of it. The blade slid along my side when I escaped.”
She felt Daria listening behind the stillness, taking it in like it mattered. “It taught me not to underestimate who I was fighting,” Austra added quietly. “And not to let my guard down.”
Daria’s hand brushed Austra’s thigh again, slow, thoughtful.
“And yet you let it down with me,” she said.
Austra leaned in until her lips nearly brushed the shell of Daria’s ear. “I didn’t let it down,” she whispered. “You slipped past it.”
Daria shivered, helpless, quiet, beautiful. Austra abandoned the braid entirely. Her hands slid down Daria’s arms, guiding her back until Daria rested against Austra’s chest. For a moment, neither of them spoke. Daria’s head settled onto Austra’s shoulder. Austra’s fingers traced the scar again, lovingly. Daria’s hand found Austra’s knee and held it gently, steady, like she was anchoring herself.
“Thank you,” Daria murmured.
“For what?” Austra whispered into her hair.
“For touching me like all of me is allowed.”
Austra’s breath caught. She held Daria tighter, because the truth lived like a blade between her ribs: if Daria ever learned what Austra really was…about the stone, the reports, the Queen…Daria would never let her touch her again.
But tonight was not for truth. Tonight was for closeness. So Austra kissed the back of Daria’s neck, slow and lingering. “Always,” she whispered. And Daria leaned back into her fully, letting herself be held.
Daria- Vultures
Daria made her first mistake the next morning before she even reached the mess hall. She let Austra walk beside her. Not behind her. Not a pace back. Not delayed by a “Commander’s stride.” Beside her, close enough that their arms brushed every few steps, close enough that when Austra laughed at something Daria muttered under her breath, Daria didn’t even glare. She just… let it happen. And because the universe had a sick sense of humor, they walked into the mess hall like that, side by side, warm from sharing a bed and a slow morning that had felt almost normal.
The Crosswinds were already at their usual table. They all looked up. Then froze. Then Mika shrieked directly into his cup. Darvin, perched on the edge of a stool, balanced on two stool legs like a reckless prophecy, turned slowly, eyes widening with delighted horror. His smirk spread like a blade unsheathing.
“Ohhhh,” he drawled, loud enough for the entire cavern to hear, “this is going in my logbook.”
Daria stopped walking. Austra did not. She practically glided forward, glowing.
Mika slapped Varn’s shoulder repeatedly. “LOOK! LOOK AT THEM! THEY’RE—”
“No,” Daria said firmly. “Yes,” Austra said at the exact same time, delighted.
Darvin leaned forward; his chair creaked ominously. “Wow. Just… wow. So this is what it looks like when the Commander comes strolling in with her—” Daria shot him a warning glare. Darvin’s smirk dialed up another notch. “—friend.”
Austra choked on a laugh. Daria considered throwing him into the nearest lava vent.
Varn lifted one hand, calm as ever. “Follow-up question: are you two official? Asking for…” he gestured at the table, “all of us.”
Austra’s cheeks warmed. She looked like someone had just handed her a bouquet of compliments. “Define official,” she purred.
Daria whipped her head toward her. “Austra.”
“What?” Austra whispered back, eyes bright. “It’s a reasonable question.”
Darvin snorted. “Oh, she’s doomed. Absolutely doomed.”
Daria glared at him. “You are supposed to be second in command. Act like it.”
“I am acting like it,” he countered cheerfully. “I’m causing emotional damage.”
Mika chimed in, practically vibrating. “We’re all thrilled, actually.”
Rill added, far too composed, “Honestly? We’ve been waiting.”
Varn leaned back in his chair. “This feels like closure.”
Daria pinched the bridge of her nose. “This conversation is too personal.”
“You brought your girlfriend to breakfast,” Darvin said, smug as sin. “In front of twelve witnesses. That’s on you.”
“Darvin,” Daria growled, “stop talking.”
Darvin folded his arms, tilted his head, and delivered the most weaponized smirk yet. “Sure. I’ll stop talking. But I’m going to start observing. Loudly.”
Austra laughed, really laughed, and Daria found herself in the worst possible situation: Happy. Flustered. Completely surrounded by vultures.
Daria turned sharply toward Austra. “Stop enjoying this.”
“Can’t,” Austra said, beaming. “It’s adorable.”
Darvin nodded like a judge delivering a verdict. “Yes, that’s the word. Adorable. Our Commander Cross? Adorable.”
Daria snapped her gaze around the room. “If anyone says that word again, I will schedule individual weapons assessments for every single person here.”
Silence fell like a guillotine. For exactly five seconds. Then Mika murmured, awestruck, “She’s adorable when she’s threatening.”
Rill shoved him hard. “Shut up, she’s going to kill us!”
Austra laughed again, bright and sweet, and the sound hit Daria square in the sternum, warm and dangerous.
Darvin clapped Daria’s shoulder with exaggerated pity. “They’re happy for you, sis.”
“I don’t need them to be happy for me,” Daria muttered.
But when they sat, when Austra’s hand brushed hers, light and subtle beneath the table, hidden by bowls and elbows, Daria did not pull away. She didn’t even pretend to. And Darvin caught it. Of course he did. His expression softened, just for a second, no smugness, no teasing. Something almost protective.
Rill, deadpan, “Commander’s blushing.”
“I am not,” Daria snapped.
Austra leaned in, whispering like she couldn’t help herself. “You kind of are.”
Daria glared at her. Austra beamed back.
Darvin leaned around the table again. “So, future sister-in-law,”
“DARVIN.”
“What?” he said innocently. “I’m being supportive.”
Austra turned purple. Daria wanted to sink through the floor. But then Austra’s knee brushed hers, a tiny, grounding pressure. Instinctive. Casual. Affectionate. Daria glanced sideways and didn’t see mockery or mischief. She saw pride. Austra was proud to be beside her. Proud to be seen with her. Proud to be chosen in daylight.
And the Crosswinds, snickering and nosy and terrible, weren’t mocking her. They were happy. Darvin included. Daria exhaled slowly. Settled. And let her hand brush the small of Austra’s back for one brief, unthinking moment, an unconscious claim, a quiet anchor, a public mistake she didn’t take back fast enough.
The entire table noticed. Mika made a sound like he was witnessing a holy event. Rill stared directly into the middle distance like she was watching a prophecy unfold. Varn hummed, pleased. Darvin sat back with the satisfied look of a man who would never, ever let her forget this. The teasing didn’t stop. The embarrassment didn’t fade. But Daria admitted something she’d been refusing for months: Breakfast might have been a mistake…but being beside Austra was not.
Austra- Widening Chasm
She floated through the next few days like she’d swallowed a spark and it refused to go out. Everything felt brighter. Training drills were sharper but warmer. Meals were louder but sweeter. The Crosswinds teased but never unkindly, like they were holding her by the shoulders and shaking her joyfully, like finally, like welcome, like you’re ours too.
Darvin smirked every time she and Daria exchanged a glance, which was often, but even that smirk carried an edge of affection disguised as mockery. He wasn’t cruel. He was protective in the only language he trusted: sharpness.
And Daria… Daria had stopped pretending. Not entirely. Not openly. But enough. Enough that she didn’t stiffen when Austra’s shoulder brushed hers during cooldown stretches. Enough that she let Austra steal her gloves for an hour and pretended not to care. Enough that she didn’t correct Mika when he said girlfriend. Enough that, gods, Daria began touching her in public in ways that were technically nothing. A hand at Austra’s back for half a second too long. A brief brush of knuckles as they passed in a corridor. A subtle shift to stand closer during briefings. The smallest tuck of body language that said: mine.
Daria didn’t announce it. Daria didn’t declare it. Daria didn’t even look like she meant to. But Austra noticed. Because Austra noticed everything. She noticed Daria’s hand hover near her waist when the tunnels shook. She noticed Daria angle her body between Austra and the training rack when someone threw a blade too carelessly. She noticed Daria’s eyes track her without meaning to, returning again and again like a tide. And every time it happened, Austra’s heart did something traitorous and bright. She’s choosing me. In daylight. In front of them. In front of the world. It made Austra feel giddy.
It also made the dread heavier. Because love was not the only thing nestled warm beneath Austra’s ribs. The sending stone warmed in its hidden pocket at her waist one early evening, waiting for her like a pulse. Report day. Austra’s stomach dropped. She had almost…almost…forgotten. The stone pulsed faintly, patient, merciless. Like it had all the time in the world and Austra had none at all.
She returned to her official bunk, her unused bunk, the one she never slept in, the one that still smelled like emptiness, and sat on the edge of it with her hands braced on her knees. Her heartbeat sounded too loud in the stone. Too guilty. Too full. Because the Queendom expected something. Her mother expected something. And Austra didn’t have anything she was willing to betray. Not anymore.
She swallowed hard and walked deeper into the caverns until she found a narrow storage room stacked with supplies and dust, a place no one would wander into unless they wanted to be alone with their thoughts. Once inside, she pressed her thumb to the stone. It warmed immediately, a soft heat that felt like breath against her skin. Listening. Hungry.
Austra shaped her thoughts like she’d been trained to: trimmed, disciplined, clean. Crosswinds squad performance steady. Increased cohesion. Morale high. All true. All safe. She continued carefully: Recent missions indicate improved route efficiency in tunnel branches B-14 through D-2. Minor surface patrol interference, no significant developments. Not a lie. Not the truth. Because the truth was that the rebellion was sharpening. The Priestess was tightening her fist. Daria was being pulled, slowly, inevitably, toward a line she didn’t want to cross.
Austra’s pulse hammered as images flashed behind her eyes, uninvited. Breakfast. Daria’s hand at her back. The Crosswinds huddled around a fire pit last night, Varn showing off a throwing-knife trick he had no right to be proud of, Mika insisting they all vote on a squad tattoo they would never get, Rill rolling her eyes while secretly smiling. Daria’s fingers brushing Austra’s under the table. Daria’s mouth at her throat later. Daria whispering stay like it was prayer.
Austra forced her mind colder. The stone warmed hotter, eager at the flicker of emotion. Movement among upper leadership remains… exploratory, she thought carefully. The stone warmed, interested. Austra clenched her jaw and carved her words into something hollow enough to survive. There are discussions regarding future leverage opportunities. Timing remains uncertain. No confirmed targets.
Truth-shaped. Useless. Her mother would read it as: something is coming, stay alert. But not: something is coming for you. Not: something is coming that will end with bodies. Not: something is coming that will break Daria. Austra paused, throat tightening. Because she knew how close she was to being discovered. Every report danced near a cliff edge. Every omission was a blade in shaking hands.
Will update when more concrete information becomes available. The stone pulsed warmly. Accepted. Two taps, sent. Austra let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. She tucked the stone away gently, like it might explode if she breathed wrong, and leaned her head back against the cold cavern wall.
She hated this. Hated the splitting of herself in two. Hated the careful choreography of half-truths and omissions. Hated the fear that one wrong thought would cost her everything she cared about. But then she thought of Daria’s scar beneath her fingertips. Of Daria’s shy almost-smile when Austra tugged at her coat in the training atrium. Of the squad’s faces at breakfast, teasing, yes, but soft with something like family. Of the way Daria’s hand found her back again later that day, wordless and instinctive, as if Daria had forgotten she wasn’t supposed to be brave in public.
Austra closed her eyes. Exhaustion and hope tangled together until they were indistinguishable. She was balancing two loyalties, and both were real. She was in love with the rebellion. And she was still spying on it. And the chasm inside her was widening every day, because Daria was giving her more and more of herself…and Austra was still holding part of her own life behind her teeth like poison.
Still. She whispered into the dark, soft and fierce: “I will protect them. All of them. One way or another.” And she believed it. Not because she wasn’t afraid…but because love had made the danger worth it.
Daria- Hesitations
The squad had become insufferable again. That was Daria’s first thought as she sat at the strategy table with a stack of reports she did not actually need. Mika and Rill whispered in the corner like conspirators. Darvin watched her with unnerving quiet and knowing, as if he was cataloging her emotions for future blackmail. Worst of all, every time Austra walked into the room, bright, warm, attention sliding toward Daria like sunlight finding a crack, the teasing began again.
“Morning, Commander,” Austra said softly as she passed, fingers brushing Daria’s spine in a way no one should have noticed. Half the squad noticed.
Mika elbowed Varn violently. “She touched her back. Again.”
Daria slammed her report down hard enough to rattle the inkpot. “Do you two want the upper tunnels for a week?”
Silence. Then Mika whispered, awed, “Honestly? Worth it.”
Austra snorted quietly. Daria heard it. She always heard it. She flicked a glare toward Austra, who smiled back, soft and devious and so godsdamned loving it hurt.
Daria forced her eyes back to the map. Red lines marking Zephyrian patrols. Green dots marking GPR positions. Blue circles highlighting supply routes that needed reinforcing. She should have been thinking about her noon briefing with the Priestess…her mother…where they would discuss tunnel sabotage success and the Queen’s likely countermoves. She should have been thinking about the next step in the campaign. Instead, her mind kept drifting back to last night. Austra’s voice, quiet and doting, murmuring confessions into the hollow of her throat. Dangerous things. Tender things. Words that curled inside Daria like warmth.
But beneath all that sweetness there had been something else. Something Daria couldn’t name. Small pauses. Tiny hesitations. A flicker of shadow behind Austra’s eyes when Daria asked certain questions. A brief stillness when the Priestess’s plans were mentioned. Daria wasn’t stupid. She noticed patterns for a living. Something about Austra didn’t add up. And yet…every night, Austra came to her quarters. Every night, Daria let her in. Every night, Austra curled against her chest and whispered secrets too soft to be lies. Daria didn’t trust easily. Barely trusted anyone. But Austra…Austra was gravity. Something she couldn’t resist, even if she tried. And gods, she had tried.
Later that day, in the Priestess’s chamber, Daria stood at attention while her mother outlined possible timelines for a major strike. “The Queen is vulnerable,” the Priestess said, pacing like a flame searching for something to burn. “We must act soon.”
Daria nodded. “We need precise intel before committing.”
“You sound hesitant,” her mother observed sharply.
“I sound realistic.”
The Priestess stopped pacing. Turned. Stared. “Your realism smells like fear,” she said. “Or distraction.”
Daria kept her face stone still. “There is no distraction,” she lied smoothly. But she thought of Austra’s hand slipping into hers during drills. Of Austra kissing a bruise on her jaw after training. Of Austra whispering, tell me something true in the middle of the night. Of Austra’s pauses. Of Austra’s shadows. Of breakfast, the warmth, the laughter, the safety of being seen with her.
The Priestess kept talking, outlining infiltration options and weak points around the Queen’s guards, but Daria’s thoughts swirled like smoke. She was balancing too many things: Duty. Desire. Strategy. Love…No. Not that word. Not yet. But the shape of it pressed at her ribs, insistent.
That night, Daria and Austra sat shoulder to shoulder reviewing training notes. Austra leaned lightly against her, warm and relaxed, content in a way that made Daria’s chest ache.
“Daria?” Austra murmured.
“Yes?”
“I…” Austra hesitated, only a breath, almost too small to count. “I’m really happy. Here. With you.”
Daria froze. Because the words were soft and real. And because there was something behind them. A weight. A shadow. Something Austra wasn’t saying.
Daria swallowed. “Good,” she managed.
Austra smiled that glowing smile, and Daria felt like she’d been cracked open and poured full of light. She believed her. She wanted to believe her. But deep down, instinctively, she felt it again, that subtle shift of someone carrying truths too sharp to put into daylight. Yet Daria leaned into her anyway. Because love wasn’t a battlefield she knew how to win. And she didn’t know how to stop choosing Austra.
© 2026 Jesse Annette. All rights reserved.
Forging Ash of the Beloved 
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