FOrging Ash of the Beloved
Book One: Air and Ash and All We Lost
By Jesse Annette
Posted: June 25th, 2026
Approx. Length: 5.7k words
Content Note: 4x Extra Hot
Austra– Balancing
The next several weeks almost broke her. Torch Collective sightings multiplied while the Priestess sharpened her knives, and Zephyra shifted its attention in unnervingly quiet ways. On the other side of every report, with every omission and every careful lie, Austra could feel her mother waiting like a blade poised above a neck.
But somehow, Austra found pockets of peace. Warmth. Tiny, impossible moments that made all the balancing acts feel almost survivable.
Every rest day, Darvin reassured her that she should come to Cross Sibling Tea. The three of them sat in Daria’s room, passing chipped cups around, telling stories about old training disasters and childhood humiliations. Daria softened around these moments, really softened. Her shoulders dropped. Her jaw unclenched. A faint smile tugged at her mouth like it was something she’d forgotten she owned.
Austra lived for that smile. For the curve of Daria’s fingers brushing hers when she passed the honey jar. For the way Darvin pretended he wasn’t watching and then smirked when he caught them leaning toward each other like gravity had opinions. These afternoons felt like a world Austra had no right to step into. And all she wanted was to stay.
Training stayed sharp and merciless, but even the mountain couldn’t keep the Crosswinds grim all the time. Mika cracked a joke so absurd one afternoon that Daria actually choked mid-swing, coughing into her elbow like that would hide it. Rill deadpanned something so dry that Varn went into silent hysterics, shoulders shaking like he’d been struck. Darvin “accidentally” tripped Mika with an illusion, and Mika declared a personal war that lasted exactly twenty-four hours.
Austra cherished it. The laughter. The way the squad teased each other like family. The way Daria sparred with her usual precision, but now, sometimes, there was a smothered smile in it. A private glint.
Sometimes Daria caught Austra’s eye from across the room. Austra would give her a tiny, secret smirk that said: Don’t look at me like that while I’m holding a dagger. And also: Keep looking at me like that. The warmth in her chest bloomed every time.
But at night, Daria had grown restless. Austra learned the tells: the tight jaw, the restless shoulders, the long breaths through her nose like she was trying to breathe around a bruise. One night, when the tension felt so thick it practically hummed, Austra nudged her softly and whispered, “Lantern walk?”
Daria blinked, confused, then nodded. They stole a lantern from the supply rack and slipped into the quieter tunnels, letting the heat settle around them. Austra teased her lightly, brushing fingers over Daria’s knuckles as they walked. “The Crosswinds need a mascot,” Austra whispered. “Maybe a little fire rat. You could train it.”
Daria huffed a laugh. A real one. The sound made Austra’s chest ache. They walked until Daria’s shoulders loosened. Until her breathing evened. Until Daria’s hand, almost accidentally, found Austra’s sleeve and held there like she needed the contact to stay real. Austra leaned her head on Daria’s shoulder. Daria didn’t pull away.
Those walks became a ritual. A place where Daria could exhale without performing strength. A place where Austra could pretend, for a few stolen minutes, that they weren’t living on the edge of three breaking points.
One night, Rill found a stash of old illusion reels, tiny magical cubes that projected scenes when warmed over a torch. They were ancient. Most flickered. One was cursed. The squad piled into the common room anyway, limbs tangled, snacks everywhere, bad commentary louder than the illusion itself. Daria sat stiffly at first, all commander posture and narrowed eyes, until Austra tugged her down beside her and tucked a blanket over their laps like she had the right.
Daria leaned into her without hesitation. Austra rested her head against Daria’s shoulder, and Daria’s hand slid beneath the blanket to find Austra’s fingers, quiet, certain, like she was anchoring herself.
Darvin winked from across the room. Mika waggled his eyebrows until Daria threw a pillow at his face.
Austra felt something in her chest loosen, painful and sweet. This, she thought. This is what I’m fighting for.
Some nights the chaos pressed too hard on all sides, and Austra slipped into Daria’s room to find her sitting on the edge of the bed, face buried in her hands. Austra never asked permission. She just went to her, slid behind her, wrapped her arms around her waist, and held her until the tension bled out in slow, shaking exhales.
Daria whispered things she never said in daylight, about pressure, about fear, about the Torch Collective spiraling faster than she could track, about the Priestess tightening her grip.
Austra whispered back. Comfort. Insight. Small truths about herself she wasn’t supposed to share, but did anyway, careful pieces offered like gifts. Daria would relax into her, fingers tangling in Austra’s hair, breath soft against Austra’s throat. And Austra felt herself tipping deeper into something she wasn’t sure she could survive.
Sometimes, in the dark, the almost-words hovered between them like heat. Daria would turn her face slightly, lips near Austra’s jaw, and whisper, “If you weren’t here…” then stop, like the rest of the sentence was too dangerous to touch.
Austra would press a kiss to Daria’s temple and answer, “I’m here,” meaning I’ll stay and I want you and I love you all at once.
Some nights, Austra’s chest would tighten so hard she could barely breathe, and she’d whisper, “Daria…” like it was a prayer.
Daria would murmur, half-asleep, “Mm?” and shift closer, as if she could sense the cliff edge Austra was standing on. Austra would almost say it. I love you. Instead she’d say, “Rest,” and Daria would listen, like Austra’s voice was the only command that didn’t feel like a cage.
And once, when the lantern was out and only magma-glow seeped faint through the cracks in the stone, Daria brushed her thumb along Austra’s cheek and whispered, so quiet it barely existed, “You feel like… home.”
Austra’s throat closed. She wanted to answer, You are mine. I am yours. I love you. Her mouth formed the first syllable. Daria’s breath hitched, like she’d almost said something too. And then they both swallowed it down and held each other tighter, as if squeezing could keep words from spilling, and keep the world from breaking.
Between these moments, Austra wrote her reports. Carefully angled. Painfully crafted. Just enough truth to be believed. Just enough misdirection to keep everyone alive. She told herself she was preventing escalation. She told herself she was protecting Daria. She told herself she was shaping a better future. But the guilt accumulated like volcanic ash.
She would stroke Daria’s cheek in the dark and think: If you knew everything I’ve done… would you still look at me like this? Would you still trust me? Would you still let me…Love you. The word throbbed in her chest like a bruise.
Daria would fall asleep against her shoulder, warm and safe, and Austra would whisper into her hair, “I’m doing my best. For you.” And she meant it. Gods, she meant it with every shard of her soul.
Despite the rising chaos, the fractures, every lie she told and every truth she swallowed, Austra found happiness here. With Daria. With the Crosswinds. With a life she was never meant to have. And it terrified her. Because the happier she grew, the more catastrophic the fall would be.
But for now, just for this handful of weeks, she let herself have it. The walks. The squad’s laughter. The warmth in Daria’s eyes. The feeling of belonging. Tiny havens in the firestorm. Moments she knew she’d cling to when everything finally broke.
Daria- Orders
The summons came before dawn. A courier pounded on her door, breathless and pale, whispering, “The Priestess requests you. Immediately.”
Daria didn’t bother with armor. Didn’t bother tying her hair. She left Austra sleeping in her bed. She paused at the threshold, the sight of her like a fist closing around Daria’s ribs, silver hair spilled across the pillow, mouth slack in sleep, one hand curled as if it had been reaching for Daria and missed. Daria leaned down and kissed her forehead. Gentle. Careful. A promise she didn’t know how to name. Then she slipped out before she could change her mind and stay.
The Priestess’s private chamber smelled of burning sage and something metallic, the scent her mother favored when she was planning something ruthless. Daria bowed.
“Rise,” the Priestess said. “We have a new directive.”
Dread crawled up Daria’s spine. Her mother only used that tone when she’d made a decision no one could unmake.
“The Collective is growing bold,” the Priestess continued. “Too bold. Their chaos needs… refinement.”
Daria swallowed. “Mother,”
“I want a meeting,” the Priestess said sharply. “With their leadership.”
Daria’s vision tunneled. “…A meeting,” she repeated, forcing her voice into something steady.
“Do not pretend you misheard me.” The Priestess circled her, flame curling lazily from her fingertips. “You will contact their upper ranks. Confirm a time, a location, and a route. And you will bring them to me.”
Daria’s heart thrashed. “That is dangerous,” she forced out. “They’re unpredictable. They might attack. They might–”
“They will do whatever I require,” the Priestess snapped. “You will make them believe this meeting benefits them.”
Daria could picture it instantly, the Collective walking into a trap. The Priestess using them, or slaughtering them, to ignite a war no one could stop. “What is the purpose of this meeting?” Daria asked, voice tight.
The Priestess smiled. A slow, knowing, blood-warm smile. “To see whether they can be shaped into a blade aimed at the Queen,” she said, “or whether they must be snuffed out entirely.”
Daria felt her stomach drop like she’d stepped off a ledge.
“You have four weeks,” the Priestess said. “Do not fail me.”
Dismissed. Daria left on legs that wanted to fold. She barely made it to the strategy chamber before her knees threatened to give out. Darvin was already there, eyebrows raised in mild irritation, a stale pastry in hand.
“You look like you were told to fight the Queen bare-handed,” he said.
Daria shut the door behind her and leaned against it, trying to breathe. “She wants a meeting with the Torch Collective leadership,” she whispered to Darvin.
He froze mid-bite. “Oh,” he said flatly. “That’s bad.”
“That’s catastrophic,” Daria hissed.
Austra, leaning over a map with Mika in the corner, straightened instantly. Her eyes sharpened, silver-blue like a blade catching light. “What happened?” she asked, already crossing the room.
Daria swallowed. “Directives. New ones.” Her mouth tasted like ash. “She wants me to make contact with the Collective leadership. Arrange a meeting between them and her.”
Mika cursed under his breath. Darvin looked like he wanted to throw something heavy. Austra approached Daria slowly, reading her face with that unnervingly accurate gentleness Daria was starting to depend on.
“What does she want with them?” Austra asked softly.
Daria dragged a hand through her hair. “To use them,” she said. “Or destroy them.”
Darvin set his pastry down like it had personally offended him. “We need to stall her.”
“We can’t,” Daria snapped, and the crack in her voice betrayed her. “The meeting has to happen within four weeks.”
Silence. Austra stepped closer until she was right in front of Daria, solid, steady, warm. “Then we don’t stall,” Austra murmured.
Daria looked up sharply. “Then what?”
“We strategize,” Austra said. “How to get you through this alive. How to keep the Collective from walking into a slaughter. How to keep the Priestess from declaring war.”
Darvin snorted. “Small things, really.” Austra elbowed him. He pretended it didn’t hurt.
The three of them huddled around the table over the next few days. Darvin sketched Collective symbols and sighting patterns. Austra traced ventilation routes with a fingertip, brow furrowed. Daria pressed her palms flat on the table and tried not to shake.
“We’ll need a first-contact intermediary,” Austra said. “Someone they don’t see as a threat. Someone who can pass a message without triggering suspicion.”
Darvin nodded. “Mika can help with graffiti routes. They leave coded marks. We can read them. Maybe reply.”
Daria rubbed her temples. “If they even want a meeting…”
“They don’t have to want it,” Austra said quietly. “They just have to think it benefits them.”
Daria’s mouth tightened. “That’s what the Priestess said.” She felt something in her chest ache. She hated this. Hated manipulating people who were already desperate. Hated being her mother’s blade. Austra reached under the table and squeezed Daria’s hand. Daria nearly broke.
“We’ll script it,” Austra murmured. “We’ll decide what you tell them. What you don’t. How to keep both sides from detonating.”
Darvin nodded grimly. “We build layers of contingency. If the Collective sends scouts, we intercept. If the Priestess tries to force an ambush, we plan fail-safes.”
Daria stared at them…and felt her throat tighten around truths she couldn’t afford.
“You’re both assuming I can survive this,” she whispered.
Austra didn’t blink. “You will,” she said softly. “Because we won’t let you walk into this alone.”
Something cracked open at the edges of Daria’s control. She didn’t say thank you. She didn’t say she needed them. She didn’t say the words that kept trying to rise in her chest like flame: I can’t lose either of you. I can’t lose you. I can’t…
But she let Austra keep holding her hand. She let Darvin outline strategies she didn’t want to need.
And when night came, and Austra slipped into her bed like a quiet miracle, Daria held her a little too tightly and whispered into her hair, so soft it barely existed, “Don’t leave me.”
Austra stilled for a heartbeat, then turned and pressed her forehead to Daria’s.
“Never,” she whispered back.
Daria almost said it. I love you.
It hung between them, unspoken and alive, like heat trapped beneath stone. Daria swallowed it down and kissed Austra instead, slow, careful, and full of the kind of tenderness that terrified her more than war. And for one brief breath, she let herself believe they could survive this. Just for a moment. Just long enough to keep moving.
Austra– Balancing Act
She had always been good at juggling lies. She’d been trained for it, raised in a floating palace of polished marble and half-truths, taught to twist narratives like wind through a canyon until no one could tell which direction the truth had come from.
But now? Now the lies weren’t tools. They were chains. Not even chains, really, chains were honest about what they did. These were thinner than that. A filament. A wire. Something you didn’t notice until it bit down.
Her sending stone pulsed on the ground in front of her, warm and expectant, in the newly deserted training cavern where a steam burst had collapsed half the room. Rubble lay in jagged heaps along one wall, still damp from condensed heat.
Her mother wanted an update. A real one. On the Collective. On the GPR. On Daria’s movements. On the Priestess’s timeline. Austra stared at the stone and felt sick. There were no clean angles left. If she reported honestly, the Queendom might strike the Collective, or the GPR itself. If she lied too much, her mother would sense the strain and tighten her own timeline. If she revealed anything about Daria’s hesitation, Daria would become a target. If she hid too much… same outcome. Every path cut somebody. The only question was who bled first.
She pressed a trembling thumb to the stone. Torch Collective leadership is rumored to be consolidating power… No. Too vague. Too easy to pull into a noose. She dragged in a sharp breath. The Priestess continues pushing for an audience with them…No. Too dangerous. Too close to the throat. Internal tensions rising in GPR command structure… Too much truth. Or not enough. She couldn’t tell anymore. She couldn’t feel where the edge was, only that it was sharp and she was gripping it barehanded.
Austra swore under her breath and pulled her thumb away. The stone dimmed, waiting. It was the worst part: the waiting. The stone didn’t punish her. It didn’t demand. It just held still, patient as a blade laid across a palm, letting her decide how badly she wanted to keep pretending she was in control.
She could feel her control slipping. The threads she’d been weaving for over a year were fraying, and if one snapped, the whole mountain might go with it. She needed time, more time, to find a new angle, a new lie that didn’t cut quite so deep.
With shaking hands, she slid the stone back into the hidden pocket inside her belt and forced herself to stand. Her knees felt wrong. Loose. Like her body knew she was about to fall, even if she refused to admit it. She walked back toward the squad’s strategy room on legs that barely felt like hers.
Darvin was already there when she arrived. He stepped into her path, expression tight in a way that made Austra’s spine stiffen.
“We need to talk,” he said.
Austra’s pulse snapped sharp. “About what?”
Darvin’s eyes didn’t waver. “About you trying to steer Daria without me.”
Austra blinked. “I’m not–”
“You are.” His voice cut clean. “I see it. Daria’s relying on you more than she should. She’s second-guessing the Priestess in ways she never used to. And you’re nudging her toward certain choices.”
Austra swallowed hard. The lie rose automatically, smooth, trained, weightless. And then it stuck, like a splinter under her tongue. “Those choices keep her alive,” she said instead.
“Yes,” Darvin snapped. “And I’m grateful. But we’re a team. I need to know what you’re doing if I’m supposed to keep her standing.”
Austra’s temper finally sparked, quick and bright as flint. “And what makes you think you know what’s best for her every second?” she hissed. “You think she isn’t cracking under your mother’s expectations? You think she doesn’t need support from someone who isn’t Cross-blood?”
Darvin’s jaw ticked. A direct hit. And they both knew it.
“This isn’t just about her,” he said, quieter now, but sharper for it. “This is about the rebellion. About Pyronous. About our people.” His eyes narrowed. “You’re not from here, Austra. You don’t understand the weight.”
Austra stepped closer until they were nearly nose to nose. “I understand the weight better than you think,” she whispered. “And I’m not letting her drown under it.”
Darvin’s gaze searched her face. His anger didn’t vanish, but it shifted, softened into something heavier. Something wary.
Then he said, very quietly, “You love her.”
Austra froze. The words hit like a blade finding the soft seam in armor. She didn’t answer. She couldn’t. If she spoke, something inside her would split wide enough to fall through.
Darvin nodded anyway, like he understood more than she’d ever intended him to. “Then don’t get her killed trying to save her,” he said.
And then he left her there, standing alone in the corridor, heart hammering, the truth ringing louder than the cavern vents.
That evening, Daria returned late. Too late. Austra felt the tension radiating off her before the door even finished closing. Daria’s posture was rigid. Her eyes were too bright. Her jaw was set like she’d bitten down on a scream and refused to let it out.
Austra rose from the bed. “Daria?”
Daria didn’t speak. She crossed the room in three sharp steps, grabbed Austra by the waist, and kissed her like she was drowning. Heat surged through Austra as fear, relief, and desire all tangled together, and she kissed back instantly, hands sliding into Daria’s hair, pulling her closer as if proximity could make the world stop collapsing.
Daria shoved her against the wall, desperate, her voice ragged against Austra’s mouth. “Everything is slipping. I can’t control the Collective. I can’t control my mother. I can’t predict Zephyra. I can’t hold this together…”
Austra cupped her face and kissed her again, silencing the panic before it could become a scream. Daria melted into it, only for a heartbeat, before the fear twisted into something molten. Her hands gripped Austra’s hips, grinding into her, grounding herself in Austra’s body, Austra’s breath, Austra’s presence.
Austra’s heart cracked open. “Daria,” she whispered into her neck. “I’m here. I’m here.”
Daria’s breath hitched. Then it broke. She kissed Austra harder, hands shaking, mouth fierce and aching and terrified. It wasn’t just desire. It was fear. A plea. A confession pressed into skin instead of words. And gods, Austra wanted to answer it.
Daria lifted her off the ground, pinning her to the wall with the sheer force of her body against hers as Austra wrapped her legs around Daria. She dug her nails into her shoulders as Daria bit down on her neck with a low growl laced with fire and need. Austra gasped, arching into her, and Daria hauled her away from the wall and shoved her onto the table, tearing her shirt over her head. When their eyes locked, Austra saw the inferno raging in Daria’s eyes, desperate and hungry. For a split second, time stopped, and the only thing that mattered was Daria’s fire finding Austra’s air.
“I’m yours,” Austra whispered. Daria answered with a guttural sound as flames licked up her arms, breaking into tiny mesmerizing firestorms that danced across Austra’s skin. Daria dropped her head to Austra’s neck, breathing her in as her hands traced tight little circles of fire across Austra’s stomach, a promise written in sensation. Austra’s fingers fumbled at the clasps and buttons of Daria’s uniform, and she let out a breathless laugh at the absurd complexity of the garment.
Daria chuckled against her ear. Then she took a step back and let the flames at her fingertips climb up her wrists, up her arms, pouring over her torso. In one smooth, merciless sweep, the heat devoured cloth into ash that drifted to the floor.
Austra gaped at the woman in front of her, wearing nothing but fire. Austra’s breath left her like confession. “Gods,” she said, almost trembling. “That is the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.”
Daria smirked and stepped closer. One finger tipped Austra’s chin up, holding her gaze until Austra forgot how to look away. “I need you,” Daria said, voice low, commanding and pleading all at once.
Austra’s breath caught, soft and shaken, like she’d been struck by something holy. She lifted her hands, slow, careful, as if Daria might vanish if she moved too fast, and cupped Daria’s fire-lit face like a prayer. Her hand slid from Austra’s chin to the side of her neck, steadying, claiming, her thumb brushing Austra’s pulse. Flame curled along Daria’s wrist in a slow, hungry ribbon, licking gentle heat across Austra’s skin like a vow.
Austra trembled, awed, ruined, bright with wanting. “Then take me,” she whispered, the words falling out of her as a confession.
Daria’s eyes went dark, so dark they looked almost endless. For a beat she didn’t move at all as the words hit something sacred in her chest. Daria’s gaze dropped to Austra’s mouth, then snapped back to her eyes like a threat. Like a promise.
“Say it again,” Daria breathed.
Austra blinked, wrecked as gusts of wind mixed with Daria’s flames. “Take me.”
Daria’s mouth crashed into Austra’s, claiming, frantic with need and fear and devotion twisted into one burning thing. Daria’s hands fisted in Austra’s hair, holding her close, making sure she was real, still here, still hers. Austra shuddered into it, a moan escaping her lips, hands sliding up Daria’s flaming ribs.
Daria dragged her mouth to Austra’s throat, breathing her in like oxygen, hands grasping Austra’s waist and pulling her closer. “Mine,” she rasped, the word ripped out of her. “Say it.”
Austra’s voice came out broken. “I’m yours.”
Daria trembled, actually trembled, like the answer punched through every wall she’d ever built. She drove Austra against the wall and trailed flaming kisses and nips down her neck, worshipped her breasts with her mouth, licked flames down her stomach.
Austra’s legs almost gave out when she saw Daria kneeling in front of her, her mouth hovering just above the waistband of the shorts Austra, somehow, was still wearing. Fire curled tight around Daria’s shoulders, and she stared up into Austra like she was starving.
“Again,” she said, rough, grazing the tips of her fingers over the wet seeping through the fabric. “I want to hear it again.”
“Daria…” Austra begged, bucking towards her, “I’m yours…” she moaned.
Daria slowly removed her shorts, kissing the inside of her thighs, lifting one leg to rest on her shoulder. When Daria licked her, slow and electric and claiming, it took all her willpower not to combust into a whirlwind. When Daria slid her fingers inside her, Austra was fairly certain she floated a few inches off the ground. When Daria stood, fingers still hot inside, and guided her fingers to her, the entire world melted away.
When they finally crumpled into Daria’s bed, Daria clung to her like she was the only solid thing in a collapsing world. “Austra,” Daria whispered, forehead pressed to hers. “Don’t leave. Don’t…”
Austra’s heart nearly tore itself apart. “I’m not,” she whispered, kissing the corner of Daria’s mouth, her cheek, her throat. “I won’t.”
Daria’s hands trembled along her ribs, gripping like she needed proof. “You’re the only thing that…” Her voice broke. “That makes this bearable.”
Austra sucked in a sharp breath. The words pushed up hard enough to hurt, hot and helpless and ruinous. I love you. I love you, Daria. I love you so much it terrifies me. But she couldn’t say it. So she did what she’d been doing for a year: she cauterized the truth into something safer. Something that still burned, but didn’t bleed.
“I care about you more than anything,” she whispered.
Daria closed her eyes like the words were almost enough. Almost. Then she kissed Austra again, desperate and soft all at once, and Austra gave her everything she could without giving her the truth. They fell asleep tangled together, breath steadying, bodies warm, fear eased but not gone.
Austra lay awake long after, brushing hair from Daria’s face, memorizing her in the dim lantern glow. And she thought: I’m losing my grip on every lie I’ve ever told. But gods help me… I will not lose you.
Daria- Tipping Point
The weight had been sitting on her shoulders for so long it almost felt normal. Almost. Over the next several days, it had grown heavier, denser, until even familiar routines felt like effort and every decision came with the faint sense that she was choosing which fracture would matter most.
Austra became the place where the weight paused. Daria would come back to her quarters stripped of command, of armor, of certainty, and Austra would be there. Sitting cross-legged on the bed, or leaning against the wall, or rising without a word to meet her like this had always been the plan. Austra didn’t ask for explanations. She didn’t push for strategy. She simply touched, hands warm, grounding, steady, and Daria felt herself remember how to breathe.
Some nights they didn’t speak at all. Daria would rest her forehead against Austra’s collarbone and let the tension bleed out of her in slow increments. Other nights, she talked in fragments: routes that didn’t feel right, choices she couldn’t justify, her mother’s voice echoing where it didn’t belong. Austra listened like it mattered. Like she mattered. Like Daria wasn’t just a commander holding the mountain together with discipline and fear.
And Daria leaned harder than she meant to. She reached for Austra’s hand during briefings. She sought her out after meetings with the Priestess, before the nausea had time to settle. She trusted Austra’s instincts before her own, let her suggestions shape decisions that would ripple outward through Pyronous. It felt right. It felt necessary. It felt…dangerous.
Because somewhere in the middle of all that reliance, Daria realized something she hadn’t meant to look at too closely. Austra wasn’t just supporting her. She was watching her. Guarding her. Moving before threats fully formed. Stepping closer when the world pressed in. Daria told herself it was affection. Loyalty. Love…maybe… though she still hadn’t dared to say that word out loud.
But as the days passed, something in Austra’s edges grew sharper. And that was when Daria started to notice Austra was…off. Not in obvious ways. Not in ways that would catch a squadmate’s attention. Not Rill. Not Mika. Maybe not even Darvin, and he could sense tension at fifty paces.
But Daria saw it. Because Daria watched Austra without meaning to. She noticed the way Austra jumped slightly when someone called her name. The way her eyes darted toward tunnels and exits before they settled on the squad. The way she hovered too close, too protective, stepping into danger first like she was trying to intercept fate itself.
And tonight, Austra was practically vibrating. Pacing at the edge of Daria’s quarters like a windstorm trapped in a bottle. Daria closed the door behind them and crossed her arms.
“Alright,” she said flatly. “What’s going on with you?”
Austra froze too fast. “Nothing,” she said too fast. “Just… tired. The Collective. The Priestess. The scouting reports…”
“No.” Daria stepped closer. “Don’t give me that. You’ve been on edge for days. You’re jumpy. You’re… angry.” Her voice tightened. “And you keep stepping in front of me during missions like you’re expecting someone to shoot me.”
Austra swallowed hard. “Is that… a problem?”
“It’s not about it being a problem,” Daria said, and her voice softened despite herself. “It’s about you trusting me. And trusting that I can take care of myself.” She hesitated, then added, quieter, “And I don’t like not knowing what you’re carrying.”
Austra’s jaw tightened. That tiny, rigid motion. Daria felt something cold twist in her gut. “Austra,” she said quietly. “Look at me.”
Austra hesitated. Then turned. Her eyes were too bright. Her breathing too shallow. Her expression too guarded, like she was bracing for impact.
Daria stepped close enough to feel her breath. “Tell me what’s wrong,” she whispered. “Please.”
Austra’s lip trembled. Just barely. Daria lifted a hand and touched her cheek, gentler than she felt. “You can tell me anything,” she whispered.
Austra closed her eyes. For one blinding second, Daria felt it, felt the moment teetering. Austra was going to say something real. Something heavy. Something she’d been holding alone.
Her voice broke on a whisper. “I…Daria, I… there’s something I…”
But the words didn’t come. Her whole body tightened like she was holding back a scream. Daria’s breath hitched. “Austra. Tell me.”
Austra shook her head, tears bright but unshed. “I can’t,” she choked. “I want to, gods, I want to, but if I say it, I’ll lose you.”
The bottom dropped out of Daria’s stomach. “Lose me?” she whispered. “Austra, what are you…”
Austra stepped forward suddenly, grabbing Daria’s waist like she was drowning and Daria was the only solid thing in the world. Her forehead pressed to Daria’s. Her breath shook against Daria’s lips. “Please,” Austra whispered. “Not tonight. Don’t make me say it tonight.”
Daria felt fire flare under her skin, fear, frustration, longing, all fusing together. “Austra,” she said, sharper than she meant to, “you can’t keep shutting me out. You can’t keep protecting me from phantoms. You can’t–”
Austra kissed her. Hard. Desperate. A collision of panic and want and something else Daria was too afraid to name. Daria stumbled back into the wall, gasping, grabbing Austra’s shoulders, trying to push her away, and completely failing. Heat slammed through her. Austra kissed her like she was begging for forgiveness and absolution and permission all at once.
Something inside Daria snapped. She shoved Austra back against the opposite wall, teeth grazing her lower lip, breath tearing out of her in a growl. “You don’t get to run from me,” Daria hissed against her mouth. “Not like this.”
Austra groaned, hands sliding up her ribs, pulling her impossibly closer. “I’m not running,” Austra gasped. “I’m… gods, Daria… I’m trying not to break.”
“You’re breaking anyway,” Daria snarled, kissing her again, rougher this time. “And you’re taking me with you.”
Austra’s hands tangled in her hair. Their hips collided. Their breaths came ragged and frantic. Frustration ignited into need, and need turned into something deeper, something neither of them had the courage to name out loud.
Austra’s voice cracked against her throat. “Daria…”
“Don’t,” Daria warned, biting gently at her shoulder. “Not unless you’re telling me the truth.”
Austra shuddered, fingers digging into Daria’s back. “Then let me show you,” she whispered. “If I can’t say it… let me show it.”
And Daria, gods help her, let her. They collapsed into each other with wild, wordless hunger, a tangle of limbs and heat. Frustration burned into passion, into something that felt almost like devotion. Something terrifying.
When they finally ended up tangled in bed, breathless and shaking, Austra buried her face in Daria’s neck and whispered something too soft to catch. Daria didn’t ask her to repeat it. She didn’t trust herself with the answer.
But as she held Austra close, feeling her tremble with everything she couldn’t say, Daria knew it with a sick, lucid certainty: Whatever Austra was hiding wasn’t going to hurt them. It was going to end them. And the knife twist, sharp enough to steal her breath, was that Daria already understood her own damage. Because even now, even with dread pooling in her gut like poison, she still tightened her arms around Austra like instinct. Like need. Like love. And she thought: When it breaks, it will take me with it, because I don’t know how to let go of her. I don’t know if I even want to.
© 2026 Jesse Annette. All rights reserved.
Forging Ash of the Beloved 
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