A/N:

Oh my god, I can't believe it. 50 reviews! When I started this I wasn't expecting it to get nearly that much attention, maybe 20 reviews at most by the end, and here we are at 50 with still another chapter and the epilogue to go! Y'all are the best. 3

Cirex-Review: It was always planned for Corrin/Kamui to part on bad terms with his elder siblings. It's canonical they both have some guilt about his kidnapping that makes them more determined to bring him home than their younger siblings; I decided to expand on that by making their guilt more personal.

Ajanis-apprentice: The adult Corrin in her vision is not Nohr Corrin (Nohr Corrin was never hateful, nor wanted to "burn the world down"). You'll learn who the Corrin she saw is. Just remember that she sees POTENTIAL futures, not certainties. The Garon at Cheve was slime!Garon, yes. The real Garon was killed and replaced sometime after sending the peace proposal to Hoshido, to add to the tragedy; he really did want peace, then Anankos came along.

Garon didn't kill Mikoto because, while her death would have thrown Hoshido into even more chaos, she was holding him at arrowpoint. Shooting her might have made her shoot him in her last moments, and dying wasn't on his list of things to do that day. He didn't kill Ryoma because as far as he and Anankos are concerned, the only one they really have to worry about is Corrin. Remember that even then Anankos was content to just torment Corrin rather than kill him in the game, and in my fic was arrogant enough to let Mikoto and Arete go—he just does not regard ordinary humans as threats.

She meant HER Anankos, her husband, yes. It's a little hard to differentiate between them since they're the same person and I refuse to use cliché terms like "Good!Anankos" and "Bad!Anankos" in the story itself, but generally if Mikoto is thinking about Anankos with nostalgia/happiness, she's thinking of her husband, and if she's thinking about him with anger/venom, she's thinking of the madman.

Rapis-Razuri: Masashi is Subaki's father, correct.

I couldn't NOT include Scarlet :) I like her too; poor girl didn't deserve her treatment in the game.

Trigger warnings: depression, mention of considered suicide.

Mikoto woke up.

For a moment, she thought she was still asleep. The world still had an unreal quality to it, a deadening of her senses and emotions that usually only occurred in dreams. Then she remembered how that was the norm for her now. She stared up at the wood ceiling above her head. She had memorized the number of cracks in them, the patterns of the swirls and whorls, just as she had memorized the number of days since Cheve. Thirteen, now. The minutes and hours and days were blending together, slipping like water through her fingers.

Every day it was a little harder to get out of bed. Sometimes she could do it, sometimes she lay there like a sad lump until a servant came in and she was forced into starting her day. Today was the former, but it still drained her to even sit up and exit to the main room. It was the same as ever, the tatamimat and low tablein the center, the cabinet full of sake and tea implements off to one side, the low desk on the other, one screen door hiding her bedroom and a second hiding a private bathroom, but it was so much colder, emptier without her husband.

The door to the hall slid open and Orochi poked her head in, a tray of food in her hands.

"How are you this morning, Lady Mikoto?" she asked softly.

And now it begins. "Fine, Orochi," she said, giving her a smile that came out more like a grimace.

Orochi set the tray down on the table carefully. Mikoto drifted over to it with all the energy of a slug. "Well, that's good to hear. Do you want help getting ready? Company while you eat? Maybe a magic trick or two?"

"No."

"…Alright. I'll… go then." She hesitated, then added, a little choked, "Let me know if you need anything."

Mikoto ignored her departure, poking at the food with her chopsticks. She didn't think she'd eaten since lunch yesterday, but she wasn't really hungry. Food just tasted like ash now. At first she'd kept eating in public solely out of habit, but then the servants had started giving her barely-touched food worried looks. So she requested that meals be delivered to her rooms instead so she could eat in peace. Sometimes she nibbled on a bit of fish or rice, but most days, she threw it all out, and when the servants returned gave them the empty tray with a plastered-on smile.

After forcing herself to consume two bites of her rolled egg omelet, she opened the window and tossed the rest away. It joined the growing pile of rotting food on the ground below.

She slowly dressed in the familiar black mourning kimono, the dark color drawing attention to the paleness of her skin. Her eyes found her face in her mirror, and she paused to stare. She'd thought herself quite fortunate when she first arrived in Hoshido—her mother's noble family had been native to Valla, but sported strong Hoshidan ancestry, and those features had carried over from mother to daughter. Arete had resembled their father; she would never have been able to bluff being a native of this country with her high cheekbones, sharp chin, and long nose.

It was harder to see the resemblance to her mother with shadows under her eyes and cracked lips and her hair shorn close to her skull. She'd taken a tanto to what was left of it, hysterical, after she'd woken up in Cheve. She'd considered taking it to her arm, too, but all that would do was put her soul and body out there for Anankos to snatch up, and that would lead to an existence just as torturous as this one. So she drifted through fog everyday instead.

Her day started. Mikoto felt like a doll now, all sewed-on smiles and glassy eyes and emptiness inside. She was a walking imitation of a human; she attended her meetings and inspected the troops and did her paperwork and felt nothing but a dull, persistent ache. At Yukimura's pushing she wrote another pointless plea to Nohr begging for her son's return, one of the dozens that she knew would be ignored. Then it was time for lunch, which she picked at in her room.

After that she was normally supposed to parrot words to appease her people, hold more meetings, and work on one of several projects, but as she was eating Yukimura came in, as he always did, and kindly told her he'd handle the rest of work that day. Stress lines were tugging at the corner of his mouth, and his eyes were bloodshot. Look at him, a nasty little voice in her head sneered, look at how tired he is. Look at the work you're piling on him. All because you can't be half-assed to do it yourself. You are the most useless being ever conceived.

Free time was quickly becoming something Mikoto was familiar with as her advisors, worried about her mental state, quietly siphoned duties off her. On good days, she strolled the gardens. On bad days, she went back to bed; sometimes she slept, sometimes she gazed at the ceiling for hours on end. On the very worst days, she snuck into Kamui's room, which had been left untouched by the servants, curled up with one of his stuffed animals, and wept into the fuzzy material as silently as she could.

Today was one of her bad days. Not the worst, but still bad. She crawled back into her futon, pulled the covers up to her chin and replayed, in her mind, everything she had done wrong in Cheve. Every little thing she could have done differently, the one move that would have kept her husband and son alive and safe with her if she'd just been a little stronger, a little smarter, a little faster.

After an unknown period of time spent doing this, Orochi came by with dinner. It joined breakfast and lunch outside, and Mikoto undressed for the night. Reina filled a bath for her and she sat in the water, unmoving, until her fingertips were as wrinkled and pruned as an old woman's. Then she returned to her futon and stared up at the ceiling, counting and re-counting the cracks in the wood until sleep finally came for her.

This was her life now. Wash, rinse, repeat. Every day was the same, as meaningless as the day before it and the day after. The only reason she bothered anymore was because it was easier to adhere to routine than to break it.

There were two major events in the wake of a monarch's death. The first was the funeral. Mikoto hadn't been able to attend Sumeragi's; it would damage her reputation, she knew, but for the life of her she just couldn't bring herself to get up that day. She wouldn't have been able to keep her mask on while they buried Sumeragi beneath his cairn, and she didn't want to have to deal with the pitying looks from those who hadn't known him and the tears from those who had, or the skeptical glances from people wondering if she really could rule alone, or the condolences, gods the condolences that were repeated so often as to lose meaning. So she just didn't.

The second event was the coronation, either of the heir or of the monarch's spouse as regent until the heir was of age. That hadn't occurred yet; her coronation was coming up, and half the castle was rushing to prepare for it (the other half was focusing on damage control at home and at Nohr). She knew that she needed to write a speech, but motivation was so hard to find. Not just for this, but for anything that wasn't about rescuing Kamui—and even then, the hopelessness that had settled on her distracted her from even that before long.

Take today, for instance. Yukimura had called together a council meeting to discuss what to do about Nohr—or rather, they'd talked and she'd nodded vaguely. What was the point? She'd seen the numbers, she knew Nohr's military was stronger than theirs; all her military preparations had done was prolong the time it would take for them to lose. And even if they did somehow beat Nohr, what then? Did she really think they could fight Valla alone, that they could beat Anankos the indomitable, Anankos the sovereign? They wouldn't. So why bother trying?

Still, Yukimura and her advisors insisted they had to do something to try and stop a war. Nohr needed a casus belli, a reason,to invade if they didn't want to damage their standing with other countries, and they were doing their damn best to get one, trying to provoke the Hoshidans. While those in charge wanted to avenge their king and prince, they knew they would lose trying, but the rest of their population didn't. All it would take was one faction of hot-headed farmers or nobles or merchants getting riled up and attacking the Nohrian scouts practically dancing on the border, and Nohr would have the excuse they needed.

Everything you did, the years you spent building things up, destroyed in a few moments, just like that. You were such a fool for thinking you could make a difference.

Because Anankos had already won. The scales had fallen from Mikoto's eyes and she understood why he'd left her alone for so long. He'd been moving the pieces to capture her son for months, years, intending to make his kidnapping the trigger that destroyed any chance at peace between Hoshido and Nohr. With the two major countries weakened or destroyed after the inevitable war, he would have an easier time invading the rest of the continent. Destroying the whole world wouldn't be as fast as destroying a country, though; it would be a slow process taking years, as people fled and formed pockets of resistance. So he would use that time to groom her son into the vengeful figure she'd seen in her vision, and because he'd been born as the Crux of Fate, the one whose actions were the most essential in shaping the future, Kamui would at the very least make wiping humanity out much easier for Anankos, if he didn't succeed completely.

It was just like Valla all over again. They were on a slow collision course to destruction, and there wasn't anything she could do to stop it. There wasn't any point in trying.

"Your target," Yukimura said, "is Princess Azura of Nohr."

Mikoto lingered in the shadows cast by the throne room's pillars, observing the procedure with detachment. This had been Yukimura's idea; the ninja they had been sending into Nohr and the diviners they'd had scrying for Kamui were unable to find him, so he'd approached her and suggested a different tactic. His idea was that they steal one of Nohr's royal children and offer to trade them for the prince. He'd already found a skilled thief reputed for intimate knowledge of Nohr's capital, Windmire, and Castle Krakenburg; all he needed was her permission.

She didn't think Yukimura's plan was really going to succeed—she knew Nohr would never let Kamui go, even if they kidnapped the crown prince himself—but his words had piqued her interest, provided her with an opportunity. Thus she agreed, with a caveat: she wanted the thief to steal Azura. If their men couldn't rescue her son, they could at least get her niece out of that damned country.

Aren't you supposed to be smart? He's not really going to be able to steal her, and you know it. Why waste energy hoping? Or are you just a glutton for punishment?

The outlaw was a man about Reina's age, named Shura—she only remembered because it sounded so close to Azura. His hair was white with an odd patch of black in the middle, and his eyes belittled his age; they were an old man's eyes, heavy with tragedy and loss. Mikoto could recognize herself in his eyes.

Shura flipped a coin around and between his fingers. "That's a high-profile target. I thought you'd want your prince back, not a Nohrian girl."

"What we want with the princess is our business, not yours," Yukimura said sharply. "And never insinuate we don't want Prince Kamui safely rescued again."

"Of course, milord. Touchy subject, I understand." For his credit, the outlaw looked genuinely apologetic. "If your plan is what I think it is, know that it should work. Hostage exchanges usually do."

Not in this case, Mikoto thought bitterly. Not when the person paying the ransom cares for nothing but your destruction.

Yukimura accepted the apology with a nod. "We will fly you to the Bottomless Canyon, and from there you'll make your way to Castle Krakenburg. The trip is two weeks there, two weeks back. At the end of that time period we'll send a flier to the original drop point to ferry you back here. If you don't show up within twenty-four hours, we will write you off as dead and leave. If you get caught, we will deny all association with you."

He waved a hand. "Yeah, yeah, I know the drill."

They spoke for a few more minutes, haggling over the price for his services, and then Masashi led the thief off to prepare for the trip. Mikoto watched him leave—she'd stayed hidden so she could deny ever formally giving him the assignment and he could deny ever formally meeting her if things went wrong. Disinterested, she turned to start to return to bed.

Yukimura hesitantly placed a hand on her wrist, pausing her on her way out. "This will work, Your Majesty," he said softly.

She smiled humorlessly. When all else failed, she was always good at smiling. "If you say so."

Nothing would work. Not rescuing her niece, not rescuing her son, not saving her country.

Today was an awful day.

It started out fine—she got up without much trouble, ate almost half her breakfast, meandered through her morning with slightly less lethargy than usual. She was feeling something that was almost content. And then a servant brought her lunch and gave her a sugared plum for desert and she froze. Another servant began to reprimand the offender, gesturing angrily, but the damage was done. Disregarding them, Mikoto rose and swiftly left.

The route to Kamui's room was familiar, well-worn. Her vision was starting to shake, and she barely managed to close the door behind her before the hole in her chest opened up again. Gulping in air, she fell to her knees. Her hands grabbed, without looking, the stuffed dragon he'd gotten for his first birthday, pulling it towards her. Mikoto clutched it to her chest and let out the gut-wrenching sobs that had crept up on her out of nowhere. She was so drained. She was so tired of going on in this pointless, painful existence. She was so—

The door slipped open.

She froze like a child caught sneaking sweets, aware of her tear-stained face and runny nose. Swallowing her grief as much as she could, she said in a trembling voice, without turning, "I wish to be alone."

The owner of the invader spoke. Orochi, sounding young and scared. "Lady Mikoto—I can see the blackness around you, hanging about and strangling you. If you don't let people help—" She broke off, choked.

Another voice. This time it was Reina's. "People here care about you, my lady. We care about you. Let us help. Please."

Nobody cares about me. Nobody can or should care about me! I am a snake and a liar! A toad with poison skin, killing everyone who touches me except myself!

"I wish," she repeated, "to be alone."

A beat, then, in unison, "No."

"Are you defying an order from your queen?" she hissed. She would have raised her head to glare if her face wasn't an unsightly, blotchy mess.

"A retainer's duty is not just protection of their liege," Reina said, "it is ensuring their health and safety in all things. It is being there for them when they need it. It is being a friend. And you may not want to admit it, but you need friends right now."

"Why do you care?" Mikoto choked. "I've been—" Aloof. Horrible. "Awful." Distant. Secretive. "I barely speak to either of you."

"You have a twisted perception of yourself," Orochi soothed, trying to sound blithe. "You believed in me and my family when no one else did, remember? And Reina—Reina says you took her on despite all that trouble with her parents!"

She shook her head, refusing to believe her. I was using your family for my own gains. I didn't even care about Reina. I am not worth the effort.

There was the sound of one, then two, backs hitting the wall and sliding down to sit on the floor. "I know there's nothing we can say to this," Reina began, "We haven't experienced the kind of pain you're going through. But we can at least stay with you so you don't go through it alone."

Mikoto glued her mouth shut and pressed her face harder into the stuffed animal, trying to stop the tears from resuming. For a few minutes, she succeeded, shaking silently as Orochi and Reina waited patiently. But she couldn't hold it in anymore, so for the first time, she let her mask fall in front of her retainers and wept openly.

It got a little bit easier, after that. That was the first step in truly letting her retainers in, and after she found she could relax a bit more around them. She could trust them, tentatively, with her pain. The maturity from the young girl and patience from the normally bloodthirsty woman was surprising; each time Orochi and Reina would say nothing, just listen, then embrace her. There was some comfort in the silence, and the numbness got just a little lighter after that.

And then, nine days later, one month to the date, three months after Cheve, Shura was brought into the throne room, where he pulled his cloak aside to reveal a shivering, blue-haired girl in a white dress, with a very familiar pendant around her neck.

Mikoto stared at her niece. Azura didn't look good, all bony arms and limp hair and sad eyes. But she was there, she was safe. A member of her family was alive. There was something warm in her chest, something bright and soft cutting through the perpetual fog, and it took her a moment to pinpoint the foreign emotion as hope.

She had really believed the thief was going to fail.

"One Princess Azura, as promised," Shura announced, unnecessarily. Everyone's eyes had been drawn to the girl as soon as she was unveiled. The courtiers' and the servants' gazes were hostile when they beheld her, princess of the country they hated, and angry murmurs permeated the room. Mikoto angled a hand down sharply, silencing them—Shura's successful return and completion meant she was able to be there, in the open, as there was no longer any need for plausible deniability.

"I've got something else for you, too," Shura added, pulling out a sheathed but recognizable katana. "Consider it a bonus."

Mikoto's breath caught in her chest. Raijinto. Nohr had taken it off Sumeragi's body when they'd stolen Kamui, though she hadn't realized it when she was in Cheve, lost in her grief as she'd been. The loss of one of Hoshido's sacred weapons would have been the crushing blow to morale if the public became aware, so they'd hid the knowledge; the only ones who'd known had been those at Cheve. Shura could have been a little more discreet with his reveal of the weapon, since now everyone there knew it had been missing in the first place, though the fact that he'd recovered it meant, hopefully, they would overlook that.

Yukimura's mouth worked silently. He gently took the katana from Shura and ran a disbelieving hand over the sheathed blade. "How in the world did you…" he murmured reverently. Raijinto had been forged by the gods during the First War and granted to the royal family as a sign of their favor. Losing it or the other divine weapons, Fujin Yumi and Yato, was synonymous with losing the blessing of the Dawn Dragon. Collecting himself, he shook his head, deciding that the question of how wasn't important, and turned to an attendant sharply. "Bring this to its resting place at once!"

The servant bowed before him, taking the blade with great care. As he hurried off to return it to the castle vault, Mikoto turned to Shura. "Did you find any information on Kamui?" she asked, hating the hopeful note in her voice, "Anything at all?"

Shura's face became regretful, and he shook his head. "Kept my ears open while I was there, but King Garon and the people at Castle Krakenburg are keeping their mouths on him shut tighter than a tax collector's grip on his money."

She swallowed. It was unsurprising, but it still hurt. The tentative optimism that had warmed in her in light of her niece's rescue began to die again.

Yukimura's eyes drifted to Azura. "You," he said. "Do you know anything about the prince's whereabouts?"

She stared up at him. Then, slowly, her head shook left and right. "We heard rumors about Cheve," she murmured, "but nothing solid. I didn't know they were true until now."

His lips tightened into a thin, white line. "I see."

Shura coughed, bringing the blue-haired tactician's attention back to him. "Not to sound petty or anything, milord, but my pay?"

Yukimura sighed. "Of course." As he began to usher the thief away to complete their business transactions, the crowd should have dispersed. But it didn't, hostile eyes still upon Azura. Mikoto stared at her from her throne, lofty and aloof. The world was resetting back to grey now. She was about to turn away when Azura spoke.

"So I'm to be your prisoner."

Her voice was low, resigned in a manner too old for her age. Her small shoulders were hunched, bearing the weight of the angry stares of the Hoshidans around her, at the filthy Nohrian who dared befoul their presence. Mikoto realized, suddenly, that by bringing Azura here she may have put her in greater danger than ever. She was a defenseless six-year-old girl, taken out of a familiar world and brought into one that despised her just for her association with Garon. The Hoshidans probably wouldn't kill her because of her value as a bargaining chip, but physical measures weren't the only way to harm a person.

Most things, even mundane ones, took effort now, but not this. Her niece's plight burned away the gloom that had been re-settling over her, gave her the will to rise and speak. Every eye snapped towards her. "You are, yes," she began. "But you are also our guest. We are not Nohr; we will treat you civilly and respectfully until you can be traded back for our prince."

The last half of her sentence was directed at her courtiers and servants, bare steel underlying it. Her words seemed to placate them, and they backed down, averting their eyes and returning to their duties.

But for how long? Mikoto couldn't help but wonder, as she called Reina over to bring Azura to the room she'd be staying at. How long until they realize her stay is permanent? And what will they do then?

Over the next few days, Mikoto didn't really see her niece, deciding to let her adjust to her new home gradually instead of overwhelming her with visitors. She'd kept her relation to Azura secret, afraid of the consequences that might fall upon either of them if people found out. Once things settled, hopefully she'd be able to spend more time with her.

She still had trouble falling asleep at night, but rather than waiting for it to come to her, this night Mikoto decided to take a walk to hopefully burn some energy. As she was wandering the castle halls, a flash of red in the corner of her eye caught her attention. Mikoto turned, spotting the bright hair of Hinoka through a window, outside despite it snowing. Her step-daughter had the shifty sort of look that came with doing something you weren't supposed to, and she was glancing around furtively. As Mikoto watched, Hinoka hurried through the snow to a nearby building, the pegasi stables. One more look, then she opened the door and darted inside.

Mikoto hadn't seen any of her step-children in…ages. Before Cheve, at least. She just couldn't bring herself to be around them, the ones who were still here when her son wasn't. She hesitated, torn between wanting to go on her way and quieting the vague curiosity that had risen in her.

Hinoka emerged, tugging on the reins of a reluctant pegasus, and that made the decision for her. Hoping (how odd it was to do that again) that the princess wouldn't leave before she got there, Mikoto hurried to the nearest door leading outside and made her way back to where she'd seen the girl.

When she arrived, she saw that Hinoka had managed to drag the pegasus to a post and tied the reins to it. Now she was trying to saddle it, unsuccessfully. She had to stand on a stool to reach its back, swaying precariously, and it kept jerking away, snorting angrily.

Finally, it had enough. With a loud whinny it reared, wings beating the air imposingly. Hinoka fell backwards off the stool, startled; the pegasus wouldn't really hurt her, but she didn't know that. She sat there in the snow, stunned, as it tossed its head, easily undoing the girl's clumsy knot to the post, and trotted off. Then she put her face in her hands and began crying.

Mikoto saw all this, hovering a short distance away. She crossed her arms, shivering lightly in the cold. She knew, logically, she should do something to comfort her step-daughter, but she was only just learning how to support herself again—how was she supposed to support Hinoka too? Especially when Hinoka didn't like her?

Eventually, Hinoka stopped crying. With one last sniffle, she wiped her face with an arm and slowly gathered up the saddle. She turned and started when she saw Mikoto standing there, her black clothes stark against the snow.

"Oh. You."

"…What are you doing?" she asked.

"None of your business."

It was defensive, quick, curt, and disrespectful. Mikoto wouldn't tolerate it. "I know you don't like me," she began. "But it's my duty as queen to handle suspicious activity. Trying to steal a pegasus is suspicious, unless you give me a reason for it not to be, Hinoka."

Hinoka glared at her a moment longer, then glanced after the pegasus. She deflated, tucking her hands into her armpits and ducking her head, and Mikoto scolded herself for maybe being a bit too harsh; for all her hostility towards Mikoto, Hinoka was still a child.

"I wanted to rescue Kamui," she mumbled, not looking up from the ground, voice wavering. "I thought, since our ninja and that thief could break into Nohr, I could too."

Her face crumpled, her anger and defiance falling apart in wake of her failure. "But—but it's snowing, and it wasn't supposed to snow tonight, and the dark is scaring me, and that stupid pegasus won't let me ride it, and I don't know how to get to Nohr, and—and—"

Hinoka started crying again, big, guffawing sobs that shook her small frame.

"And the last thing I said to Kamui was that I hated him!" she finished, wailing. "And I didn't mean it! I didn't! I didn't!"

Hesitantly, Mikoto approached her and rested a hand on her shoulder. When Hinoka didn't immediately throw it off, she crouched down to meet her teary gaze.

"I want to rescue him too—more than anything. But rushing into things blindly, without proper preparation, makes you vulnerable and prone to mistakes." Like my rushing in Cheve.

"But w-what if it takes years?" Hinoka sniffed. "W-what if it takes years and years b-b-before he's rescued? What if—"

"Then it takes years," Mikoto said, trying not to show how Hinoka's fears were mirrors of her own. "But your safety—your life—is something that cannot be replaced if lost to carelessness."

"…okay…" Hinoka rubbed her face, wiping off her tears. "Maybe…maybe I can talk to Captain Masashi…about training as a pegasus knight…"

The thought of shy little Hinoka training, risking her life on the battlefield, sent a lurch of fear through Mikoto, but she kept silent. It was probably just a little idea that would go away on its own, and she didn't want to argue now. They hunted down the pegasus and brought it back inside with its companions and returned the saddle to its place. Then Mikoto gently ushered her step-daughter back into the castle and walked her to her room.

"…why did you cut your hair?" Hinoka asked on the way, a little shyly.

A hand rose to feel the fuzzy back of her head. "Where I come from," she said, "It's—tradition to cut our hair when…when we lose someone we love. It honors them."

Hinoka mused over this for a few moments. Then, hesitantly, "…could you cut my hair?"

"But Hinoka, you love your hair," Mikoto burst out, surprised. She remembered Hinoka being delighted by all the things Ikona had been able to do with her hair when she was younger, braids and buns and all sorts of fun styles that "made her look grown up".

"I love my brother more," she said, firm for a seven-year-old. "So—so I'm making a promise! A promise that I won't grow my hair long until we rescue him!"

Mikoto blinked, touched by her gesture, then gave her agreement. She waited until they reached Hinoka's room; then, Mikoto carefully took hold of Hinoka's long red locks. She stalled, giving her one last chance to change her mind, and when she didn't swiped her tanto clean through them. Her hair wasn't as short as Mikoto's, but it still didn't come past her chin.

The girl ran a hand through it experimentally, frowning. "It feels weird," she murmured. "But…kind of good at the same time."

Mikoto nodded, uncertain as to what do or say. "Go to bed" was the obvious one, but that was such a motherly thing to say, and even after these little moments, she doubted Hinoka would accept blatant maternal behavior from her.

Hinoka hesitated, then ducked her head. "Thank you, Lady Mikoto," she said quietly. "And…I'm sorry."

Then, face flushed with embarrassment, she hurried into her room. Mikoto watched her go, feeling a faint warm glow in her heart.

Things wouldn't improve between them so easily. But it was a start.

The next morning, Mikoto woke up feeling better than she had in weeks.

It was a little scary, this fragile sense of hope fluttering in her chest. This little feeling that she still had things worth living for. It was tempting to let the fog roll back in, dull her mind, emotions and senses so she could go back to not caring. If she didn't care about anything, she wouldn't get hurt anymore.

If she didn't care about anything, she wouldn't really be living.

Grief was fine. Grief was part of a healing process, even if it was one Mikoto had gone through too often for her liking. But despair…despair would kill you. Despair would strangle the life from your eyes and the flowers of your heart until you were no more alive than Anankos's puppets. Despair had almost killed her, until Reina and Orochi and Azura and Hinoka had reminded her she still had things worth fighting for, hoping for, risking herself for.

She sighed as she rose out of bed. Even so, even with her renewed hope, she couldn't forget that Hoshido was still vastly outmanned by Nohr, that their situation was very delicate, and if war came—

Her hand knocked against a painting as she stretched. With a yelp of pain she yanked it back, feeling the skin throb from the sting of the impact. There was a dull crash.

She turned towards the sound. Her hand had knocked the painting off the wall and onto the floor, exposing the contents of the cavity within. Her eyes immediately found the stave she had completely forgotten about, her sister's stave containing the barrier spell that could shelter a country from harm.