I let out a soft sigh as I stare at the spot of red beneath my feet. It’s not relief that makes me release my breath, but rather defeat. A suffering I cannot bear, neatly compartmentalized and shoved away in a single breath, all so I can keep moving.

  It’s then that I hear someone call my name.

  I turn away from the body, ignoring the signals I keep getting from my enhanced senses. It’s still warm, but not warm enough. Instead, I focus on the figure standing a few feet below me, on the surface of the street. It’s Jayce, a weary look in his eyes.

  “Hey Charlie,” he says as I spot him; I nod in his direction, “We just passed the six hour mark.”

  I huff out a breath before I can stop myself, “So what?” I hiss, my tone carrying the pain of exhaustion and the harshness of my impotent rage.

  “So, you were told to take hour-long shifts,” he says, “An order which you’ve ignored for the past six hours. You need a break, Charlie.”

  I scowl. I…might recall being told that. But the first 24 hours of a disaster are the most important—there are people under here that might be dead by the time I get back from a break! In keeping with that order, Jayce has already taken three, and every time he leaves, my rates slow by more than half. It’s harder to find people without him and I have to carry them back myself. It’s the reason I’ve started learning to sense body heat.

  “Charlie,” Jayce says firmly, seeing my expression, “This is non-negotiable. You’ve been ordered, first by Apex and now by Vermillion, to take breaks. If you don’t, we will make you.”

  …

  “But I’m fine,” I tell him, “I’m not even hurt or tired anymore.”

  “Charlie, your current rate of healing is exactly the issue,” Jayce says, “You’ve pushed your ability to the limit and then straight past it again. You may not be physically strained, but whether you know it or not, ability fatigue and mental exhaustion have been tearing your conscious mind to shreds. Another few hours, and you could be risking ability loss, temporary or even permanent.”

  That stays my hand a little. I can’t help people without my ability…right? That sounds right. I guess I do need some rest.

  “One hour,” I say firmly, “Then I’m coming right back out here.”

  Jayce scowls, but doesn’t say anything. Reluctantly, I hop down from the debris pile and follow him as he starts walking towards the nearest relief camp. I almost trip over my own feet, but manage to follow, frowning at my lack of coordination. I’m not tired.

  We pass other heroes as we go, many in the midst of the same efforts I had been attempting just a minute ago. I watch a man with a forked tongue directing several others to the nearest warm bodies, and a girl with flaming hair carrying a pale child, her body hot enough to warm him as if by a fire.

  Some of them spot us as they pass. A few nod in our direction, solemn but appreciative. One or two bow—a small thing, just the incline of a head, but for such a small it carries an undefinable weight. Many, though, just watch, looking for a moment or two before returning to their work.

  It makes me uncomfortable, though I can’t really say why. I push on a little quicker.

  “Why’d you come get me?” I ask.

  “I thought I just told you that,” Jayce replies.

  I shake my head, “Why you? Why not Allacia or Elias or Vermillion herself if she cared so much?”

  “Allacia has opted to return to Newest York, as an escort for Rowan,” Jayce replies, “Elias is currently helping with the rescue ops—his versatility is invaluable. Vemillion was whisked away to a secure location to give her report several hours ago. She’s been relaying commands over the radio every time the council takes a recess, but she’ll be there for a while.”

  All good reasons to be away, all necessary work to be done. As if I needed more proof that I should still be out there, helping, instead of here, resting.

  Slowly but surely though, as hero crews transition to firefighters and mundane rescue teams, we approach the relief camp. It’s a sight of horrors, one I could’ve gone a lifetime without seeing, but now that it’s there, I’m too ashamed to look away. Hundreds of white tarp tents have been set up in an area of cleared earth, giving space to several thousand displaced survivors, and the infrastructure needed to keep them from becoming a different statistic.

  Dozens of people are huddled up in identical blankets and sleeping bags, many without effects of any kind still to their name. We pass tents from which screams and moans and busy shouting emanate, the only outside evidence of the injured and dying inside, as well as the dozens of doctors desperately trying to save as many as they can.

  Columns of trucks arrive and leave simultaneously, carrying in supplies and out requests. Once we find a place for people to stay, they’ll likely be requisitioned for transport. For now, they do all they can, bringing in food, medicine, water, and other life-saving supplies.

  Along the side of one of the few freestanding buildings left in the city is the worst sight of all though—the hundreds upon hundreds of photos, all of people who were alive yesterday, but have not yet been found. Photos from families and friends alike, desperately searching for any sign of those they love. Sometimes, a photo is taken down, as a loved one is found.

  One way, or the other.

  “How many?” I ask as we pass the makeshift billboard.

  “In the time you’ve been out there, you’ve rescued over seventeen hundred individuals, almost all of which are still alive,” Jayce tells me.

  I wince, “That’s…not what I asked.”

  He stops, and turns around to give me a pitying look, “You want to know how many are still out there. How many will never return.”

  I nod.

  “I know,” he says, “That’s why I told you how many you saved. It’s best if you look at things in context. You’ve already been responsible for more good than anyone else-”

  “How. Many.” I repeat.

  He sighs, “There won’t ever be an exact number. Too many families gone entirely, and the most recent census was two years ago—not to mention everyone who was here for the exhibition. But…there are already estimates.”

  I give him a look, “How many?”

  “Three to five hundred thousand dead,” he says in a hushed whisper, “and maybe another hundred thousand still out there, alive but trapped, or at least still missing.”

  300,000 to half a million dead? And another 100,000 missing?

  God, that’s…unimaginable. Even if I somehow saved all those remaining, it would barely put a dent in the total. As much as half a million deaths. God.

  “Forty-five minutes,” I say, “Then I’m back out there.” Jayce frowns once more, but before he can say anything, I feel someone tap me on the shoulder. I turn around to see an old lady looking at me with wonder in her eyes.

  “Excuse me,” she says, “but my son says that…you were the one to save his life?”

  My eyes drift behind her, where a middle-aged man sits in a wheelchair, his left leg and face covered in bandages. His eyes are pained, but he smiles.

  I open my mouth to speak, but no words come out.

  “Wait…you’re the one who rescued us!” Another voice drags my attention to a pair of young men, one of them balanced on a pair of crutches. They smile brilliantly, as if just the sight of me is enough to raise their spirits.

  “Hey everybody, come look!” the man calls, “It’s that hero from the exhibition. She saved my life!”

  Just like that, the floodgates seem to open. Starting with curious bystanders, then expanding to people in the surrounding tents, then slowly even more, people come by to check out the commotion. Inevitably, one or two will recognize me, and just as inevitably, they’ll come up to give their thanks.

  “You pulled me from my collapsed home!”

  “You saved my daughter—I would’ve lost her!”

  “You lifted a steel beam off of my leg!”

  “Oh, bless you miss!”

  “You saved my husband! Thank you!”

  “Thank you so much, hero!”

  They come at me in waves, more and more joining in with their own cheers, and messages of thanks. A dozen times or more I try to speak, but I can’t. The words, whatever they may be, die in my throat every time. Seeing the wave of grateful faces, hearing their grateful voices, seeing their cheer, as though the disaster no longer hurts so long as I am there…

  My eyes wide like a deer in headlights, a single tear rolls down my cheek.

  Jayce puts a hand on my shoulder and pulls me back.

  “Alright, people,” he says, “She needs some rest. You can thank her later.”

  My gaze goes low, avoiding theirs as I let Jayce turn me around and direct me away from the crowd. I hear a few mutterings of disappointment, and a few more call out, trying one last time to say their piece to my receding form.

  Then Jayce pulls me into a tent, and it all goes quiet.

  Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

  The tent is a small red thing, about as large as a college dorm room, with a small foldable cot set up in one corner, sporting a blow-up mattress, a flat pillow, and a cotton blanket. I sit on the bed, my head hanging low.

  Images flash through my mind: the man, the fire, the heroes killed, the city in ruins, and…the people just outside, thanking me.

  Jayce snaps his fingers in front of my eyes, startling me. I look up at him, annoyed.

  “What was that about?” he says confrontationally, his own face a strange mix of concern and exasperation.

  “I’m just…tired,” I lie weakly.

  “You just spent the last five minutes insisting the opposite,” he counters, “Spill it.”

  “I don’t want to talk about it,” I say, “Just…let me rest. Forty-five minutes, then I’m right back out there.”

  He sighs, “You’re really still gonna insist on that.”

  “Yes,” I hiss, “There are thousands still out there in need of my help. Even if it doesn’t matter, even if it’s nothing in the face of what was lost, I still owe them, Jayce.”

  He frowns, but nods anyway, “Fine.”

  Then he turns on his heel and leaves.

  I sit back on the bed, not wanting to lie down in case I fall asleep. I’ve done all-nighters for hero work before, and I know my limits. Even sitting down is a risk, but if I even so much as think about standing up, the thought dies instantly. My leg’s don’t even want to move.

  I wish I had something to do. My mind, unburdened by activity, starts thinking. Thinking about…yesterday, by now, I think. The things I saw. The suffering I couldn’t stop. A city of dead, more people than I can even imagine, though my mind tries. I think of all the people I’ve rescued so far, of doing that again, and again, and again, and still never making a dent. It’s too many. Even a fraction of that is too many.

  I can’t keep up. The world starts to spin. Images blur and…wait, the world is actually spinning. I stand, adrenaline pushing through but dying down instantly. My legs buckle, then my hands too, and the last thing I remember before I fade is how dusty the floor in here…

  —

  …

  I wake up.

  A gasp escapes my lips as my eyes snap open, then instantly I cringe back as bright light floods where only darkness was expected. For a horrifying, panicked moment, my eyes don’t adjust. My eyes don’t adjust. That hasn’t happened since I got my ability. My senses should be sharper than that now.

  I dig deep in my mind for that familiar presence, but find only a splitting headache.

  Ability loss. I’ve lost my ability. That… wait, who said that?

  I hear voices coming towards me. My eyes finally adjusting, I take stock of my surroundings. I’m in what looks like a hospital room, with the white lights, sterile feel, and a deeply uncomfortable stench coming from my body. How long have I been here?

  There’s no time for that. The voices are getting closer. I shift off the bed, finding that I’m not restrained, nor am I unable to stand. My strength though…it’s mundane. Human. Still no sign of Superhu…

  Holy fuck, I can’t even think it properly. Something is very, very wrong.

  There’s a table beside me. There are a few basic supplies on it. Nothing so cliche as a scalpel—at least that means no one was dissecting me—but there does seem to be a pair of scissors. Perhaps they’re for opening packaging.

  I grab them. They’ll have to do.

  The voices are reaching the apex of their volume. They’re right outside the door. I press my back up to the wall beside it, out of direct sight of anyone entering. The door pushes inward. I see a hand on the knob.

  I stab it. In my state I can’t risk not. The dull improvised armament barely breaks the skin, sliding on bone and leaving nothing but a shallow cut behind. A shallow cut which immediately bursts into flame.

  I step back, heart and mind racing, as the figure turns and grabs me by the collar, pulling me close to reveal the face of…

  Operative Vermillion frowns, “Charlie? Care to explain why you just tried to stab me?”

  The scissors clatter to the floor from my hands.

  I stare into her eyes.

  “Charlie?” she repeats, her gaze growing concerned.

  “I-” I start, then stop, “I thought…I woke up in a hospital, after being drugged, and was unable to use my ability. What was I supposed…” I trail off.

  Vermillion keeps my gaze for a heartbeat or two more, then busts out laughing. I flush as she releases me, completely bewildered, my head still throbbing. I drop to a seated position on the bed, just staring as she slowly calms herself down.

  “You-you’re not wrong!” She wheezes, “I would’ve attacked the first person I saw too.”

  “S-sorry,” I stammer.

  “Not an issue,” she replies, waving her hand around. For the first time, I notice the cut has already faded. There isn’t even a speck of blood on her. Regeneration ability. Did I know that? I don’t think she ever told me.

  I’m still too bewildered to say more.

  “For what it’s worth,” she says, “I didn’t want to knock you out, but you weren’t cooperating.” Her mood sobers instantly. “Next time, listen when someone tells you to take a break.”

  I pale, “The rescue. I have to-”

  “It’s been three days,” she cuts me off, “Anything resembling a rescue is over. Cleanup’s gonna take years, even with SAUs helping, but there’s no one left to save, Charlie. Not that you could, even if you wanted to. We moved you to the Foundry for your own health and safety, and I intend to keep you here until I’m sure you’ll recover.”

  I feel anger rising in me, and I stand again, staring her down, “I missed the entire rescue?! And you-you were the one…” I collapse back down, instantly drained, “I…failed?”

  “Goddamnit, Charlie,” Vermillion sighs, “You didn’t fail shit. If anything, I failed you. I should’ve realised you’d progressed so far, but of course the council couldn’t wait.”

  I hesitate, “…progressed?”

  “Your ability loss,” she says, then, seeing my expression, hastily continues, “Not permanent—luckily enough—but if Operative Pacify hadn’t put you to sleep, it might’ve been. Gale Force tells me you were planning to go back out. If you had, you would’ve hit a wall, and soon. Probably at an inconvenient moment too.”

  “But I felt…fine,” I protest, knowing the moment the words leave my mouth that they aren’t true. Not really.

  “Charlie,” Vermillion emphasizes, “I am, without a doubt, the foremost expert on ability fatigue—if not in the world, then at least the USC. So trust me when I tell you without absolute certainty that you were not fine.”

  “No one told me what that is,” I say, “What is ability fatigue?”

  “Not something most SAUs have to worry about,” she replies, “It takes either high-level regeneration or someone exceptionally skilled to even survive long enough for it to become an issue. It’s caused by using your ability after it’s hit its limit. Ninety-nine times out of one hundred, a SAU will either take a break at that point, or die, because whoever they’re fighting won’t give them the chance to.”

  “And it's the thing that’s giving me a splitting headache and some sort of restriction on even thinking about my ability,” I say.

  She nods, “Without getting too much into the nature of abilities, ability fatigue is basically like an engine overheating—use it too hard and don’t let it cool down, and pretty soon the whole thing’s going up in smoke. In this case, the engine is your brain.”

  I shudder. I really, really don’t like the implications of that analogy.

  “Ignoring the fact you just implied the brain causes abilities-”

  “And I thank you for doing so,” she interjects.

  “-forgive me if I’m still a little pissed you ability-roofied me,” I finish.

  “Operative Pacify’s ability isn’t a ‘roofie,’” Vermillion dismisses, “Even if I can concede that it would be terrifyingly effective for that purpose. I honestly wasn’t sure it would work on you. It barely does anything to SAUs as it is, we mostly use her to handle civilian cases. If you hadn’t been well past your limit, you may have noticed some dizziness, but nothing more. But you were, so…well, you know.”

  I nod, and the two of us leave it at that, as, for a moment, the room is filled only with silence. After a few heartbeats, just long enough for it to get awkward, I clear my throat.

  “Uh, if that’s all, I’d…like to be alone,” I say, “There’s a few things I need to process.”

  I don’t mention what.

  Vermillion nods, “Of course. Should I tell your friends that you’re awake? They’ve been off duty for a while, and have been wanting to see you. You’ll have to call them, though—they’re back in Newest York, and Janus is, as you might imagine, rather busy.”

  I nod my head, “Just, uh, can you tell them to give me a little while first?”

  Vermillion smiles, “Of course. Just one last thing—you’ve been officially ‘invited’ to speak before the Upper Council. Something about recent events, I don’t really know the details.”

  I cringe inwardly, “Do I have to?”

  “It’s not ‘required,’ per se,” Vermillion says, the air quotes audible, “but I really, really recommend you do. If you still want to change things in the USC—and I know, that’s probably not your first priority right now, but if it’s one at all—then you’ll have to do it through them. Jonathan may be a symbol, but he’s only one of the votes. And to get their approval, you first need them to like you. That means showing up when summoned.”

  “Wait, Jonathan's on the upper council?” I ask, “Wait, am I allowed to know that?”

  Vermillion shrugs, “Ah, you’ll meet them yourself soon enough, you’d have known anyway. And for the record, there are four SAUs in the council: Jonathan, Operative Inertia, myself, and Deville Mainse, who you might recognize.”

  “The war hero,” I reply, suddenly remembering, “‘Retired,’ my ass.”

  Vermillion smiles grimly, “Not a pleasant man, but he gets the job done. That’s all I needed to say, though, so I’ll leave you. Do try to get some rest, and if you need anything, call one of the nurses. There’s a button next to your bed.”

  I nod in confirmation, my mind already whirling with new information, as she turns to leave. So much has happened and…nope, not right now. First, let’s force down some bland hospital food. I’m hungry.

  I push the button and wait. There’ll be time for thinking later. Right now, at the advice of everyone I’ve spoken to in—technically—days, I need rest.

  Tomorrow, I suppose the fight will continue, with or without me.

  —

  “Good luck,” the horrible, horrible man snickers, “You might need it.”

  Then the world shatters, and I find myself tumbling in midair. For a moment, panic shoots through me just as surely the howling winds cut through to my bones, but then my long hours in the training halls kick in. I whip out my modified shéng biāo, the iron spike at the end of the long, steel rope expanding around me as I whirl in midair, spinning it round and round.

  Slowly but surely it picks up speed until, mere moments before I splatter against whatever lies below, it strikes first, and with a thunderous boom, my fall is arrested at once.

  The spray of seawater from the attack hits me moments before I fall into the water myself.

  Gasping and sputtering, I take stock of my surroundings, noting to my distaste that I appear to be in the middle of the ocean, and behind me sits a behemoth wall of fog, one I recognize from tales told to me. The Yún Qiáng, roiling and effervescent in its grandeur.

  That Icelandic cāo shītǐ de húndàn dropped me kilometers from shore and at least half a kilometer into the air. It annoys me, but it matters not. My darling will have survived the fall as well, for surely if I did then he must have been more than capable. He will have his revenge against that incorrigible man, and I will be there to watch.

  My priority should be making it to land. I turn away from the mockery of a wall, where I know the shore must be, and resign myself to swimming. Xié bō is not as effective at such things, but it shouldn’t be ineffective either. I must make it before my darling decides to press forwards without me. The procedure took far too long. I shudder to think of it, even though I was not awake for most of it. That horrible man will pay for that, too.

  It makes no difference. It is over now, and one day, when my darling rules over all the world in his terrible might, I shall look back on it, comforted by the notion that no one shall dare do anything like that to me again.

  But first, I must help him find the girl, and kill her, for only she stands between my darling and I now. And so I swim, for soon the shore shall greet me and its inhabitants tremble in fear of my coming.

  For I am Xia Ling, future Empress of the World.

  that's not happening.

  Harmonic, by the way, and no, I will not translate everything else she says. Some of it is rather colorful). If you haven't noticed, people like Rowan and Drake say their ability names out loud in English, but canonically, everyone thinks of them in their first, or preferred, language. They just get auto-translatedn when spoken out loud.