“Oh come on!” Cirice sighs despondently as the star rises in the sky once more. Then before she can turn tail and run there’s the dread owl, staring her down with unblinking eyes of malevolent red as it casts its frigid spell. Snow and sleet pelt the area and a few bullet-fast chunks bite into her arms before she can raise a wall of light above her head to shield herself from the onslaught¹.

Veliky’s voice thunders above her, resolute and demanding her surrender and Cirice gives a defiant huff. She’s nearly done, just one more gift to give, two more promises to keep. Not even an army will stop her from giving some poor child the BFF bot in her arms!

“I’m sorry! I can’t! Happy Winter’s Crooooooown!” She shouts in return as she turns from the owl and starts running.

The Blixtbots are on her tail and she hopes that if they get close she can disarm them and have them give up like the one before. Its a long shot, but the best she has as she runs down the frozen backstreets. The wall of light follows above, giving her position away and tinging all the snow around her and the glass of the windows she passes by a vibrant violet. Stealth isn’t an option anymore, fighting isn’t really either and she curses herself for letting the metallic horse go. Will she be able to escape on her own legs alone?

As she runs, she carefully stuffs BFF into the magical bag² she’s got on her hip, not wanting to lose him in the chase. She’s about to slip on her snuggle for added warmth and protection when the thunderous sound of wingbeats echoes off the buildings around her. Before she has a chance to react she’s swept up into the air in the talons of the giant mechanical owl!

The wind rushes past her, ice and snow clouding her vision as the owl hefts her into the air, its grip on her forearms and shoulders iron tight. She’s trapped now, her only escape plummeting to the ground below. She wiggles and squirms trying to get the owl to let go without much luck.

Hurt and tired and getting desperate, Cirice reaches up to one of the talons, the runes along her arms glowing a deadly violet as she rests her palm against the metal³. The red irises begin to dim as she siphons away the energy of the creature to bolster her own, the cuts and bruises she’s sustained throughout the night fading away as the owl grows fatigued and weakened. And after a moment the wingbeats falter and the owl loses some of its altitude and with it the grip on Cirice is loosened. With one final effort Cirice squirms free of its grasp and begins plummeting towards the earth at the speed of gravity!

Her scream is carried away by the wind as she falls.

Then, as suddenly as it began, her fall is slowed to an aimless drifting⁴. Her body glows with glittery purple sparkles as she floats like a leaf on the wind, being tossed this way and that until she comes to rest on a rooftop. Safe, but not for long as the owl above shakes its head and begins to once again give chase, though noticeably slower than before. Luckily the rooftops give shelter from the bots below. Cirice runs to the edge of the rooftop and leaps to the next, tumbling gracelessly but coming up to her feet and continuing her escape attempt. The chase is on!

---

1 Wall of light
2 Bag of the Infinite
3 Vampiric Touch
4 Fairy Dust

Boots upon the frosted cobble, eyes burning with frigid fire, Veliky marches down the street. The sound of her own footfalls is eclipsed by the metallic rhythm of her two escorts' gait: her authority made manifest, dominating the block even in spite of her own meagreness. None can question her: a fact which would soon be demonstrated as a duo of chain-garbed guardsmen try to intercept them at the street, practically stumbling over when they lay eyes on her entourage, and keeping their shields aloft just to guard against the pelting hail.

"Wh-What exactly are you doing-"

She doesn't let him finish. To her, he isn't worth the time of night.

"You're interfering with official business!^[1] Stand aside!" she calls in a voice and with a tone that allow no protest, cutting through even the blizzard's howl. Is it a lie? Not precisely; at least, she believes it to be true. And when it's spoken with such divine authority, so do they.

With eyes wide as plates, the guard stammers for what might've gone in perpetuity. So long it takes him to formulate words that Veliky and her own soldiers have already past them, leaving a bewildered pair in their wake.

But even so, it isn't long before she stops herself. She looks to the sky, to the Silent Night - the owl construct whose wings span the space between the houses. There's nothing in its talons. And silhouetted against navy-blue sky, dashing across the rooftops, is a figure with a bag swinging in the wind.

She grinds her teeth, even as her eyes widen. Where's Yoci? She doesn't like not knowing things, especially not when they're so crucial.

She clenches her right, gloved fist, but leaving the thumb extended. On the back of her hand, a small sigil appears, depicting a series or radiating circles. And into it, she very nearly screams an order. "Get me a Vixen, now!""

And at her command, the street becomes bathed in illumination from a swirling amalgam of polygons beside her. It isn't unlike when the flaming steed was desummoned in the warehouse. Only now, the reverse is happening. Something is forming within^[2].

But she doesn't just sit and watch. Not wasting an instant, she turns around to face one of her bots: the same canine that'd been present during the assault. It immediately stands straight, eye-to-eye with its mistress.

"Catch a scent, find Yoci. Now!"

But that little chirp of obeisance doesn't come. Not quite yet. "Mistress Veliky, query:" it responds, capable of speech just like its smaller counterpart. "what should be done if Head Engineer Yoci is deceased."

Spurred on, eye twitching, she steps forward. There is an implaceable hatred in her eyes, illuminated in the false starlight. "She. Isn't."

It takes a moment before there's any response. But it seems that answer was satisfactory, as the canine emits that satisfying chirp and bounds off on a clockwork gait.

By now, that congealing geometry has faded. And in its wake, something stands in the middle of the street, as majestic as it is terrible. It is, as every other being under Veliky's command, a machine: an equine of some description, not altogether unlike the horse that Cirice had sent away earlier. But its head is adorned with antlers of strange make, not tin nor iron nor steel. But its eyes are that same crimson glass, and its movements carry the same sibilance.

Veliky looks to her other two companions and gestures to the newly-conjured entity with a crick of her head. "Get on, give pursuit! Catch the Red Rogue! Priority Gold!"

---

She should've counted elevation as an advantage. Such a thing, she is in dire need of. The only thing that could've given chase is the exhausted owl-construct, but even that has diverted its course. From there, Cirice needed only run - run over slippery, hail-pelted rooftops, all while contending with a breeze so cold that it freezes the very mind. It is a grim night. And, unfortunately, it would soon grow even moreso.

It casts a shadow in the glow of the untrue star, but not the iron-feathered silhouette she'd seen before. It gallops through the air as if there were a ground beneath its feet. And astride it are two figures, with eyes blood-red and burning.

One of these figures is decorated differently than its kith^[3]. Its head that carries those crimson lenses is covered in what looks to be a hood, though this hood remains still and unfettered even in the storm. And in its chest, something begins to glow: a yellow gemstone, shaped like a bolt of lightning. An omen, this would be, as it raises its hand and a lance of lightning^[4] appears in its grasp, crackling furiously! It hurls the bolt down with tremendous speed! But, fortunately, it doesn't strike Cirice at all - only the rooftop in front of her.

Or is this fortunate? It forces her to stop in her tracks. And in that moment of pause, another figure suddenly descends, dropping on top of a smoking chimney just beside her!

---

A sprinkling of dust descends from the ceiling in his darkened bedroom. Startled, a child rises from bed. He can hear the wind howling outside. But, more importantly, what was that other noise? A thump on the rooftop...

Is it them? The Rogue?

---

Its eye glares down upon her. It isn't like the twinned suns of a distant realm - not like its kith's - but a lateral visor. Cirice has seen this one before^[5]. It was there, during the assault. It cut swathes of the smugglers down with it crackling whip that now unfurls in its hand. In its other hand, a steel wall of a shield.

As it raises its offensive arm, the whip dances like a ribbon, crackling with a crimson^[6] tempest^[7]! But there's something else. As a mage herself, Cirice can feel it, even from here. The weapon is suffused with antimagic^[8]; if it so much as touches her, she'd be robbed of her mana.

And soon, this may very well come to pass, as it cracks in the air and lunges for her like a pouncing viper.

---

1. Smooth Talking
2. Summon Mount
3. (Sky Domain Apprentice) Tropos-01
4. Lightning Bolt (Tropos-01)
5. (Warlord Minion) Knight-04
6. Holy [Sigil's Blessing]
7. Lightning Rune [Sigil's Blessing]
8. Magic Blocker {Leather Whip} (Knight-04)

Cornered like an animal Cirice focuses on the threat before her. The whip construct she knew to be deadly and with that antimagic ability she’d be completely ruined. She raises her hands as it moves to strike and a wave of purple energy surges out from her in twenty feet in all directions¹. The whip in the construct’s hands disappears with a popping sound.

The construct lashes forward with its arms, even retracting its hand as if its weapon had struck, but there's nothing there. In a manner eerily similar to the other bot's crisis, it flexes its fingers in search of something that no longer remains. Its arms twist strangely, reeling back, back, back in unnatural, clunking motions...

But then, gears rattling and steel endoskeleton groaning, it leaps forward, off the chimney! The spell has robbed its weapons, but it yet holds a steel shield in the other hand. And with this shield, it comes bearing down, as if to crush her beneath it!

Cirice was expecting this golem to stop in its tracks and give up when its whip disappears, but instead it lunges towards her. She jumps back, trying to avoid the impact and nearly falls. She turns to run and sees the next building is quite far away. There aren’t a lot of options left to her though and she makes the desperate jump to the next rooftop. She crashes into the building in a bit of a heap, trying to roll forward and keep the momentum but she landed so poorly she doesn’t get any forward movement. Before she can really get her bearings and move though theres a shifting below her and the roof collapses beneath her!

---

1 Disarming aura

In that spot that Cirice had been standing not a moment ago, the Knight's shield comes crashing down, leaving the imprint of Platinum Corp heraldry on the snow. Beneath its weight, the roof itself buckles; a child within the household hides himself in the covers of his bed as wonderment quickly gives way to fear.

It lifts its shield from the ground, and its spine clicks and grinds as it rises up. It turns to wear she ran, but does not see her. It sees only a hole in the adjoining rooftop - only a direction to pursue.

That metal steed whose footsteps tread the air, descends to stand beside the Knight. Its own steps upon the rooftop are feather-light, but this cannot be said for its dismounting rider who begets ill-tended planks to groan again. It, too, looks to where Cirice had fallen. And it, too, walks forward.

---

What had happened? Veliky could see some burst of magic on the rooftop. Her minions are still alive, this she knows; for all their lifelessness, the constructs do scream when they ultimately perish. It's a warning sign, a signal, and one she hasn't received. But neither have they called to announce success...

No. Veliky's eyes narrow; she knows what happened. The chase is still going. Well, Veliky isn't one to just sit and watch.

She turns her attention behind her, to the skies, where she can see the Silent Night soaring on its tin-feathered wings. It is an ominous sight on so dark a night, but it is a boon to her. She raises her hand with a signal, and the contraption immediately alters its course, swooping toward her. Closer, closer... Perhaps the most eerie aspect of her creation is how silent it is, despite its looming stature.

She makes sure to get a running start. Still with eyes over her shoulder to monitor its progress, she begins a short dash along the street, little fragments of shattered ice cracking beneath her feet. And as the contraption is almost upon her, she leaps up-

-and is clutched in iron talons, and swept up and into the sky! There's no alarm; it was her intent. Yes, with wings such as these, she will have no trouble keeping pace.

She isn't getting away.

---

Countless balls of hail shower down through the hole in the rooftop; shattering against the dusty rafters, the creaking floorboards, the near-disintegrating walls. The attic is tiny, perhaps twenty feet on a side. But it is also a crowded place of boxes and ancient furniture - many a nook and cranny in which to take refuge from prying eyes. This boon would soon prove fateful, as the shadow of a terrible shape moves along the moonlit floor, and that same shape lands thereon and shakes the house to its very foundations. It's followed by another, and now both of those clockwork entities stand in the centre of the attic, scanning in the shadows with eyes of crimson glass. That same hail rains down upon them, but merely melts upon touching their metal skin.

They exchange words in their machinic tongue, and then diverge to each scour the room. She couldn't have left; the door froze shut long ago. She's here. And she can hear them, through the howling wind, by the quartant rhythm of their hissing and clanking footfalls. Their finding her is only a matter of time.

The contents of the attic do not make for a soft landing pad and the dust and debris of the roof’s construction clog her lungs and make Cirice cough. She tries to extricate herself from the remains of a wooden crate she crashed into and finds her body stiff and protesting. There’s no time to stop and complain though, she’s still being pursued! As hailstones pelt her from the hole above she gets up slowly and pops her back. Tonight has been a mess and she’ll be glad when dawn comes and her job is done. She needs only hold out a little longer and find a way to get away.

Above her theres a loud thump and the house around her shakes as the constructs land on the roof. She barely has time to dive into the shadows and cover herself with a veil of darkness¹ before the constructs join her in the attic and begin searching for their prey. She sees the hooded golem with the yellow gem and recognizes it as a magical threat that needs to be neutralized. The shield wielder isn’t as weak-willed as its sword compatriot and it seems that it won’t go down without a fight. Luckily she has madness on her side.

From her hiding place among the shadows she whispers a harsh, infernal tongue in as soft a voice she can, turning the lenses of the mage-construct purple for just a moment and filling its mind with infernal madness².

Its body lurches over like a limp marionette, suddenly devoid of life, only to be filled with a lunar facsimile as its body jitters back and forth and echoing with a cacophonous jostle of internal parts. It slowly raises its hands skyward, as if in some prayer. From within its chest comes that droning voice. It's... chanting. Magical incantations, though none that Cirice has heard.

Its companion, across the room, is not deaf to the commotion. It turns around and speaks to the seizing bot, in that incomprehensible language of mechanism. The fact that it receives no answer is a disturbance to it; it raises its shield. By the time the seizing construct turns and its evening-tinged eyes are revealed, it's already too late.

"SULCHRUVORUNG. PYRABAZIUS. OUROBAZIUS."

With its final arcane syllable uttered, a stone embedded in its chest - pink in colour, and shaped like a tiny puff of wind - begins to glow. And at its apogee, the construct extends its hands forward, a deafening blast of wind goes through the room, tossing furniture forward and sending its companion through the wall! The Knight falls out from this storey, unto the street below. Its survival is... questionable.

It takes all Cirice has to maintain her grip on the unsteady frame of the attic and not going flying out with the shield soldier. Once its just herself and the mage in the darkened space she rushes over and lays her hands on the hooded golmen, dropping her previous spell and willing magic into it to turn it to her side³.

“Hey there friend, I need your help to get out of this, okay?”

The purple glow of its lenses flickers slightly as the magic attempts to take hold, a soft sizzling coming from its head as the magic tries to overwrite its previous orders. But its mistress’ commands are absolute.

"Enemy Red Rogue, negative: your capture is a Priority Gold directive."

To stop itself from falling, it adjusts itself with a CLANK. Its dangling hands have curled into claws. It's raising them again. It's incanting those arcane words again!

"SULCHRUVORUNG. PYRABAZIUS. OUROBAZIUS."

The stone begins to glow once more. And it extends its hands forward, releasing its magic in the same instant that there's a pop within its skull. Its eyes go dark. But the spell is complete.

“Oh shit, wait no!” Cirice starts to protest before the spell pushes her out of the hole in the side of the building. She swallows her scream as once again she starts plummeting towards earth. With her dwindling magic she catches herself and slows her descent to the ground, drifting down like a snowflake until she lands near the fallen bot⁴. Goddess she prays that the whipbot is inoperable as she pulls herself together to continue her retreat away from Veliky’s ire.

---

1 Cloak of Shadows
2 Whispering Madness
3 Be Jolly
4 Fairy dust

An empty street. It should be silent, as well. There should be nothing to disturb the night's stillness but the gentle, falling snow. But it isn't silent, and certainly not still, for that winged nightmare's merciless storm yet reigns. Where is it? Still soaring, no doubt, hunting her from the night sky. She can't linger to search for it; the hail would be her end, if it didn't find her first. It's pelting against her skin and each leaving a cold sting on her violet skin.

And so she treads along, as careful as she is swift, with only the cobblestone foundations to lean upon. This night... unrelenting as the storm. Shelter only cornered poor, little Cirice, and so many eyes are still searching for her. So many eyes, scouring and judging and hating... When will it all end?

Not now. Not yet. There can be no refuge on such a terrible night.

A sound draws Cirice's eye behind her - a sound that has grown so foreboding by its association: a hiss. It isn't dead. The half-buried construct's arm is raised, straight upward, as if beseeching the skies for aid! And with that same arm, it scrounges around itself, searching for some purchase in the snow. And when it finds this in the form of protruding cobble, it rises, body popping under its own weight. One of its lens-eyes has shattered, revealing an eerie pinpoint of crimson light behind it - the source of the glow or, at least, its emissary. Whichever, it is staring at her.

...But it's slow. It limps restlessly, its every step begetting its legs to cry in mechanical agony. She can outpace it, perhaps even escape, if she only tries. If one last push, one last obstacle is what it'll take, then it shall be.

But then there's a voice - a shout, but barely audible in the storm. It's difficult to discern, but there's little doubt that it's her. "Desperation!"

It's never so simple.

Cirice was not well. The night had taken its toll on her already. But as the effect of some unseen casting takes hold of her, creating a pulse of mana that surrounds herself, she's introduced to true depravity^[1]! In but an instant, it's as if she's starving; her stomach constricts agonizingly, as if attempting to devour itself! So much nausea, so much debilitation, and with such visceral suddenness. It's too much; nobody could possibly endure such crippling malaise. All of a sudden, her retreat is not much slower than that of the limping construct.

A large shape descends from the haze, touching down as light as a cloud, on four luminescent, steel hooves. Its movements are elegant, in the strangest ways. It isn't unlike a true reindeer. But its falsehood is betrayed in its crimson eyes and the clicking of its clockwork joints.

The reindeer-golem treads to where the Knight is walking and, as gently as its mechanisms can permit, touches one antler to the Knight's head. The antler glows with the purest white, channeling radiant mana into its companion. And the limping constructs traumas - dents in its hull, the frailty of its gait, and even its shattered eye-lens - mend. In seconds, it's as good as new^[2]. And, with this power restored, there is little to stop it from encroaching upon Cirice.

Hailstones shatter around its talons as it marches forth. With every step, the hissing grows louder. It has no weapon, and even its shield was lost in the chaos, but what does Cirice have? She cannot even conjure her magic. And she can feel the cold seeping into her very bones. When it reaches her, it'll all be over. She'll be taken somewhere - who knows where? Prison, maybe? Worse? Will they even spare her such a luxury of permitted breathing? Or will they just see her life unto the snow, in crimson splattering, and be done?

It's stopped. It's in front of her. It's reaching forward with spindly, tin-coated fingers. The time has come...

Crunch Crunch Crunch!

Something approaches from out of sight, and leaps out of the shadows - a little ball of conviction and flailing limbs! The construct catches it easily, but is transfixed by the thing it now holds in its hands. It's Yoci!

"G-G-Get away from her! G-GET AWAY FROM MY FRIEND!" she screams, struggling in its grasp! Her efforts are unsuccessful, but to say that they bear no fruit would be inaccurate.

For all its menace, the construct bears no violence against the little fury. Rather, it holds her as carefully as possible, her safety clearly paramount.

"Head Engineer Yoci, command, Priority Gold: discontinue your interference. Your assault is in direct violation of company protocol."

"N-N-N-No! I'm n-not letting you t-t-t-take her!" By now, the gnomes arms are pinned completely against her body, restrained with some amount of ease, though her legs continue to kick and flail futilely about.

And as the battle goes on, that light in the sky - and the otherworldly glow that it brought unto the world - fades away, its time expended. The storm, too, vanishes as quickly as it arrived, leaving only the shattered hailstones to be remembered by. Suddenly, the night is so much quieter, a silence broken only by Yoci's continued protests.

"I don't c-care about the mission! Th-Th-Th-This is wrong! W-We're supposed to HELP people! What's the p-p-point if we're making them MISERABLE?!"

The struggling continues. But what takes Yoci many seconds to realize is that the bot is no longer looking at her. It's looking past her. Pausing her frenzy, she follows its gaze to the spot in the snow where her Red Rogue had knelt. She's gone. She escaped into the night.

Yoci's stunned. She did it. She helped Cirice to escape. She hardly knows how to process such success. In the end, all she lets out is the tiniest prong of laughter. The bot, for its part, sets Yoci down on her feet; she's a threat no longer. And together, they merely look on, at the spot where Cirice had been.

"NO!" A new voice pierces the night as a familiar, little woman dashes up to them, pursuing futilely before stopping in her tracks. "Kien, kien, kien, KIEEEEEEEEEN!"

...

Somewhere in the distance of the cityscape, a hound reciprocates her howl, but it cannot hope to match the ferocity - the raw emotion - bleeding from her curse. It leaves not just the night, but the people under its dark-blue sky, in silence.

Her voice cracked; it never cracks. Yoci's never, not once, heard Veliky conjure such... something. Something she doesn't know the name for. And she's speechless.

It isn't difficult to see what caused her distress. With the false star gone, there is nothing to banish the shadows that are the Rogue's allies. Even the owl-construct, which continues to soar through the night sky, could find her in the umbral sea that blankets the city. The Rogue is gone. Where Yoci succeeded, there is little to question that Veliky has failed. And now the tiny commandress stands in the snow, shaking in rage. She drives a fist into the stone foundation beside her, not even caring about the fingers she breaks in doing so.

What could Yoci say? What could one possibly say to dissuade such ire? She doesn't know why her employer is so utterly disturbed by this development; she's seen her fail at other missions, and seen how she coldly dismisses it as 'nominal.' Yoci hasn't a clue. But she knows she has to say something.

She takes a step forward. "V-V-Veliky, I-"

But her attempt is cut brutally brutally short with a raised hand and a voice that welcomes no intrusion, both delivered without even a glance to the startled gnome. "Back to the warehouse, Yoci!"

That isn't a command that one simply ignores. Not with that tone. Yoci yet has words for Veliky, about how she disagrees with this whole affair, why they should be aiding the Red Rogues instead of imprisoning them. But she knows Veliky wouldn't hear such things right now. That sort of anger can't be reasoned with.

However much she hesitates, Yoci knows that following this order would be for the best. And so, suppressing the urge to say anything more, she turns around and wanders into the night, with the Knight as her escort. And as she leaves, more Blixtbots™ march onto the scene, following their mistress. And as Veliky stands, eyes downcast, her metal underlings survey around her, covering every foot of the area with their patrol. The Silent Night returns to roost, and gentle snow continues to fall upon her back.

In time, her quivering slows until it can be called a quiver no more, all to the white noise of her mechina. She breaths out a puff of mist, and then another, each surging onto the cobble foundation before flowering outward, like impacting drops of water. And then, as calmly as a swan upon the lake, she looks up to the sky and exhales a long stream of misty breath... into the air, before it dissipates.

She looks forward, though only a wall looks back. One who saw her silhouette, here, against the navy-blue sky, would see only the stoic outline of a businesswoman with her heart worn behind layers of Winter-weather cloth.

It's done.

...

...

Clank. Clank. Clank.

That familiar sound. One of her constructs is coming toward her, for any myriad of reasons. She turns to face it and, as it was heralded, it stands before her, looking down at her with crimson lenses.

It wastes little time before piercing her ears with its monotonous groan. "Mistress Veliky, report: we have located something."

...No. That's not a warrant for hope. Bots don't use such a vague word as 'something' when it's actually useful. If it were a lead, they would've said so. "Go on." she mutters.

But what she doesn't expect is for the bot to take another forward step before kneeling down, touching one metal knee against the stone curb. It holds its hands forward and opens them, revealing... nonsense. A bell, a postcard and a bracelet? Why is it showing her such things?

But she knows there's a reason. There always is, when dealing with an artificial mind. And so, as if it could somehow harm her, she carefully takes the items in hand. The bracelet is so small that even she could wear it; adorned with little beads, some in the shape of hearts. Similar heart-theming adorns the card. She studies its make, its material, its glittery coating before she even considers opening.

"Additional report: the postcard is addressed to you."

The suddenness of the bot's voice is a distraction even for Veliky. To her?

Oh. Of course. She's seen stranger calling cards, in the past. A bit of ego-stroking that's disturbingly prevalent among even the most petty crooks. She shouldn't even give this the time of day, but...

...

She slowly opens the card. Within, the calligraphy is immaculate in its technique and elegant in its style. Common letters. She recognizes them well enough; it's how they're organized that often eludes her.

But... she knows these letters, this organization. The words...

---

"Merry Winter's Crown?" The phrase felt so foreign on her tongue. It didn't flow in the way she was used to, and the letters looked so blocky and strange. Did people really speak like this?

She put the paper down. Across the table, she could see her father. His green-skinned face was beaming with pride.

"That's right!" he congratulated her in that familiar voice, rife with thick Goblin accenting. "See, Common's a pinch once you get the hang of it. If I give ya some time, I'm sure you'll be recitin' poetry."

At the sweet sound of praise, her tiny face became adorned with a smile. She even giggled, if only slight. Her smile only faded when he stood up, onto the soil floor.

It would've been generous to call their abode 'modest.'  The room - the only room - was but thirteen-and-a-half feet on one side and twenty-four on another. Of course, in a halfling village, these numbers are quite more significant, but still what one would safely call 'poor.' And in a place so rural and barren, 'poor' is a very different standard. But to her; it was warm, it was welcoming, it was safe. They even had a little fireplace, nearby. These could not be said for the outside.

He was hiding his hands behind his back. This, she could tell easily enough. But she couldn't tell what he was holding. She didn't like not knowing things, even back then. He likely knew this; he likely knew that it'd make her hop off her seat and run toward him, without him even needing to say a word.

Five feet she ran. Five feet: perhaps three or four steps for a human? But for her, it took a moment and a dash. One who believes Veliky to be small nowadays would not be incorrect to think so, but might be humbled to see how truly little she was back then. If she really tried, she could've fit into a dwarven stein. Her eyes weren't much smaller back then, however - round, curious orbs that then were looking up at him.

He knelt down, albeit still dwarfing her, holding that excited grin. "Alright. Ready for your gift?"

The words had hardly left his mouth, and she was already nodding vigorously. He couldn't help but chuckle at the eagerness.

"Alright." he sarcastically acquiesced. "Here ya go."

At last, he showed his hands, to reveal... a ring. It was a simple thing, perhaps of iron, and set with a cheap bit of amber.

Even back then, she wasn't particularly expressive. Without a reaction to speak of, she took the ring into her own hand. It was rather too large for her, as well, but that wasn't something she particularly cared about.

Still, as she looked up to her father's face again, she found it stricken with anxiousness, his huge and pointed ears flitted downward. He averted his eyes and scratched the back of his neck, both signs Veliky knew meant he was thinking of something to say.

"I-... Vel, I'm sorry I couldn't get you that... numbers thing you wanted, but-"

"The abacus?" Her voice, back then, was exactly what one might expect. It truly sounded exactly like she does now, with all the monotony and plainness, but higher in pitch. Like she were simply shrunk.

"Y-Yeah, that... I'm sorry. It's just that money's been short, and-"

"It's okay." She interjected again. But this time was somewhat more surprising to him. He'd only just thought of what to say, and he was suddenly quite disarmed.

And disarmed, he would remain. As Veliky would tuck the ring into one of the pockets of her raggedy outfit, and she'd turn back to the table and clamber atop her same seat. And there on the table, precisely where she left it, was a blueberry muffin that was nearly the size of her own head. She picked it up and began to scrutinize it, staring at the little berries, with all the skepticism of a jeweller. And, ever the multitasker, she continued to speak.

"We don't have as much as we thought we would, because of the break-in, and custom builds are expensive. We'll also need to buy new parts for the wagon, and we should be saving at least a silver and three coppers per month if we want to buy a house by next Summer, which we're already behind on. I should be able to pawn this ring for three or four silver, or maybe even a gold if I find someone dumb."

She seemed ready to go on for much longer, only for her examinations of the muffin to suddenly conclude. For a moment, it seemed she'd found something distasteful... but then she opened wide and took a huge a bite as her tiny jaw permitted, accounting for approximately a twentieth of the total meal. With this first bite, crumbs already covered her face - as did a look of becalmed bliss.

He looked on with a smile. He still felt guilty for such a meagre gift, but would've felt far worse if she'd been hurt by it. And perhaps he should've been upset that she was intent on selling his gift, but he expected it; it's precisely why he chose it. His little entrepreneur...

"Hey, I'm glad you like it, Vel. And maybe I could even get you that, uh, that thingamajig for your birthday, huh?"

He chuckled to himself. For the life of him, he could never remember what is was called. He also neglected to mention that the house was an... unlikely prospect. As much as he knows that Veliky loves keeping track of finances, there are some expenses he couldn't bear to tell her. Not illicit, not grim, just... unexpected. He would tell her later, but he just couldn't break yet another promise on Winter's Crown.

"I'mma hit the hay, alright Vel? Don't stay up too late, or your mother'll kill me."

He turned away, toward the bedding upon which the entire family slept. In this household, 'hit the hay' was quite a literal term. He would've simply laid down and drifted off, as he always did. But before he could, he heard Veliky's voice.

"Hey Pon?"

He turned with a simple "Yeah, Vel?" But the sight he was greeted with was ominous. She'd climbed off her seat, was standing and staring at him. She was... always an odd child, staring her expressionless stare with the firelight glinting on her eyes. But there was something different here. Something was foreboding.

"Why don't the Red Rogues bring us presents?"

...

That question did not have an easy answer. Just hearing it sent a wave of dread over the goblin, downturning his ears and widening his eyes. It was a particular sort of fear: the sort that begs 'Not now.'

But fate wouldn't listen. She kept her eyes upon him, waiting on an answer. And when it didn't come, she spoke again.

"Do they hate me, too?"

Her words struck him deeply. He still hadn't formulated his answer, but he began nevertheless, on reflex. "N-No, Vel, that's not it at all. It's just..." It was subtle, but there was a twinkle in his eyes, and his attitude became quite more positive. "Alright, alright. I didn't wanna say nothin', but, well... me 'n' the Rogues may've had a bit of a run-in in the past, and *maybe* we didn't part on the best terms. Your ol' man may or may not be on a naughty list somewhere. So... So yeah. Sorry. My bad."

That ending was far less cheerful than he'd planned. And she just kept staring on, without even the slightest change in expression to give any hint of relief. Her pupils, encircled in ice, pierced through him in a way that he couldn't bear to face for long.

"A-Anyway, yeah. Don't worry about it; someday I'll make it up to them, make amends and whatnot, and they'll give you all the presents you deserve. Till then, umm... Good night."

He turned away. It was sloppy, to be certain. But still, he was confident enough in his deceptive abilities.

He stepped toward the pile of hay that constituted their bed. Weariness, among other things hung over him and made slumber a very tempting idea. He crouched forward, and prepared to climb in, when...

"When Pon lies, he squints." Simple, matter-of-fact: Veliky's usual tone.

"What's that?"

He turned to face her once more. She was still standing there, beside her chair, with the partially eaten muffin still sitting on the table above her. But now, although her face was unchanged, there were tears gathering in her big, blue eyes.

"When Pon lies, he squints. And his ears tilt up a little. And he smiles a lot, and he's more relaxed, and he talks really fast, and he..."

A sob escaped from between her accusations. However much she tried to fight it, tears were beginning to trail down her cheeks. Her straight posture was quivering as she struggled to harness even another word.

There was no hiding it any longer. He stepped forward and, as quickly and gently as he could, pulled her into his embrace, sitting with her head cradled to his chest. She hugged him back, tightly, as if her entire life depended on it.

"Oh, Vel... I'm so sorry." His words were a soft murmur as he brushed a thumb through her hair. "I know how amazing you are. I know that you deserve all the gifts and love in the world, because you are truly special... But they don't. They're-"

Another sob escaped her as he gently rocked her back and forth. She was holding him so tight. She never wanted to let go.

"Ginma... Listen, Vel. The Red Rogues ain't what the books say they are. They ain't heroes. They're just people. And people..." His voice wavered as tears began to well in his own eyes. "People make mistakes. You know, life gives 'em so much hate, and they just- they just don't know what to do with it. So they find something they don't understand, and they..."

Her tiny chest heaved with shallow breath. Tear after tear stained his clothes. And, in the end, he shed tears as well. And that was all that could be heard on that cold, cold night: muffled crying. She was so panicked, part of her thought she was going to die, and other parts thought that she already had. And in it all, her only comfort was his warmth - his words.

"But that's okay. That's okay." he barely managed to utter. "You know why? Because Winter's Crown ain't about that. It ain't about gifts, or... some red-clothed swashbucklers jumpin' down chimneys." He forced a chuckle for her, just to bring any semblance of joy. "No..."

He held her close, with a hand gently cradling her tiny head against him. Her sobbing was beginning to calm, little by little, until she reached the edge of slumber.

"It's about knowing that someone, somewhere, cares about you."

---

Drop, drop. Drop, drop. Little tears fall onto the card's interior, being absorbed into its fabric. It took her some time to realize that she was crying.

How long had she just been staring at those three words, memories swirling as the flakes of snow melted upon her skin? She couldn't recall. She could only only feel the tears slowly freezing to her cheeks, waterfalls upon the face so perfectly devoid of feeling.

Foolish. She'd been so foolish. All her righteousness, all her driven rage, all her revenge was just that. And now...

She looks to her other hand, clutching that tiny, hand-crafted bracelet and the beads upon its its string. Little, coloured beads... Not all the hearts are red. As she turns it to its other side, she finds one of purple, like the evening sky, staring back at her.

And with a sniffle, she holds it to her chest. And it can feel her warmth, and she can feel its. And into the night; as a whisper, faint but true, as figures of metal file unfeelingly around her; she utters words more honest than her heart has known.

"You, too... Merry Winter's Crown."

---

1. Desperation
2. Minor Healing (Vixen-01)

There is no rest for the wicked it seems. No matter her intentions, the deeds Cirice had performed this night had been objectively against the law and it seemed the universe wished to punish her just as much as Veliky and her righteous army did. Those thoughts raced through her mind as the fallen construct gets unsteadily to its feet and begins to give chase with grim determination.

Escape seemed possible for but one fleeting moment, one beacon of hope that is snuffed with a single word.

Desperation.

The word summed up her fatigue and her failing drive as it nearly sent her to her trembling knees. Adrenaline was all that had kept her going and it drained away, replaced by pain and suffering. But she couldn’t afford to stop, to get caught. It would be the end of her roguish career and possibly her life. One foot in front of the other, pressing on, pressing forward at a snail's pace as she tried to shake the malaise and keep going.

From the sky the steed-like construct swooped down and mended her assailant as good as new. No longer on equal unsteady footing she was no match. Spent, caught, and unable to defend herself she was truly desperate. It stands above her, poised to strike and she can only grit her teeth against the inevitable.

But before the blow can land, a shape comes flying to her aid. Her friend, her savior, Yoci with all her fury and ire comes to save her once again. She blinks at the construct catches the gnome and holds her gently, the two arguing back and forth. Yoci was caught, but she seemed more angry than afraid. Through the fog of her mind it dawned on her, the fearless scientist was causing a distraction. She squeezes her eyes shut in a silent prayer of thanks and struggles to her feet, shuffling off as quickly as her protesting body can manage.

I will repay you for this, my friend. She promises Yoci silently. Another promise added to those made on this harrowing night.

The light above fades away and with it the storm and if Cirice had the strength to call on her magic perhaps she’d have faded into the shadows once more. But such a luxury wasn’t hers. She stops to catch her breath in a small alleyway and somewhere distantly she hears a howl. She isn’t free and clear yet, but she has a promise to fulfill.

Reaching into her bag she pulls out a small, simple bracelet she’d made for when she saw Iryla next. It was a modest thing, small wooden heart-shaped beads in reds and pinks and one small purple heart meant to represent her, bound with a cowrie shell from her home as the centerpiece. That she pairs with an odd little rose gold bell she’d picked up in her travels. These were meager presents, but giving someone their own things you’d stolen wouldn’t be right. She has these things to give and she can only hope Veliky doesn’t mind their cheapness.

She takes a small postcard and a writes a short message. “To Veliky, Merry Winter's Crown! From the Red Rogue” in her careful calligraphy. Its difficult because her hands aren’t steady, otherwise she would have written more. She leaves the items carefully on the stoop of a building, knowing that soon a party will be searching for her and will likely find them and deliver her gift for her.

Now there is only one gift left to give.

Continuing on her slow flight the tiredness slowly begins to leave her joints as she keeps moving. Deeper into the slums she pushes, where people are more tightly packed and where those who do not have any sort of shelter huddle together for some sort of warmth. Here she hands out whatever food and Blixt^TM she has left until she sees a child sitting alone. The kid is dressed in rags and crusted in dirt, its clear she’s not seen a bath in weeks if not months and she’s shivering violently under a threadbare blanket. A small cup at her feet holds two precious solars to which Cirice adds a handful more and the girl weakly looks up to her to thank her. Cirice’s heart aches for the child, unsure how old she might be as starvation has shrunken her tiny form. Was this how Iryla looked growing up? Was this the plight her best friend had fought so hard to survive in? She sits next to the girl and offers her the last muffin from her bag.

“Hey there, are you alright miss?” She asks softly, not wanting to spook the skittish creature.

“I-I’m here, missus. Cold but less hung’ry now. Thank you.” She replies as she greedily scarfs down the muffin.

Cirice wants nothing more than to take her home, feed her and build her up, but she doesn’t have that kind of ability right now. All she can do is give the girl something special. “Well I have someone here with me who can help you stay warm and safe. Do you want to meet him?”

“Warm and safe?” The girl echoes, “Even in a snowstorm?”

Cirice nods and pulls the BFF bot out of her bag slowly. “This is BFF and he is looking for a very special friend this Winter’s Crown. Would you be his friend?”

She holds up the little metal dog in front of her, her hands cradling him under the front legs as she takes one long, loving, final look into his deep red lenses.

In her hands, the little pup doesn't look away. It keeps its eyes on her - eyes of lifeless, crimson glass, yet somehow... confused. "Mistress Cirice," it says with that familiar crackle: "query: do you no longer desire my companionship?"

Her voice cracks a little, "I adored your companionship my friend, thank you for joining me tonight. But this little girl needs you far more than I do. Will you take care of her please?"

...There's a pause, but not unbroken. Within its head, behind those eyes of glass, mechanisms can be heard churning and whining.

And then, after a while, there's a little chirp like a birdwhistle's two-note melody. By now, Cirice has heard it many times, and come to know its meaning: 'okay.'

Cirice smiles and gently brushes the top of the metallic head with her lips, "Thank you BFF. You truly live up to your name. You'll be very happy together, I just know it." She turns back to the little girl who watched this unfold with guarded eyes. She sets the little companion bot down between them carefully. "This is BFFbot he's the best friend you could want on a cold night. Take good care of him and he'll take good care of you."

The little girl looks over the mechanical dog curiously, "What does he eat?"

In two mechanical movements, BFF looks down from Cirice's eyes, and then back toward the child. Before it speaks, it looks at her, eyes focusing and unfocusing. But its voice rings out with that same lack of tone.

"Young girl, report: I am designed to subsist on one bottle of Blixt™ Super per day."

There's another pause, this one in some shock. Could someone like this little girl even afford such taste...? But the question is answered soon enough.

"Additional report: ownership of a BFF unit comes with entitlement to one month's worth of Blixt™ Super, redeemable each month. Simply bring this unit to an eligible Blixt™ storehouse, shop or cafe to redeem."

“Oh wow… I-I don’t know what to say misses…. Is it really okay for me to have this?”

“Of course, he’s now your BFF but he needs a name. Giving him a name is your Winter’s Crown gift to him.”

“A-are you the Red Rogue…. I-is that why you’re giving him to me?” She asks incredulously, eyes full of wonder.

Cirice gives her a wink but doesn’t answer.

The girl picks up the robot and looks at him seriously for a long, moment, “I’ll call him Rogue then. Since he came from the Red Rogue.”

The BFF tilts its head, and then licks the girl across her forehead, much to her amusement. The bot-pup's little tail, dangling down, wags back and forth with a metallic swish.

...But then it stops. And it looks back to Cirice again.

"Mistress Cirice, report: only a BFF unit's owner can assign it a name. Several other functions also depend on ownership, including: protection protocols, Watchdog subprotocols, empathy protocols and loyalty coding. Currently, you are this unit's owner."

What is it saying? For a moment, the girl looks concerned, as if it's saying that it can't be hers...

"Explanation: in order to reassign ownership, this unit will have to initiate a factory reset. This process takes only a moment, but will erase all existing memory from my databanks. That will include memories of you."

Its head tilts, ever so slightly.

"Query: was this unit's service satisfactory?"

Tears spring to Cirice's eyes and she swallows a small sob, "You were perfect, buddy. A perfect companion on this grueling night." She reaches down and gives him a little head scratch.

As her fingers glide over its metal skin, it pushes its head closer into her hand, as if craving the affectionate scratches. And from its hull, she can feel that heat building again. There, it lets itself rest for seconds linger even as they fleet...

...And then its eyes go dark, and that heat dissipates. It no longer responds to her touch, nor her voice, nor her warmth. It only slowly, automatically turns its head to face forward again. Like a little ball of metal, it merely sits in the girl's arms...

Until, suddenly, its eyes light up again. It doesn't move immediately, nor does it move swiftly when it does. Every little fidget is aimless, imprecise and curious. It isn't that different from when it first poked its head out of that box. And now, as it raises its head, the first eyes it meets are those of the little girl. Those glass eyes focus, unfocus and then concentrate before it drones once more.

"Little girl, introduction: I am a Type-I Canine-Model "BFF" Blixtbot™. I am designed to the utmost of your companionship needs. Query: what is your name?"

“I’m Lila…”

There's a quick tilt of its head, and it emanates a little ring, higher in pitch yet softer than the chirp before. "Mistress Lila, query: what would you like to do today?"

"I'd like to be warm and toasty.... But first I'd like to give you a name. I'll call you Rogue, okay?" She looks up to where the Red Rogue had been for approval but only shadows meet her gaze. Cirice had disappeared into the night. Her final promise, kept.

---

The morning came and he morning went. And, like every morning of this day, every year for countless centuries, it was one filled with the most nostalgic mayhem - that warm weariness, and then the excitement of "It's today!" cheered by more youths than could ever be counted. Some promises were kept, some were not. And then were surprises that they never knew they needed. It was a day of emotions, good and bad - especially bad among the nobles and businessmen that woke up to the news of their pilfered warehouses. Such an accomplishment came only of their grief. But then, they did have so much to lose...

Not everyone received gifts. There will never come a Winter's Crown when such a thing is possible. There will always be those unfortunate souls.

But many did. And for today, and for tomorrow and for every day thereafter until the next Winter's Crown comes to pass, that is good enough.

...

It came late. No sooner than three days after that night, in fact. And for that time, it did seem that there would be nothing at all. Well, 'at all' might not be accurate... but it did certainly seem that nothing would come from Her. And so much time passed that She had long since given up on that hope. That silly, little hope...

And yet it's so often that dawn only comes when that last little light has flickered out. And, as was learned by Her on that fateful night, it's often when we say 'farewell' that love returns in forms wonderfully strange. She had long since stopped looking under that tiny tree she'd kept on the desk in the corner of the cluttered workshop. She never put it away; but, then, She has a problem about putting things away.

And this time, it's good that She didn't. Because now, three days after that fateful night, there's finally something waiting beneath the little tree She kept in the corner of the cluttered workshop. A box, wrapped sloppily in a generic pattern that was purchased from a generic store. Indeed, it would seem a loveless thing. But from Her, She's seen lovelessness before. And it's because of this that, when She does come in to see the little box beneath the little tree, and when She sees the little card and the little letter written upon it, She will know a joy that She'd almost abandoned.

It's a literal letter. All it says is "-V".