Soldiers and armored cars of the Glansheim Territorial Army entered Altrecht ahead of sunrise; a crested eagle, both the family herald and an allusion to the Devourer of Corpses, was seen in full display among the ranks. A unit came to the town parish. An officer aboard one of three empty supply trucks introduced himself and spoke with Father Erich. He was let inside to see the evacuees who sought protection inside the church. A scent of disinfectant, incense, and menthol hung heavily in the nave. The umber-uniformed army man checked on the wounded at a curtained ward. None of them needed immediate help, but the unit medics entered and assisted these townsfolk.

  "You have tended to these people well, Father." The officer observed some of the bedridden individuals. "Perhaps we should send some of the hospital workers your way so they learn from you."

  "I alone do not deserve that praise, officer." Father Erich looked back at him after looking at the medics. "It is with everyone's efforts that we were able to pull through that night. We were fortunate that the Creator did not forget to guide us in this test."

  "It is a shame that I could not extend a proper gesture of thanks to all of you." The officer watched everyone at work; the swish of brooms and gentle tapping of boxes being set down were all around.

  "Everyone will get the chance to rest soon. Your presence here is part of the reward for being ready for the townspeople."

  The officer shook his head. "My assurance to you is that we will handle the rest from here. We'll send most of them home, now that the affair outside has been sorted out."

  "We are grateful for your diligence, officer."

  ????

  "Why is the sun so bright today?"

  A ray of light fell through the small window and warmed Euphemia's face, making her groan. She woke, far from rested after the grueling night. Memories rushed back into her mind like a pour of rain. The fires, people trapped in the rubble of their homes, bodies she was forced to leave behind, and those things that tried to kill her at the height of the violence. Euphemia closed her eyes; a slow shaking of the head as she set her hair back.

  Her body did not feel right, as if balance was stolen from her the moment she lay down to rest. Euphemia's magical strength was yet to return. She could move her hands and legs, though they felt cold and numb in some parts. She wanted to stand, yet she felt her legs were made of sand. Stiff, almost icy in patches. Empty in others..

  "Could I have saved more that night?"

  Her father's face appeared in her mind, and she imagined him speaking to her in her youth. Speaking to a younger Euphemia, who was trying to understand this talent she had. Speaking to a girl who only understood she was special, but never knew the purpose of it.

  "You will someday figure out that even at the height of this gift, your power, that you cannot help everybody. Save whoever you can, how many you can. It is a difficult path to wield power for those who cannot. It is, harder, to understand and embrace this reality. You will always be haunted by this apparition: one telling you that you could have done more."

  She came to this town searching for a way to find her missing father. Euphemia couldn't help but lament that she arrived at this town, witnessed the violence brought by syndicate hands, and came up short trying to get the most townspeople out of harm.

  Her mind was mired, but she needed to do something, anything, that felt like it was for her.

  Despite the numbness and her body feeling unbalanced, the day must begin, no matter how much her form disagreed. Euphemia stood up, unbuttoning her nightdress and letting it fall to the floor. A sponge, soap, and a basin: not the most luxurious bath around, but this had to do. Maybe hurrying helped get her in shape. It was a fast scrub. Euphemia coursed what little energy she could muster throughout her form; there was a weak glow and thin threads of steam. She felt dry enough. She did not want the fragrance to become vapor as well.

  Piece by piece, she donned her habit, ending her change of clothes by fixing the outer veil on her head. Then the armlet. She almost forgot it. With the sound of the clasp gripping shut, her sleeve slid down to hide the artifact.

  She took a silver pocketwatch from the table.

  "It's almost noon! I have slept too much."

  No wonder the sun was high up and warmer than she expected. Euphemia was thoughtful enough to have a piece of pastry to eat. It was far from ideal, but then he did not have the luxury of choice. She strode through an empty hall until she reached the exit. Father Erich was outside the church, a shovel and a wheelbarrow beside him.

  "Are you well-rested, Sister Euphemia?"

  "Father Erich." Euphemia's clasped hands were hidden in her sleeves. She made a short bow, unable to look at the older clergyman at first, but asserted a stare of shame. "I apologize for my neglect. I am supposed to tend to the..."

  "Rest easy, sister." The town priest shoveled wood splinters and broken rock. "The Territorial Army arrived here not long ago. The people were sent back to their homes."

  "What about the wounded? The bedridden?"

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  "I was assured there was enough room at the town hospital." Father Erich said, "Bless the Creator and your efforts, for none of them required serious medical attention."

  She composed herself by closing her eyes for a moment and then spoke in a casual voice to the priest. "If you'll allow, I wish to make a visit there. There may be some of the wounded, other people, that might need..."

  "You are not directly under me, Adorer. I'm sure the hospital could use more hands."

  "Thank you, Father Erich."

  "Don't stay too long, or I can't guarantee there's any supper left for you."

  The canoness looked back at the follower of Saint Hagar, making a slow bow both in affirmation and in gratitude. Euphemia looked at the church grounds one last time before she headed for the streets ahead.

  The sunlight revealed the battle's scars—charred brick, smoke, shattered stone—as she made her way east. Thin trails of smoke were seen on a heap of broken bricks and mortar that used to be a residence. Even the roads were not spared; potholes made from dislodged cobblestones and crushed rocks were scattered all over. Euphemia had to watch her footing, as the damage extended to the sidewalk. Father Erich was right: soldiers of the Glansheim family took over most of the town watch. None of the lighter-uniformed town constabulary was in sight.

  A crawler tractor fitted with an angled slab of steel at its front passed by the cleric. Euphemia noticed that the driver bore the insignia of the domain's Territorial Army. It pressed forward through the rubble; the whistle of its engine and the cloud of steam coming out of its exhaust grille were signs that all those ruined rocks would not be easily pushed aside.

  Their road-clearing work would take a while. Certainly, another route to the town hospital could be found - if she looked hard enough.

  Standing at an intersection with no idea where to go, she was about to approach one of the soldiers watching over the roadwork when an army transport made a turn nearby. It had a white cloth banner with a red cross: an occupied ambulance. Perhaps it would be best for her to follow it. A turn to the left, then it took the stretch before making a right on the second-to-the-last street.

  The hospital grounds were busy. Vehicles, mostly army transports converted to makeshift ambulances, moved in and out, releasing trails of thin vapor and dust as they sped by. Euphemia was about to enter when two riflemen stopped her at the door.

  "Halt!" A soldier in umber, carrying the seal of the Glansheim family on his shoulder, said, "Visits are regulated under army orders."

  "I have come to aid the sick and the wounded." Euphemia's stare met the guard's eyes. He tried to avert an awkward gaze towards her.

  "Please, come in."

  The other soldier opened the door to the interior for her. Euphemia went inside, and the creak and click of the closing door followed. She left behind an exchange that was heard in broken whispers.

  "Are you out of your mind? Squint-Eyes will give us the boot if he finds out."

  "Don't be daft. I know women like her. She's from those old orders. Magic. Curses."

  "I'm not in the mood for these jokes. We're not at the bar yet."

  "Pipe down, dimwit. She'll hear us."

  "Is she now? That explains the chill in my spine..."

  Euphemia went to the hospital reception desk, where she was greeted with a question by the attendant. A bespectacled red-haired woman who craned her neck to inspect the cleric said:

  "Are you here to volunteer in the wards?"

  "Yes, I want to be a volunteer. Should I sign up here?" Euphemia pointed to one of the guest ledgers.

  "Please do. Wait here so that I can get you something to wear while inside."

  She set the pen aside just in time for the receptionist to hand her a white apron and a pair of gloves. Euphemia needed nothing else to do but to don them on top of her habit. Not far from the reception desk was a station where three other volunteers waited. An officer stood in charge of the task assignments.

  Euphemia was given a trolley filled with blankets and other bedding pieces: a fitting task for what she was planning to do. She could feel the warmth emanating from them, knowing that these sheets were fresh out of a steamer. There were fewer than twenty. How many wards would have empty beds at this time? Regardless, she wouldn't know how long this job of hers was going to take, and if other work would be assigned to her within the day.

  The first wards were easy. A soldier was assigned to each door, though they didn't mind letting Euphemia in to change sheets. She was working through occupied rooms around the third hour on the job. Overhearing some of their whispers about being near the epicenter of the violence when the gunfight took place, it was time for her to begin her other purpose.

  She asked a slender man who was following her with his gaze; a cast and sling were on his right arm.

  "Hello." Euphemia was pulling something out of her pocket. She showed him a picture of a man with a chiseled square face, a full beard, and swept-back hair of graying burgundy. "Have you seen this man?"

  No words came out of his mouth: only the slow shaking of the head.

  "Thank you." Euphemia pushed her trolley out of the ward.

  The cleric continued with the same set of actions: changing sheets, asking, and finding different ways to confirm that they hadn't seen her father. She was down to the last set of beddings, the last person to ask that question, and then, the last one to give her a negative answer.

  She took two more trolleys from the station; this was the only way she could get inside the wards. Euphemia did not get her answer, even after asking the soldiers who stood guard in some of the rooms.

  Nighttime was about to begin when the volunteers were called to end their work. The commanding officer in charge of the hospital's security offered them one of the trucks to bring them home. Euphemia was dropped off at the worn-down gates of the town parish. She watched the vehicle disappear as it made a turn. All the women she was with were tired; too tired that no one bothered even to exchange names. She felt for her stomach as she reduced her pace to almost ambling.

  "Is this how an investigator looks for missing people, I wonder? Now I know how difficult this is."

  There was some time left before all the food was eaten, she hoped. Maybe she could grab a few bites at Father Erich's kitchen.

  Euphemia felt a slight rush of cold coursing through her arms. It wasn't magical energy, but rather one of those loose night winds. She would have to come back tomorrow. The thought of staying longer in Altrecht was becoming a probability.

  The canoness slowed as the parish came into view, its battered roof gilded faintly in the last golden edge of sunlight. Her stomach growled, but the ache behind her eyes was stronger. The wind brushed her veil. Would she return tomorrow? She had to. No one else would.