The third morning at the Order of the Burning Blades arrived with a problem.
Well, several problems.
Problem one: Dain was still alive. Problem two: Dain was still breathing the same air as Kaelin. Problem three: Dain had spent breakfast loudly telling everyone within earshot that Kaelin had "gotten lucky" twice and that any "real fighter" would have destroyed her.
[INSIDE]
MAMMON: That's it. That's the line. He crossed it. He's been crossing it. He's built a bridge across it and set up a toll booth.
AZRAEL: We should ignore him. Rise above. Be the bigger person.
MAMMON: WE'RE NOT A PERSON. WE'RE THREE PEOPLE. AND TWO OF US WANT REVENGE.
IRIS: Correction: one of you wants revenge. One wants dignity. I want data. Current consensus: divided.
MAMMON: THEN I'LL DO IT MYSELF.
---
And for the first time in eight years—the very first time—Mammon reached for control and took it.
Not all of it. Not completely. Just enough.
Just the mouth.
---
Kaelin's voice, when it spoke, was different. Slightly lower. Slightly rougher. Definitely grinning.
"Beckett. We need to talk."
Beckett, who had been inspecting a shiny button she'd acquired from somewhere, looked up with interest. "You sound different. More... chaotic. Less rules."
"That's because the angel is currently having a crisis in the back of our head and refusing to participate in what comes next."
[INSIDE]
AZRAEL: I can hear you. I'm RIGHT HERE. And I want NOTHING to do with this.
MAMMON: GOOD. STAY THERE. COVER YOUR EARS. SING HYMNNS. I DON'T CARE.
IRIS: This is unprecedented. Mammon has seized partial motor control. Azrael has voluntarily withdrawn. I am documenting everything.
---
Beckett's eyes gleamed. "What comes next?"
"Revenge. But not stupid revenge. Not hitting him—that gets us in trouble. Something better. Something beautiful." Mammon's voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. "Something that makes him look like an idiot without us lifting a finger."
"I'm listening."
"The boy sits in the same seat every meal. Third table from the kitchen. Right side. Wooden chair."
"I know."
"The chair has a surface."
"Yes."
"Surfaces can be modified."
Beckett tilted her head, then slowly—very slowly—began to smile. For a crow, this was terrifying.
"You're thinking of glue."
"I'm thinking of invisible glue. The kind you don't notice until you try to stand up. The kind that makes a very loud ripping sound when you finally free yourself. In front of everyone."
[INSIDE]
IRIS: Invisible adhesive. Applied to seating surface. Target sits. Target adheres. Target attempts to stand. Public humiliation follows. Estimated effectiveness: 94%. Estimated comedy value: 98%. Estimated Azrael's disapproval: 100%.
AZRAEL: I CAN STILL HEAR YOU.
---
Beckett considered. "Invisible glue exists?"
"Gizmo had some in his workshop. We grabbed it during the escape. Along with seventeen other things that seemed useful at the time."
"You grabbed invisible glue from a burning workshop."
"We grabbed everything from a burning workshop. Priorities."
[INSIDE]
IRIS: Spatial bracelet inventory: 100 cubic meters. Contents include: Gizmo's brick machine, emergency pickles, flammable bricks, firebird parts, mountain cat parts, Twilight Elf scroll, crystal, Mirath's stone, and approximately 3.7 liters of Gnomish invisible adhesive. Confirmed.
---
Beckett's smile widened. "I like the way you think, chaos one. But glue is only the beginning."
"What else?"
"Consider: the boy eats soup every day. The same soup. Thick. Chunky. Difficult to remove from hair."
Mammon's voice went very, very quiet. "Are you suggesting what I think you're suggesting?"
"I'm suggesting that I am a crow. Crows have excellent aim. Crows also have excellent digestive systems that process food very quickly." Beckett preened. "It's called aerial bombardment. It's a traditional form of avian protest."
[INSIDE]
IRIS: Aerial bombardment. Defecation from height. Target: Dain's head. Timing: during soup consumption. Estimated psychological damage: severe. Estimated physical damage: minimal. Estimated comedy value: off the charts.
AZRAEL: I'M PRAYING. I'M PRAYING SO HARD RIGHT NOW AND I DON'T EVEN KNOW WHO TO.
---
Mammon was silent for a long moment.
Then: "I love you. I love this bird. This bird understands me."
"I'm not your bird. I'm my own bird. But I accept the sentiment."
"Phase one: glue. Phase two: aerial bombardment. Phase three?"
Beckett considered. "Phase three: we make him think it's over. We let him relax. We let him think the worst has passed."
"And then?"
"And then I steal something precious. Something he'll notice immediately. Something he'll search for desperately. Something that will make him late for training because he's too busy accusing everyone of theft."
"What?"
"His belt. His training belt. The one with his family crest. The one he's very proud of."
[INSIDE]
MAMMON: She's a genius. A feathered genius. I'm crying.
AZRAEL: You're not crying.
MAMMON: EMOTIONALLY CRYING.
---
The plan was set.
Now they just needed to execute.
---
Midday Meal - Phase One
The mess hall was chaos—as always. Fifty-plus recruits shoveling food, talking loudly, occasionally throwing things when instructors weren't looking.
Dain sat in his usual seat. Third table from the kitchen. Right side. Wooden chair. Looking superior.
Kaelin walked past his table, tray in hand, expression perfectly neutral.
[INSIDE]
MAMMON: Don't look at him. Don't smile. Don't give anything away.
AZRAEL: I can't believe I'm part of this.
MAMMON: YOU'RE NOT. YOU'RE ON STRIKE. REMEMBER?
AZRAEL: I CAN STILL JUDGE.
---
Beckett was already in position.
High rafters. Perfect angle. Watching.
The invisible glue had been applied thirty minutes ago during the chaos between meals. A thin layer—just enough to bond fabric to wood. Gnomish formula. Nigh-undetectable. Tested on a practice shoe that now lived permanently attached to a practice sword.
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Dain ate his soup. Talked to his friends. Gestured expansively. Laughed at something cruel.
[INSIDE]
MAMMON: He's so confident. So unaware. It's beautiful.
IRIS: Adhesive contact time: 27 minutes. Bond strength: optimal. Target completely oblivious.
---
Meal ended.
Recruits began standing, taking trays, filing out.
Dain stood—
—or tried to.
The chair came with him.
---
For one perfect, frozen moment, Dain was upright with a wooden chair firmly attached to his backside, his expression shifting from confusion to horror to fury in approximately 0.3 seconds.
Someone laughed.
Then someone else.
Then everyone.
---
[INSIDE]
MAMMON: HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA—
IRIS: Mammon has ceased all linguistic function. He is now pure laughter.
AZRAEL: ...I shouldn't find this funny.
MAMMON: HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA—
AZRAEL: ...but the chair. The chair is just—
MAMMON: HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA—
---
Dain's face went through seventeen shades of red. He grabbed the chair, pulled, twisted—nothing. The glue held.
"You—" He looked around wildly. "WHO DID THIS?"
No one answered. Everyone was too busy laughing.
Captain Vex appeared in the doorway. Took in the scene. Paused.
"Dain."
"CAPTAIN, SOMEONE—"
"Dain. You have a chair attached to your backside."
"I KNOW."
"How?"
"I DON'T KNOW."
Captain Vex's expression did something complicated. "Report to the quartermaster. They have solvents. Go. Now. Before you traumatize the younger recruits."
Dain walked out—waddled out—with a chair bouncing behind him like the world's most humiliating tail.
The mess hall erupted.
---
[INSIDE]
MAMMON: I can die happy. I can die RIGHT NOW and die happy.
IRIS: Phase one: complete. Effectiveness: 100%. Collateral laughter damage: extensive.
AZRAEL: ...that was pretty funny.
MAMMON: THE ANGEL LAUGHED. THE ANGEL ACTUALLY LAUGHED.
AZRAEL: I did not.
MAMMON: I FELT IT. YOU LAUGHED ON THE INSIDE.
---
Evening Meal - Phase Two
Dain had changed clothes.
His expression had not changed. It was fixed in a permanent scowl of humiliation and suspicion. He'd spent two hours in the quartermaster's office, being gently mocked by dwarves who found the entire situation hilarious.
He sat in the same seat.
Third table from the kitchen. Right side. Wooden chair—new chair, thoroughly inspected for adhesives before use.
He ate his soup.
Thick soup. Chunky soup. Difficult-to-remove-from-hair soup.
---
High in the rafters, Beckett watched.
Waiting.
Calculating.
---
[INSIDE]
MAMMON: Is she going to—
IRIS: Beckett is currently at 12 meters elevation. Target is stationary. Wind conditions: minimal. Optimal release window: 3-5 seconds.
MAMMON: This is the most beautiful moment of my existence.
AZRAEL: Our existence includes watching a bird plan to defecate on a child's head.
MAMMON: I KNOW. AREN'T WE BLESSED?
---
Dain lifted his spoon.
Took a bite.
Looked up—
—directly into Beckett's eyes.
---
For a moment, everything paused.
Beckett, high above, looking down with the expression of an artist contemplating their masterpiece.
Dain, spoon halfway to mouth, realization dawning.
Then—
Beckett shifted.
Aimed.
Released.
---
The delivery was perfect.
A direct hit. Center mass. Right on top of Dain's head, where the soup-thick, chunk-filled substance of Beckett's digestive system met the soup-thick, chunk-filled substance of Dain's meal in a moment of cosmic symmetry.
Dain froze.
The table froze.
The entire mess hall froze.
Then—slowly, horribly—something white and brown and moist began to slide down Dain's forehead.
---
[INSIDE]
MAMMON: I CAN'T. I CAN'T. I'M DYING. I'M LITERALLY DYING.
IRIS: Aerial bombardment: successful. Target coverage: 87% of cranial surface. Estimated time to realization: 0.5 seconds. Estimated time to screaming: 1.2 seconds.
AZRAEL: ...that was ART.
MAMMON: THE ANGEL SAID IT WAS ART.
AZRAEL: I MEAN IN A TECHNICAL SENSE—
---
Dain's scream was not loud.
It was worse.
It was quiet. The kind of quiet that happens when someone is so far beyond anger that they've circled back to disbelief.
He touched his head.
Looked at his fingers.
Made a sound like a kettle being stepped on by a very large boot.
"THE—THE CROW—"
---
Beckett, still in the rafters, cleared her throat.
Not literally—crows don't have throats that clear. But she made a sound that meant throat-clearing.
"Dain," she said, her voice carrying across the suddenly silent mess hall. "I want you to know: this wasn't personal."
"NOT—NOT PERSONAL?"
"I respect you as a target. You have excellent posture. Very easy to aim at. Good surface area. Professional grade, really." She tilted her head. "Also, your soup looked delicious. I wanted to contribute."
---
The mess hall exploded.
Not literally—but the laughter was so loud, so overwhelming, that several younger recruits actually fell off their benches. Tessa was crying—actual tears streaming down her face. Roran had his face in his hands, shoulders shaking. Even Berin, the perpetually tired, was making sounds that might have been laughter if laughter could also convey existential surrender.
Captain Vex appeared in the doorway.
Took in the scene.
Dain, covered in crow waste, standing rigid with fury.
The crow, preening in the rafters.
The entire mess hall, incapacitated with laughter.
She closed her eyes. Counted to ten. Opened them.
"Dain. Report to the baths. Again."
"CAPTAIN, THE CROW—"
"The crow is not my responsibility. The crow is apparently everyone's problem today. Go. Now."
---
[INSIDE]
MAMMON: Phase two: complete. Effectiveness: 200%. I have ascended. I am no longer a devil. I am PURE JOY.
IRIS: Aerial bombardment successful. Secondary effects: legendary status for Beckett imminent. Dain's humiliation: total.
AZRAEL: ...can we do phase three?
MAMMON: THE ANGEL ASKED. THE ANGEL WANTS MORE. THIS IS THE BEST DAY.
---
Night - Phase Three
Dain was paranoid.
Understandably.
He'd been glued to a chair. He'd been bombed by a crow. He was currently sitting in a different seat—far from the kitchen, far from the rafters, surrounded by friends who were supposedly watching for threats.
His training belt was on his bunk.
Safe. Secure. Away from crows, away from pranks, away from her.
---
Beckett waited until lights out.
Waited until breathing evened.
Waited until Dain's last friend fell asleep.
Then she moved.
---
Crows are naturally quiet when they want to be. Beckett, who was not a natural crow, was supernaturally quiet.
She slipped into the barracks like a shadow. Found Dain's bunk. Found the belt—neatly folded, family crest visible, pride of place.
Lifted it.
Gone.
---
Morning - Phase Three, Continued
Dain woke up cold.
Not temperature cold—existentially cold. The kind of cold that comes from reaching for something precious and finding empty space.
His hand patted the bunk. The floor. The storage underneath.
Nothing.
"MY BELT."
---
The search was glorious.
Dain accused everyone. Everyone. He accused the older recruits (too dignified). He accused the younger recruits (too scared). He accused the instructors (too unlikely). He accused the kitchen staff (too busy).
He did not accuse the crow.
Because the crow was sitting on the roof of the mess hall, visibly wearing the belt like a stole, looking fabulous.
---
[INSIDE]
MAMMON: She's wearing it. She's WEARING it. Like a fashion accessory.
IRIS: Beckett's current position: rooftop. Visibility: high. Dain's ability to reach her: zero. Estimated time until Dain notices: already noticed. Estimated time until Dain loses his mind: imminent.
AZRAEL: ...I have no regrets. None.
---
Dain noticed.
Dain pointed.
Dain screamed.
Beckett, on the roof, adjusted the belt to a more flattering angle and called down: "THIS BELT? I FOUND IT. IN A BUNK. UNATTENDED. CROW LAW SAYS FINDERS KEEPERS."
"CROW LAW ISN'T REAL."
"IT IS NOW. I INVENTED IT. I'M THE CROW QUEEN. THIS IS MY CORONATION REGALIA."
---
Captain Vex appeared.
Looked at Dain.
Looked at the crow on the roof, wearing a belt like a sash.
Looked at the sky, as if asking the universe why this was happening to her.
"Dain. Get a ladder."
"CAPTAIN, THAT CROW HAS BEEN TERRORIZING ME FOR TWO DAYS—"
"That crow is currently wearing your family crest like a trophy. Get. A. Ladder."
---
It took forty-five minutes to retrieve the belt.
Forty-five minutes of Dain climbing, falling, cursing, while Beckett moved just out of reach each time, offering fashion commentary.
"THIS WOULD LOOK BETTER IN BLUE. DO YOU HAVE IT IN BLUE?"
"NO."
"PITY. THE CREST IS NICE, THOUGH. VERY DRAMATIC. VERY 'MY FAMILY IS MORE IMPORTANT THAN YOUR FAMILY.' I RESPECT THE ENERGY."
---
[INSIDE]
MAMMON: I can't. I literally can't. This is too much.
IRIS: Phase three: complete. Effectiveness: 300%. Dain's mental state: deteriorating. Beckett's legendary status: confirmed.
AZRAEL: ...I think I understand revenge now.
MAMMON: WELCOME, BROTHER. THE WATER IS FINE.
---
When Dain finally retrieved the belt—sweating, humiliated, forty-five minutes late for training—he found Kaelin waiting at the yard entrance.
Expression neutral.
Eyes innocent.
"Morning, Dain. You're late."
Dain stared at her. Something in his eyes said: I know it was you. I know.
But he had no proof. No evidence. Nothing but a crow who talked too much and a string of increasingly improbable disasters.
"You," he said. "This was you."
"Was what me?"
"THE—THE CHAIR. THE CROW. THE BELT."
Kaelin tilted her head—a perfect imitation of Beckett. "Dain. I'm eight. I slept in a bunk all night. How could I possibly have done any of that?"
[INSIDE]
MAMMON: THE INNOCENCE. THE ACTING. WE DESERVE AN AWARD.
IRIS: Deception successful. Dain's certainty: 100%. Dain's proof: 0%. Beautiful.
AZRAEL: I'm very proud of us right now. I'm also very confused about my feelings.
---
Dain's jaw worked. Opened. Closed. Opened again.
"You—the crow—she's yours—"
"She's not mine. She's her own. She chooses to associate with me." Kaelin smiled. "Maybe she chose to associate with your belt too. Crows like shiny things. Everyone knows that."
Captain Vex's voice cut across the yard. "DAIN. TRAINING. NOW."
Dain went.
But he looked back.
And in his eyes was a promise.
This isn't over.
---
[INSIDE]
MAMMON: He knows. He doesn't know, but he KNOWS.
IRIS: Dain's threat level: unchanged. His ability to prove anything: zero. His desire for revenge: 100%. We'll need to watch him.
AZRAEL: But today? Today we won.
MAMMON: TODAY WE WON SO HARD.
---
Evening - The Aftermath
Kaelin sat on the rock at the edge of the training yard, steam curling around her feet. Beckett on her shoulder, belt-less now but somehow still looking satisfied.
"That was fun," Beckett said. "We should do that more often."
"We should not," Kaelin said. "Once is enough. Twice is pattern. Three times is war."
"War with Dain?" Beckett considered. "That could be entertaining."
"It could also get us expelled."
"Details."
[INSIDE]
MAMMON: She's right, though. That WAS fun. We should do it again. But to someone else. Someone worse.
AZRAEL: There will always be someone worse.
IRIS: Today's activities: successful revenge, zero detection, maximum humiliation. Emotional satisfaction levels: unprecedented. Note: revenge, when applied appropriately, has therapeutic value.
---
Kaelin reached into her spatial bracelet and pulled out Mirath's stone.
Still warm. Still pulsing faintly.
"During the planning," she said quietly, "when I let Mammon take control... the stone helped. It was easier to stay focused. To not let the gray take over."
[INSIDE]
MAMMON: I didn't even notice. I was too busy being brilliant.
AZRAEL: That's the point. The stone works without us noticing. That's how we know it's working.
IRIS: Mirath's gift: confirmed functional. Grey Resonance suppression: effective. Recommended: continue testing in controlled conditions.
---
"Tomorrow," Kaelin said, "we train. We learn. We become stronger." She looked up at the mountain, at the snowless peak, at the stars beginning to appear. "And when Dain tries again—because he will—we'll be ready."
Beckett shifted on her shoulder. "And if he doesn't try again?"
"Then we've won anyway."
---
The barracks were quiet when she returned.
Tessa was already asleep, still smiling faintly. Roran was reading, looked up, nodded once with what might have been approval.
Kaelin lay down.
The stone was in her hand. The crystal pulsed against her chest. Beckett settled on the headboard.
[INSIDE]
MAMMON: Today was good. Today was REALLY good.
AZRAEL: We laughed. All of us. Even me.
IRIS: Emotional processing: complete. Conclusion: revenge, friendship, and strategic humiliation are valid components of a healthy existence.
MAMMON: Add: Beckett is the best bird in existence.
IRIS: Added.
AZRAEL: Add: we're going to be okay.
IRIS: Status: we're going to be okay. Logged.
---
Outside, in the shadows beyond the barracks, Mirath watched.
Six hundred and thirty years old, and he'd just witnessed a crow steal a belt, a child engineer humiliation with invisible glue, and three souls coordinate revenge with surgical precision.
He smiled.
Not much. Just a little.
Interesting, he thought. Very interesting.
Then he faded back into the darkness, leaving only the mountain and the stars and the distant sound of Dain, somewhere in the barracks, still muttering about his belt.
