When choosing the victim of their next petty crime, smarter thieves would not often choose on the basis of which wallet looked to be the fattest, but rather if the owner of said wallet was easy pickings or not. Someone with a hunched posture, quick stride and avoidant gaze would enter the sights of a thief in their attempts to avoid the sights of the public. Inversely, someone with immaculate posture and a confident gaze who strode through crowds like self-proclaimed gods amongst men were the most likely to cause a ruckus the moment they became aware of their predicament.

  Evalyn Hardridge's posture, gaze and stride suggested to any potential wrongdoers that they'd be hunted down, beaten, and have their wallets stolen instead. Wherever she went, Evalyn Hardridge drew attention and deterred any passerby, her peculiar aura commanding respect and demanding a clear path forward through any crowd she found herself in. Even if not for the confident stride and unwavering forward-facing gaze, the bolt action rifle on her back and the handgun holstered on her shoulder were more than enough to convince the average civilian to steer clear.

  Underneath the strap of her rifle, she wore a dark green field jacket; a military uniform with no clear insignia but a myriad of pockets. When taking into account her already visible armaments, it was easy for the imagination to run amock, taking a guess at whatever she hid in them.

  Below her waist was a similar story; baggy, long, drab, and tucked into a pair of military boots that clacked against the pavement with every well-articulated step she took. The only things that stood in stark contrast to such a brooding figure were above the neckline of her plain white singlet.

  Her hair was a fiery orange she kept pulled back in a ponytail at all times, letting whatever was left haphazardly fall across her face.

  On her left cheek was a marking, the image of a golden whale diving under her left eye, its shade not too dissimilar from her hair albeit much tamer.

  It was the combination of such stride and physical features which left her looking like the model for a fashion brand’s newest ‘military-themed’ line, turning heads and raising eyebrows much to her indifference.

  Though no matter how bizarre her appearance or how threatening her armaments, nothing seemed to brighten the streets of the city she waded through. A city of grey concrete, cookie-cutter buildings and a sore lack of character.

  Sidos city, her home city, and the city she equated to a scar. Where cities to her understanding were epicentres of population, history and culture, Sidos had swathes of the first, had erased the second on a regular basis, and had never had time to develop the third.

  A need for quick recovery and reconstruction had resulted in samey buildings and repetitive structures that could be rebuilt efficiently. The city would heal, but the scars would forever remain.

  Evalyn exited the fish market and was greeted by the local district's main hub of foodstuffs. Grocers, butchers and delis lined each side of the street, advertising their wares to the continuing flow of morning commuters.

  "Patricia's Deli...sounds familiar," Evalyn muttered as she scanned over the stores one by one, peering over the scalps of nameless, almost faceless commuters who avoided her without a single thought. She spotted the place, the owner's name painted rather neatly on the oversized sign hanging above the storefront. Evalyn waded through the crowd, arriving at the Deli not long after.

  The bell hanging above the door chimed as Evalyn entered the quaint establishment. She spotted the owner, Patricia, manning the front counter.

  "Oh, do put that dreaded thing away," Patricia scolded as she spotted Evalyn's rifle. It was tradition after so many years: guns weren't good for business.

  "This thing stays with me ma'am, company policy," Evalyn smiled back, moving through the store and up to the counter, the stout woman reappearing in her memory. “New front-of-counter model seems fraught with problems, don’t you think?”

  “Oh, but the patrons love choosing their own things. Get to compare prices themselves and all. Cuts down on lines too if whoever’s behind the counter isn’t fussing over fulfilling one shopping list at a time. We got the idea from the fishmonger down the way.”

  “That one? Used to be in a building, didn’t it?”

  “Your memory really does go back far,” Patricia scoffed as she scurried into the backroom. “He must have moved out almost eight-odd years ago. Says letting the patrons see and smell the fish does wonders. Gets to use those great big striped awnings too.”

  “I noticed,” Evalyn chuckled, placing the butt of the rifle down by her feet. “The tailor down the way, his storefront’s got a new coat of paint too, doesn’t he?”

  “And it’s brilliant. The wood makes it look like a real luxury store now,” the owner smiled, placing a stool down by her feet and stepping onto it. “Couldn’t have imagined it ten years ago.”

  “It’d be a horrible investment,” Evalyn mused, “Spirit’d come and burn it down the day it was done.”

  “Right you are, right you are,” Patricia sighed, stepping off the stool with a money jar in hand. It was the communal pot, a familiar sight after so many years.

  “Now, this is what the street could find on us. Hope it’s enough.”

  “I’m sure it is, ma’am,” Evalyn sighed, watching the deli owner’s calloused fingers jostle the money around as though counting it. “But if you’ve called me across the border just to tell off a couple of kids again, I’m going to start charging extra fees.”

  “Ah don’t be like that! If it’s such a pain, then why don’t you move back? Civil war was a decade ago! I even see Spirits going down the street every once in a while. No one will bat an eye as long as you don’t say your last name.”

  “Ah, afraid I can’t do that,” Evalyn smiled, reminding herself the comment meant well. “Husband’s got a job pinned over there. Can’t up and move that easily, unfortunately.”

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

  “Shame,” Patricia sighed, this time sincerely counting up the bills. “Might not be as fancy as being the General’s daughter, but this is still home.”

  Evalyn smirked, keeping the harsh argument inside her heart. Sidos had ceased being home years before she left; she’d patroned the tailor, the florist and the fishmonger who all boasted new wares through new storefronts. But she’d never once walked the streets to purchase them, someone had always done it in her steed.

  She’d taken matters into her own hands since. Not just the matters of servants and house staff, but of soldiers, commanders, and Generals.

  But Generals didn’t brandish rifles as she did, nor did soldiers act of their own accord. Evalyn Hardridge was an absolute power. But even absolute powers had to make a living salary.

  "What seems to be the problem this time? Any more details at all?"

  "Nothing!" Patricia exclaimed, placing the money down on the counter. "Absolutely nothing. I’ve watched over this store like a hawk for the past three days. I'll turn away for a few seconds and a whole arm’s worth of product is gone from the shelves."

  "How many exactly?" Evalyn asked.

  "Oh, maybe six or seven? Enough for one person to carry at least but never anything more."

  One person. Stealing for themselves or stealing for fun? Anything organised was out of the question considering the cheap wares being stolen. Then again, who pinched an armful of foodstuffs for fun? One or two items maybe, but an armful?

  "I'd have to stake it out for longer considering how little I have on the suspect, but in the near future if you can provide more details..."

  She had been speaking her thoughts out loud and had mindlessly turned around while doing so. But there they were, the hands of a small child grasping a swathe of product with their entire arm’s width.

  Large, jewel-like purple eyes stared back at her, still processing the unexpected eye contact. Evalyn stared back, half in disbelief and half enthralled by the eyes she found herself ensnared in. Swirling, ethereal purple, the sort of beauty you could not find in any human, the kind only afforded to Spirits. Was this child one? This distinctly human child?

  The distinctly human child began to bolt, flying through the doors with the pattering of bare feet, leaving dropped cans of meat and bread rolls in their wake. Evalyn gave chase not long after, reaching the door before it finished its swing.

  She looked around the crowd, thinner than it had been earlier but still much too thick for a manhunt. Left to right and everywhere in between she scanned for even a silhouette of the child she had locked eyes with only moments prior. A human child with the eyes of a Spirit...there was a chance, even though Evalyn prayed that she was mistaken.

  She closed herself, disconnecting every other sense and homing in purely on the movement of Aether, the formless energy that gave Spirits life, that gave them magic, that made her the absolute power she was. In a city like Sidos where everyone and everything was human or human-make, it lacked magic, the push and pull of Aether as though it were currents of air. A being like that child would stick out like a sore thumb, and they did.

  Her heart dropped, and she hoped, for the first time in a while, one of her senses had betrayed her.

  Evalyn dashed left, sprinting past the crowd and barging through when necessary. She re-entered the fish market, the salt crinkling her nose and clearing her synapses as her eyes focused on the hem of a woman's dress, or rather what was in front of it.

  She caught glimpses; tattered rags, small frame and flowing silver hair, yet no matter how close she got, it seemed as though the child was moving just as fast. Evalyn pressed forward, breaking out of the market and back into clear air.

  The crowd had subsided since, and it seemed the child was just as aware of that fact as Evalyn was. She focused again, scouring the Aether for that one signature she had pinpointed before. It was distinct and powerful which made it all the more easy to find.

  Eventually, she looked up, and found the child pulling itself over the roof of a stout building. Not by sheer strength, but by purple tendrils. No, tendrils weren't the right words...they were shapes, barely formed pieces of matter that seemed to comprise her magic. Evalyn pursued, hell-bent on chasing down her target now more than ever.

  She reached the side of the building, scaling it with her hands and feet instead of any supernatural method, and briskly cleared the rooftop without breaking so much as a sweat.

  She spotted the child again, determined not to let them out of sight as she bolted forward. The child ran, dropping cans and bread rolls as they went, eventually resorting to more barely formed limbs when their legs began to fail.

  The ends of their silver hair would dissipate and reform into abstract shapes that pulled them forward, across rooftops and alleyways. Evalyn pursued, her legs more than enough to keep up, and eventually the child caught on. They gave up on flight and turned their attention to fight, reshaping their formless tendrils into lengthy purple blades, slicing through the air, concrete and metal framework alike.

  Evalyn dodged, confident in the child's inaccuracy and lack of control over their own magic. She grew wary but did not let that stop her.

  The child, so adamant about keeping Evalyn at bay with her blades neglected to maintain her footing. Evalyn watched as the child's left foot caught the edge of a rooftop and her body swung forward into an alleyway below. Evalyn cursed, praying the drop was insubstantial or the child had been able to use magic to break her fall.

  She reached the edge of the roof and dropped down, landing on her feet and feeling her knees chatter as the impact travelled through her bones. She stood upright and found the child in front of her, clutching her arm and cowering in Evalyn's shadow. The alley only travelled one way, and Evalyn blocked the only exit.

  She steadied her breathing as the chatter and commotion seemed to fade into obscurity, creating a pocket world where only she and the child existed. Behind her was an ignorant public, a world of many nations that wanted anything but their citizens to be privy to people...abominations like her and the child. People who thought like humans yet wielded magic, who had both gifts of ingenuity and sheer power, who suffered both the greed of humans and the pride of Spirits.

  The child could not be allowed to enter that public so freely ever again, they would have to live in the shadow of it, stay behind the curtains while being put to work in the only ways their magic would allow.

  And as Evalyn stared into the swirling purple eyes of the child in front of her, the thought of it racked her with guilt. The child was female, the most beautiful little girl she had ever laid eyes on. Messy silver hair that could do with a wash, skin bruised and cut from a life of exposure, yet the purple eyes shimmered with a fire to live, to survive despite fight and flight both failing her. Such a sweet, fragile girl. If only that was all she was.

  Evalyn inched forward as the child backed into the wall, a silent look of terror on her face as she did so. She pressed her body as far back as she could, and Evalyn squatted in front of her.

  Perhaps the eyes had enchanted her, or the silver hair had wrapped her in some sort of spell. Perhaps it was some dormant maternal instinct finally awakening after years of suppression. She could not pinpoint why, but for a moment, Evalyn stopped working her nine-to-five.

  She stopped being the private detective, the soldier, the absolute power. She became Evalyn Hardridge, the girl who remembered and accepted a past she couldn’t help but feel shame towards, who at twenty-eight, remained grateful to the servants and house staff who had once gone out of their way for her.

  The woman who could never shake the fact she was making up for years lost.

  She brushed the little girl's cheek with her thumb, wary that they might bite it at any moment, but no such pain came. Instead, a warmth spread through her body, starting at her fingertips and working her way up her arm.

  The type of warmth she'd feel in autumn, when she was cosy in her own clothing while the cold wind whistled past her only millimetres away from her skin. And by the look of the little girl's eyes, that warmth was contagious.

  "You look like your name would be Iris."

  To Your New Era. Although the first few chapters begin off slowly, the action is soon to follow. I will see you when you're up to date!