When Polina finally returned to the Federation after her time as a prisoner, it was readily apparent that something had changed.

The moment she stepped off the Federation transport and onto the air-staging tower, she found herself feeling strange. The curved, bulbous roofs of the Red Citadel that reached high above Numengrad's skyline no longer filled her with an overwhelming sensation of belonging. And, glancing at the numerous perimeter ships that hovered above the Federation's centre of government, she realised their thumping lift engines and blocky hull designs no longer gave her the same sense of security.

What had changed?

Polina wasn't given much time to reflect on that thought, nor did she have time to appreciate the winter chill before she was carted off deep into the depths of the Red Citadel, to the old dungeons that still had cobblestone floors from centuries past.

Her cell was cold, and she'd been given little more than a set of thin blankets to make do with. No one had spoken to her when she asked, so she'd quickly given up on conversation and allowed herself to sit in silence, wondering what exactly was going to happen to her. With only her thoughts and the occasional bowl of thin, salty soup to keep her stomach from growling, Polina found her mind wandering to strange places.

For example, the luxurious estate she'd been imprisoned in somewhere in the mountains of the Eastern Terra-Firma. While she'd been a prisoner, she'd had access to warm clothes, a soft bed, books to read and eventually, she'd even taken part in tending to the garden, wanting something to do with her hands.

Without a window to the outside, Polina didn't know how long she spent in the cell. She ate when she could and slept when she felt tired. At one point, she found herself feeling confused, unsure whether she'd been locked up for three days or a week. No one would tell her the time, and Polina started to worry she might never see sunlight again.

Then one morning—or perhaps it was afternoon, or evening—a pair of guards had come into her room and blindfolded her. The guards led her through corridors, before turning back on themselves multiple times and even spinning around occasionally to make sure she couldn't memorise the way, before finally placing her in a room. From the sound of chains on the desk as she was shackled in place, and the continual presence of a blindfold preventing Polina from seeing anything, she quickly realised exactly what was happening.

After all, she was a truth-teller, and her blessing meant she'd become familiar with the Red Citadel's interrogation rooms and processes.

"Polina Volkova," a man's voice suddenly said. She couldn't place who it was; he could have been any one of dozens of party interrogators.

"Yes," she replied. If she were right, there would be another person in the room. Another truth-teller who would be standing behind her. This person would verify her answers using their blessing and communicate the truthfulness to the interrogator.

Exactly how she'd done so many times.

Whoever the other truth-teller was, Polina had no idea. The party made sure truth-tellers were a well-kept secret and knew none of their colleagues' identities. Even when Polina had been called from her desk to perform duties with her blessing, it was done so with a cover story so her fellow analysts wouldn't question her absence.

The questions were simple at first. Where she grew up, how old she was, and how long she's worked as an analyst. It was all information she knew they knew, but it was an interrogation tactic that served two purposes. The first was to get her talking, preventing her from clamming up, and the second was to help the truth-teller in the room calibrate their blessing to her specific frequency.

She didn't dare try to use her own blessings. There was always the risk that there was a powerful Speaker in the room or nearby, monitoring the process to ensure Polina wouldn't try anything. Not that she could achieve much in the manner of some form of escape, even if she wanted to.

Therefore, she answered the questions straightforwardly and efficiently. Any thoughts of deception or minimising her answers were quickly pushed away. Polina knew how effective the party interrogators were, and she knew her only hope of making it through this was to be completely transparent and not give the slightest indication of misplaced loyalty.

It didn't take long before the questions became not so simple.

"Was any attempt made—in any capacity—to see if you'd be willing to act as a spy for Centralis Intelligence?"

"Have you ever expressed dissatisfaction with the Federation government, its policies, or leadership—even in private?"

"Do you believe the Cascadian model of governance has any merit?"

It seemed no matter how many times she answered, there would be another question around the corner, followed by another, and another. The interrogation stretched on, and Polina was asked everything and anything. She was asked what she would choose between obeying an order and doing what she felt was morally right, and immediately after, asked if she believed anyone in the Kenhoro field team had been compromised. In one breath, she was asked what her opinion was of Team Leader Natalia Marakova, and in the next, whether she'd maintained any aethergram communications with anyone during her time as a prisoner.

Even though she knew the interrogator was trying to exhaust her, that didn't help her resist his efforts. She'd watched the process play out many times before, and it was exactly as unpleasant as she thought it would be. Grudgingly, she had to admit it was wonderfully effective at exposing any inconsistencies, provoking guilt, and testing her loyalty to the party. Sometimes the interrogator would ask a question and then immediately ask it again. He would constantly move from one topic to another, not giving Polina's mind a chance to feel stable for even a second.

Still, she endured.

She had no other choice.

And, as expected, she had to reveal the existence of her other blessing; the one that enabled her to view a strange greyscale reality and detonate moon crystals. When she described it, she could sense the interrogator's shock. He was silent for a full minute before continuing his questioning, and it took several minutes for him to regain the rapid and exhausting tempo.

After what felt like multiple gruelling hours, the interrogation ended without a word. Polina found herself unshackled and led away, back into her cell. By the time the blindfold was removed, she didn't have the energy to speak.

There was a bowl of soup waiting for her. Although Polina wanted nothing more than to curl up into a ball, she found her spirits lifted by seeing more vegetables in this batch. It was hotter, too. Eagerly consuming the soup, Polina passed the bowl and utensils through the hatch in her door back to the guard, and then crawled onto her thin mattress and fell asleep.

The next day, she was brought back to the interrogation room.

Only, this time, she wasn't shackled and they removed the blindfold.

"Polina Volkova," the woman opposite her said in greeting.

"...Natalia Marakova," Polina responded. She paused for a moment, glancing around the room to see that they were alone. Facing her former team leader, Polina asked quietly, "I passed?"

"You passed."

"That's good."

"However…" Marakova intoned, leaning forward and resting her hands on the table. "That was only to cover your loyalty. I want you to go over everything with me, from the moment I left you in that alleyway in Kenhoro. Tell me everything about you, the Sakamoto and what happened in the Wilderness north of Shimashina."

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Polina told her everything. The previous interrogator had already made her recount the events half a dozen times, so Polina found it quite easy to recount her tale once more. Marakova stayed mostly silent, occasionally asking a probing question or clarification, but nothing Polina failed to answer wholeheartedly. It was only when they got onto the matter of Amelia and her Asclepius embodiment that Marakova became visibly animated.

"You are, without a doubt, completely sure it was Asclepius?"

"Although the appearance was different, nothing but Asclepius could have… remade me." Polina shuddered, unable to stop herself from cringing at the alien feeling of her soul being forcefully returned to her newly healed body. For a brief moment, she'd been in a state of being where her earthly senses had been replaced by something different—something she couldn't put into words, no matter how much she tried.

"Hmm," Marakova hummed. Reaching into her pocket, she produced a small notebook and pencil. "Now that you're no longer blindfolded, draw the embodiment for me."

"Yes, Team Leader."

"I'm not your Team Leader anymore, Polina Volkova."

"...Yes." Polina reached over and took the drawing materials. She spent several minutes sketching out the details the best she could. She wasn't much of an artist, but she managed to hit the key points. Great black wings that stretched from tree to tree. Six limbs, with talons that could rip through Ironwood bark. Feathers that were as hard as steel, but could soften at Amelia's will. And finally, the pure white fur that was denser than even the seal furs the Federation imported from the distant lands to the east.

"If this really is Asclepius, it doesn't make much sense," Marakova intoned as she frowned at Polina's depiction. "She should have white fur all over, with golden glowing feathers. She should have hands, not talons. What is this… corruption of one of god's angels?" Marakova hissed the words, her face painted with distaste. "Six Heavens, no wonder the Christdom has been so angry recently. Asclepius must have told the Pope. You wouldn't believe some of the things we've been hearing coming from the Vatican High Command."

Before Polina could even decide whether to risk asking for further information, Marakova tapped the paper. "How big was she? Compare her to one of the Ironwood trees that were there." Polina quickly obliged, prompting Marakova to shake her head, seeing where she marked the paper. "The Ironwood Wilderness where the Sakamoto went down consists of pristine, elder trees. They're between a hundred and a hundred-and-twenty metres tall. If the embodiment came up to there… then she was, what? Thirty metres? Thirty-five metres? Hmm…" Marakova leaned her head to the side, rubbing her temples. "Could the exaggerated size be because the embodiment wasn't mutual? Was it forced? But that would require so much aether…"

Marakova shook her head. "Explain again how she behaved when you were woken by her." While Polina recalled her fear and surprise at Amelia's Second-Word form, it wasn't long before Marakova interrupted, asking, "What exactly do you mean when you said she gave you a thumbs-up?"

"Umm…" Polina made two fists, raising them in front of her and then stuck her thumbs out. "Like that, but she had four arms, so… double the amount."

"And that's something she did a lot, even in her human form?"

"Yes."

"Tsk!" Marakova clicked her tongue. She rested her elbow on the table, her chin on her palm. She turned slightly away, looking into nothingness with unfocused eyes. Polina could tell she was deep in thought, so she diligently waited for the woman to speak. After a full minute, Marakova quietly asked, "Tell me about the love confession."

"Y-yes," Polina stuttered. "Ahem!" She cleared her throat and recounted how Amelia had used Polina's blessing to verify her love for the demon captain and war criminal, Serena Halen.

"I still struggle to believe it, even hearing it again now," Marakova said, shaking her head. "A human and a demon, and not just any human and any demon. Amelia Thornheart and the Hellfire Captain. Two women. What a strange situation, for their perversion to be so intense. I've never come across anything like this, not in all my time at the bureau."

Marakova then had Polina continue to recount her experience right up until Polina had suddenly lost consciousness, presumably from a sleep spell Amelia had cast. "When I woke up," Polina said, "I was in the estate. I didn't see Amelia again until I found out she'd requested the meeting and I was brought to Asamaywa."

"Hmm…" Marakova hummed. "Her goal—the one you talked about—of a future where humans and demons can coexist in prosperity. Do you think such a future is possible?"

"I—" Polina paused, caught off-guard by the question that even yesterday's interrogator hadn't asked. She realised then that she wasn't sure what to say. "I don't know if I can answer that question, Natalia Marakova."

Marakova's eyes narrowed. "And why is that, Polina Volkova?"

"Because…" Polina swallowed, her mind racing. "Believing that it's possible goes against my own rationality and experiences, but I fear living in a world where there's no chance of that future arriving. I hope I am wrong." Feeling a sudden surge of confidence from some unknown part of her mind, Polina met Marakova's gaze and said, "If it's her—if it's Amelia—then it might be possible."

"Is that so?" Marakova's lips curled, as if she found Polina's answer amusing.

"...Yes."

"Tell me everything again, from the moment I left you."

Another half-hour passed while Polina explained in excruciating detail the tale she'd already recounted so many times. This time, Marakova didn't interrupt her at all and simply listened. At the end, the woman was oddly still for a moment before saying in a flat tone, "You know, they wanted to put you against the wall for what you cost us."

Polina felt her blood run cold.

They wanted to put her in front of a firing squad?

"That's right." Marakova nodded. "Even as a truth-teller, there are limits to the party's tolerance. But…" Marakova took a breath. "I petitioned the Director, and—through a mighty effort—he convinced the Party Leader. You must understand, Senior Analyst Volkova, you've become valuable in more ways than one. Not only are you a truth-teller, but your stupidity in chasing your vengeance and the information you've therefore gathered saved your life."

Polina breathed in, trying to keep her voice steady. "Thank—"

"Don't thank me," Marakova interrupted, waving a dismissive hand. "If anything, I'm lucky to get away without any punishment myself. I admit I feel a semblance of responsibility. I failed to take into account the depth of your… determination."

"I'm… sorry," Polina said.

"How old were you during the Convoy Attack, Polina Volkova?"

"Twenty-two," Polina answered, feeling her heart tug.

"Is that so?" Marakova sniffed. She scratched her nose and said, "I'm a cold woman, Polina Volkova. I know this, and I have come to terms with it. Too many years in the Bureau expose you to the worst things that leave their stain on you, slowly stripping your humanity. Rarely does something cause me to shed a tear, but I feel no shame in saying there was a time I did so." Marakova's eyes intensified. "Over you, and what you lost. In no world or realm is what happened to you fair or justified, Polina Volkova."

"I—" Polina felt her eyes water.

"No mother should have to go through that. I'm sorry."

Her stomach dropped. The familiar feeling of grief and pain welled up within her. She knew she was about to choke with the onslaught of emotion that was bubbling up, so she only managed to squeak out a quiet, "Thank you," before needing to close her mouth lest she blubber and weep uncontrollably.

Thankfully, Marakova seemed to sense further discussion would be difficult. "As you may have gathered from how I've referred to you, Senior Analyst Volkova, you'll be returning to work at the Bureau. But it'll take time for you to earn back the trust of your superiors. A guard will be assigned to you, shadowing your every move. I strongly suggest you don't complain. You can expect to be given grunt work for the foreseeable future, but you'll still be expected to fulfil your role as a truth-teller. Many interrogations will need your participation. We will also be conducting further testing regarding your second blessing, and until then, you are not to use it."

While Polina's mind raced, Marakova stood up and continued, "Now, you'll be taken to your new home: a flat in one of the recently built residential blocks has been allocated to you. You'll find it quite modern and amenable. I've made sure it's been well stocked and furnished. But…" Marakova took a breath, "This is the last kindness I can give you. Any more and it'll be problematic for me, understand?"

"...Yes," Polina managed to squeak out.

"I'll give you a moment," Marakova said. Without any further words, the woman left the interrogation room, leaving Polina alone with her thoughts.

Polina barely noticed she'd left; her mind could only think of two things.

Her painful emotions that were old and new, dull and sharp.

And…

Her son.

The child that Serena Halen had murdered.

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