Slowly stirring from sleep, Maeve stretched her arms and legs to their fullest, muscles protesting as she tried to work the stiffness from them. For a brief moment, she simply lay there, enjoying the warmth beneath the blankets before burying her face deeper into the pillow and pretending she could ignore the world for a little longer.
A few minutes passed before she finally lifted her head.
Her eyes drifted toward the space opposite her bed, where a small sundial rested upon the desk. The Memory emitted a soft, persistent yellow glow that bathed the room in warm light.
Midday.
Maeve stared at it for a few seconds.
Then she groaned and let her face fall back into the pillow.
Despite forcing herself to get an early night and sleeping far later than she normally allowed herself, she still felt exhausted. Not physically – at least not entirely. Her body ached, certainly, but it was the weight pressing down on her mind that made getting out of bed feel like a monumental task.
Not that these feelings were unique to her. Everyone was feeling horrible. Each day was just another nightmare, and that nightmare seemed to have no end in sight.
Every day was another battle, another emergency, another report of Nightmare Creatures appearing where they really shouldn't.
There was always something.
Wake up.
Kill Nightmare Creatures.
Eat something.
Protect the people.
Sleep.
Then wake up and do it all over again.
Days blurred together so thoroughly that Maeve sometimes struggled to remember what day it actually was. The only thing separating one from another was the particular Nightmare Creature trying to kill her.
Slowly, she rolled onto her back and stared at the ceiling.
For a few precious moments, she allowed herself to do absolutely nothing.
And then she kicked the covers off herself. Maeve swung her legs over the side of the bed and planted her feet onto the cold metal floor of her cabin.
The steel pressed against her bare feet, carrying the familiar cold that permeated every ship sailing the frozen seas, yet it failed to draw even a flinch from her.
Maeve paused as a faint memory surfaced.
Her first deployment aboard one of these vessels as a newly Awakened member of the House of Night. It had been shortly after her Winter Solstice, back when everything had still felt new.
She remembered how the cold had shocked her awake every morning.
The moment her feet touched the floor, she would jolt upright as if someone had poured ice water over her head. Back then, she had hated it. Hated the endless cold, hated the cramped quarters, hated the constant creaking of metal and the way the ship never truly stopped moving.
But now, as an Ascended, she barely noticed any of it.
The cold no longer bothered her, not in the same way. Perhaps she had grown accustomed to it… Or perhaps she had simply endured worse things since then.
Maeve suspected it was the latter.
Years of battles within the depths of the oceans of the Waking World, countless Nightmare Creatures, and more brushes with death than she cared to count had a way of changing a person's perspective. Compared to all that, a cold floor seemed laughably insignificant.
Pushing herself upright, Maeve rose from the bed and stretched once more, feeling the stiffness in her shoulders and back.
Standing, she moved over to the dresser and pulled out a towel. As she did, her gaze drifted across the neatly folded clothes stacked inside.
Maeve scowled.
Today was supposed to be her day off. Such opportunities were rare enough that they almost felt mythical.
It was the first day she had been free from her responsibilities as a Nightwalker in months. The vessel she had been assigned to protect was currently stuck in port after engineers discovered issues with its engines during a routine inspection. Repairs were underway, but until they were completed, the ship wasn't going anywhere.
As a result, the members of the House of Night assigned to the vessel, along with the various government agents travelling aboard, had been granted temporary leave – with the constraint that they would be expected to return to their positions at a moment's notice.
Maeve stared at the clothes for a moment longer.
Ignoring the brightly coloured clothes folded neatly within the dresser – along with the collection of casual outfits she rarely had an opportunity to wear – Maeve reached past them all and pulled out a black wetsuit.
It was standard issue equipment for Awakened who operated beneath the waves. The wetsuit was simple, practical and mostly comfortable.
Holding the wetsuit and her towel under one arm, Maeve crossed the room and opened the door leading into her private washroom.
Such conveniences weren't found in every room; only those with a certain privilege enjoyed the pleasure of their own private washroom; such privilege was afforded to the Nightwalkers. Most having to settle for the communal toilets and showers.
Maeve had never particularly enjoyed that experience. Fortunately, she didn't have to.
Shutting the door behind her, Maeve reached over and turned the shower on.
The pipes groaned briefly in protest.
Then a jet of freezing water burst from the showerhead.
"Ah!"
Maeve jerked backwards as the water splashed across her arm before she could pull away. Tiny droplets scattered across her skin, the sudden cold shocking enough to make her flinch despite herself.
She stared at the shower with immediate annoyance.
"Every time."
Muttering under her breath, Maeve wiped the droplets from her sleeve.
Taking a few steps back, she hung up her towel and began to undress, shedding the clothes she had slept in before dropping them into the corner nearest the door. It wasn't particularly tidy, but it wasn't as if anyone else was going to be using her washroom.
At least, she hoped not.
Only once she was standing there did Maeve realise how warm her bedroom had actually been.
The washroom wasn't cold by any reasonable standard, but without layers of fabric trapping heat against her skin, she could immediately feel the difference. Cool air brushed across her body, carrying the faint scent of soap and clean water.
Being an Ascended, the temperature posed no real challenge.
She had endured freezing seas, violent storms, and waters cold enough to kill ordinary people within minutes. Compared to that, the chill of a washroom was laughable.
And yet – Maeve still folded her arms across her chest and rubbed at them instinctively.
Old habits died hard.
A faint shiver ran through her before she rolled her eyes at herself.
"Oh, come on, I'm better than this."
The word escaped as a mutter.
A smile tugged at the corner of her lips despite her best efforts.
After everything she had survived, she was standing here complaining about a slightly chilly room.
Shaking her head, Maeve stepped toward the shower and reached for the controls, turning the temperature up as far as it would go. Then she waited. Maeve cautiously reached a hand beneath the stream.
Her expression immediately soured.
The water was still cold, not cool, not refreshing. Just plain cold.
Maeve stared at it for a moment as though glaring hard enough might somehow convince the ship to produce hot water – it didn't.
"Right… The boiler isn't running while they're working on the engines… Joy."
Her shoulders slumped.
"Of course it isn't. The engineers are already fighting to get the ship operational again so we don't break command's tight schedule. Wasting power heating water for comfortable showers is probably near the bottom of their list of priorities."
Unfortunately, that realisation did little to improve her mood.
Maeve let out a long, defeated sigh.
Then, gathering what little enthusiasm she could muster, she stepped beneath the steady stream of cold water.
Cold cascaded over her shoulders, down her back, and across her skin like liquid ice. Every muscle in her body tensed instinctively as her breath caught in her throat. For a moment, she simply stood there, eyes squeezed shut as she silently questioned every decision that had led her to this point.
Then the sensation passed.
Or rather, she grew accustomed to it.
Being an Ascended meant the cold posed no genuine threat to her. Her body adapted quickly, dismissing what would have been miserable discomfort for an ordinary person.
That didn't mean she had to enjoy it.
Maeve opened one eye.
Then the other.
A scowl settled firmly onto her face.
Today was her day off, and somehow it had already found a way to disappoint her.
Feeling the water run down her body, Maeve closed her eyes and tilted her head back toward the source of the stream. Cold droplets splashed against her face and rolled through her hair before tracing their way down her skin. Although the temperature of the water was cold, it paled in comparison to what Maeve felt every time she delved into the frigid Antarctic waters – water so cold it could kill a mundane in minutes.
The steady stream washed away the lingering grogginess of sleep as Maeve stood beneath it, enjoying the rare moment of stillness.
Flopping forward, she rested her head against the wall, letting the water run down her back. For a few moments, she simply stood there, listening to the steady patter of water striking the floor around her.
'When is this all going to be over? I just… I just can't be asked anymore. I swear, if someone calls me in on my day off, I'll just ignore them…'
Beginning to use the shower for its intended purpose rather than a place to stand around and mope, Maeve reached for the soap. Slowly, methodically, she began washing herself. The repetitive motions required little thought.
Which, unfortunately, left her mind free to wander and wander it did.
Maeve's thoughts drifted toward the one subject she always seemed to find herself thinking about eventually.
Especially since the Antarctic Crisis had begun.
One person.
The person who was never far from her thoughts, no matter how hard she tried to focus on other things. The person who had somehow managed to occupy a permanent place in her mind.
It was irritating, honestly.
Maeve could spend an entire day occupied with missions, paperwork, training, and life-threatening battles, yet somehow her thoughts would always circle back around to him.
Like a ship finding its way back to harbour. The realisation made her scowl.
Mostly because she knew exactly what came next.
She'd think about him.
Then she'd get annoyed at herself for thinking about him so much.
Then she'd continue thinking about him anyway.
An endless cycle.
The worst part was that the Antarctic Crisis had only made it worse.
'Is he alright?'
'Is he alive?'
Maeve squeezed her eyes shut.
A frustrated sigh escaped her lips.
"Idiot."
Whether she was referring to him or herself was difficult to say.
Perhaps both.
Water continued to cascade down her dark skin as she stood beneath the stream, already knowing she had lost the battle against her wandering thoughts.
Because once her mind had found its way to him, there was no chance it would be leaving anytime soon.
'Lauri…'
Although they weren't due to check in with command for several more hours, Maeve felt a chill run down her spine every time she thought about them.
It was an irrational thought, completely unfounded. It was Lauri, one of the Government's strongest Awakened. An Ascended with enough renown to rival Soul Reaper Jet. If anyone could survive the Antarctic night, it was him.
At least, that was what Maeve kept telling herself.
The Irregulars had survived things that should have killed them long ago. Time and time again, they had somehow emerged victorious from situations that any sane person would have considered hopeless.
And yet that did little to ease her worries.
Perhaps because the Antarctic Crisis had a way of making impossible situations seem commonplace.
Maeve hated that thought; she hated it enough that she immediately tried to push it aside.
'Dead Gods… Spell… Please be alrigh-'
Maeve's thought was cut off as she heard something banging.
She turned her head toward the door that led to her bedroom. Maeve squinted.
"What was…"
Again, the same series of knocks.
"Eh!"
Maeve shouted.
"What!? Who is it!?"
The source of the knocks didn't answer, choosing to continue knocking instead.
Having finished with her shower, Maeve turned it off. Reaching over, she swiped her towel from where she had hung it and began drying herself off.
"Alright! Alright!"
She shouted back.
"I'm almost done!"
The knocking ceased.
"Finally."
Muttering under her breath, Maeve finished drying herself off before tossing the towel aside and reaching for the wetsuit she had left nearby.
Summoning a simple Garment-type Memory to cover herself under the wetsuit, Maeve began the act of putting the wetsuit on. Pulling on a wetsuit was never a graceful process, especially not when you were trying to hurry.
Maeve stepped into it and immediately found herself fighting with the stubborn material as it clung tightly to her legs.
"Oh, come on…"
She hopped once on one foot while trying to pull the suit higher.
The wetsuit refused to cooperate.
A few moments later, she managed to wrestle it up past her waist, only to begin a second battle getting her arms through the sleeves.
The form-fitting material resisted every attempt to speed up the process. Getting it over her hips was annoying, but getting it properly settled across her chest was an entirely different battle.
Maeve grimaced as she tugged at the wetsuit, trying to coax the tight material into place. The garment was designed to fit snugly against the body, but that design philosophy always seemed to forget that some people possessed more generous proportions than others.
By the time she finally managed to pull the suit fully into place and secure the fastening, Maeve felt like she had exerted more effort fighting to put the wetsuit on than she usually did fighting a Nightmare Creature.
Another knock echoed through the room.
Maeve glared at the door.
"I swear, if this isn't important…" she muttered darkly.
Running a hand through her still-damp hair, she took a final moment to make herself presentable before marching toward the door to see who had decided to interrupt the one peaceful morning she'd had in weeks.
Opening the door, Maeve was a moment away from shouting at whoever was on the other side of the door when something was shoved in front of her face.
"You missed breakfast."
Standing outside her room was a short, almost androgynous figure who smiled broadly. A white cloak draped over their black wetsuit, and a hood covered the back of their head, leaving only their face clearly visible. Pale, moon-white hair framed their face in soft, unbroken strands, catching the light in a way that made their features harder to place at a glance. On each wrist, two slim gold bands caught faint reflections from the ship's lights. Their eyes were indigo – an unmistakable sign of a Nightwalker.
Maeve took the pot of noodles, watching the steam curl upward before she smiled.
"Thanks, Kakuja."
Taking a few steps back, Kakuja gave Maeve some room to step into the hallway.
Holding their hands behind their back, Kakuja's head tilted to the side as they studied Maeve.
"So what's up? Not like you to stay in bed so long, lose track of time or something?"
Slurping up the noodles, Maeve shook her head.
"No particular reason; can't a girl just enjoy her day off?"
At this, Kakuja winced, slowly turning to look down the hall.
Maeve glared at them.
"What's that expression for?"
Rubbing the back of their head, Kakuja made a quiet noise with their lips before slowly turning to look back at Maeve.
"About that day off…"
Maeve frowned.
'Don't say it.'
"…Bloodwave wants to see us."
"My father wants to see us?"
Kakuja nodded.
Maeve's expression slowly fell as she stared into the steaming pot of noodles, her hopes of a quiet day off dissolving with the steam.
"Gods damn it."