Misery’s question is directed to the general assemblage, and she isn’t sure who she expects to answer, but it certainly isn’t the Lady Alodia Lightning. And yet it is the princess, parked beside her with arms tightly crossed, who speaks. “Angelsteeth has three servings of seraphim. Every month or so, they’re called into duty to rebuff an attack from the Heretics.”

Misery rolls with this display of friendliness while it lasts. “So do we win every time, or what?”

“Depends on what you define as a win. Angelsteeth resists them and they withdraw. A month later, they’re back. They have yet to be crushed entirely.”

“When you say they’re back … the same units?”

“The Heretics don’t have so many they can dispatch different ones. You haven’t an implant, so you can’t see the information on the board. They’ve got names.” An elegant finger thrusts into the light of the video plaza. “This one is Beggar. That’s Tinker, and that’s Sailor. The station named them, by consensus.”

Odd names, but not the oddest. “Where did they come from?”

“They open their own portals. As Heretics are wont to do.”

The shape of battle gains legibility to Misery. Each serving has its captain in the room, and they feed instructions to their pilots, four apiece. A flurry of names and numbers: Xito Green-2. Cormac Yellow-1. Jota Red-4. Each serving has four pilots. Four seraphs. The dots fan into an attack pattern as the enemy fighters approach. Misery’s watched enough wave dramas to understand how this will play out. Seraphim have a limited moveset. They’re powerful, but the gifts of the Larex Forge are few. The Heretics, on the other hand, have neither decency nor respect for the rules of the universe. Their units are hacked, their holy trappings undone by some voidbound mechanic, which means they are faster and their moves are difficult to predict. They’re better fighters, but at what cost? The degeneracy of the Heretics can only lead to unhappy ends. So says the Church.

Captain Diamond Sunyata doesn’t direct any of the servings. Misery watches the war hero study the battle map, her brow furrowed, the force of her focus on the proceedings an almost palpable thing. She’s tall and splendid, more so than Misery has ever imagined, close-cropped dark hair lending her the right kind of stern, martial air. The General and Major Reyes have come to her side and are discussing strats in hushed tones. The major leans into the light to study the fast-approaching Heretics as Captain Sunyata gestures at the dots and says something Misery can’t quite make out. There it is, the command structure for the battle. The trio make the big decisions and the serving captains carry them out.

She leans toward the princess. Giving in to the impulse to put her hands on the hot stone. “Are you nervous?”