Astrid flinched backwards like she’d been slapped. It was the first time I’d seen her act anything other than stoic or borderline hostile. That was good. The volatile reaction cemented the plausibility that she wasn’t doing this on purpose. I felt her eyes follow me to Astria as I bent down over the younger girl and checked her pulse.

“It’s low. Way lower than it should be.” I said. It would take too long to get the actual number, but Astria looked up at me through nearly colorless eyes that I could have sworn were previously a lighter shade of blue. Like her sister, the left side of her head was shaved, save a brunette braid. The right side was full of brown curls that were cut off just below her ear. Her wrist felt frail in my hand, to the point I set it down gently instead of dropping it, for fear of hurting her.

“I’m telling you, she just gets like this sometimes,” Astrid insisted. Some of the anger had returned to her face. That wasn’t good.

“Maybe. If you’re wrong, she dies. You want to take that chance?”

“… no.”

My mind raced. Astria, from my brief read in the APC, was completely dependent on Astrid. Which meant Astrid, by necessity, was probably dogmatically self-sufficient, not unlike me. She’d shut me down in a second if I let her get her balance back.

“I need your Title and your background.”

“Why—“

“Keep wasting the little time we have, and you’ll find out.” I realized, when the stony expression came back to her face, that I’d pushed too hard.

Thankfully, Astria answered instead, her voice strained. “Bad… foster home. Been train-hopping for the last few years. Got stuck in the city when the dome came down.”

“Tria!” Astrid admonished.

I grimaced. Based on their ages, it was a safe bet they were long-term runaways turned transients. There were few people more insular and slow to trust.

“Title and description?”

“Caster.” Astria said.

I blinked. “What, that’s it?” Compared to the other titles I’d come into contact with, it was oddly generic. Suspiciously so. “And yours?” I asked Astrid.

“The same,” Astrid seemed to relent, and made the telltale swiping gesture that indicated she was navigating her menu. ‘A rare title gifted to a chosen few of the Gemini Cluster. The Users will find higher level magic more potent and easier to master at the cost of slower regeneration. The pool of power is greater, but does not come freely. Why is the title so important?”

“Classes are relatively generic. There’s probably at least a few other people in the city that share your class. As far as I know, titles are unique to the individual. And most of them are double-edged,” My mind raced as I reviewed the information she’d given me. There was nothing that specifically supported my theory, but a few aspects stood out. The reference to the pool of power coming freely, the fact that they both shared the same title despite it being unique to the individual.

“Double-edged?” Astrid asked. Fear was creeping back in her voice again.

“The system isn’t our friend. It gives us a plenty of rope, but doesn’t care whether we use that rope to climb or hang ourselves. It’s satisfied either way, I think.”

Gemini. My mind had latched onto the word ever since Astrid had said it as if it was important. It was part of what I was missing, I was certain of it. If I could only decipher why.

It’s not “Caster.”

I snapped my fingers, staring straight at Astrid. “How’s it spelled?”

“We’re wasting time.” Astrid snapped.

“C-a-s-t-o-r.” Astria answered. Her voice was weaker, almost a whisper.

There it was. The piece I was missing. It was hellishly deceptive. If you were a magic User and received Castor as a title, you probably wouldn’t give the misspelling a second thought after reading the description. But Castor in this case wasn’t a description. It was a reference to a person. Or rather, a legend.

Castor and Pollux. The Gemini Twins. Skipping over the usual greek mythology fuckery, they lived a long life and had many adventures. Until they pissed off the wrong people, and Castor died. Pollux was given the choice to either move on, or split his power with his brother, bringing him back to life.

A feeling of disgust came over me, directed at the Overseer and the system itself. It would have been reaching to give someone like me this title and expect me to recognize it. Giving it to two foster kids turned runaways who probably grew up with subpar education was just… cruel. They weren’t stupid. You couldn’t be stupid and survive on your own for as long as they had. They were just lacking critical information.

“You share the same abilities and feats, don’t you?” I asked. “Most likely the same stats, too.”

Astrid’s eyes slid to her sister. “I always ask her opinion when we level, but yes.”

“Astria,” I said gently, crouching down next to the younger girl. “Do you care about your sister?”

I had to be careful here. Astria was emotionally fragile. If I came at her the way I confronted Astrid, there was a good chance she would break.

“Of course I do. She’s always taken care of me.” Astria blinked, tears forming in her eyes.

“You say that like you haven’t been doing the same,” I said. It surprised me when Astrid didn’t intervene, rather, leaned in slightly to hear the answer.

“I haven’t,” Astria’s voice cracked, as she spoke directly to Astrid. “I’ve always been weak. You’ve always protected me. Gotten hurt so I don’t have to.”

“Is that why you’ve been dealing with the pain when Astrid overdraws, and starts to pull from your portion of the mana pool? You knew about the title, but you said nothing. Was it penance for being weak?

Astrid’s face slackened in shock. “Tria. Is that true?”

“It’s… the least I could do. The only thing I could do.” Astria said. Astrid took a step back, shaking her head.

I chewed on the inside of my lip. If the shield went down when they were both like this, I’d effectively neutralized our mages. There was only one way forward that I could see.

“Help her up,” I beckoned to Astrid, and she approached her sister slowly, grabbing her beneath the arm and lifting her to her feet, then retreated a few steps away, looking bewildered and hurt.

Astria wobbled on her feet.

I whispered in Astria’s ear, “You might think you’re being noble by doing this. That she’d be better off without you. But you’re wrong.”

Astria stiffened.

I continued. “Think about every time she’s stuck her neck out for you. Handled things when you couldn’t. All that hard work to keep you healthy, and fed, and taken care of. And you want to repay that debt by abandoning her?”

The girl’s eyes hardened, her mouth forming a silent “no.”

I took a step back before Astrid could draw close enough to hear, speaking at a normal volume now. “In a matter of seconds. That shield will come down. Astrid won’t renew it, now that she knows the truth. Which means what comes next is entirely up to you.”

With that, I turned and left, returning to where Bob was still waiting by the barrier. My staying wouldn’t help them. As a third party, I’d already overstepped considerably on what should have been a private discussion.

“Welcome back to the concrete express.” Bob sighed.

“Appreciate you, Bob.”

“Girls gonna be okay?”

“I hope so.”

Bob took a breather at the halfway point, when something high-pitched and static, distinctly magic-esque reverberated over the yard. I looked back, and saw Astria and Astrid, standing side by side within a renewed shield, hands held in solidarity. Astria launched projectile after projectile, destroying the remaining walls that covered the snipers.

A bittersweet feeling of relief came over me. I was happy for them, truly. But their closeness struck a chord, an imperfect reminder of what I had lost. I closed my eyes. I’d have to deal with this, eventually. Shore up my vulnerabilities, finish rebuilding the mental walls. If I didn’t, there was only a matter of time before I started making mistakes.

For now, I had a necromancer to hunt.