The visitor scoffed as he received apologies for the somewhat dysfunctional family. He smiled, "No, it is fine. I've seen far worse in my life than weird adoptive families. . ."

Confusion, as well as eerie mistrust, flooded Ashla's being. She quietly clasped her hands behind her back; nervousness made her stim.

The visitor sat straighter in the chair, sighing, "Really, I came here looking for one person. Took me a while to track you down."

Ashla felt her skim turn a shade or so whiter than usual as he looked directly at her, "The Executioner of the Wicked?"

That. . . Title. . .

It was a title she had not heard since she earned that nickname in Corone. Practically obliverating a corrupt business man's reputation, career, and life was what caused a barn full of cheated laborers to chant that moniker for the first time. The times she halted slave traders and killed them on the spot, slaughtered crime lords. . . Her blue eye steadily transitioned to ice.

The man shook his head, "Having taken up the job of being judge, jury, and executioner in Eiskalt out of duty did a number on you, did it not? How about the war?"

Her pale hands came out from behind her back, cold sweat slowly collecting. As ice crystals replaced the droplets by her magical genes, he continued to speak. "We hate what that man did to Eiskalt. The man with white hair and pale blue eyes."

Back against her seat, Ashla, Ayleth, could barely listen as he asked a question.

"I want to kill him, but I need your help. Will you? . . ."