Many thanks to @Assembler, @fabledFreeboota, @Skyrunner, and ShadowStepper1300 for betareading.
Many thanks to @MugaSofer for fact checking.
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"Panacea, we need to talk."
Amy didn't bother turning to look. It wasn't that she knew who it was—she just didn't care.
She lay spread-eagled on the roof of the Medhall building. It had always been one of Vicky's favorite places to, as she would have put it, "swoop down from." Amy had been up here hundreds of times, but never before had she been here alone.
There was the tapping of metal boots on concrete as the person approached. They stopped just outside of her field of view. They said nothing, but Amy knew they were watching her.
She ignored them in favor of looking up into the blue sky. There were clouds dotting it—nothing like the overcast storm of a few hours ago, but not quite clear yet.
Amy felt irrationally angry at those few clouds. Vicky had always preferred clear skies, while Amy tended to prefer days when the marine layer flowed in and the daylight was filtered and gray. The melding of the two, in the early-afternoon sky, made Amy want to scream.
There was a clinking as the person sat down next to her, their armor impacting itself like chiming bells. They remained otherwise silent.
Vicky's heart had already stopped by the time Gallant had brought her in. Her lungs had been totally shredded, and she'd lost almost two liters of blood. Four of her thoracic and three of her lumbar vertebrae had been broken to varying degrees, from fractures to total pulverizations.
All of this, Amy could have healed, given time and equipment—of which she'd had neither. She'd been working against the clock. Vicky's brain had already passed the threshold for permanent brain damage, and was rapidly approaching functional brain death.
Amy had tried, of course. She'd tried everything from rerouting blood manually to repairing only the respiratory system, just to keep the brain oxygenated and alive. But without a heartbeat and with a shattered ribcage, there was simply no way to make it work. Too little of the structure remained to support the rest, even with her help.
By the time Amy had realized the impossibility of her usual approaches, Vicky's prefrontal cortex had gone out like a lightbulb burning through its filament, and it was over. All she could do then was to heal what she could of Vicky's surface injuries, and hold her as the rest of her brain suffocated.
It wasn't that the task had been impossible. It was that Amy had been too stupid to approach it in any way but the one she always used; and with injuries like that, the usual approach simply wasn't enough.
"At some point," said the person sitting next to her in a voice like a gentle breeze, "we have to accept that it's not our fault."
Amy twitched. "What the fuck do you know about it?" she asked, and was surprised to find that her voice was dry and hoarse. She hadn't used it in hours.
"Some," said the girl, "but not as much as you."
Amy swallowed. "Then shut up," she said, "and leave me alone."
"You've been alone for quite long enough, I think."
Amy's head turned, striking the concrete of the roof in her haste, and she glared at the armored girl. "
I don't want you here," she bit out. "Go away."
Annatar shook her head. "You don't deserve to be alone."
"Too fucking late," Amy growled.
Annatar didn't reply for a moment. She just sat there, perfectly serene, watching Amy through those dark eyes.
Then the Ward reached up to her helmet. "I want you to imagine," she said, "that I'm a mirror."
She pulled off the silver helmet. A thin girl with sharp eyes and wavy, black hair looked back at Amy.
"Imagine that this is your face," she said. "What do you want to do?"
Amy stared. "You really want to know?"
"I already do," said Annatar with a faint smile. "Go ahead."
So Amy punched her. It felt good, so she did it again. And again, and again, and again.
She was on top of Annatar, and her fists were driving themselves, one after another, into the girl's eyes and cheeks. She was crying, now—she could barely see her target through the blur.
It went on, until Amy found that her strength had waned, and she was doing little more than weakly flailing at the girl beneath her. When she found she could barely hold herself up, Annatar caught her and helped her back up into a sitting position.
"I'd ask if you were feeling better," said the Ward, voice slightly tight with pain, and muffled by cut lips, "but I know better."
Amy didn't reply except by wiping away her tears with her sleeves. "You're fucking weird," she said. "You know that?"
"I've been told. Not in so many words, though." Annatar was seated next to her, her hands about her knees. Together, they looked up into the foothills to the west.
"I loved her," said Amy.
Annatar didn't reply, but Amy knew she had her attention.
"Not like—not like I should have, I mean. Not like a sister." Amy shuddered. "Do you know what that's like? To
know you're fucked up, to know you
want something that you shouldn't, to know there's something
not right in your head, and not to be able to do a damn thing about it?"
"No," Annatar said. "Tell me, if you can."
Amy swallowed. "I don't know how."
Annatar nodded. For a moment, there was silence.
"Carol Dallon," the Ward finally said. "Who is she?"
"She took me in," Amy said hoarsely. "Took care of me, made sure I was fed and clothed and comfortable."
"I see."
And Amy knew she did.
"What about Mark?"
"Clinical depression," Amy said quietly. "Not a bad guy. Just…"
"Useless when you need him." Annatar's voice was low. "Not a great trait, in a father."
"No. Not at all."
Annatar sighed. "I'm beginning to understand."
"I'm
alone," said Amy. "The only person to ever be there for me—the only person I've ever loved—is gone." Her voice broke and before she knew it, she was burying her head in her knees again. Her shoulders shook as she sobbed.
Annatar didn't touch her, didn't seem to move, although Amy was sure she was watching. After what felt like an hour, Amy finally got her tears under control. She sat there in silence save for her own heavy breathing.
Only then did Annatar speak again. "Did you ever tell Vicky how you felt?"
Amy snorted. "Of course not. How the fuck would I even go about it? 'Oh, hey, sis! By the way, I've had an incestuous crush on you for years!' No way that goes well."
"Maybe, maybe not," said Annatar. "It couldn't have made you
more alone, though."
Amy glanced over at her blankly. "Uh—hello? It would've driven
Vicky away. You know, the one person who
was in my corner?"
"Was she?" Annatar shook her head. "She never got to
see your corner, Amy. You didn't let her. Trust is intimacy; intimacy, trust. Without the one…"
She trailed off. Amy got the point. She looked away, back into the West.
"You've been alone a very long time, Amy," Annatar said.
"Yeah, rub it in, why don't you?"
"You misunderstand. People don't survive that. It's the kind of thing one person in a million can come out of alive."
Amy's lips twitched, looking over at the edge of the rooftop. "Haven't come out yet."
"No," agreed Annatar. "Not yet. But you don't understand—it took something absolutely overwhelming to break you. A lesser woman would have broken years ago."
"Yeah, sure."
Annatar shook her head. "I did."
Amy blinked at her. "What?"
"My mother died in a car crash. My dad fell into depression. My only real friend turned on me, and got the entire school against me." Annatar smiled slightly. "For eighteen months, I was as alone as you. Only eighteen months, and it ended with me breaking. For you, it's been how many years? Three, since you triggered—and how many more before that?"
Amy looked away. The answer, of course, was 'as long as I can remember.'
"You're a woman like few others, Amy," said Annatar quietly. "
No man is an island entire of itself—except you."
"I don't feel
entire." Amy shook her head. "I died with Vicky there, I think."
"So did I," said Annatar gently, "when my mother died. Life goes on, like a lizard without its tail."
"I don't
want to go on," Amy protested. "I don't
want to keep going without Vicky. Why should I? What's the fucking point?"
"I don't know," said Annatar simply. "You'll have to find one for yourself. But you
will find one. I did. Shadow Stalker did—and then another, once I dismantled that one. I said
life goes on—not just a beating heart and breathing lungs, but
life. This isn't the end."
"It
feels like a hell of an ending."
"Oh, it is," Annatar agreed. "
An ending. Not
the end. Not yet."
Amy chuckled. "you're going to a lot of effort to get me to go back to healing," she said dryly. "What, got something you can't fix?"
"If I had my way," said Annatar quietly, "I'd strip your powers from you and cast them into the night. They've done you no good, and a world of harm."
Amy stared at her.
"No, Amy," said Annatar. "I'm not here for your powers. I'm here for you."
"Why?" Amy's voice was faint.
Annatar sighed. "Because I care—and because you're special."
"Special? And you're sure this
isn't about my powers?"
"Absolutely sure." Annatar held out a hand, and something glittered in it. Amy looked.
It was a ring, beautifully crafted of Annatar's silver-white mithril and inlaid with diamonds. It seemed to glow from within rather than reflecting the daylight, and the glimmer played on Annatar's armor and made her face look pale.
"This is Nenya," said Annatar, and her voice actually caught on the name, as if in grief. "The Ring of Adamant. It was one of my first works, and I've been its steward since then—but not its keeper. Never its keeper."
"This is one of your modules," murmured Amy.
"Yes. A Ring of Power." Annatar swallowed. "If you'll accept it… it's yours."
"…Why?"
"Nenya is the Ring of Adamant," said Annatar quietly. "The Ring of the Unbowed. It chose you."
"It… chose?"
"Rings of Power aren't mere trinkets or baubles." Annatar smiled sadly. "They aren't alive like you or I, but they do have minds of their own, to an extent. Nenya wants a bearer that will complement it—and that's you, Amy."
"But I—" Amy reached for words. "I
didn't—"
"You broke," Annatar agreed. "If you were literally
impossible to break, you would have no need for Nenya. It
wants to be needed—but it also wants to be
earned. You're right there, at that precipice."
"How can you
know?"
Annatar shrugged. "I'm the Ring-Maker," she said, as if that explained everything. "I have an instinct for these things."
Amy shook head. "No. No, this is crazy." A darkly amused grin suddenly found itself on her features. "Carol always told me not to accept presents from strangers."
"And that's your right," Annatar said. "If you refuse this, I'll never bother you again. I still won't let you jump off the roof, though."
Amy twitched. "I wasn't going to—"
"Don't lie to me."
Their eyes met.
"Nenya will
help you, Amy," said Annatar quietly. "To bear a Ring of Power is to be alone—and to be
able to survive that."
"Is this the part where you tell me Vicky wouldn't want me to kill myself?" asked Amy dryly.
Annatar shook her head. "I didn't know Vicky," she said. "You did. I leave what she would have wanted to
you. Because it's not in
me that she lives on."
Amy shuddered. "You—" she took a deep, shaky breath. "You can't just
say something like that."
Annatar didn't speak for a moment, just looked into her eyes. Finally, she said, "I remember meeting the Dallons and Pelhams, when I came to apologize for Shielder. When Vicky activated her aura, it affected the entire group—except you."
"I'm immune," Amy said weakly. "I've built up a tolerance."
"Then you see the implication. You're the
only one who did."
And I'm the only one who saw Vicky without her aura messing with the image. I'm the only one who remembers her as she was.
"They say," said Annatar, "that a person, over the span of time, dies two deaths."
"I know." Amy's voice shook.
"So you have a choice," said Annatar quietly. "You can go, and be with your sister in the uncertain doom of our species, or you can remain here, and keep her alive without any of the comfort that comes with her presence. Neither is easy, I know. Neither is
good."
"I thought you said you wouldn't let me jump?"
"I won't—but I'm certain that, if you're determined, you'll find another way." Annatar's face twisted. "Amy,
please. Don't throw decades away in your lowest moment."
"Where the fuck do I go from here, then?" Amy asked, slumping. "Where
can I go? What do I even do, anymore?"
"I don't know," said Annatar, "but I do know that the only way to go from your lowest point is
up."
Amy shook her head. "The light's been taken out of the world," she said lowly. "I can't get it back, Annatar."
"No. The sun has set, and no amount of prayer or cursing will make it rise again until the world is renewed." Annatar's voice was low. "But why curse the darkness, when you can light a candle?"
Amy closed her eyes. "I don't know if I can do it," she whispered. "I don't know if I can go on without her."
"I know you can." Annatar's voice was firm. "Even without Nenya, you could. Otherwise, you wouldn't be worthy of it." She sighed. "Look—just
try."
Amy blinked at her. "Try?"
Annatar nodded. "Like I said—if you're determined, you'll find a way. So why not give living a try? You always have the
choice. It's the one choice no one can take away from you. So why make it now? Why not try, just a little longer? What could it hurt?"
"Me," said Amy dryly. "It could hurt me."
But she already knew what Annatar was going to say. "Can it really hurt you any worse than it already has?"
And the answer was easy. "No."
Without another word, Amy reached for the Ring. Annatar yielded it with a faint wince, as if it hurt to let it go. "Before you put it on," Annatar said, "you should know: from the moment you do, it will be bound to you. You will not be able to willingly give it up—not without expenditure of great effort. It will become as much a part of you as your power is."
Amy studied the silvery band. "And it'll make all this"—she gestured around herself—"more bearable?"
"No; but it'll make
you more able to bear it."
"Good enough for me." Before she could have second thoughts, Amy slipped on the Ring of Power.
Something
shifted.
Water was in her veins, running like blood—cool, pure, and unrelenting. A calm spread through her, and a tranquility. The world faded away, and she was deep, deep under the water, with light filtering down upon her in fractal patterns as the waves far above refracted and transmitted it down into the bottom of the world in thick, liquid beams. The rays of light seemed solid enough that she felt she could take hold of one and climb it, like a rope, straight to the sky.
A rushing, roaring sound, like a waterfall, burst upon her ears. Nenya curled about her finger in a gentle caress, cleansing, purifying, and fortifying.
Nenya, the Ring of Water.
Her vision cleared, and Amy found she was standing, looking around in wonder. The world looked so
different through eyes that were enhanced by the Ring of Water. She could see, and hear, and
feel so much more—the swaying of trees in the faintest breeze, the sound of cawing gulls on the coast, and the minute variations in the blanket of wind which encased her.
Vicky's death was still there, a throbbing ache in her chest, like a wound slowly scabbing over. Nenya had not touched it—and Amy knew that, if it had, she would have taken it and leapt off the roof at once with it in hand, hoping in some way to damage it with her death. But that wasn't what the Ring of Water did.
It had no power to make her forget. All it could do was support her as she endured.
Annatar stood up. "It's taken to you," she said. She was smiling—openly and honestly, with only a trace of grief. "You match it well."
Amy stared at her. Her face fell. "This isn't over," she said. "I'm still just
trying."
Annatar's smile twisted into a wry grin. "What do you think the rest of us are doing?"
A gentle breeze came in from the West. It ruffled their hair affectionately as it passed on. Annatar looked into it, and something was in her eyes that Amy couldn't identify.
"I'd best be going," said the Ring-Maker.
"That's it?" Amy asked. "No contract, no terms? Nothing in exchange?"
Annatar shook her head. "The Three aren't under my dominion," she said. "Your loyalties and causes are your own. That being said…" she smiled slightly. "There is a place in the Wards for you, if you want to get away from Carol."
"Maybe I'll take you up on that." Amy shook her head. "I should wake her up first, though, shouldn't I?"
"Probably, yes," Annatar agreed. She stood aside and gestured to the fire escape.
Amy nodded, and tenuously took her first few steps into a world without Vicky.
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Please consider donating to my Patreon. Many thanks to those who have already donated.
Though Clocky already has a Ring, so he can't get Lumeya. Pity. I think it could've been nice. 
