[a/n:: Dear Readers, I hope to bring to your notice that this story is tied in to The Assassin by Sightblinder. It would be wise to read his side of the story first, before reading Sacramentia, as he leads me in the writing :P]

'Lady Ravengliace, Lord Windstorm - '

'Hmm?' The Priestess turned to the young boy, who was dressed in the tan robes of an Acolyte. A club, roughly hewn from solid wood was wrapped in his hand. She kept the gentle smile upon her face as she walked towards the child, her fingers already drawing small chants of healing for him. 'What is the matter, young one?'

'Lord Windstorm.. is no more.'

Lenn Ravengliace blinked, her smile loosened to express mild shock and disbelief. Rekeia Windstorm, gone? He would be the last one to be obliterated by any within the Holy Church of Prontera. Rekeia was the finest General Priest they'd ever had, often leading Prontera's armies into victory against the invasions which were getting more and more frequent over the months. Yet the Acolyte could not be lying. His face, flushed from running, showed nothing but pure honesty. Lenn bit her lip, and nodded silently as she reached for her Soul Staff.

'Bring me to him.'

They went along dark streets in the rain and followed the high walls of Prontera's inner circle, before finally reaching an obscure corner where Rekeia had most certainly been on patrol - signs of his presence lingered still. Lenn breathed in the air which had been wrapped around the most bloodstained servant of the Lord. Surely there can be hope still. The rain pattered on nonchalantly, drenching her.

'This way, Lady.' The Acolyte led her into a small ring of Priests and Monks, their expressions severe. A darkening mist settled over Lenn's mood. It was all too ominous. Politely excusing her way into the middle of it all, she squeezed through the slender gaps between the people, only to be greeted with the sound of rushing water and a dark figure which lay in the gutter.

A queasy feeling seized Lenn as she stepped closer to have a better look. There was something horribly wrong in all this. Might it be a prank?

'Lenn- ' a firm hand caught her arm. 'Are you sure?'

'Yes, Doveike, I am sure,' she whispered, her voice trembling as she shrugged the concerned Monk off. Bending over, she lifted a corner of what seemed to be black cloth. revealing the pale, lifeless face beneath. His eyes, once coloured a beautiful deep violet, were now drained of all life. His lips were blue. Rekeia Windstorm, her friend, her companion, was gone. Making strangling sounds in her throat, Lenn pulled the fabric off him. His pure silver robes were ripped and muddied, and blood flowed freely down his prostrate body. There was a dark ovallish wound upon his chest over his heart, and Lenn could see the glisten of his crimson blood. Weakly, she knelt before her fallen friend, and cried, sobbing uncontrollably as she choked out a prayer. In the space of a few seconds, it seemed that everyone else had withdrawn, leaving her cold. Lenn reached out a hand and closed his eyes.

He was still wearing the Ancient Earring she gave him two autumns ago.