9
One night, between the silken sheets, Imoen dreamt. It was a dream like those of three years before. The gods' war raged on, but this time was different. The shining blade of what could only be a solar pierced the breast of a piercing blue-eyed demon. She knew that stare anywhere. With a cry, he fell backwards, a precipice opening up. From the falling shadow, an ethereal figure of white stepped out. Fury was in her eyes, and a blade was in her hand.
Imoen awoke with a start. Not quite sure of her surroundings, she pulled back from the shaking hand.
"Im, Im, wake up. They say the Lord of Murder is dead, slain."
"Huh?"
"There's a new symbol in his temples. Get dressed, you have to see this."
"See what?" Sleepily, she rubbed her eyes. "Moi-ra."
She held it in front of her. The skull with tears was gone, the imprint of where it was still clear. In its place was a mail hood. A coif.
For the first time in what felt like forever, Imoen smiled. Moira laughed in delight and kissed her. "Isn't it wonderful?"
"Yeah." Then yawning, she settled back to sleep. The smile didn't leave her lips for a long time.
