N.B. Thank you for reading. All the words in the world cannot explain how grateful I am. I've come to the conclusion that leaving you guys isn't going to get any easier, no matter how small or irrelevant these little pieces are. Cripes. There'll be a brief Epilogue following this.
Sir Malcolm is comfortable to sleep on. Caelyn shielded his eyes and looked up at the big bruise planet in the white sky. Looming. Enormous. But he was used to feeling tiny. To him, the wind on the featureless plains was fresh and clean. Not painful.
Lucky ain't comfortable. Not even with himself. Erinae glanced behind her, at the black man on the black horse. He had his face down, enduring the wind instead of embracing it.
I pity that man, having to live without his wife. It's got to be a horrible feeling. Master described it as a depthless hole in his heart. A sea of black.
Erinae sighed. So damn romantic. Jayce ain't like that.
To be fair, miss, you aren't like that to him. You still call him stupid.
He is stupid. You telling me you haven't been called stupid? She was uncomfortable. She and Jayce argued in front of Dem and Caelyn pretty regularly. Caelyn watched with curious eyes, while Demetrius ignored them, sipping his tea or coffee and reading his books. Not once?
He's called my actions stupid. Some of his last words while I died. "This is the stupidest thing you've ever done, child." He wasn't wrong.
You two argue? Ever?
Sometimes. Very quietly. I've hit him before. And bit him. Hard. Caelyn blushed. He's never hit me much. Absolute last resort. Only because I was hurting myself.
That's what they all say. 'I'm only doing this because you're hurting yourself.'
Oh, no, it was always quite literal. Tearing at my arms and legs.
Erinae sighed. I just —
You just, Caelyn thought. He looked over his shoulder and grinned at her. She swatted him. I really think you should marry Jayce.
Yeh? And I think you should shut your damn mouth. I ain't a slave.
He's such a good man. Caelyn sighed.
Hey. Hands off, alright?
Shhh. Listen. They both cocked their heads to the right. Luck-Dude's thoughts were becoming too forceful, too loud, to ignore.
His thoughts were furious, blowing by like the wind. I've made a mistake. All my life I've sought purity. Bringing her back in a reduced form is an insult to her memory…But can I live with the dry fever behind my eyes? In my head? Listening for the tone of her voice?
The wind whipped and howled.
And that fog, the undead haze that was going to be in her eyes. Mold on the inside of a jar of warm molasses. How can I love her with that light gone? The only reason that pedophile can love that broken-down pile of rags is that neither of them can be saved.
Caelyn nodded and thought to Erinae. I've felt the way he does before. Not — not necessarily about Sir loving me.
Felt like I'm about to kick his ass? Erinae scowled.
He's clinging to his belief. The Wheel turns and you have to adapt, but sometimes you dig your fingernails in and cling. Time keeps fleeing, you know?
Ugh.
Master put it best.
Surprise.
He swatted her. 'Only those who live in the light are afraid to close their eyes.'
That's some real ta – aikah shit right there.
Ta – shakti tante. Caelyn nodded. Our masters turn the Wheel.
High in the castle, King Ryland II, Ezreal, Demetrius, Jayce and Luxanna sat around a chess board. Rain — slow, soft — was trickling down the castle's black stones. A quiet, soothing whisper.
When the clock struck three, Everett served them tea. His white shirt and shiny black shoes glistened. He poured the wildberry grey for them, then stared up at Ryland with wide blue eyes. He was as patient as a little sphinx.
Ryland blushed and placed a hand on his head. "Thank you, child."
"You're most welcome, your highness. It's my pleasure." Everett leaned into Ryland's hand, nuzzled it. And smiled warmly — a rare sight.
When their son was gone, Luxanna kissed Ezreal's cheek. She was sleepy from rain and cold depression. The golden-rabbit fur blanket on her shoulders was a gift from General Demetrius Falin.
Luxanna and Demetrius were unlikely friends. But friends they were.
At first it worried Ezreal — tore his stomach to bright burning shreds. After all, General Demetrius Falin was well-bred, well-mannered, handsome beyond belief. And, Ezreal thought, I'm none of that.
But with the relationship counseling with Soraka — and King Ryland II's insistence that Demetrius hadn't touched anyone besides Caelyn in a decade — Ezreal became used to it. Used to the small, panting fox snuggled in her lap during those conversations as well.
Besides. Luxanna could speak freely to Demetrius about the Noxian-Demacian war. Ezreal heard them laughing about failed campaigns. Or else she spoke to Demetrius of her return from death — both that and the war were topics that upset Ezreal.
And Demetrius, deeply amused by Caelyn's animal adoration of the princess, was happy speak to her. Happy to watch his pet fox's bushy tail swishing, as Caelyn prayed with all his tiny animal heart that Master and Luxanna kiss.
Luxanna was a b - beautiful p – p - princess, after all.
In the present, King Ryland II was frowning over the chessboard, Demetrius quietly smiling.
Jayce dug at his arms, nibbled his nails. His eyes were red, mauled by lack of sleep. Then he blurted, "How could you let her leave?"
"She will be fine," Demetrius said absently. He watched Ryland move a piece and snickered.
Ryland's gray-green eyes flicked to his. "This isn't my game."
"It's quite alright, your highness. I enjoy playing against you nonetheless."
"Oh," Ryland said. "I'm sure you do."
"It would be a poor advisor who couldn't beat his King in chess, anyway."
"How do you know she'll be fine?" Jayce glared at Demetrius, who refused to glare back.
"Besides being an intelligent and resourceful young lady, Malcolm Graves is with them. I believe many underestimate the man."
"Because you think he's cute?" Jayce's face darkened.
"Jayce sounds like me from two years ago," Ezreal murmured. Luxanna chuckled.
"I think he's cute," Ryland said quietly. The chessboard was completely baffling.
"Not my type, frankly." Demetrius nodded. "Quiet, reserved, but strong and understanding. All traits I admire."
"Apparently Erin looks like his dead wife."
"The resemblance is quite strong."
"He better keep his hands off of her." Jayce glared harder. "Caelyn, too."
Demetrius arched an eyebrow. "Caelyn's got no such prerogative."
Jayce licked his lips and leaned forward. Finally. He'll talk about it. "You told him it was alright."
"Not quite. Caelyn approached me one morning with mussed hair, swollen lips, love-bites and a simple question — Master, Erinae has approached me and, given that I've never had women interested in me before, it's rather tempting. Shall I refrain? Am I allowed to touch her at all? It is your will, of course. And you know what I said?"
"That he should fuck her."
"Absolutely not." Demetrius placed the bishop down a bit too hard. Ryland quickly readjusted the pieces. "I said, Love, you and Erinae are both thinking, functioning, more or less rational beings. Pursue what would be pleasurable and safe for you both. If she's gentle with you and you enjoy yourselves, I see no harm in it."
"He's your — that sort of thinking blows my mind."
"Why, exactly? In the words of Erinae, it's good for Foxboy's nerves an' shit."
Luxanna cackled at the accent imitation. Ezreal watched the laughter on her face and smiled too. She was gorgeous. He loved her, loved having her by his side.
"She feels a strong connection to him. Besides being born of the same celestial accident, she enjoys exploring the possibilities with a truly submissive partner."
Jayce straightened his professor tie, determined to remain silent. But he said it anyway — he was too used to speaking freely with Demetrius. Same as Lux. "Oh? What if he liked her more than you?"
"In that arena? I wouldn't mind at all. I've got my suspicions that the boy's somewhat heterosexual." Demetrius nodded to Luxanna, who blushed.
"No. Just — entirely. Loved Erinae more than he loved you."
"That wouldn't happen," Demetrius said calmly. "Same as it wouldn't for Erinae. If you, of course, let it be that way."
"What do you mean?"
Ezreal and Ryland exchanged glances. This is the angriest I've heard Demetrius, and he sounds like he's talking to a waiter who got his order wrong.
Aye. Ryland snorted. He's not the angry type.
"One of your arguments is that she should marry you because you two are reflections of Caelyn and I, correct?"
Jayce flushed. "That did play into my considerations, yes."
"You and I differ in several key areas, however, not the least of which on our views of monogamy. But there is one area in particular you suffer."
"If it's the sex —"
Demetrius snorted. "My lord. You can tell he's dating Erin the Riv. Can't you, your majesty?"
"Don't drag me into this." Ryland chuckled and moved another piece.
"You've got no faith in her, Jayce. None."
Jayce gaped. "What?"
"You don't trust her with anything. At all."
"That's — no. She's telling you wrong."
"And here's where we arrive at another point — truth is subjective."
"I know that —"
Demetrius' voice was gentle, but had a sharp edge to it. "Then you should know her point of view is what matters in this case. And not your university degrees."
Ryland and Ezreal tried not to laugh. Luxanna couldn't help it.
"You're surprised she can do math, Sir Jayce."
"That's —"
"You know she can do pre-calculus, correct? That she is an accomplished reader and fair writer as well?"
"She can write?"
Lux threw back her head and laughed hard. Jayce gaped.
Demetrius leveled his gaze. "There is a difficult line between compassion and condescension, and you're not even trying to walk it."
"I'm surprised you trust Caelyn to tie his shoes!"
Demetrius gripped the chessboard. "My dear, sweet Jayce. General Caelyn Falin acted as fourth-in-command of Noxus for a long while, secondary Tactician, and led the armed forces in many successful strikes."
"It's not hard to win when you blow everything up."
Demetrius was too polite to speak over him. "Besides all that, he is a fantastic cook and botanist. Quite a change from the shivery starving thing I found locked in a cupboard, all skin and bones. Abandoned because he couldn't stop nibbling his mother's dresses."
Ryland looked away. "That's so sad."
Luxanna murmured agreement. She remembered, long ago, Caelyn nuzzling her in a chilly dark Noxian jail cell, steeped in the blood of her comrades. Nipping her white prisoner's gown. Then shuddering and apologizing. S – sorry. I just get s'nervous a – around pretty girls. That had made her laugh — the absurdity of it. She hugged him tight. He squeaked.
In the present, she sighed. "It does explain why he's so eager for my attention."
"I think his attraction to you is a very complicated issue," Demetrius said. "For instance, quote, she be the female version of her cousin, Ryan White. S'now I don't have t'feel bad for bein' a complete homo. Both of 'ems hot, fine as hell."
Lux snorted. Ryland grinned.
Jayce scowled. "What does this have to do with Erinae exactly?"
"He went from that little shivery thing to a warrior because I didn't discourage him. I never told him he had to be a tactician or I'd leave him — I was happy to have a little fox sleeping on my slippers in the morning. Same as you would be happy to let Erin remain a carefree companion." Demetrius shook his finger. "But I also never told Caelyn there's no way you understand tactics or a Willow-Dove's place is in the kitchen and beneath my desk."
Ezreal hid his face in his hands and groaned, thinking of his son.
"And that's precisely what you do to Erin."
"No. Hell no. I've never called her stupid."
"You expressed awe and disbelief for two hours after she balanced your checkbook," Demetrius snapped.
"There were a lot of zeroes!"
"And you've got to give her space. Consider the lovely Luxanna and Ezreal."
Ezreal blinked.
"Though they are confined to a similar model of thought that you are — monogamy, of course —Ezreal's natural possessiveness has been curbed by —"
"You're making my head hurt a little, General Falin." Luxanna smiled.
"Ezreal allows you breathing space. For our conversations in Caelyn's company. Believe me — I understand the urge to cling when you've lost someone and found them again. It's very mature of you, Ezreal."
Ezreal was blushing. "Thank you."
"You're most welcome. Jayce." Demetrius the Tactician leaned over the board and took Jayce's arm. "Let Erin breathe. The Wheel's a large place."
"That's what I mean! The Wheel always picks you! With the thread and — and the space horse and — that dream you had where you saw them chasing one another through the galaxy. I don't get any of that. I dream of her pinned under a bunch of rapists, or her tiger fur being torn to shreds or the robots ripping her legs off and —" Jayce realized with horror he was on the verge of tears.
Ryland and Ezreal traded glances again.
Demetrius tapped his fingers along the chessboard. "Have you tried praying to it?"
"Praying to what? The old gods are gone."
"The Wheel itself. I do it. I realize there are things larger than myself, than logic. I'm not a spiritual man, for the most part."
"But you pray to it." Jayce's voice was flat.
"Aye. I pray to make up lost time. Nightly I say Please, let me be part of his life since I wasn't for so long. Since I allowed him to slaughter the thousands without protecting his wild heart, since I did nothing for him while he wept for me, cried out for me in the dark. Please have pity on him. He's hurt."
Ezreal's chest ached. He saw Ryland watching him. The hurt deepened.
Demetrius went on. "And so Caelyn and I meet in our sleep. In fields. On mountains. In abandoned castles. Or last night, in Malcolm Graves' memories. It was nice — though I've never seen a bar that shabby. And the comment careful, pardner, that there red-head looks like a guy was baffling, to say the least."
Ryland choked on his tea.
"Maybe we should try that," Ezreal murmured. "Praying to it." His fists were clenched on the blanket. He often dreamt of Luxanna being ripped away. Of his son. He was relieved when Lux nodded.
"So." Demetrius sighed into his tea. "I treat the Wheel like a living organism. It has self-reparation like a body cell. It can be cruel and kind. So, just as I do with the Doves — and just as you should do with Erinae —"
"Treat it with respect. Like a person. A living being. Believe in it." Jayce looked at his hands.
"I've no doubt the Wheel's grateful to you." Demetrius nodded. "Give prayer a try, I implore you."
"That's an interesting thought." King Ryland II cocked his head. "It'll be strange, praying again. Away from Demacia."
"And I've got a good idea as to what you should pray for, your highness." Demetrius nodded again.
"Hm?"
"Your pitiful skill at chess." The Tactician smiled warmly.
Jayce was frowning down at the floor, deep in thought. Then he looked at Ezreal, who was playing with Lux's hair. He remembered Ezreal sitting at his feet, looking up at him with wordless admiration, then frustration and fury when Jayce didn't hug him. Didn't believe. I thought y'wanted me to be smart!
I can't let that happen again.
Ryland looked back down at the board and clicked his tongue. Bored with winning, the Tactician had arranged his black pieces into a Wheel.
"Fair enough."
Fury.
No, fury wasn't pure. There was no place for it inside him, so it pushed and pushed against his chest. It felt like a hot-air balloon expanding. It felt like a fire burning.
I fucked up. Again. I can't leave her again.
But how will I love her if her skin smells of earth? If the ends of her hair are rotted?
He snuck a glance at Caelyn. Hard to tell if he was alright — his scarred hands, the white lightning-shaped scars dancing along his arms. A demon to begin with.
She'll be fine. She was never pure. She won't be pure. I tried to make her. But now I can't. How will I love her? How will it be alright?
He was so lost in the maelstrom of worry and hate he didn't notice they were at an edge.
The mild field and the black mountains vanished abruptly. His toes dangled out into the void. He looked out, thought of being a Noxian child whore — powerless — and quivered.
The first thing anyone noticed — stars. Twinkling, grains of shining sea-glass on a dark, stormy shore. He thought of the soft white lights in the darkwood pines at his and Senna's wedding. How they sparkled against the snow. He clutched his heart.
The tunnel before him was translucent, red and gold swirls along walls and a floor that looked like thick icing glass. Lucian glanced to the side of the tunnel, at the bruise-planet, which was now across from them.
There, a pale green Aurora with fingers colored like budding willow leaves. The Lightbringer's prayers. Prayers for this literally god-forsaken world.
He saw the Abomination waiting for his approval, standing on tiptoe and leaning towards him. He shoved past him, desperate for the deed to be done.
When she returned — he'd die, maybe.
Thrust into t'Wheel – ain't it grand?
"Sir Lucian!"
Lucian ignored the shivery voice.
"If you had the experience of Erinae — I'm not sure —"
He ignored him. But with each step he took, he felt his consciousness fading. To a heartbeat, a soft whisper like the rain in springtide, like Senna's hand on his brow.
Purity — all I've ever wanted was purity — for Her to tell me it was alright — for Him to tell me it was alright —
He looked down at black tiles with golden Ionian designs on them. Down at hands that were small, scarred with fresh, ugly, bleeding black-red-purple cuts. The bruise-planet's colored with the Reject Star-Children's hurt, he thought randomly. The words floated out of his ears.
And the skin laced between the scars was white as milk. Oh, no. I like being black.
He had on a green silk waistcoat, too, one with a fancy silver-threaded hem. Expensive black shoes. He realized with rising horror it wasn't his own body. He knew this for sure because —
Blood. He was short and skinny and wanted blood. It was like craving a rootbeer float or one of Senna's apple pies but millions of times stronger.
He gaped at the proud black-marble statues of war stallions, the lush red-blue flowers. The windows were black, the night sky thick. Isolation. Flower petals glowing, rich as oil paintings. Glittering softly — he'd used power to make them nice and that was why he wanted blood. Pushing himself too far, to make them nice.
A shiver seized him. He sank to his knees, shuddering, panting. His mouth was parched.
Heavy footsteps. A door opening. Lord. There you are. I thought I'd lost you in my own damn house. I know I'm incompetent but that — that sounds ridiculous. Ah. Never mind. I'll stop rambling. Hesitation, then being picked up and held close.
Oh, hell no, Lucian thought. He hadn't been carried in decades.
But instead of squirming like he commanded his body to, he went limp. A warm throat rumble — so that's what it's like to purr.
Poor thing. I — I know the attention isn't sufficient, but the Battle Saints, and —
Purrrrrrrr. Gazing up at green eyes. Love without definition or partition. Pure animal affection for a provider.
Alright.
The bedsheets were warm, soft, green. The neat notebooks on the nightstands were crisp, bound in Freljordian silk. One copy of Falin University's Guide to Classical Poetry. Two black cotton-cased swan-down pillows. Luxurious Shurimanan cotton sheets, a black headboard shaped like two swans.
I'm glad you're patient with me. Soft white bandages wound tightly, tenderly around each finger. Scented nicely, like jasmine.
He felt his mouth move. Of course, Sir.
He saw the red line on a different pale wrist. The scent washed over him. He struggled. No. No. Nope.
But it smelled so good. Like a spice shop in heaven. His nostrils flared. Chased quickly by a warm soothing flood of desire. Or hunger. Or — no. Just every sort of desire. Hunger. Thirst. Lust.
A shivery whimper.
It was so impure it made Lucian want to rip his skin off. Tear his eyes out. Dig at his throat until it came apart in ribbons. Writhing. The impurity was going to drive him insane.
I just want her back but oh gods I don't want it to be like this it can't I'll kill myself I'll kill her
The last thing he felt was a warm, soothing hand on the back of his neck, kneading it. Poor thing.
Gentleness. Kindness. Reaching out for something and finding it there, goodness everlasting.
But it wasn't, it couldn't be. It was impure. Not goodness. Not. It was evil. Evil, evil —
He awoke to being shaken.
A rough frantic whisper. "Lucky you got to shut up now. Serious." Malcolm Graves' rugged face — concern. But also anger. "Shhhhh. You're freakin' the kids out."
I don't care he almost snapped.
"Yeah? I do."
He gasped for air. It was too thin. The sky of the bruise-planet wasn't bright colors, but white. "How can you live in Noxus?"
"How can you not shut the fuck up, huh?" One last hard shake. Then Graves dropped him and he fell back.
Above him, tall trees with long branches spread over the sky, their tips fringed with dying leaves. They were tall, so tall he couldn't see the top. Only little lattices of blue. Before him were tall walls, but their top was distinctly a crackled black. And the grass he lay on was gray with ash.
Evil. Pure evil.
Caelyn was scratching his ear and blushing. And shaking. Ashamed. Anxious. It was actually a favorite memory of his. "N – n – not that bad, methinks. Or not that bad. Didn't realize it was s – s – so —"
"Hey." Graves clapped a broad hand on his skinny shoulders. "Don't worry about what that stupid bastard thinks. We're just here to help him."
They paused.
A low tremor ran through the ground, deep in their knees and spines. Caelyn shivered. Erinae bit her lip.
Graves shot Lucian a nasty look and dragged him to his feet.
"Come on, Lucky. Before that luck runs out."
Close your eyes, baby.
Weird how he always did.
Right after Senna's soul got sucked into the Warden's lantern, the first thing he did was close his eyes hard. Then open them. The Warden was still laughing. Fleshy tendrils with barbed, rusted hooks lashed out at her — lashed around her arms and legs and ankles and wrists. He heard a sickening cr-crunch as the bones broke. Then saw her skin split like cheap plastic, the blood pouring out into the wet dark-black earth.
Close your eyes…
I can't anymore.
The bruise-world deepened his suspicion. I fucked up. The broken angel statue greeting them past the burned walls was hideously ironic. The shattered wings were scattered in white fragments across the road. He looked up — the tallest golden tower was snatched in half, the gold warped and jagged.
This was heaven, once. Once, before the gods were undone.
He glared at Caelyn, who froze with a shiver.
Another low rumble beneath their feet. The loose glass tinkled in messy window frames.
Malcolm graves waved them forward, down the web of white stone roads. As they walked — their footsteps too loud for this world — Graves scratched a note: can you feel her?
"In this godsforsaken place? My Senna? Ha. Please."
Graves' fist clenched around the pages.
Caelyn shivered. "I – I – it's harder to be back here than I thought. I was so lonely. Cold. C – cold. Cold."
It is alright. He Is waiting for you, Graves wrote but Lucian snatched the page away.
A low boom beneath the crust of the earth. Erinae trembled. Hey. Fuckboy. It's okay.
Why does everyone think I'm ugly?
Caelyn.
Lucian looked at the fallen towers, fallen churches. She can't be here. The wind — he thought it was gone — began to pick up again. She can't be. She can't.
They moved towards the large golden palace at the city's center. More headless angel statues. Piles of scorched bones. Wasn't hard to guess who did that.
Cold hate, like the fog. Fog in Senna's eyes. All those people — those deaths — and Caelyn lived. Evil lived while goodness died. His heart cried out. His thoughts made no sense, but neither did the hot sweat dripping into his eyes.
All I lived for is ruined. All of it. Why should the goodness of others not be? The blank silence of the sky agreed with him. I can still do right. Still save people.
A long, slow rumble of the earth. Vrrrrrr.
Caelyn froze. Quivered. Shallow breaths.
It's so cold.
Caelyn. Erinae was getting nervous too.
He didn't hear her.
Then his scarred hand was clutching for the black handle of his sword. For safety. Sir had held the handle, blessed it before every mission. The shaking always stops. The white sky, the broken buildings. The emptiness. The years in the dark — never mind. Sir was there now. The scars on his fingers brushed the hilt and warmth rushed into his chest. Ahhh.
She would want me to kill him, Lucian thought. The words were high and distant. The thought broke through the anger, the cold. A long slant of white sunlight. Warm.
He had run — run from the Legion, from his wife — but the time for running was over. He could save people.
Save purity itself.
What I lived for.
He raised his gun. Her gun — his now.
The demonic freckles, ugly colorless eyes, bony foxy face — he'd turn them to blood. Good would triumph. Then he'd pick Erinae up from beneath the armpits and help purify her. She could still be saved, no matter what Ultimate Goodness said.
The bolt through the dead heaven was near-silent. Fwip.
Caelyn began to turn, eyes wide.
Boom.
Erinae squealed and hid in Graves' cloak. And Graves pulled her close with a swear.
Lucian blinked. They all did.
Smoke had arisen from the stone road. He squinted through it.
Caelyn was unharmed. His nasty scarred hand clutched at his throat. His eyes were wide with hurt. "D – d – don't!"
Lucian's finger inched towards the trigger again.
"Don't make me leave him! Don't make m – m – me stay here! I can't! I c – can't!" My nightmare. My worst nightmare.
The gray stones rippled beneath their feet. Buildings fell with sounds like waterfalls. Cracking. Dust.
Lucian's finger tightened again. Fwip.
Another one: boom. Then more fog.
Lucian coughed, hacked, then glanced at Graves. The Outlaw was holding Erinae tight. He had his eyes closed, face turned towards the sun. At peace with his fate.
That's what I always wanted, Lucky thought blankly. It's all alright. He raised his gun once more. Caelyn held his hands up, thin chest heaving, thinking no no no he'll die I'll fail him.
"Please."
Fwip.
The earth rattled.
Boom. Fog.
Then, at last, a voice:
"You haven't learned a single fucking thing. Not a single fucking thing."
And there she stood on the marble palace steps, in a torn blue dress colored like the ocean, braids gathered in a ponytail, gun raised to her shoulder. Some modified shotgun. She'd shot Lucian's bolts out of the air — she had eyes of a hawk, legs like a storm-goddess.
The Fifth Time She Saved His Life:
Caelyn sank to his knees, whimpering. Shivering. The black pressing in. The cold — Erinae's kisses and whispers fled. So did Sir's. Trying to help. Try to be good. Not good. Not good for him. The world heaved and groaned beneath them.
"Shit," Erin hissed. She tried to run to him, but tripped on a sudden swell of stone and went down with a gasp. Graves followed her, falling to his hands and knees. Prostrate.
Senna swept down the trembling stairs. Warm brown eyes blazing. Arms still strong and perfect, face untouched by death and time. Still holy. Still beautiful.
And as Lucian watched, she gathered the demon-pyromancer-corrupted werefox boy into her arms. He shuddered — a sound of stone breaking.
But Lucian could still hear her, over all the dying noise. His gun slowly sank to his side.
Her voice was the same.
"It's alright. Shhh. It's alright."
Lucian's jaw dropped. Caelyn shuddered, whimpered.
Senna pressed her lips to Caelyn's forehead. "Shhhh. It's alright. Close your eyes. Both of you."
The fifth time she saved Lucian's life, she tilted the Abomination's face up and planted a warm full kiss on his lips.
A long pause. More buildings fell. So did Lucian, to the stones, and felt them drive in deep. A heave in the earth — a few of his bones broke. A high snapping pain.
It couldn't compete with the relief he felt. She had said it. She was beautiful, she was there, and she'd said it: It's alright.
Then Caelyn shivered and looked to him from Senna's arms. "S – s – she's —"
"Yeah?"
"She's so pretty," he gasped, then fainted.
The trembling came to a halt.
The last Lucian saw was Graves clutching Erinae to his chest. Caelyn laying on top of all three of them, purring.
It began to fade, but he saw. The clear, pure, wild night-sky in Senna's eyes, the blood on her hands as she tended to his knees. Shaking her head. Clucking her tongue.
By night, by blood — that's how you learn what purity truly is. By seeing its opposite. Shifting your gaze.