"Shit," I heard Varric cry out as he brought Bianca to bare. "I see why you didn't want to help."

Even with Varric's profanity and a weapon pointing at him, the spirit didn't seem to notice us. Duty had gained back some of his strength, as was evident by his strong green glow, even if he hadn't figured out how to remove my dagger from his form. Still, I don't think that was the reason he was wailing into the night like a tormented ghost, his hands wringing in front of him. It was a terrifying scene to behold, but I could only look on in confusion.

I'd never seen him like this before. Duty always performed his tasks with emotionless fidelity; ready to follow his orders with unhindered precision. This emotional display, though typical of many spirits, seemed completely out of character for him.

But as I watched, I became more and more convinced that this was no trick, trap, or treachery. His pain was real.

"Stop," I put my hand up to block Bianca. I sensed no hostility from him this time. Something felt very...different.

Varric didn't put his crossbow away, but he also didn't fire it. "You sure about this, Kid?"

"No."

Duty saw us this time and his crying stopped. He stared at us, his eyes disturbingly haunted. He didn't move to attack, even as he noted the weapons in our hands.

He was actively trying to block me again, but with very little success. Even without his mind open, I could tell he was assessing us, even as we assessed him. He must have known he couldn't take on all three of us; perhaps he was trying to figure out a way to carry out his order.

I heard Varric speak up behind me. "Make any sudden moves, Lackey, and Bianca will give you more than that knife to wail about!"

I saw the spirit's eye flick towards my companion, but he made no other movements. The thought that there may be Carta waiting in ambush crossed my mind, but it was easily dismissed. There was no trap and no ambush. Even a spirit can't fake the kind of misery I sensed from him. He was crying for help, and was just uncertain he'd get it from us.

I slowly approached him, blade still in hand though I did not brandish it. He knew I was coming closer, but made no reaction otherwise. He simply floated in place, looking miserable.

"Are you going to kill us?" I tried to keep my voice steady, but I couldn't hide the hint of anger and fear.

"No, Ser," he answered.

"You said you were ordered to kill us."

"I have no orders, Ser." The hurt was even louder as he said it. He was struggling to hide his thoughts from me, or he was trying to decide if he still wanted to.

"You mean there was never an order to kill? You just did it because..."

"I was ordered to kill, Ser, but..." He looked away, curling in on himself like a scolded child. I heard him whisper something, but I couldn't quite hear it.

"Duty?"

He said it louder the second time. "I've been...released, Ser."

I didn't understand. "Released?"

"I've...I've been dismissed, Ser. I have no Commander. I have nothing."

I understood now, and his pain became clear. Few things cause more anguish for a spirit than to lose their purpose, as it was the first step to becoming a demon. Without allegiance...

"Because you failed to kill us?" I wanted to still be angry at him, but I couldn't. He needed my help.

Duty shook his head. "No, Ser. My success evoked my punishment. She ordered the death of Sommer De'Voir if he spoke, and I carried out the command. When I reported my success she...released me."

She? "Brice?"

"Yes, Ser."

"Brice is your Commander?"

"Was...Ser," Duty corrected me, a strangled sob escaping his voice. "She is no longer."

"Whoa, whoa," Varric stepped forward, waving Bianca in front of him. "You trying to tell me your master was Ser Brice? A templar?"

"Yes, Ser."

Varric looked at me, baffled, but I had no answers for him. "I thought the idea of dwarves summoning spirits was insane. How the hell does a templar summon a spirit from the Fade?"

"She didn't summon me, Ser. I was summoned before we met. She took command of me after my master was slain." He hung his head in sorrow, though I wasn't sure if it was for his slain master, or because he was still without one. When he lifted his head again, I saw desperation and torture in his eyes. "I am nothing without a Commander. I have no duty without someone to tell me what to do. Ser, would you...would you be willing to..."

"Oh, no!" Varric gave a hostile laugh, Bianca's sites never leaving the spirit. "You can't just tell us one master is dead, the other releasing you, and expect us to just take you up just like that."

"Please, Ser." His voice cracked with untamed despair, his hands twisting so much I would have feared injury if he'd had a body. "I am nothing without someone to command me."

"We're not doing anything for you until you answer some questions for us." Varric said stubbornly.

The spirit couldn't hide his disappointment, but he nodded. "Yes, I'll answer as best I can, Ser. I have no orders of silence."

"To start," Varric lowered Bianca again, glowering at the cowering spirit. "Who summoned you?"

"I don't know, Ser."

"Don't play dumb. How can you not know who summoned you?"

"I always make myself forget when I gain a new master, Ser, that I might serve them without hindrance."

"You don't remember any of your previous masters?"

"I have not removed my memory of Brice, but other than her? No, Ser."

"But you do know you were summoned? You didn't just get dragged here through the Breach or a Fade Rift?"

"I was summoned before the Breach, Ser."

"Alright, fine, so we at least know your original master was a mage. So how did a templar become your master?"

"After my previous master was slain, she took command of me, Ser."

"Convenient." That was the sarcastic Varric again. "And it doesn't tell me shit. Do you at least remember how your previous master died?"

"Slain, Ser."

"Can you be more specific?"

"No, Ser."

Varric let out a sigh, and was about to ask another question when he was interrupted by...Maryden? "It probably happened when the Dairsmuid's Circle was Annulled."

We all spun around to face her. She stared back timidly, surprised at our surprise.

"Come again?" Varric asked dubiously.

"Brice was a templar at Dairsmuid's Circle, remember?" We didn't respond, still looking at her in confusion, so she continued. "You do know why the Seekers evoked the Right of Annulment there, don't you?"

I saw Varric relax his shoulders in realization. I had forgotten it as well. The Rivaini were similar to the Avvar when it came to how they viewed spirits. Unlike the mages of southern Thedas, the Rivaini respected and revered them. They summoned and communed with spirits regularly, and even deliberately allowed their mages to be possessed.

Spirit summoning and possession; that was all the excuse the Chantry needed to have the mages wiped out and the Circle destroyed.

"You're from the Dairsmuid Circle, too?" Varric asked Duty.

Duty nodded. "Yes, Ser."

"How in the Maker's name did you survive the Annulment?"

"I didn't possess a mage, Ser. The templars only killed the abominations. It was easy for me to flee and hide, as I was commanded to do."

"Clearly Brice found you."

"Yes, Ser. She and I have been friends for a very long time. At least...we had been friends."

The pain within him returned, and he didn't even try to block me this time. I could see the source as though I had been there. Brice had already been with the circle for several years, gaining the rank of Knight-Captain, before Duty was summoned by an unknown mage. By that time she was fully accustomed to – and even accepting of – spirits and possessed mages in the Circle. Very unusual for a templar, but the distance, isolation, and cultural differences in Rivain made for strange reconciliations.

I recalled Brice's trauma when I found her in the throes of lyrium withdrawal and the visions she saw. Death; the mages of Dairsmuid, murdered by her hands after carrying out the Annulment. Duty found her outside the city, her armor covered in blood, her soul in despair. He was also in distress, having just lost his commander and everyone he'd cared about. Two souls from the same tragedy cleaved to each other. She had accepted his loyalty and service without hesitation.

He didn't just feel the hurt of losing a commander, but losing a friend, too.

"Moving on then," Varric interrupted our thoughts. "Why did you murder the Marquis? Why would Brice order you to kill her own father?"

"I do not know, Ser. I follow orders. I do not question them." He said it as though it were the most obvious thing, while still retaining a haunted, baffled look.

"Why would you take orders from him if he wasn't your commander?"

"She ordered me to obey him, Ser. She even told me that he outranked her, as her father. That is until she revoked his rank after he enraged her. I stopped taking orders from him after that."

"Pretty sure that's not how most rankings work, Lackey."

"My commander determines how rankings work, Ser. I simply follow their guidance."

Varric gave a grunt of annoyance before whispering to me from the corner of his mouth. "Is this spirit for real?"

"No," I answered in a similar whisper. "He's a spirit. They're not real."

"Right..." Varric didn't seem to think I understood him. I thought I understood him just fine. "So Brice removes her father's ability to command you, then orders you to kill him. Her own father."

"Yes, Ser."

"Why?"

"I do not know, Ser."

"So what about the Carta? Did she order them to kill Sommer, too?"

"No, Ser, I cannot defeat you alone, so I asked them to assist me."

"And they just did so out of the goodness of their hearts, I suppose?"

Duty didn't understand Varric's humor. "No, Ser. He was threatening to reveal their plans to the Provisional Viscount. They agreed that he had to be stopped."

"Do you have any loyalty to the Carta?"

"No, Ser," Duty shook his head. "I obeyed them at the behest of Sommer De'Voir."

Varric paused a moment, letting Duty's words sink in. He didn't realize this, but his questions were keeping the spirit calm. Even without a master or commander, as long as he was able to obediently answer questions, he was fulfilling his purpose as a spirit of Duty. That helped.

"So just what was the Carta planning? Why would they want to prevent the rebuilding of Kirkwall?"

"To keep the city weak and make it easier to eventually take it over, Ser. Lord De'Voir needed their lyrium, and so they forced him to direct the rebuilding funds to them instead."

"So the Carta has all the funds?" Varric shook his head in disappointment. "And here I thought I might get my money back." Despite his financial disappointment, Varric was done questioning him. "What do you think, Kid? Is he trustworthy?"

"Yes." Despite his failed attempts to block me earlier, I knew he was being honest.

It was enough for Varric, and he put Bianca away. I put my dagger away as well. "So, now we have to decide what to do with him."

"He wants one of us to be his Commander." I reminded him. "He needs someone he can obey."

Maryden spoke up. "How about we just command him to go back to the Fade where he belongs."

"Nah, I'd rather keep him, Diva," Varric said as he looked over the nervous spirit. "Brice is still out there, and she clearly wants us dead. The Carta may still be an issue as well. I want to keep Duty around for a while until we can find out why."

Maryden didn't like the idea one bit.

"Which means one of us is going to have to take command of him." Varric slowly approached the spirit. Duty looked at him anxiously, but didn't move or flee. He already knew what Varric was about to do and was bracing himself for it. In one quick motion, Varric grabbed my blade from Duty's arm and yanked it out. The spirit made a sound somewhere between a grunt and a whimper, but made no other complaints. He was grateful to have it out. "Do you have any preferences, Lackey?"

Duty only looked to each of us in confusion. "I...I will accept whomever will accept me, Ser."

"I could always give you to Diva."

"Don't you dare!" Maryden was not as amused by the idea as Varric was.

The look on Duty's transparent face suggested he didn't like the idea either. "I...don't think she likes me, Ser."

"Then I guess that settles it." Varric turned back to us, flipping my dagger expertly in one hand. He gave it one more toss and caught the blade on the flat side, avoiding any cuts before holding it out to me. "He's all yours Kid."

It took me a few heartbeats to realize what he meant. "Wha...I thought you would take him."

"Not interested. Besides, might be good for you to have a henchman for a change."

"Bu...but I don't lead, I follow."

"There's always a first for everything."

"We could ask Aveline. She knows duty. The emotion, I mean...not the spirit."

"Kid..." His whisper took on a serious tone, taking my arm and placing the handle of my dagger into my palm, forcing me to take it. "I still don't fully trust this spirit, but we may need him."

"I help people; 'duty' doesn't matter to me."

"I can help, Ser," Duty spoke up. He was staring at us, wringing his hands in front of him again as the distress began to slowly build up. He was going to start wailing soon if we didn't decide. "I will do whatever you ask of me, Ser. I will show kindness and heal those in pain at your behest."

"You tried to kill me!" My throat still hurt, too.

"Yes, Ser, but I no longer have orders to kill you."

Was I this naive when I was a spirit?

He didn't understand. He wouldn't, though. Spirits are too focused on a single goal to see the bigger picture. They even make themselves forget if it means they might lose their purpose. It kept them from learning. I'm glad I wasn't like that anymore.

I put my weapon away in a failed attempt to avoid eye-contact with Duty. He was completely focused on me now, still wringing his hands in agitation. He had been a problem for me since I got here, and now I was to give him orders. I didn't like it, but he needed me. He needed my help. That much I understand.

"Alright, Duty. You can help me help people."

His stance change was almost instant. He stopped wringing his hands and looked at me, his body standing at attention like a good soldier. "Yes, Ser! I will be a true servant of compassion by your instruction."

He really didn't get it. Still, it was better than letting our enemies have him, I guess.

"With your permission, Ser," Duty continued. "I'd like to commence with wiping my former master from my memory."

That didn't sound good. "What?"

"I will make myself forget her, that I may better fulfill my service to..."

"No!" Varric and I both said it at once, and Duty only blanched in surprise.

"Ser?"

It was Varric who responded. "We're keeping you around partially because of your knowledge of Brice. You are not allowed to just forget her like that."

"I do not understand, Ser."

"Not this time, Lackey. We need your knowledge of Brice."

"With all due respect, Ser, I do not wish to split my loyalty. I can serve better if I'm allowed to forget my previous allegiance."

Varric turned to me with a look that said, help me! I wasn't even sure why at first, until I remembered that I was Duty's Commander, not Varric. "Yes, as Varric said. You must not forget her."

Duty being duty, that was that. I'd given a command, and he had to obey. "Y...yes, Ser."

His words were to be expected, but his tone was...strange. He was both calling for help, and trying to hide his torment. Must not let it interfere. Must obey. Why was he conflicted?

"Duty?" He looked up at me again, attentive, but his pain was pulling me. He was trying desperately to hide it, but his efforts were futile. "What is wrong?"

I hadn't meant it as a command, but he took it as one. He was worried about her. Very worried. I saw his recent interactions with Brice now. He saw her father, the Marquis, storm out of the house, Brice screaming after him. Her lyrium withdrawal created a tantrum, and she commanded Duty to follow her father, and slay him if he spoke of their arrangement with the Carta. She ordered him to kill everyone who heard. And she ordered him to kill Varric and me, specifically, for fucking everything up. Her words, not mine.

And when Duty returned with news of what he'd done, the hysterics she showed before did not compare to what she had then. She was enraged at herself, but she lashed out at him for carrying out her orders. To his horror, and despite his pleading, she released him from her service, casting him from her sight.

But it didn't end there, and it was the reason for his anxiety now. She didn't just release him because of her father; she released him because of another, ongoing command she had given him long ago. A command to restrain her and her addiction; a command to stop her from making a foolish mistake. She knew that, with Duty gone, nothing could keep her from her coveted vice.

"The Gallows!" I turned to my confused companions, my voice expressing my urgency. "We have to get to the Gallows!"

"This is probably, without a doubt, my least favorite place in all of Kirkwall," Varric grumbled. The boat lurched and we all grabbed the sides to steady ourselves, but it held firm. It was surprising to see the tiny ship capable of floating towards the looming Gallows on its own, even with the many sales sporting the relatively small vessel. Magic maybe? Or Varric was just that competent with the boat.

I squatted at the front of the ship, my eyes gazing over the intimidating fortress as we approached. The Gallows was once a prison for slaves during the days Kirkwall was controlled by the Imperium, a place filled with despair and broken spirits, even before the red lyrium took control.

Now the island itself was covered in so much red, it looked like an open, festering wound on the harbor. This was where Meredith, former Knight-Commander of Kirwall's Templars, was defeated by Hawke, Champion of Kirkwall. Wielding a sword of red lyrium, the blighted substance consumed her, transforming her into a red lyrium statue. It didn't contain itself within her, however, spreading across the entire island. The city, with the help of Cullen and the Inquisition, had made one attempt to remove all of the lyrium, but it was in vain.

Even from here I could hear the sickening song, one that permeated your being with feelings of fury and hate. It was the worst sounds, combined with the worst emotions ever felt. And it never stopped. The fact that the place was a prison was bad enough, but to have to endure that song...

"Ugh, it's like when my classmates dragged their fingers across the blackboard at school." Maryden had her hand on her head, trying to drive the sound out. Of course she could hear it, too; the cursed side of her gift. Thankfully, I don't think she was going to make a song like this real. Nobody would want to hear it.

Maryden sat in the back, the opposite end of the vessel from me. I couldn't help glancing back at her; I still had feelings for her, and I worried about her. She was part of the reason I didn't want to take Duty.

I was surprised she was still with us, but she had insisted on coming. Varric had suggested she stay at the docks for her own safety, but she refused. She was...curious. She had so many questions and hoped they would be answered here. I didn't know if that would happen or not, but I feared for her even as I was overjoyed to have her company still.

"I can't hear a damn thing," Varric chimed in. "And thank the Maker for that. The thought of going into that cursed hell-hole is bad enough without getting bad songs stuck in my head."

I saw her look up and meet my eyes, and I quickly faced forward towards the Gallows again. It was a futile gesture; she knew I had been looking at her. I didn't want her to see me, but she was surprisingly observant.

"Cole?" I glanced back at her again, with her permission this time. "Could you ask Duty to get in the boat? He's being very creepy."

Duty was with us also, but floating alongside the boat over open water, keeping pace with us easily. I had ordered him to stay out of the boat for Maryden's sake, but apparently seeing the spirit do something only a spirit could possibly do just frightened her more.

The spirit looked at me and I nodded towards the boat. He obeyed my unspoken command without hesitation, "sitting" himself down just behind me. Maryden was still frightened, but it did make her feel a little better to see him acting a bit more human.

The song was growing louder and more irritating the closer we got. Duty could hear it, too, but he made no outward signs of distress. He couldn't hide his inward distress from me, though.

We hit the docks at the edge of the island, and Varric quickly tied the boat up so we could move ourselves onto solid ground again. I braced myself for the nauseating song and irritating red glow to be worse as we landed, but it still didn't prevent me from grunting as a wave of discomfort swept over us.

The red was everywhere, jutting out of the stone like cancerous fingers, threatening to reach out and crush us in its gasp. It was a struggle to keep from stepping on any as we walked in what was once a courtyard, guarded by a warped iron gate that now hung on its hinges. Despite the engulfing crystalline tumors scattered everywhere, we could still clearly see the source, a red lyrium "statue" of a humanoid corpse in the center; seemingly on its knees, screaming in agony. Meredith.

This wasn't the templar we were looking for, though, and it didn't take us long to find the right one. A large staircase lead up to the main prison, what was once the Circle of Magi in Kirkwall, and there at the top was Brice.

I felt her more than saw her. She was hunched over, her back to us and using her sword to keep herself from collapsing completely. Her body was inflicted with agony and rage, but I couldn't tell if it was from withdrawal or something far worse.

It was Duty who called out to her, in a hushed but resonating pitch, "Brice?"

She lifted her head at the sound of his familiar voice, using her sword like a cane to get to her feet. She remained hunched over when she turned to face us, and the source of her agony became obvious.

She was not in lyrium withdrawal. We could all see her templar kit, the tools and a vial scattered across the ground along with several small blocks of red lyrium. Her face glowed with floating red miasma, centered on her wide, blood-shot eyes. Her skin now had an unearthly flush that was not from blood or exertion.

I had hoped to stop her from taking the red, but we were too late.

"Duty." Her voice had taken on a demonic, warped tone. "I don't believe I've ever heard you address me by my first name before."

"You are no longer my Commander, Ser. I cannot address you as such."

"You dare..." She gasped as a spasm overtook her. She stumbled, but held her footing; barely. "You murdered my father, and then you...dare join my enemy? Traitor!"

The spirit clenched his fists, turning a shade of red to match the lyrium around us. "I am not a traitor, Ser. I did as you commanded."

She glared at the spirit, but could not refute him, so she turned her spite to Varric and me instead. "You dare steal my spirit from me? To replace me?" She smashed a nearby pillar of red lyrium, shattering it like thick glass. Several tiny shards struck her in her bare face, digging into her cheek and chin on one side, but she did not bleed. She didn't even seem to notice the red lyrium now embedded in her flesh.

We all braced ourselves, prepared for an attack. She stood before us, blood-red eyes glaring murderously at us. She took a threatening step towards us, but succumbed to the lyrium poisoning and collapsed to her knees. Only her sword kept her from falling to the ground completely.

"This is not what was supposed to happen," she growled in defiance, despite the burning in her body. "The red is supposed to make me stronger. It was supposed to give me the strength to kill you . Why am I..."

"You'd think Meredith here would tell you otherwise," Varric said, gesturing towards the corpse-like statue. "Nothing good ever comes from that blighted shit, Brice."

Her sword gave out, and she fell to the ground with a thud. She curled up in a fetal position, her hands on her stomach. The lyrium was not fusing with her like it did with the Red Templars that lived. It was growing, feeding on her from the inside. It was killing her.

The realization struck Duty as well, and I saw him fade back to his normal green. He started to rush towards her, but stopped, turning back at me with a pleading look in his eyes. He wanted...needed my permission to go to her.

I didn't give it right away. She was still dangerous and might have hurt him, but not going would hurt him more.

"Go."

He nodded and rushed to her side. She didn't seem to notice him as he approached and "knelt" down in front of her without a word. He just looked at her with his usual unreadable expression, but I sensed his aura of fear and sorrow, more powerful than even the red lyrium's sickening song.

She was still for a long time, and I started to wonder if she even knew he was there, until I saw her reach a hand towards him. I braced myself, my hand hovering over my blade, and I heard the tell-tale clicking sound of Bianca being readied. I could still sense anger, stemming from pain, coming from Brice, and I was prepared to stop her if she tried to hurt Duty.

She didn't. She could not touch him, but her hand moved against his jaw under the helmet, "caressing" him as though she could. Duty didn't respond to this, but continued to look down on her in pity. It was only after I sensed her malice melt away that I removed my hand from my dagger.

Even as Brice's fury faded, I felt Duty's fill up. "You are a fool, Brice! You know what the red does to Templars. You saw it yourself. Why would you do this?"

Brice gave a strained laugh. "I've never heard you scold me before."

"I couldn't scold you before."

She removed her hand from his "face" with a gasp, and she curled into a ball. Duty reached his hand out, trying to give her comfort, but all he could do was go through the motions. She couldn't see or feel what he was doing.

I wanted to go over there, to help, but it didn't feel right to interfere. I realized now just how close they were to each other. There was genuine love there. I wasn't sure if it was romantic, but there was no doubt they cared for each other. And yet, they could never touch. I understood now why the Marquis wanted to know how I got a human body.

I felt a presence just behind me, a familiar warmth mixed with the smell of lavender. Maryden was close to me, almost touching me, and I felt a tightening in my chest. I dared to side-eye her, and noticed that she wasn't looking at me. She was staring at the scene in front of us, and I could sense a cocktail of emotions from her. Fear, confusion, pity, compassion, sympathy. I wanted to reach my hand out to take hers, to give her some comfort, but I resisted the urge.

"Can you help her?" She spoke in a hushed tone that only I could hear. I dared to meet her eyes, now turned to me. Any animosity we had for Brice was gone now; she was just a woman in pain.

"Yes...maybe...I don't know..." I looked away from Maryden and back to the templar and her spirit. I couldn't save her, but maybe I could end her suffering.

I approached Brice, slowly. The templar made no move, but Duty looked up and instantly stiffened like a soldier. Even knowing I was once Compassion, his mind was filled with the dreaded idea that I would order him away, and he would have to do it. He didn't want to leave her side. Not yet.

I knelt in front of Brice, next to Duty. She saw me now, as well as the glint of the weapon I held in my hand.

"Is it mercy or revenge that makes you brandish a dagger against me, demon?" She was still trying to be defiant, even in obvious defeat.

"Mercy," I said, lifting my blade to let her see it better. Part of me didn't want to do it. Killing is a very permanent solution, and I learned in a hard and terrible way that all other ways to help should be tried first. But we all knew there was no other way to help.

"Duty!" She reached out for him, and to the shock of us all, she grabbed and held his hand. I'm not sure if it was the lyrium coursing through her, her proximity to death, or just sheer will, but she was touching him! She held his hand for the first time!

The spirit was stunned, subdued. He didn't know at first how to react. I think he almost pulled away, but he resisted, submitting to her touch. It wasn't long before he wrapped his own fingers around hers.

"Duty, promise me you won't forget about me."

It's a line I'd heard many times before. I always found it a strange request; without the help of a spirit, how would you forget someone anyway? Here, though, it did have significance.

"Ser?"

"I know you like to forget your old masters..." She grimaced, holding his hand tighter, but she gritted her teeth. "But I have no one left who knew me. Knew the real me. Please don't forget me. I want at least some small part of me to live on."

He stared down at her before turning his eyes to me, pleading. At first, I thought he was looking for permission to take her request, but I quickly realized that wasn't the case at all. He wanted me to say no, to refuse her request.

"Please..."

I could feel her pain, the fear of a meaningless life. Of fading away into oblivion. Of being forgotten. I knew someone who had that fear once; a young man dying alone in a cold, dark dungeon. I had that fear once, myself, too. It drove me to do terrible things to prevent myself from falling into an endless pool of blackness I could never escape.

But what would this do to Duty? He was a spirit. They didn't know how to mourn, to grieve, to grow. Forgetting kept them pure. Forcing a spirit to retain a painful memory could corrupt or even destroy them. Brice didn't know this, but I did.

Or maybe I didn't. I was a spirit, too, just like Duty, and I had many bad memories; not all of them mine. I fell into that hole of despair and became a demon, but I also got out, and it made me stronger. Granted, I was also part human, even back then. Duty was not.

I didn't like having to choose to heal one hurt by bringing on another.

I let out a frustrated sigh and turned to Duty, prepared to give him permission, but I was too late. To my own surprise, and what seemed to be completely against his nature, he had made up his own mind.

"I promise, Brice. I'll remember."