AUTHOR'S NOTE: SPOILER ALERT. MAJOR SPOILER ALERT IF YOU HAVE NOT PLAYED THE LAST EPISODE OF LIVING STORY 3. THIS IS NOT A DRILL, PEOPLE. SPOOOOOOOILER ALERT. CONSIDER YOURSELVES WARNED so I can tone down the caps lock.

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Canach wasn't easily startled. Life had taught him how to avoid it. Pay attention to your surroundings, think twice where you walk, watch what you do. Still, being part of a group had changed that slightly. Nothing had made the Commander or the Asura more pleased than jumping at him from the most random of places when he least expected it.

"Canach."

There was little reason to change merely because they were continents apart.

"Commander?"

(What in the world?)

The warrior turned around quickly, expecting her to have appeared from who knew where, scepter and warhorn in hand and ready for battle. Instead, he was faced with the Shining blade warriors sent with him by Anise. The confusion in their expressions mirrored his.

"Canach? Are you there?"

The soft voice came from him. Not from behind him, not in front, but from his body. Frowning, the sylvari patted his body confusedly, trying to find the place where the Commander's elusive voice kept sounding. One which was quickly replaced with soft footfalls. Pacing. She was pacing. He could barely remember the last time he had seen her doing such a thing.

"Commander, I'm sort of busy at the moment."

(Where in the world had the Asura planted the device? Because it had to be her, of course it did. Damned kid was too damned smart to begin with. How had she, to begin with?) He waved his companions away, attempting to ignore how their eyes were open in curiosity. Ears almost twitched with every sound. Anise had obviously sent all the spies with him.

Synthaer didn't reply. That, more than anything else, more than the soft tone or the unexpected call or even the odd device dwelling on him, whispered trouble.

"Tell me what is wrong," he almost ordered.

The warrior made yet another gesture at his group, trying to convey they should go away and leave him be. It was late evening, anyway. It wasn't like they would be able to find anything without proper daylight or an actual guide to lead them through the night.

(A little more effort and the pause would make total sense).

"Talk to me, Synthaer."

It was likely the use of her name, so frequently ignored by those around her that shook her from whatever thoughts were plaguing her. Canach could almost see her in his mind's eye, stopping mid pace, raising her head to stare at whatever was in front of her as if it was him instead. Her eyes would narrow, would analyze. Would zero in and focus as if he had all the answers.

"He told me it was my fault."

As replies went, it was a completely useless and rather uninformative one.

"Everything," the Commander continued, voice lowered, as if she was trying to get out the greatest amount of information before she lost her nerve. "He turned to me and said I didn't plan right and people died. He accused me of not caring enough about the dragons and that's why I wanted to wait instead of charging ahead like a brainless bear. He told me I disrespected Eir and Snaff for not taking over their guild before filling it up with new people! He told me it was all my fault!"

There were no tears in her voice. There was something else, however; anguish, sorrow, a charged tone which screamed guilt even if there was no water leaving her eyes.

"Alright," he said simply, finding the most comfortable rock on the blasted nothingness she had forced him to take a break in. Someone had spoken too much, a he who lacked a name and apparently the common sense a mother would bestow on her child. Still, hardly enough information. "Explain. Carefully. Slowly. As if I wasn't there to begin with."

In any other moment, those words would draw the smallest trace of amusement from the woman. All he received as reward was silence, a pregnant lack of sound which turned the environment around him all the more oppressing. When she spoke it was in a clinical tone, the same he had heard whenever she spoke to the members of the Pact. And yet, with every word which drew her closer to the end of the story, emotion slipped in. Unwarranted and hated, it filled every syllable, it traced her tone until he couldn't force himself to ignore it.

"I didn't want anyone to die, Canach!" Synthaer snapped, rage mingling into sadness. "I tried my best not to let anyone die. How dare Braham blame me? How dare he tell me I didn't do enough? I had to watch my mother be defiled and wounded till death's door! I had to run off after a creature that made me! I had to kill my brother! With my own hands! How does he think that felt? Does he think is the only one suffering?"

It was quite possible that he would have to kill the Norn in the bloodiest, most painful way he could devise. If only because the sheer stupidity of blaming the Commander of the Pact for everything his foolish mind had devised meant he needed to be taken out of commission before he stumbled into the yet unawaken dragons.

"Does it matter what he thinks?" The warrior asked bluntly.

There were times Canach forgot just how young Synthaer was. It wasn't the fact that she had been blamed for the deeds undertaken by Mordremoth which bothered her. It was that a friend had done so. Hearing her like that was like sitting by a side on the Grove, watching as the newborn saplings began interacting and worrying, trying not to be harmed but still not strong enough to understand some things should not impact one's life. Synthaer cared still. No amount of dragon spawn had taken that from her.

"Commander," he attempted once more. "Listen to me. It doesn't matter. You can't control the actions of everyone around you. You can only analyze them and react accordingly."

Silence was his only answer. He took it as his cue to continue.

"He wants to do this and his people wants to follow him. Good for them. You gave them another option. You cannot control all their decisions and all their actions. That's insane. What you can do is to continue whatever you are doing, find the weaknesses of the dragons and bring them forth whenever possible. Think of your path and yours alone. Think of your guild. Are you doing the right thing? Are you doing what you need to do?"

There was a long pause before he heard her reply, assured and unhesitant.

"Yes."

For a reason Canach could not name, that made him feel almost comforted. The last thing they needed was a dragonslayer confused about what she had set out to do.

"Then keep at it. You'll get to the same goal eventually," the warrior concluded. And because that was honestly not enough. "Also, he's an idiot. I do not know why you trust him so."

Finally, there was a snicker from the other side of the device. A little laugh, over a second after starting but enough for him.

"I'm glad I called you," she whispered.

"Hm." He could say she was welcome but then again, emotions were something she did much better than he. Logic, however? That was his ballgame. "No chance you're about to tell me where the kid hid whatever she planted on me?"

Her renewed silence held no anguish that he could sense, the emotion pulled back until a later date. There was a little relief, a little gratitude, both drowned in the familiar drive and focus which began returning.

"It wasn't her," the (blasted) woman declared calmly. "Call me when you need me. Stay safe, Canach."