Twenty-One:
The Heart of Bladebarrow

Despite her brave words, she had never wanted to run, in the entirety of her life, more than the second they stepped foot on the bridge. She didn't know how to describe the feeling that had washed over her, soaking into every bit of her being, just that it was "bad". Seeping into her bones like a poison, curdling her blood. It was as though there was nothing left inside—it was all broken, just waiting for her to fall to pieces, too. She couldn't tell which of them was holding tighter to the other's hand.

Beyond a handful of feet, they could see nothing but a wall of white. It was, perhaps, one of the most malevolent things Victoria had ever seen. Shifting constantly, winding tendrils across their feet, but still impenetrable. Sometimes she thought she saw faces looking back at her, but they were always gone when she tried to look closer. Gone, too, was the sound of the falls. The air was chilled with the constant rush of water, but she didn't feel any of the spray. Nor did she hear its roar. There was nothing but stillness and mist and the too-loud hush of their breathing.

"Are you alright?" she murmured, the words rising in fog as she exhaled.

Reaver clicked his tongue in response. "You ask as if we're on a leisurely stroll."

"Right…well, here's to the bridge ending soon."

Except she saw no end to it. Their footsteps felt slow and lagging, as though they were wading through a waist-deep lake of treacle. Victoria was tired, like they'd been walking for far longer than expected. She refused to entertain the idea of sitting down, though. Whether genuinely or symbolically, this was a bridge for the dead. She didn't want to contemplate what would happen if they stopped before they reached the other side. She'd promised Reaver they'd get through it. She wasn't about to break that promise.

Reaver froze. "Did you see that?"

"See what?" Victoria enquired, trying to tug him back into motion. She thought she could hear whispers in the mist.

"I…forget it."

He started walking again and Victoria tried to keep from dragging him along after her. Movement flashed out of the corner of her eye—a dark figure moving too quickly for her to track before it vanished. There's something here with us. Head bowed in an effort to keep from being scared back where they came from, Victoria tried to pick up the pace. The mist seemed to be fighting her every effort.

There were people in the mist—old and young; every size, build, and class. Spirits passing to the other side. Most of them didn't seem to be aware there were living beings walking alongside them, and those that did seemed content to give them a curious look. A little girl gave them a small wave as she passed and Victoria felt Reaver's hand tighten in hers in response.

"It's okay," she murmured gently. "I doubt they'll harm us unless we harm them."

"You say that now, but have you any idea how many of them might be here because of me?"

The thought hadn't occurred to her, but now she wondered about it. Theresa had said they only took with them what they brought in. Was that part of the challenge? Were they being judged for what they had done in life? Or was there more to it than it appeared?

A tree rose up ahead of them on the left side of the path, barren branches reaching for a sky it had probably never seen. It was the first solid thing they'd seen apart from the stone beneath their feet and Victoria decided to take it as a good sign. We must be getting close to the end. Almost as if in response to her thoughts, a shadow detached itself from the base of the tree, slinking out into centre of the bridge. They let go of each other, both reaching for their weapons, but it was too late. With a high-pitched shriek that seemed to shake the entire world, the shadow threw itself at them. When Victoria next blinked, she found herself utterly alone.

"Reaver?" Her voice seemed to echo, but there was no response. She tried feeling around in the mist, but there was nothing.

"Face it alone," an unfamiliar voice whispered through her head; phantom, long-nailed fingers digging momentarily into her shoulders.

A surge of panic flooded her veins. She wanted to run, flee, but knew she couldn't. Not only was the quest too important, but Reaver was still here. Somewhere in the mist; alone. Even if he didn't want to be here, he would keep going forward. She had to, as well. Relax, it's going to be fine. Just keep walking. But she couldn't quite convince herself to start walking.

"Come, love; you've nearly reached the end," a voice said gently from her side.

Victoria's heart seemed to stop. She hadn't heard that voice in years—not since she was a child. Her eyes burned, pressure in her throat making it impossible to immediately speak. "Only what you take with you." If she had known….

"Mum? Mummy?"

She was smaller than Victoria remembered, not quite reaching Victoria's shoulder—a good hand-width shorter than Logan had been—and it was strange; she remembered her mother being so much taller than her. Grey streaked through her long, thick curls and lines had only just begun to settle in on her face. Val had been young when she died—barely two decades older than Victoria was now—and, whether or not she was really there, time had not changed her.

Val gestured for Victoria to follow her and she did, uncertain about what she was seeing. It…looked like her mother, even acted like her, but was it? Was it her spirit or just an illusion?

"How are you here?" Victoria breathed, barely able to get the words out. The way her old fashioned gown dragged across the stone of the bridge as she walked suddenly held infinite fascination.

"I wanted to be. Perhaps you would have felt more comfortable with Logan or your father?" There was an edge to her voice that felt nervous, afraid of rejection.

"No, I—I'm glad you're here. I just…why? I was terrible to you."

Val hesitated a moment, considering the not-quite-an-apology, before: "You're my daughter. I may not always agree with you or your way of doing things, or the company you keep, but I do believe in you. And I know you will succeed."

A few tears finally escaped, embarrassingly warm against Victoria's cheeks. She wanted to reach out and take her mother's hand, but…she wasn't certain she would be able to actually touch her. As painful as it was to not throw herself into her mother's arms and hold her until everything was right with the world, the thought of trying to do so and her vanishing—or of Victoria reaching for her and her hand passing through her—was even worse. Instead, she followed her as close as possible, trying to pretend everything was normal. It didn't feel normal. However, other than the concern she felt for where Reaver was, it was…nice. She didn't want Val to go.

The walk passed quickly. They were nearly at the end now—Victoria could see the faint outline of clifftop waiting for them, another door looming ahead. An odd stillness had settled over her. She couldn't name what it felt like; just that some weight she hadn't been aware of feeling seemed to vanish as they neared the clifftop. And then she remembered Reaver and her promise to him.

She stopped, turning to look back down the mist-shrouded path. Should she go back? Should she look for him?

"He will be safe," Val promised almost serenely. "I may loathe him with every fibre of my being, but I cannot deny he has a very…strong desire to live. He will reach you." She paused, looking uncertain for the first time. And then the uncertainty faded to something more neutral. "It will resolve itself…if you believe it will."

"I don't understand."

Val smiled. "You will."

She reached up and gently pressed a hand to Victoria's cheek. It was a faint pressure—like a cobweb pressed against her face. She reached up to hold her mother's hand and found she couldn't. Val was simply a slightly denser patch of air than that surrounding her. Somehow Victoria managed to not sniffle.

"Must you go?"

"I'm afraid so." She dropped her hand and stepped away from her daughter. "I'll give them your love. I am...so very proud of you."

"Wait—"

"I cannot." Val gave her a sad smile. Seemingly against her will, she backed away until the wall of mist claimed her once more. Her eyes didn't leave Victoria's until she had faded away.

Alone at the edge of the cliff, it took all of Victoria's self-control to not run back into the fog in search of…someone. Anyone, at this point. Reaver or her mother or even that wisp that didn't seem to know if it was helping them or not. Give it ten minutes, she told herself. Ten minutes and then you can look.

It only took five.

Reaver strolled out of the fog, looking pleasant but eager to get this over with. The second he laid eyes on her, his expression crumpled into one of confusion. He paused just outside the curtain of mist, frowning. Looking accusatorily between Victoria and the foggy bridge, he finally enquired very slowly: "If you're here…then who lead me out of…?"

He trailed off into silence. Who indeed? Victoria wondered, curious at who Reaver would have felt comfortable seeing him in such a vulnerable position. For him to confuse them with her…she supposed it must have been another woman, but who? As she pondered, she watched the array of emotions flickering across his face—first alarm, then horror, and then hesitant intrigue. Someone he hadn't expected to see, then? Someone he expected to be angry or unforgiving of him? Interesting. Perhaps the test of the bridge wasn't just crossing it, but also facing their past regrets? Wasn't that required to leave the mortal realm behind without becoming a ghost?

Still, Reaver looked uncomfortable here, and she held out her hand. "Come. Let's see if there's a path out of this…wherever we are."

The entrance to a tunnel had been hidden away at the back of the cavern. Hand-in-hand, they followed the gloomy passage in almost perfect silence, seemingly oblivious to the legion of empty skulls watching their progress. Every so often, Reaver would brush the back of her fingers with his thumb. In turn, she'd give his hand a gentle squeeze. Neither of them was particularly willing to talk about what had happened on the bridge. Instead, Victoria tried to focus on what was to come. Surely they would be reaching the Willstone soon. It couldn't be much further…could it?

The wisp re-joined them halfway down the tunnel, drifting almost lazily through a skull's eye socket. It kept shifting from green to red, from humming gently to grumbling about anything and everything. Victoria was tempted to attempt to ask it some questions, but had the sneaking suspicion she would receive no answers. Or, at the very least, none that she would understand. She would have felt bad for it if not for how much it unnerved her.

"Steel yourself, bold ones," the wisp bid, darting forward to bounce around an enormous, circular door. "Look deep inside and ask, do you dare open this door? Because within this chamber lies…lies…."

"Oh, do get on with it," Reaver snapped, dragging the words out mockingly.

The wisp flickered back to a pale green, hovering at the top of the door as though looking down at it. "Bloody hell, it's completely slipped my mind." It paused and, after a moment, added incredulously: "I have no idea what's in there."

Reaver scoffed and Victoria shook her head. Stepping forward, she shed her gloves and stuffed them into her bag. She flexed her hands and raised them, pushing her Will into the artefacts—this time they burned, lapping at her skin like fire as she tapped into Blaze's Willstone. Runes lit up across the stone door, glowing like embers in the dark. Stone scraped against stone. With an echoing bang, the door unlocked and slid open.

Pulse racing in her ears, Victoria cut power to the artefacts. She started to reach for her gloves and froze as she stared into the depths of the next chamber.

The entire room was filled with the warm, soft glow of candlelight and the shadowy haze of mist. In the distance: a barren tree loomed in the gloom; at its base stood a large statue, its angelic wings rising high to tangle in the tree's lower branches. The entire spectacle was arranged on a platform suspended over a dark abyss. The path to it was a winding ordeal of platforms and bridges that twisted out of sight to the left. Mushrooms glowed with a golden hue, adding their brilliant light to the dim illumination.

"We did it," Victoria whispered with a faint smile, feeling Reaver step up to her side.

"Now we can get out of this blasted barrow," he agreed, pointedly ignoring the wisp as it chastised itself for not remembering "the heart's" location.

Leading the way in, Victoria certainly hoped so. Her nerves felt ragged after the bridge. She was cold and tired; supper was probably waiting for them back at camp. It already felt like days since she'd last seen the sun or the sky.

Stones had fallen from the roof of the cavern, forming an unsteady, slippery makeshift bridge to the nearest of the platforms and eliminating the need to follow the path around the edge of the cavern. Taking care not to fall into the abyss below, they made their way over the fallen stone and onto the platform. An ornately carved stone kist occupied most of the space. Victoria left Reaver at its side and edged around it. The tree and the statue laid up ahead with only a short flight of worn, narrow steps leading up to them. And, apprehensively, Victoria crept up them.

"Welcome to my final resting place, Child of the Archon," a woman's voice intoned gravely. There was a wariness to her voice that Blaze's had lacked, but also an unshakable peace that seemed to quiet the fear creeping along the back of Victoria's mind. She reminded her of an old general, no longer able to do battle but still more than capable of leading others—she almost reminded her of Walter. "I am Stone, Hero of the Fallen."

Bones and broken weapons lined the sides of the path; candles had been placed wherever there was room, their wax splattered on blade and bone alike. Looking out across the chasm, Victoria saw the far walls were lined with catacombs—skeletal figures wandered their paths, tattered rags clinging to their bare bones as they stopped to speak with spectres of distant ages; occasionally some would stop as though watching her, but it wasn't for long.

"You don't want me here, do you?" Victoria murmured. The air around her felt heavy and poignant. It reminded her of a funeral she'd been to once—a cloudy day with no wind and too much sorrow.

"I do not," Stone agreed, "but Blaze and Sol are correct: the time for what we want has passed. Albion must come first once more. Step quickly. Within the pool lies the power that aided me in my quest for justice. Now it will aid you."

Victoria couldn't tell if it was the Crawler's feelings or her own that made her hesitant to trust Stone. The Hero had made it quite clear she didn't want either of them here. Usually that was a sign of ill will. But they needed that Willstone. I might as well get it over with.

The water in the stone basin was cool as her fingers broke the surface. Trepidation growing, she slowly lowered her hands, dreading what would happen when the water made contact with the artefacts. She grit her teeth, abruptly plunging her hands deeper into the pool, and—

—instead of burning or sharp needles of pain, all she felt was agony slicing under her skin. Flaying her flesh. Ripping her apart piece by piece until—

—she lost time.

When she came to, she found she had been pulled into Reaver's lap. They were seated at the base of the basin, her head cradled against his chest. She had no idea when he'd come to her or why. She didn't have the energy to ask him. In the bitter cold of the barrow, he was unnaturally warm. She wanted to curl up further against him and never move from this spot.

"It is done," Stone murmured. "Use my powers well, Child of the Archon."

She raised one of her hands—the one not pressed against Reaver's chest—and pulled a feeble trickle of Will into the artefact. A small cloud of stone shards formed over her palm. With a bit of manipulation, they arranged themselves to form a single stone spear. Victoria cut power to the spell and watched as it crumbled to dust.

"They intend to either prove your worth or kill you before this is over, don't they?" Reaver murmured against her forehead, fingers gently combing through her hair.

She gave a tiny nod. She could think of no other reason for it. The Heroes might have deemed her worthy of wearing the artefacts, but clearly they didn't feel the same way about their Willstones. Or…maybe that was the entire point. The difference between being worthy and being powerful enough to stand alongside them. She didn't know if that was true, but she could think of no other reasons for the pain.

She still felt shaky and unwell, like the last time she'd had influenza, but she knew they couldn't stay here. Perhaps the hollow men were keeping their distance for Stone's sake, but Victoria knew it was a matter of time before they were fed up with the intruders in their barrow and decided to do something about them. Twisting some to look up at Stone, Victoria managed to enquire, "Do you know where the final Willstone is?"

"Echo Hills," she replied. "Go at once. Unite our powers as we did long ago."

Reaver looked confused and it took Victoria a moment to remember he couldn't hear the statues as she could. Reluctantly, she crawled off his lap and unsteadily regained her feet.

"You shouldn't be doing this," he said, standing as well.

"I don't think I have a choice anymore." Victoria offered him a sad smile. "I know where the last one is; we're nearly done."

He shook his head and she could feel just how badly he wanted to argue against it, but they both knew she was right. Between Theresa and Scythe, there was no backing out. Besides, what would they do about the girls? Rhys had nowhere to go now and Nergüi went where Scythe did. If she called off the mission now, she'd be dooming them as much as the others. And what of Albion? It had been a risk fighting the Crawler, how could they survive the Corruption? No, there was no backing out now.

A crystalline sword dangled from a chain above the stone kist, swaying gently. Am I supposed to use that to get us out of here? There was an indentation in the kist just wide enough for the sword to fit into…provided it fell at the right angle.

"Do you think you could shoot that so it falls directly into the tomb?"

"My dear, do you even need to ask?"

Almost casually, he raised the Dragonstomper and fired off a single round. It smashed through one of the chain links and the sword shook, swaying at the impact. The chain didn't hold and, within seconds, it came crashing down onto the kist. A hidden mechanism slid into place. Metal and stone scraped against each other with ear-aching screech; the kist turned slightly and slid to the far end of the platform revealing a gaping hole in the stone.

Victoria hurried up to it expecting stairs or a ladder, but there was nothing. Just darkness. She looked up at Reaver and grimaced. "I'll see you at the bottom…."

She decided it would be very inconvenient if this thing killed her…and then jumped in.

Instead of the endless drop she was expecting, she fell about ten feet through pitch darkness before hitting a stone surface with a sharp incline and sliding down. Every once in a while, the incline would switch directions and she'd roll, ass over teakettle, until the route had sorted itself out and she would continue her descent. Her hands scrabbled for purchase against the rough stone, but she was moving too quickly to control her sliding. Through her panicking and the drumming of her heart in her ears, she could hear the growing roar of running water.

The slope vanished underneath her and she found herself falling, arms flailing, through the air. A scream ripped from her throat. Before she could make sense of herself, she plunged headfirst into a raging river. The icy water tugged at her, slamming her into broken bits of stone and dead roots as it tried to drag her under. Water pressed into her nose and eyes, stinging. She couldn't seem to keep her breath. Every time she got her head above water, she was dragged under again.

And then she was falling once more.

She landed in a pile of bones. Coughing with every attempt at sucking down a breath, she crawled further away from the water. And froze. Everywhere she looked, there was nothing but remains—human and otherwise. All long since picked clean of flesh and sinew. There seemed to be a drain beneath her, for the room wasn't filling with water, but that didn't seem too important at present. Where did all these people come from?

There was a loud burst of cursing behind her, followed by a clatter as Reaver, too, was expelled from the underground river. Stumbling to her feet, she hurried to help him up before he could refuse her. He was rumpled and looked as waterlogged as she felt, but he looked mostly alright. Mostly.

"When I said I wanted a bath, that's not quite what I meant," he grumbled. Regaining his feet, his hand immediately went to his shoulder as though bracing against pain.

Victoria frowned. "What happened to your shoulder?"

He glanced down, not seeming to have realised he was holding it. He dropped his hand after a beat. "Nothing, of course. I must have struck it in the fall."

"Really?"

"…really."

He didn't sound certain, but Victoria hesitated to argue with him, remembering where they were. This wasn't the time or place. They still had to find a way out. Still frowning, she murmured, "If you say so."

At the far end of the chamber was a steep stair flanked by a pair of brooding statues. That must be the way out. She barely took two steps before the ground began to rumble.

What in the—? The stone floor in the centre of the room abruptly lurched upwards, bones rolling off the surface as it rose towards the ceiling. Victoria jolted backwards, footsteps loud against the remains and grating beneath her feet. She found herself looking up at an ancient, angry, rock troll.

In contrast to the troll she'd encountered in the bog, surprise seemed to have no effect on this one. It flailed a boulder-sized fist at them. Victoria ducked, finding herself thrown off balance as it slammed the very same fist into the grated floor. The chains supporting the platform swayed ominously.

"Victoria," Reaver began, safely out of the troll's immediate range. "Victoria, the door—"

Drawing her pistol, she stumbled back a few steps as she glanced towards the door. It seemed to taunt her from the opposite side of the troll. "Any advice on how to get there would be nice!"

She couldn't figure out where she was supposed to attack it—the troll seemed to be made entirely of stone, even its eyes looked like chunks of crystal. Father and Logan both killed these things? She couldn't imagine how they'd managed. Logan hadn't even been a Hero, as far as she knew. Aim for the joints. Try to slow it down.

The bullets seemed to do nothing against the troll's body. The sound of each shot echoed painfully through the chamber, making her head hurt. It was quickly becoming a lesson in futility, even with Reaver's assistance. She wished she had a hammer…or a cannon. However, after the dozenth or so instance of her being thrown to the floor by the force of the troll's blows she realised there was an alternative. If it didn't work, they would all be a lot wetter, but she had to try.

"Reaver, get to the door!"

She didn't look to see if he'd listened to her. She pulled on Stone's Willstone, feeling the uncomfortable sensation of needles prickling against her hands. A jagged stone spear formed in her hand. She threw it. Jumped out of the way of another attempted blow. The spear smashed into one of the massive chains holding the grate up. The links and spear both shattered. The platform swayed threateningly.

Another spear. This one she threw behind her as she ran for the open door. The entire grate began to slope, half-in the water now, and Victoria stumbled to keep from falling. The troll let out a wail that was more fearful than angry as she crossed the threshold, but she wasn't about to turn back to check it.

They weren't in the clear yet.

The door had opened into a narrow, dimly lit passage—the ceiling was low enough to brush the tops of their heads as Reaver pulled her onwards. They couldn't stop. Hollow men, no longer willing to tolerate the interlopers in their home, burst from the ground around them with furious moans.

Victoria pulled a dagger from her sheaths, slashing violently at a hollow man that was too close. She stumbled. Kept running. The echo of Reaver's pistol was head-achingly loud. The air was full of bonedust and cobwebs. And yet, as they ran, Victoria couldn't help but wonder if they were ever going to find the way out.

Tushaar flipped through his research, only half-paying attention to the words on the page. Ever since he had offered Her Majesty his assistance, he'd been working. More than once, Evangeline had told him he was wasting his time; Jack refused to comment either in agreement with her or against her, apparently realising getting between his best friend and his ex was a terrible idea. Regardless, Tushaar didn't really mind the work. It was simply…tedious. So incredibly tedious.

But he refused to stop until he had some useful information for the Queen.

He flinched as one of the nearby doors snapped closed. Dinner had been a solemn affair and Judith was, once again, refusing to speak to anyone. He knew they needed to talk to her soon…he just didn't know what to say that would convince her to change her mind. Reaver was the only one she'd ever seemed to listen to.

The words on the page before him began to grow fuzzy as his mind wandered in search of a more entertaining topic. He wasn't certain if he'd dozed off or had started to daydream when a bang abruptly roused him. He turned to frown at Jack, but Jack didn't seem to notice. His friend crossed the room, seemingly in a half-asleep daze, to push aside the curtains of their wing's only window. Concerned, Tushaar set his book aside and quietly followed.

"What is the matter?" he enquired, studying Jack's face for clues.

After a minute of paranoid searching, Jack relaxed, though his face was still creased with doubt. "I…dunno. Just a bad feeling."

Tushaar nodded and gently pulled him from the window. "I get them, as well. It will pass."

The only problem was: he wasn't so certain that this time it would. Whatever was happening in the Edgelands, he hoped it would be over soon.

They burst from the barrow, stumbling out onto the side of the hill, only to discover night had fallen. The door slid shut with a grumbling groan behind them. For a moment, all Victoria and Reaver could do was stare at the stone barrier before them as they tried to catch their breath. There was a long beat of silence before—

"Did you actually intend to set the hallway on fire?" Reaver drawled, shooting her a displeased glance. "Or was there some other, useful point to our near immolation?"

Victoria prickled defensively. "Of course! Hollow men are naturally susceptible to fire—"

"As is everything else."

She frowned and snapped, "Well, the walls didn't seem too badly effected by it."

They both glowered at each other…and then promptly dissolved into relieved laughter. Something about barely cheating death did wonders for their moods. The thrill of success, the relief of safety—it was like sneaking sweets as a child. Giddy with sensation. And, when the laughter faded, Victoria couldn't help but feel calm. At ease. Another quest completed; they were one step closer to the end.

Compared to the frigid air in the barrow, the breeze almost felt warm here. Everything was still and quiet. Down in the valley below a single fire glimmered with dimming light. Victoria stared down at it, wondering why she suddenly had no inclination to return to camp. Her damp clothes were uncomfortable and her body ached but, for a moment, all she wanted to do was pick a different direction and start walking. To walk forever and not come back. She could feel Reaver watching her; questioning. Victoria shook her head.

"Do you think they're still awake down there?" she asked, absently checking to ensure her weapons were all still in place.

"Hmm…doubtful. There's no reason to wait up for us; if they didn't think we could manage, we wouldn't have been sent."

"So confident…you know, not everyone is as certain of our success as you are," she said, forcibly reminded of her conversation with Theresa before they'd left for the Henge. Maybe Theresa had been right. As much as there was for them to doubt, there was a lot to hope for, as well. And maybe that belief was all they needed.

"Unfortunately, there's no cure for fools," Reaver replied with a scoff, starting for camp. "…short of shooting them, of course."

Victoria rolled her eyes. Right…like you could actually shoot Theresa or Scythe. She had no doubts about Reaver's abilities, but she was fairly certain he couldn't best either of them. Theresa…Victoria didn't know what her talents were, but she was certain Theresa was hiding that there was more to her than there appeared. As for Scythe, he was prolific. Legendary. As old as Albion itself. Who could possibly defeat him?

The Corruptor may, the Crawler murmured, though it seemed to lack his usual confidence.

Victoria fought back a shiver. She really didn't want to consider that. What would happen if the Corruptor made it through into their world? Would they be able to defeat it? Or cast it back into the Void? Or would they have no chance? And what about the Temptress? Where was she? Why hadn't they seen here yet? Was it possible that she—

Reaver stumbled. Victoria saw it happen out of the corner of her eye. A quick, almost clumsy-looking movement she'd never seen happen to him before. She was at his side in an instant, unsure what to do to help. He immediately attempted to brush her off.

"I'm fine," he snapped, stepping away from her and attempting to reach camp.

It was the first blatant lie she could recall him telling her in a long while. It was perfectly clear, just by looking at him, that he wasn't fine. As they approached the campfire, she could see that his face had gone ashen and paler than usual. He looked…ill. Not well. A prickly sensation of unease crept over her, tensing her gut.

"You need to tell me what's going on."

He stopped, leaning heavily on the caravan as he shook his head. Victoria cast a quick look around the camp in a vain effort to find some assistance, but the caravan and the girls' tent were both dark and the sight of a faint light glowing within Scythe's tent made her nerves feel even worse.

Reaver seemed to be struggling to breathe steadily. She wanted to reach for him, to offer what comfort she could, but she was also painfully aware he didn't want her to even witness this. Acknowledging it was probably only adding to the stress, but she didn't know what to do. Caught in limbo, all she could do was watch him and try to ignore frustration welling in the back of her throat.

Like a puppet with cut strings, he collapsed.

No.

"No!"

She threw herself down beside him, the damp grass furtherly soaking her knees with dew. Victoria carefully turned him onto his back. He didn't seem to be conscious. At first she tried gently to coax him awake, but her attempts grew more forceful as panic set in and the sobs began to rise within her—frozen in her throat.

His skin felt cold. She couldn't tell if he was breathing or not. Her fingers scrabbled against his wrist and then in his neck, failing to find a pulse.

His shoulder. He was holding his shoulder. The thought broke through the denial that was slowly robbing her of doing anything more than sitting and staring. With shaking fingers, she unbuttoned his shirt just enough to carefully pull it off his shoulder. Under the strange sigils of his tattoos, his veins had gone an odd colour, darkening as they neared his clavicle. And there, staring up at her, was the strange, twisted sun that marked the Corruption's poison.

AN: Oh! I knew I was forgetting something. Hmm...someone should probably fix this, yeah?