"Help!" Ostrava yelled, still gripping Alvira's now limp hand in his own as his eyes were shrouded by darkness. For all he knew, this could be enemy territory, but his emotions were taking over. "Help!" he tried again as Alvira's breathing began to wane. "Somebody? Please!"

Then, a small light captured his vision. It wavered momentarily, caught by a draft, then came closer. Another small flame ignited nearby, then another. Ostrava tensed, fearing imminent danger, but quickly forgot it when Alvira released a bubbling gurgle. Her helmet fell from her hands and her body relaxed. A drop of blood peaked from the corner of her mouth. Ostrava's nerves began to unravel.

"Do not die," he rasped, laying her down flat and putting his ear to her chest. Her heartbeat was faint. "Do not!" he cried, gripping her shoulders. "Alvira, please!"

The sound of footsteps interrupted his breakdown, and he dared not breathe as he twisted around to see a woman standing behind him. She'd have been completely invisible if not for the candle lighting her strange face. Ostrava yelped and hurriedly scooted away from her, leaving Alvira's failing body behind. Yet the woman only stood there, head turned to his direction, though her eyes were occluded by wax.

"Who are you…?" he breathed, shivering with dread inside of his armor. She tilted her head but offered no response.

Suddenly, a hand grabbed his shoulder from behind, and Ostrava screamed. He flung himself away and landed on his back, trying to crawl away, only to be confronted with a man in white robes. A priest.

"I'm sorry, I did not mean to-" he began, only for Ostrava's nearly incomprehensible babbling to overshadow his voice.

"Help," he wheezed, grabbing onto the priest's robe to grovel at his feet like a common beggar. "Please, help. She is dying – I cannot – please-"

"Calm yourself," the priest said, bending a knee to lower himself to Ostrava's level. "What ails you?"

"Not… me," he gasped between lungfuls of air. "Alvira…"

Ostrava gestured to the woman laying prone behind him to convey what he could not form into words. The priest pushed Ostrava aside, kneeling beside her. He put a hand to his chin as he looked her over, brows pinched in concentration.

"What happened to her?"

"I... do not remember," Ostrava replied, panic muddling his memory. "We were attacked by a demon…"

"I can see that," the priest said, placing his hands to her chest. A radiant light gathered around his palms. "But I require details. They may be the difference between life and death."

Ostrava grabbed his head as if he were physically wracking his brain. "He was large, the size of several buildings. He threw her against a wall… and… and kicked her, I believe…"

The priest frowned, feeling around Alvira's armor. There was a sizeable dent on the left side of her chestplate, the metal biting into her body. The pauldron on the same side was completely torn open, blood staining his fingertips as he touched it. Light once more emanated from his hand as he attempted to close the wound.

"I'll be honest with you, boy. I do not think she'll live," the priest said, gravely. Ostrava's heart sank into his stomach.

"Please try," he choked. It felt as if his throat was closing, depriving him of already scarce oxygen. He inched to Alvira's side, no longer aware of the black-clad woman keeping watch over his shoulder.

"She means that much to you, eh?"

"I-" Ostrava faltered. "No, I… only just met her."

"I see," the priest replied. "I'll do what I can."

"I thank you…"

When Alvira awoke, she felt strangely light. Her armor had been completely removed, as had her gambeson. Only her chausses remained.

Where was she? It was so dark; she could barely see. She began to push herself up, only a sharp pain in her side stopped her. She hissed and collapsed to the ground, mind fuzzy and vision unfocused as she fought to remain conscious.

"I would refrain from much movement," an unfamiliar voice spoke from above. "I'm not finished healing you yet."

Alvira blinked, then looked down. The one speaking to her had wrapped her upper torso and left shoulder in bandages. One hand was currently placed on her shattered leg, the other over her broken ribs. A comforting warmth seeped into her bones and eased the pain. The man was adorned in white robes trimmed with gold, attire that she would recognize anywhere. "You're from the Temple."

"That I am." Though his face was covered by his hood, Alvira could tell by his voice that he was smiling. "As are you."

"Yes," Alvira said, voice barely above a whisper. "Are there more of us here?"

"I'm afraid not, my lady. I was the only one out of our expedition that made it into Boletaria alive." He gritted his teeth at the memory. "Though, just barely."

"I'm sorry, Brother" she offered solemnly, herself saddened by this news. "I will pray for their souls."

The priest only nodded in acknowledgement.

The silence stretched for a moment, then, Alvira remembered. Her heart skipped a beat. "Where is Ostrava?" she asked rather loudly.

"I sent him off with your armor to get it repaired," he explained. "The boy needed something to do; he was far too anxious just sitting here."

"… Is that so?" Alvira murmured. Had he truly been concerned for her? They'd barely known each other for a full day.

"Aye. The lad was making it difficult to concentrate."

Alvira closed her eyes, content to let the priest continue mending her mangled body. "I see," she said to no one in particular. Quiet befell them once more, leaving her to her thoughts.

That is, until the sound of loudly clanking armor filled that silence.

"Brother, is she going to be all right?" Ostrava asked, breath puffing with the effort of sprinting in a full suit of metal. The priest let out an amused laugh.

"Yes, I believe she is. In fact, why not ask her for yourself?"

"Truly?" Ostrava's sprint broke out into a full run, nearly losing his balance as he crashed ungracefully to his knees beside Alvira's head. "You are awake? How do you fare?"

"Much better than the last time I was awake," Alvira joked lightly, though Ostrava didn't laugh.

"I thought you might die," Ostrava spoke lowly.

Alvira offered him a reassuring smile. "It will take much more than that to kill me."

"Truly! I, myself, am somewhat surprised you survived; though, I can't say so wholeheartedly. It is God's power that healed you, after all." It was the priest that was speaking now.

"His power is remarkable," Alvira said proudly. "To have brought me back from the brink of certain death…"

"God is capable of anything, Lady Knight," the priest said, simultaneously removing his hand from her leg. "Move it a tad."

Alvira's eyes widened as she maneuvered her once shattered leg. "There's no pain…" Though she had served the Temple for several years now, she had never seen healing power so potent. "You're quite skilled, Brother."

"Hardly; it's easy to channel God's power once you know the method; so long as you are favored."

"Brother," Alvira started. "Could you show me this method?"

The priest turned his head to look her straight on, offering Alvira the first glimpse of his face. He was an older man, wrinkles beginning to set around his mouth and eyes. Strands of white hair framed his cheeks, and his eyes glowed a deep amber in the candlelight. He smiled at her. "When you've healed, I would be more than happy to teach you the miracles of God."

Alvira smiled back. "Thank you, Brother…?"

"Sabrathan." The priest stood and offered her a deep bow. "I look forward to mentoring you, Lady Knight." Then, he turned to the now calm and silent Ostrava, clapping a hand to his shoulder once more in farewell before disappearing into a dim corner of the Nexus.

Alvira pushed herself into a sitting position. Miraculously, her ribs were also pain free. More than that, there wasn't a scratch, bruise, or scar to be seen on her body.

Ostrava watched her intently, as if she would become vapor should his gaze leave her. She was truly alive. He could still barely believe it.

Alvira felt his eyes on her back and glanced at him sidelong, and only then did he look away. He bit his bottom lip and felt his cheeks flushed. Great, he thought. Now she must believe me to be a pervert…

"Ostrava?"

He blinked, surprised at the lack of anger in her tone, though keeping his eyes respectfully averted. "Yes?"

"Thank you."

His head fell, shame and embarrassment pulling him down. He had done nothing but lose his composure; he'd have died if not for her, twice, and yet she was thanking him.

"Do not thank me, Alvira. It was the priest that saved you, not me."

"You remained by my side in my time of dying. Is that not something to thank you for?"

Ostrava squeezed his eyes shut, preventing more tears from falling. "It is because of me that you nearly died."

If only he knew. Perhaps she would explain everything to him later, but for now, she was far too exhausted.

"You concern yourself with the well-being of a stranger. Why?"

Without hesitation, he responded, "You offered your aid to me, a stranger. Is it not right that I should do the same?"

Alvira smiled at him again, though it lacked any sort of levity. "It may be right, but most would have left me for dead to save themselves."

Ostrava's breath caught in his throat. That's exactly what he would have done had the opportunity presented itself; had he not been clinging to her pathetically for survival, like a nursing babe. He could hardly call himself a man.

He said nothing more, though when he finally dared to look upon her again, he found that she had fallen fast asleep. More to his benefit; he could finally loathe himself in peace.

Sleep failed to take Ostrava, leaving him to lament his failures endlessly. His sorrow turned to an anger that threatened to boil his blood. The image of Alvira, slumbering peacefully though she may be, was replaced in his mind by her dying form each time he looked at her. It became too much, and true to the coward he is, he fled.

He found refuge beneath one of the archstones, this one engraved with the visage of a kingly man. Ostrava grimaced, avoiding the king's judgmental gaze in favor of the blank side of the stone. He pressed his back to its smooth surface and slowly sunk to the floor, not even bothering to fight against gravity's pull as he collided heavily with it. His head fell into his hands, and it was only when he was sure that he was alone did he allow himself to sob.

"Captured another one, did they?"

Ostrava jumped, slamming the back of his head against the stone. He groaned as the dull pangs of a headache took hold of his skull.

The man laughed humorlessly. "It's okay. I came here to cry, too, back when I was able."

"Who is there? Nobody was here a moment ago."

"Oh, but if I don't get up and walk around, my joints will get stiff," the voice answered, sarcasm dripping from his tone.

"Just leave me."

"But this is my perch, don't you know? Here, I get to watch all the new blood enter the Nexus. It's always a sight to see how they change when their hope dies; when they realize they are tasked with the impossible. You realize it now, too, don't you? Demon Slayer."

"I have not the slightest inkling what you are talking about," Ostrava growled hoarsely. The man's mocking tone was quickly dwindling his patience. "Leave me be."

"Didn't you hear me? I was here first."

Ostrava sighed. "Fine, I shall find somewhere else." He stood then, almost too quickly, and rounded the archstone solely focused on finding a nook of his own, only the sight of the man sitting opposite of him gave him pause.

He was glowing… and completely transparent.

Though he was clothed in a ragged, bloody garb, it was clear to see that he was entirely ethereal. He sat below the king's face, hunched over, one hand propping up his head. He was looking directly at Ostrava with eyes cold and empty; expressionless; lifeless. Around his ankle was an iron shackle, not unlike the one a prisoner would wear.

"Who…" Ostrava paused. "What are you?"

The figure scoffed. "What do you think? I am a dead man."

"How is that possible?"

"Never died before?" the ghostly man asked. "How fortunate for you. Don't worry, there are many, many deaths awaiting you."

"You say that as if it is possible to die more than once."

The man smiled then, a cruel smile full of malice and disdain. "Oh, my dear boy, it very much is."

"You must be mad," Ostrava said, voice shaking as he began to back away.

"Losing your nerve already? You've only just arrived," the ghostly man jeered, patting the empty space next to him. "No matter… have a seat! We can sit here… forever."

One more step brought Ostrava to a set of stairs he hadn't known existed. Having nothing to balance on, his heel dipped, and he fell. He braced himself for a long fall, only to find his back supported by nothing as he floated over a deep, dark chasm, glowing golden runes drifting mysteriously above it. The shockwaves of his fall caused them to shimmer, much like the surface of water. He crawled backwards, the strange runes distorting further the more he moved. He panicked, regaining his footing after moments of struggle, chased by the laughter of the ghostly man as he hurried away.

Author's note: So much for that week long quota. Turns out after the changes I made, this chapter needed a complete rewrite. But, you know what? I'm a lot happier with this than I was with the original. I think it's more organic and seems less... cheesy? I'm looking for more impact, so hopefully I didn't miss the mark with this.

As always, thanks for reading! :)