Author's Notes:

StellarLupine- Yes, I was really, really hoping for a playable Nader and Judith! Holst was a good addition, but I felt like we already knew pretty much everything we needed to know about him from Hilda and Balthus. Nader and Judith could have given us so much history and worldbuilding, though! Hopefully DLC can rectify this, but I have a feeling the older characters will get the short end of the stick even if DLC ends up being a thing. Anyways, thank you so much for the review!

Chapter 34

Day 3 of the Horsebow Moon, Imperial Year 1176

"Just where is he…" Dimitri muttered as he leaped from the fence surrounding the royal stables. He checked the training grounds first before hurrying to the hallway where the royal guards resided. He released a deep breath of both relief and annoyance when he finally found Glenn writing at his desk.

"Don't tell me you forgot about today, Glenn," the prince whined.

The knight answered while continuing to write, "It would be pretty difficult to forget after you pestered me about it for a week straight."

"But you said you'd be ready to leave by noon!"

"Yeah, yeah, I know. This is taking longer than expected. Guess I got sentimental." Glenn paused before suddenly crumbling the letter and tossing it aside. "Ah, forget it. I'll just send one once we get back from Duscur. I'll have more to talk about then, anyways."

Glenn slid off his chair, grabbed a coat, and reached the door before Dimitri could react. "Well… are we leaving or not? You're a little flat-footed today, Your Highness."

The two jogged to the stables, saddled their horses, and made for the gates. Their destination was one of their favorite places to relax. It was an hour's ride north of Fhirdiad, upon a cliff soaring over the river as it widened during its approach to the sea. It was an isolated, windswept grassland that was blanketed with a colorful assortment of wildflowers at that time of year.

This clifftop was a special place for all their friends. Glenn and Ingrid had discovered it during an afternoon alone together, and Sylvain had declared it would be an ideal date spot in his future, too. Dimitri and Felix did not care as much about that, but they appreciated the tranquility of listening to the breeze and chirping birds. If only El got to see it, too…

It would likely be too cold for an enjoyable visit by the time they returned from their expedition to Duscur. With that in mind, Dimitri had begged Glenn to take him on one final outing beforehand. It would be their last chance to rest together before getting bogged down with preparations for the longer journey. Glenn finally relented after receiving permission from King Lambert.

They had selected the perfect day. The temperature was ideal, and cloud cover shielded their eyes from the harsh sun. The river below was rather turbulent that day, but the wind was not too distracting.

The pair pulled out a set of pastries they brought after finding a perch atop the cliffs. Glenn quickly snatched the least sweet option available. As they ate, the knight swatted at something on the ground and remarked, "You know… for all the merits of this place, I could really do without the ants."

Dimitri chuckled. "Well, we should have left the food at home, then. Where the ants see humans, they see opportunity."

"Opportunity, sure. And danger."

"Yeah… I guess we're probably a bit scary to them," Dimitri conceded halfheartedly.

"A bit?" Glenn laughed. "You really are helpless. It's the same thing with this whole Duscur trip. It's all opportunity and no danger as your family sees it, apparently."

Dimitri shook his head. "What's the worry? We're friendly with Duscur."

"And that could all change at a moment's notice. Your uncle isn't coming because he thought it was too dangerous to send the entire royal line onto foreign soil. He's right. Even my father thinks it's insane that we're going."

Dimitri took a big bite and contended, "A new treaty with Duscur is a key part of my father's reform strategy. We need to go ourselves to show we mean it. Just sending an envoy would give the impression that we think they're beneath our status."

"If you say so. It makes my job that much harder, though." Glenn spun his pastry around in his hands, too absorbed in thought to eat. "I guess it's the duty of our leaders to dream and inspire, but I hope you'll forget all of that if something truly dire ever came to pass."

"What do you mean?" the prince asked.

Glenn shrugged. "I don't know. Like if we got caught in an ambush someday, and you thought it would be a great idea to lead us into battle without a weapon."

"That would never happen. I would ask for you to give me yours before I did something like that."

Glenn unsuccessfully tried to suppress a smile. "Well, whatever. The point is, I wouldn't want you trying to inspire the survivors or serve as a princely example. I just want you to live, Your Highness. Me, Felix, Sylvain… your life is more important than any of ours."

"But… that doesn't seem fair," Dimitri muttered.

"I didn't say it was fair, but that's just how it is. So, promise me that you won't do anything stupid. Just live. I'm serious… I want you to actually say it."

Dimitri reluctantly replied, "Alright… I promise."

"Good. Now stop getting crumbs everywhere, or you'll embolden the ants that much more."

Reflections of the Past – Day 30 of the Great Tree Moon, Year 1187 (Fódlan Calendar)

"Even after all these years, you haven't changed at all," Glenn chastised as he knelt beside the former prince. "You're still the pathetic boy who did nothing but watch as others died on your behalf. Your cowardice has now destroyed the leadership of not one, but two great kingdoms."

"You don't sound anything like the Glenn I knew. For better or worse, he valued my life above his own," Dimitri muttered, refusing to even return his gaze.

"The Glenn you remember was a boy infatuated with chivalry. Do you really think I cared about that while rolling in the dirt as my skin boiled?"

"Even so… I… don't believe you. Glenn is dead. I don't know what you are."

Glenn moved closer to Dimitri's ear. "I might be dead, but my screams are not. Can you still hear them? What do they tell you?" When the former prince remained silent, he reminded, "You can't ignore me, Dimitri. You know I'll never leave you."

"I… I don't know if I want you to…"

Dimitri sat against a column in an aisle of the Basilica of Saint Alexis with only Glenn keeping him company. Upon their arrival, he and the rest of the fleeing cavalry immediately dumped their weapons in the yard and begged for refuge. The deacons nervously let them inside without much debate. Perhaps the officials felt bound by their religious code to offer help, or perhaps they were simply afraid of being overrun by the crowd if they denied the request.

The Meteoran army arrived just behind them, and an argument with the church officials immediately ensued outside. It was impossible to decipher what was said, but the Meteoran army was ultimately forced to camp outside while their prey remained just beyond their grasp.

The Basilica of Saint Alexis evoked memories of Garreg Mach Cathedral, but there were some key differences. Garreg Mach's soaring towers were substituted with arrays of domes. Instead of letting the precious stones in the interior speak for themselves, the Meteorans preferred vast swaths of frescoes and mosaics in shades of blues and golds.

The most striking distinction, however, was that the basilica was in a state of decay. Upon their arrival, the refugees first passed through a lobby that Anthony called a narthex. The narthex's roof was partially collapsed, its windows were missing, and its frescoes were peeling from exposure. Dimitri did not enter the other supplementary chambers of the facility, but he suspected many of them were in similar condition. Several doorways were covered up with recent brickwork. The main nave was well-maintained, at least, but even it was gutted of some valuable ornamentation. The basilica was undoubtedly majestic in centuries past, but it was likely a source of embarrassment in its current state.

The place was packed with pitiful soldiers seeking refuge; however, they had understandably given Dimitri extra space while he muttered to himself. He was only stirred from his reverie when a hand was placed on his shoulder. He would have estimated that they had occupied the hall for two or three hours by that time.

"Hey… are you alright?" Anthony asked in a calming voice.

After confirming that Glenn had left, Dimitri smiled grimly and asked, "Are any of us?"

"Maybe not," Anthony conceded. "We need you to stand, though. There's going to be a service on the hour. The officials here have shown us respect, so I'd advise we do the same."

Dimitri nodded and slowly got to his feet. There were no pews, so Elam's unkempt army remained standing as they gathered in the center of the nave. Dimitri was confused about the absence of any church members. Was this some sort of trap?

Anthony must have discerned Dimitri's alarm, as the general leaned over and explained, "Don't worry, this is normal. They're all behind the iconostasis… I mean, that wall there. The sanctuary is on the other side."

The "wall" Anthony mentioned was more of a partition since it did not reach the ceiling. The wooden structure bore three sets of doors and was covered in religious artwork. Dimitri calmed some when he noticed movement behind a door that was cracked open. The choir had already entered the sanctuary while he was in his stupor.

Any sense of security soon evaporated, however, when Dimitri heard whispers from the rear of the nave. He looked back to watch Meteoran soldiers gingerly slip into the hall. No one tried to stop them, so they must have had the church's approval. The local clergy presumably felt they had insufficient grounds to prohibit the army outside from participating in worship. No civilian pilgrims had made the journey to the basilica that day given the circumstances, but nothing would stand in the way of the traditional ceremonies.

Dimitri and Anthony exchanged glances. It felt like the setup for an impending disaster, but there was nothing they could do but wait and hope for the best. At the very least, the Meteoran faithful did not flaunt weapons when they entered, likely having been required to leave them outside.

"This is a mistake. What are the odds they have daggers concealed within the folds of their clothes?" Anthony whispered to Dimitri.

"Too high," Dimitri replied. "Now would be a good time for reinforcements to arrive."

"Wouldn't that be nice…"

Nader had staked the lives of so many on the hope of a rescue by the queen. And yet, hours later, no help had arrived. Had they been abandoned? Had Khalid run away like he had at Gronder? Surely not…

When some of the Meteorans initially tried to intersperse amongst the gathering, the refugees from Elam crowded together and blocked them from approaching. The new arrivals politely backed away and stayed behind them at that point. The assembly was split evenly between the two armies, which meant most of Aurelian's soldiers remained outside. The best interpretation of the situation was that the most devout Meteorans had entered for the service and would leave immediately afterwards. Alternatively, perhaps they had just sent in their best killers.

Thankfully, the uneasy truce somehow survived as the ceremony began. The formal proceedings were deeply uncomfortable for everyone. Even ignoring the obvious tension, many of Elam's soldiers were perplexed by the series of prayers, songs, and readings. Some of them even struggled to understand the language being spoken. Since most of the church officials spent the entire service behind the iconostasis, the nonbelievers were forced to mimic the reactions of the Meteoran soldiers to follow along. Dimitri was nearly as lost, though some of the customs did bear resemblance to those employed by the Church of Seiros.

Perhaps not coincidentally, the bishop read a lesson on the value of mercy, forgiveness, and peace. Well-intended as it may have been, the Meteoran soldiers were not swayed- some even whispered to each other with obvious annoyance at the bishop's brazenness.

As the service concluded and the choir filed out of the sanctuary, Dimitri and his companions eyed the Meteoran soldiers with renewed suspicion. The enemy demonstrated no hurry to leave. Anxieties soared even higher when the choir struggled to open a nearby door out of the nave. Even Dimitri could not get it to budge after forcing his shoulder against it. The Meteoran army had either moved something heavy behind the door or found a clever way to force it shut while the church officials were distracted with the ceremony. Since the other nearby doors were bricked off, the choir left through the narthex. It was now clear, however, that Elam's surviving soldiers had no avenue of escape.

A group of deacons soon approached and conversed lowly with leadership from the Meteoran army. Dimitri recognized the two representatives of their foes- Artabasdos and another friend of Justinian's that attended the parley at Pyli Kyma.

Dimitri could not make out the exact words, but the church officials were clearly waving Justinian's confidants towards the exit. The tone of the debate was growing increasingly heated. At the same time, other Meteoran troops were slowly moving to block the back doors.

Everyone in the hall knew where this was headed, and they looked to the Commander of the Mobile Guard for answers.

Anthony reluctantly muttered, "They aren't leaving emptyhanded. I think it's time I discuss terms of surrender with them."

A surrender would mean that the sacrifice of Nader and so many others had been for nothing. But… the window of opportunity had expired. The reinforcements had not come. Dimitri indicated his agreement with Anthony's decision.

Just as Anthony straightened his jacket and turned to face the victors, however, the argument across the nave suddenly escalated into shouts and outright screams. Dimitri watched in disbelief as Artabasdos yanked a bloody dagger out of a deacon's stomach. The stricken man staggered and sunk against the wall. His fingers traced the mosaics as he descended, depositing crimson streaks along the way.

Shouts of "Murderer!", "Villain!", and "Shame!" immediately followed, but the most important pronouncement came from another church official who was being wrestled to the floor.

"Run! They took no prisoners out there, and they won't in here, either!" he shouted to the trapped army before being knocked unconscious with a blow to the head.

With the ruse up, a number of Meteoran "worshippers" swiftly drew daggers from within their robes and mail. Others reinforced the cordon on the exits, excepting a single door to the narthex from which more soldiers poured inside. The newcomers wielded full swords and lances, making no effort to disguise their intentions.

Final pleas for mercy went ignored as Justinian's army immediately dove onto their opponents. The Meteorans attempted to drag their nearest victims outside to avoid defiling the basilica with more slaughter, but they soon gave up after realizing it would be too much effort. Dimitri was left mortified as his companions at the rear of the nave were savagely cut down.

The Meteoran soldiers advanced slowly after dealing with the first victims, ensuring each target was hacked away to an unambiguous death before progressing. Meteoran reinforcements arranged a contiguous row of shields from one side of the hall to the other and carefully followed behind the executioners to ensure no one escaped.

Dimitri was not going to stand around and watch. Not again.

There were no weapons on hand, so he needed to improvise some of his own. He ran to the iconostasis and ripped off the central doors to use as shields. He handed one to Anthony and the other to a nearby soldier. Dimitri realized he had carelessly desecrated the sanctuary when he saw Anthony's expression, but his commander ultimately accepted the offer without complaint. The goddess would surely overlook this sin when a far greater one was being committed.

Other soldiers rushed to strip the place of anything useful after witnessing Dimitri's initiative. Some peeled additional chunks of wood from the iconostasis, others hurled hot candles at the enemy formation, and one woman even spun a thurible around its chain as a makeshift flail.

Dimitri selected a tall candelabra for himself and swung it to crater the head of a Meteoran leading the advance. He swept the man's sword back to his companions and then used the shaft of the candelabra for leverage as he kicked another adversary into the shield wall. The formation temporarily buckled as several soldiers were knocked off their feet.

Despite the brutality, most of the Meteorans appeared genuinely conflicted about their actions at the outset. However, seeing one of their own lying dead in a heap apparently provided sufficient justification for all prior and future actions. They now assaulted the refugees with hateful vengeance. This was counterproductive, as the methodical implementation of the massacre devolved into chaos. Elam's soldiers took advantage of the negligence and confiscated more weapons from their vanquished enemies. The candelabra was working well for Dimitri, so he let others take the spoils.

Over a dozen Meteoran soldiers now lay on the floor chocking on their own blood, but the attack continued unabated. Slowly but surely, Dimitri and his companions were driven back. More of Elam's bravest fell as they defended every inch. The survivors were eventually forced to retreat into the empty sanctuary. They found wooden screens in this last stronghold that they then used to fortify the three entry points. Blades were constantly jabbed in their direction through the gaps, but this defensive stand lasted over a minute. Dimitri held the center door by himself while using the candelabra as a brace. Superficial slices on his right hand and left thigh served as the price for his efforts.

Finally, though, the barricade on the right door was overwhelmed when a group of Meteoran soldiers rammed it in tandem. Dimitri, Anthony, and around thirty other survivors quickly withdrew to the back wall. This would be their final stand.

Just as the Meteorans spread out to attack in unison, however, a voice rang out from behind them.

"Stand down, stand down!" a man yelled as he pushed his way to the front.

Dimitri only vaguely remembered the face from Ghalib's tournament, but he quickly identified the man as Aurelian based on his attire and bearing. The army's commander had obviously shuffled around the pile of weapons outside, as he now wielded a certain Hero's Relic.

"That's enough!" Aurelian insisted as he angrily raised a hand. Despite having succumbed to bloodlust, his subordinates' eyes cleared some upon the command. The combatants on both sides froze in place as they awaited his next move.

With his soldiers quelled, Aurelian faced the victims and implored, "Tell your people to drop their weapons, Anthony. Please."

"Drop our weapons?" Anthony repeated as he wiped at a long cut on his cheek. "You'd think we're the ones who initiated the fighting with that kind of language!"

"I'm aware, and I apologize. This is the best way, though. More than enough blood has been spilt today."

Anthony probed hopefully, "Are… are you guaranteeing our safety?"

"A guarantee is beyond my authority, but I promise to do everything I can."

"That's not good enough," Dimitri snarled.

Aurelian shook his head in disappointment. "What's the alternative? You'll kill a few more of my soldiers with your raw strength, but your death at the end of it is just as inevitable. The lives you'll snatch won't change the course of this war… they'll just be a few more souls burdening your immortal conscience. Does that sound any better than ending this and taking your chances with me?"

Dimitri's resolve wavered. Areadbhar was clean of blood, confirming that Aurelian had not participated in the massacre. The man's petition seemed sincere.

The Tempest of Fódlan joined the other soldiers as they awaited Anthony's answer.

Anthony bit his lip as he considered the proposal. He eventually lowered his head in defeat and discarded his sullied blade. "… We yield."

Dimitri felt ill as he tossed the candelabra aside. Everyone else must have endured the same emotion upon surrendering their weapons.

Aurelian's expression softened with relief. Before he could say anything, though, Artabasdos similarly pushed his way to the front.

"What is this? The king's orders were clear! Finish them no-."

In a blink of an eye, Aurelian reached under Artabasdos's pauldron, lifted him an inch off the floor, and shoved him against the iconostasis.

Aurelian explained, "As the king is not in this room, I am in command of this army. I'm ensuring he's aware of how valuable these hostages are before making a final decision. Until we have his response, you answer to me. Understood?"

"... Understood."

Aurelian gruffly released the man and returned to more pressing matters.

"I'll remember that…" Artabasdos said pathetically as he fixed his armor and slipped out the doorway.

Ignoring the complaint, Aurelian waved to a group of his soldiers. "Escort the prisoners outside and take them to the king. The rest of you… clean up this embarrassment as best as you can."

"Justinian is here?" one of Dimitri's companions asked skeptically.

"In the flesh, believe it or not," a Meteoran guard confirmed.

Dimitri had also assumed that Justinian was too much of a coward to show his face on an actual battlefield. Either he had underestimated the sardar, or Justinian felt pressured to leave the capital and do something to boost his reputation back home. Dimitri strongly suspected the latter.

Aurelian accompanied the prisoners through the defiled basilica and into the fields outside where bodies were already being stacked up. Adjacent to the latest victims was a larger pile of beheaded horses. The Meteorans presumably took as many of the abandoned steeds from Elam as they needed and killed the spares.

The prisoners were forced to endure the unbearable stench of death as their hands were shackled. Not surprisingly, Sardar Justinian had selected a camp farther away upwind. The young man sat on an elaborate wooden chair under a small but ornate tent. His armor lacked a single blemish.

Along with his guards, Justinian was notably accompanied by Master Xanthippe of the Sentinels of the Empyrean. Artabasdos and Justinian's female confidant were also there, having already returned from the scene of the massacre.

While most of the prisoners were held back, Aurelian personally escorted Dimitri and Anthony to his ruler and carefully pressed them onto their knees. Justinian's friends had obviously explained what happened inside the basilica, as he was in a sour mood.

"As I recall, I assigned Eudocia and Artabasdos to oversee the operation inside. Why did you interrupt it?" Justinian asked.

Aurelian put a hand on his heart and declared, "I meant you no offense, dear cousin. I was not informed that use of lethal force had been approved, so I wanted to confirm the operation had your blessing before sacrificing such useful captives."

"I've already said we won't be taking prisoners today, Aurelian. We don't have the time or resources to deal with them. They're the ones blockading our food imports, so they have no one to blame but themselves for that."

Aurelian justified, "There were not even fifty left alive by the time I called off the attack. I thought tha-."

"You thought wrong," Justinian condemned. "But… if these two are of particular concern to you, I will hear your case. I recognize the blonde one as the Tempest of Fódlan… an interesting catch, no doubt. Who is the other?"

"This is Anthony al-Amin, Commander of Elam's Mobile Guard. He's the highest-ranking general captured during this war."

"And supposedly the second greatest archer in Almyra, if the mirza's sham of a tournament is to be believed. Look at what good that's done him," Artabasdos jeered.

"And… why is he still alive, Aurelian?" Justinian asked contemptuously.

Aurelian answered, "Several reasons. He could provide us with valuable information, and Elam would pay a high ransom for his return. He is a respected name, Your Excellency. Executing him would exacerbate animosity."

"It's 'Your Majesty' now, Aurelian. And why should I worry about exacerbating animosity with Elam? That ship has long since sailed."

Xanthippe spoke up, "Executing high-profile prisoners could set a bad precedent, Your Majesty. They could have done the same to many of us at Pyli Kyma. It's not just about animosity with Elam, though. After this recent… incident… many voices in the church will be very upset, Your Majesty. General Anthony might be from Elam, but he comes from a family of Votary converts. Making enemies with them could kill the ministry there and further drive a wedge within our church."

"So your recommendation is that he lives?" Justinian asked.

"I was only ensuring that you were wholly informed, Your Majesty. He is undoubtedly an apostate, so I would understand your choice either way."

Anthony asked her, "And who is the apostate? The one who took refuge in the basilica, or the one who shed blood on its tiles?"

Despite not having participated in the massacre, the accusation of complicity was a heavy blow for an already rattled Xanthippe. She immediately fell silent.

"Speak only when prompted, prisoner," Justinian told Anthony harshly. He then asked Dimitri, "As for you… please tell me- how does Fódlan's greatest warrior become a groveling lapdog to an Almyran prince?"

Dimitri did not know how to respond to such a question, so Anthony spoke upon his behalf.

"I'm sorry for breaking the rules so soon, but I don't think that's an accurate pejorative for him."

Justinian was thankfully unbothered by the interjection this time. "No? He believed in Khalid enough to follow him across the Throat."

Anthony explained, "It wasn't out of devotion. Prince Khalid saved his life during a battle over there, and Dimitri's service is payment for the debt. The Tempest was to return home once the war ended. That's all there is to it. I don't think he'd even call Khalid or any of us a friend."

"Is that true?" Justinian asked Dimitri.

The claim was partially based on facts, but Anthony had manipulated the details. Perhaps he thought it was a way to soften Justinian's opinion of Khalid's retainer. Anthony's expression after he said it was difficult to interpret. He seemed conflicted, and yet somehow at peace. No, that would be contradictory… maybe surprised to be at peace?

Dimitri wavered on the right answer until he noticed his commander's stern glare. If Anthony was going to relinquish his honesty to improve Dimitri's chances of survival, it was only right that he did the same.

"… It is," Dimitri finally told Justinian.

"Interesting. So, the Tempest is truly a man of honor. Your tone was surprisingly dispassionate, though, Anthony. Do you not care if he lives or dies?"

Anthony shrugged. "Elam's army is full of people of honor, most of whom are more devoted to our cause. I was not trying to be cold, just correcting the facts."

Justinian rubbed his hands together. "I respect your honesty, Anthony, I do. It's a refreshing change of pace. So, lay out both scenarios for me. What happens if the Tempest lives? What happens if he dies?"

"If he dies, you've permanently removed a major threat, and Elam's army will scramble temporarily until it adjusts. Your people will celebrate the feat. If he lives, you achieve the exact same thing. However, people will also speak of your mercy, and you can parade him around the capital whenever a morale boost is needed. The benefits will have far more longevity."

Justinian nodded rapidly, stood, and began to pace his tent. He looked to Dimitri and asked, "You have a goddess in Fódlan, correct? Do you follow this goddess?"

"Yes."

"But her name is not Nabataea?"

"I had never heard of Nabataea until my arrival in Almyra."

"Hmm." Justinian stopped in place. "I suppose, then, that you have held as righteous of a faith as could be expected of your people. You are not guilty of apostasy like your companion Anthony."

The "king" pondered his options for a few more seconds and then sat down. Everyone watched with anticipation, all unable to predict his movements. He seemed to like it that way.

Justinian suddenly smiled. "Our shores once served as a refuge for Gregorios and his followers, natives of a foreign land. I like to think that tradition holds true to this day. With that in mind… because you are a guest to Almyra, I will permit you to live as our prisoner." He rose his hand and declared, "The king has spoken."

"The king has spoken," the others answered in unison. Artabasdos and Eudocia tried to hide their annoyance, while Aurelian's face steadied with relief. Xanthippe looked content with the conclusion.

Dimitri seemed to be the only person unsure what to think. He did not want to die, but more of life was not much of a comfort, either. The only certain variable was more suffering.

Maybe it was for the best, so people like Khalid, Marianne, and Ariella who would feel his absence would not also have to suffer. With hands stained so red, though… why was someone like him deemed worthy of life yet again?

He did not have long to ponder the question, as Justinian still needed a verdict for the other captive. The sardar asked, "Now, Anthony. Tell me… do you wish to live?"

Anthony did not immediately answer, taking his time to choose the best tone. He finally said rather calmly, "There are people that are waiting for me back home. My fate is in your hands, but yes… I'm only human. Of course I want to live."

He likely wanted to avoid sounding desperate or too hopeful, which would only open him up to mockery from a judge who was just putting on a show for attention by that point.

Justinian rubbed his chin and then pointed to the pile of bodies outside the basilica. "All of them felt the same. While I respect your honesty, I can think of nothing special about you deserving of a better fate." His expression hardened as he ordered, "Artabasdos, if you would… execute this traitor."

This prompted a plethora of reactions from those gathered. Artabasdos stepped forward and drew his sword, Eudocia smiled smugly, Xanthippe and Aurelian were visibly conflicted, and Anthony's head sunk ever so slightly.

Aurelian tried one last time, "You Majesty, I don't understand-"

"You don't need to understand. You aren't even expected to understand. All you need to understand is that I am Nabataea's Chosen and that the king has spoken," Justinian declared.

"The king… has spoken," Aurelian relented. He stared at the prisoners apologetically.

Dimitri had to do something. If he could break his shackles, charge the tent, and –

He stopped himself when Anthony subtly shook his head. The condemned man had fought too hard to save Dimitri's life for the efforts to be in vain.

Dimitri could not resist craning his head to check the horizon one final time, though. Just where was Khalid?

The others noticed this motion. Eudocia mocked, "Expecting your allies to arrive at any moment? We have friends, too, you know. Prince Khalid probably hasn't shown up because he's already dead. Not that you actually care about him, though, right?"

She would never criticize Justinian directly, but she clearly did not believe Anthony's lies. He had to wonder how many of them actually did.

As Artabasdos stepped behind Anthony, Xanthippe mused, "It's a shame… to watch someone with so much potential fight against his own people. You could have helped us restore Meteora. You could have helped us spread the message of our church across the land. Instead, you've chosen to die like this."

"My people?" Anthony scoffed as he raised his head. "I am from Elam. I never needed Meteora or the Sentinels to justify my faith in Nabataea. And why should Meteora need my help? It might not be what it once was, but it was still capable of doing so much good without this treasonous affair. Was Meteora truly not large enough to contain your revanchist poison?"

Everyone was shocked by this outburst, Dimitri included. All of the Meteorans other than Aurelian were furious, but Anthony was uninterested in any last-second bargaining. Instead, he began to laugh at their flustered expressions. This laughter mixed with tears.

"Is something amusing, apostate?" Eudocia asked.

"I don't feel joyous, if that's what you mean. But I think I finally understand something."

"And what is that?"

"The answer to the question that's plagued me this entire war- if both sides pray to Nabataea earnestly, who does she provide protection to? Here at the end, it seems so obvious. She'll oversee the outcome that fulfills her plans, nothing more. The more righteous prayer would have otherwise been answered today. The sheer arrogance to think our prayers provide us any authority over the divine! We can offer our petition, but to expect anything in return is to put ourselves on her level. Not even a gracious goddess can answer every honest plea."

This speech was met with paralyzed silence. Artabasdos's sword remained still. Xanthippe's lips quivered like she was about to accuse him of additional apostasy, but she ultimately said nothing.

Anthony's eyes locked with Justinian's as he continued, "'Nabataea's Chosen' you might call yourself… but you will die one day like the rest of us humans. And if you continue to err like you are, that day may come sooner than you think. Don't count on Nabataea and your prayers to spare you from the consequences of your own actions." Anthony briefly lifted his gaze to Artabasdos. "… I'm ready to face mine. Please have mercy on a Votary and make it quick."

Dimitri and Anthony locked eyes as Artabasdos finally raised the blade. The ill-fated commander nodded thankfully. As horrible as it would be to watch, Anthony did not deserve to die alone.

The blade was swung true. Dimitri flinched upon the moment of impact, but the aftermath was haunting enough. The Votaries believed in a bodily resurrection, so a beheading was an insulting way to die.

The same verdict was swiftly dispensed on the other prisoners. Dimitri turned to watch as their bodies slumped to the ground. He felt weak as he also sank onto his side, but he was too overwhelmed to express anything else at first. Soon, though, a vast range of emotions mixed together and vocalized in the least appropriate manner possible- Dimitri laughed. The absurdity of such an action drove his laughs louder, even as tears streamed down his face.

"Oh dear. It appears he has been struck with the same malady as the other. I hope it isn't contagious," Eudocia joked.

"Indeed… it would be beneath the level of a king to laugh at such a sight," Justinian ruminated.

Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd- once again the sole survivor of a massacre. Only this time, there was no Dedue to act as his anchor. He was truly alone. And to add insult to injury, it just so happened to fall on the anniversary of the Battle at Gronder. If this was the outcome the goddess prepared as Anthony believed, she had a cruel sense of humor.

A part of him had still believed that Khalid would swoop in at the final moment to save the others. It was a fool's dream. He could hear Glenn's spirit snickering hatefully alongside him, reminding him of his uselessness.

No… he could hear two other voices.

"Just live." "Just stay alive."

Glenn had told him that… the real Glenn. Khalid made the same request during their celebration of the Almyran New Year, too. The voices were not real, but the intent of the original wishes had never been nullified. Why did he deserve such special treatment, though?

Dimitri continued to softly laugh, cry, and hiccup in an apparent stupor. The others chose to ignore him as the conversation moved on. Dimitri did not see what was happening, but he overhead what was said.

Aurelian began, "The rest of their army is likely closing in, so we must make haste. I have two new sites that we can cons-."

"No," Justinian interrupted.

"… Pardon?"

"Word of what happened here will spread quickly. We must return to the capital to control the narrative before they make out as sacrilegious degenerates."

There was a pause indicating that Aurelian vehemently opposed the idea. After searching for the gentlest way of disagreeing with his "king", he replied, "And what will we do? Deny what happened? Your Majesty, going there will change nothing. They don't want or need a parade."

"A parade is exactly what they need. Gossip will flourish in my absence, but will such words be uttered when they behold the grandeur of their king and his triumphant army? They must be reminded of why we fight."

Aurelian insisted, "They don't need or want to be reminded of that. All they care about is that the war ends soon. Holding a gaudy parade while their stomachs growl is going to send the wrong message. Sending them this prisoner will be enough of a celebration."

"Oh? 'While their stomachs growl?' Do I really need to remind you whose idea it was to ration food so soon?" Justinian mocked.

"Famine would already have throttled our land and resolve had we not. I'm glad you heeded my advice, but the decision was made with the assumption that we'd accelerate the war's conclusion in exchange for their support. They want their warriors fighting, not carousing. With all due respect, Your Majesty, returning to Metanoiapolis would be a grave mistake and a waste of irreplaceable time."

Justinian asked, "And what are your thoughts on this, Master Xanthippe?"

"I must agree with General Aurelian, Your Majesty. A deacon is dead, and two more are in critical condition. I plan to offer the bishop here a large donation on behalf of the Sentinels as penance, but it won't be enough. The best way to quell the uproar is to provide the people with something else to think about. A new victory will be the surest option."

Dimitri had been absorbing the conversation passively, but after having drained himself of all emotion, there was nothing else to capture his attention. He remained still but opened his eye to watch the dispute.

"It seems you both think yourselves wiser than I," Justinian observed with an empty chuckle. He turned to his friends. "Artabasdos… can you remind me who is the king?"

"You are, Your Majesty."

"And who did Nabataea appoint to lead her flock, Eudocia?"

"The King of Meteora, of course."

Justinian nodded. "Hmm. Both true, and yet it seems Aurelian and Xanthippe don't agree. Why do you think that is? I think roles and loyalties need to be reaffirmed. You especially, Xanthippe, since you're already responsible for the creation of our new greatest adversary."

"What do you mean, Your Majesty?" Xanthippe asked uneasily.

"I believe Demetrius Vatatzes is now their highest-ranking general. You sat on the tribunal for his murder trial, correct?"

"I… did, yes. But I was only a junior tribune at the time. I had little sway over the trial's outcome."

"So your defense is that you were too impotent to deal with him when you had the chance? You should have either restored him to the fold or had him executed. You instead pushed him right into the hands of our enemies," Justinian ridiculed.

"Demetrius is a drunken slob, not a threat. I could deal with him at any time I please, but doing so would just mean someone more competent…"

Xanthippe trailed off midsentence, likely realizing that her words were wasted breath. Justinian was only interested in manufacturing a reason why he should ignore her, not getting involved in an actual debate. This theory was supported when the sardar cleared his throat and ignored her justification. He announced, "We return to the capital. Aurelian, you may appoint someone to take a portion of this army and slow the enemy's advance. Once we've regained the hearts of the people, we can resume whatever scheme you have prepared next. That is all. As you said, we must make haste."

As Justinian's friends began to pack his belongings, the sardar requested, "Oh, and Aurelian? This is your prisoner. Figure out what you want to do with him."

Xanthippe and Aurelian shared a long, meaningful stare before the former shook her head and left in obvious frustration. Aurelian gently helped Dimitri to his feet and led him back towards the basilica. He tried to block Dimitri from the view of his dead companions, but it was far too late to prevent those images from being forever etched in his memory. Aurelian left him with two guards in the basilica's narthex, away from sight of the army outside.

Dimitri silently waited there under the watch of these stranger for the next few minutes as the army readied to leave. A nurse stopped by to bandage his accumulated wounds, but he did not even acknowledge her presence.

He still did not know how to feel about his survival, but he did know one thing- he was angry. It was not the irrational, all-consuming anger that followed the events at Duscur. No- he was justifiably angry at a system. A system in which one man could believe himself the very voice of the goddess, all while truly being at the mercy of the manipulations from the sycophants and zealots surrounding him. And when he finally spoke, everyone was obligated to follow his every misguided word.

It was absurd, and it had allowed insanity such as this to unfold.

Dimitri's gaze remained unmoving when footsteps approached. Aurelian had returned. A flash of the hand briefly caught Dimitri's eye as the general refolded some parchment and carefully slipped it into his armor, but the prisoner soon refocused on the floor.

"Could you give the two of us a few minutes alone?" Aurelian asked the sentries. As the two soldiers departed without a word, the victorious commander sat next to Dimitri on a fractured stone block that originally belonged to the ceiling.

"… I'm sorry about what happened today," Aurelian began.

"Then you should have prevented it," Dimitri growled. He was not in the mood for sympathy.

"I was assigned to stay outside with the army in case your allies arrived. I didn't know tha-."

"Were you denied the opportunity to know, or did you avoid asking questions to keep your conscience clear? You already knew no quarter was given to our soldiers that stayed behind."

"That was still during a battle, and it was not done on holy ground." Aurelian averted his eyes in shame. "But… I can tell there's no use in trying to justify it. Perhaps you're right- it's an egregious breach of customs regardless. I thought I could talk Justinian down once your entire division was in our grasp and time constraints were no longer an issue. That was perhaps naïve, but at least we were able to save you."

Dimitri shook his head. "I won't tell you anything useful. If that's why you've allowed me to live, you might soon regret applying the effort."

Aurelian decided against responding to this comment. He instead crossed his arms and remained silent for a few moments before gazing up to where sunlight shone through a hole in the ceiling.

"Look at these ruins, Dimitri. This place used to be one of Meteora's greatest achievements. That all changed during a battle here two hundred years ago. The structural integrity was compromised, and we've struggled with constant repairs ever since. After the plague, we couldn't put together the funds needed to keep up maintenance. I doubt we'll ever afford a proper restoration at this point. These halls will continue to decay with each passing year. Three hundred, four hundred years from now… what do you suppose people will think when they see this sight?"

"Sorrow that we turned our backs on the goddess?" Dimitri guessed, hoping that playing along would end the conversation sooner.

"Maybe. That is not what I think, though. I think they'll look at all of this and be appalled that we ever built such a thing in the first place. Metanoiapolis, the City of Repentance. Meteora, the Land of the Elevated. Even within that you can see the persistent contradiction. Anthony was right to point out our hypocrisy. A building like this is supposed to point to the glory of Nabataea, but all it points to is our own hubris. What a waste."

"You'd best be careful, or you'll be branded the next apostate," Dimitri noted dryly.

Aurelian reacted with a rare smile. "Don't confuse my candidness for disloyalty. Despite Meteora's shortcomings, we are still talking about my home and my people."

Dimitri tapped his foot on the floor and asked plainly, "Is this truly what you came to speak with me about?"

"Well, there is something else." Aurelian turned to him with a penetrating gaze. "… Do you know of any collaboration between Elam's leadership and the Sentinels of the Empyrean to depose Justinian?"

Dimitri was wholly unprepared for such an interrogation. A conspiracy of some sort was plausible but …. the Sentinels of the Empyrean? Had Aurelian lost his mind?

"… I see that you have not," Aurelian interpreted. "Your expression says more than words ever could. Still… have you truly heard nothing of any kind? Surely someone has proposed a coup, however vague…"

Aurelian studied Dimitri's every blink and twitch for signs of weakness or deceit. Of course, everyone in Elam wanted Justinian dead. Strategies for an assassination had surely been considered behind closed doors. Since it was not discussed during official war councils, though, Dimitri had never heard of an actual plan.

"I don't know what you want to hear, Aurelian, but I am uninclined to help you either way."

Aurelian nodded with an unchanged expression. "… I understand. I wouldn't do so in your position, either."

Dimitri tried to ignore the man beside him again, but his gaze fell upon Areadbhar before he could look away. Aurelian had kept it with him the entire time.

Curiosity finally got the better of Dimitri. He asked, "May I offer a question of my own? My lance… how long have you been holding it? Have you noticed anything unusual about it?"

Aurelian was pleased with Dimitri's newfound willingness to talk. He replied, "I went looking for it as soon as we arrived. The lance does seem to emanate a strange but almost pleasant feeling when I hold it… almost like it's somehow an extension of me. I imagine you know the meaning of it if you are asking such a question."

As Khalid had suspected, the blood of a Hero ran through the Meteoran royal family. Aurelian did not bear the Crest of Blaiddyd, but he surely had something. Of course, there was still some degree of risk from Aurelian wielding Areadbhar.

Dimitri only shrugged, however. "It provides me with the same feeling, but I don't know the cause. I was asking you to try understanding it better."

Aurelian did not seem satisfied with this answer. To prevent him from asking more, Dimitri changed the subject yet again. "Just how did you find us this morning? Where did we go wrong?"

"I always expected a feint of some kind. When we received a report of an army headed west, we sent out a pair of wyvern scouts at night to identify movement on any other axis. It was difficult in the dark, especially since we also had to avoid being detected, but our scouts eventually spotted you on the eastern route. We correctly predicted your intended camp and set forth once we were confident you'd be well past the bridge and settled in. I could point to a number of blunders by your leadership of varying severity, but I suspect they all originate from two bad assumptions. One, that we lacked air support, and two, that we would be too conservative to go on the offensive."

Aurelian suddenly stood and pulled Dimitri onto his feet. "We'll have to save any other questions for later. Our army makes for Metanoiapolis soon. My time there will hopefully be brief, so I plan to leave you in the care of my nephew Florian. He is currently overseeing the capital's defenses. I know you'll never forgive me for what happened here today, but perhaps you will find him more agreeable."

The Meteoran general prepared to find escorts for his prisoner, but he turned before leaving and added, "By the way… Ignore what Eudocia said earlier. Our resources are stretched quite thin, so there's no secret force that could have killed Prince Khalid. She and Artabasdos don't take it well when Justinian listens to my council. They're too spineless to stand up to me directly, so she chose to spite you in my stead."

Dimitri had gathered as much based on what he had overheard; however, it was a relief to have confirmation that Khalid was fine. He had shown little gratitude towards Aurelian so far, but he bowed his head in thanks.

Surprisingly, Dimitri was permitted to ride a horse by himself for the journey. His hands remained shackled, however, and he was closely surrounded by armed guards. There was no realistic hope for an escape.

Before departing with the Meteoran forces, Dimitri beheld his deceased companions one final time. Despite their initial distrust for the western foreigner, most of them had grown to respect and appreciate his company over the past year. Dimitri had learned much from them in return. Now they were gone, and that progress was for naught.

Dimitri looked ahead and spurred his horse towards an uncertain future.

Just live. Just stay alive.