"Brother Sabrathan!" Alvira screamed, for once thankful that she did not need to breathe. "Help me! Brother Sabrathan!"
The priest came running, accompanied by a frazzled young man with an uneven bowl cut and well-worn acolyte garments (though by the state of it, the cloth was unsuitable even to be rags).
"What-?" Sabrathan began. "Oh… oh, God; let me see him."
With his talisman already prepared, Sabrathan dropped to a knee. He signaled the man standing behind him forward, and he came with haste.
"B-Brother?" the man questioned in a shimmering voice.
"Give me your clothes."
"I- what?!" he exclaimed, but the priest was already tearing at the hem of the man's grimy shirt, pressing the cloth to Ostrava's wound to stem the deluge of blood as he started his own prayer. Alvira stood by helplessly, eyes flicking between Ostrava's armored face and the scrap of the man's once-white garb as it was soaked through, becoming a perverted crimson.
Sabrathan replaced it when it failed to absorb any more. All the while, his prayer never dithered, but despite this, the blood was hardly ceasing to flow.
Alvira gave the priest a pleading look, and he reciprocated with an expression of undying valor as he repeated once more God's healing prayer. He motioned to the inert talisman now nestled between Alvira's ghostly fingers, and doubt brimmed within her. Yet, even as Sabrathan's lips continued to move, she could see the reassuring smile upon them. And so, with a small glimmer of hope rekindling within her soul, Alvira placed her hand upon Sabrathan's and prayed as well. The talisman became hot; God had heard her.
The wound sewed itself back together slowly, strand by fleshy strand, and the blood was finally being staved off. Sabrathan threw away another soiled patch of cotton, and when he once more compressed the wound, the fresh garb barely turned red.
Just a bit more…
The opening now could barely fit the tip of a pen, and the clotting of Ostrava's blood assured that no more would escape. Still, Alvira pushed, hard enough that the remainder of her energy swelled inside of him and suffused, intent on healing every single scratch and scar that littered his body and blanketing him in ethereal light.
Though when their prayers ended, Ostrava didn't stir. He remained stagnant, lifeless; if not for the shallow rise and fall of his chest, he could only be assumed dead. Alvira lifted his hand, entwining their fingers, and felt only anguish weighing upon her soul when he didn't respond. Beside her, Sabrathan dipped down to press his ear to the fallen knight's chest, listening for a pulse, and scowled at what he heard.
"Will he survive?" Alvira asked, her spirit exhausted. Sabrathan's brow furrowed in thought and his eyes became serious, preluding something terrible.
"I don't know," Sabrathan replied. "He is stable, but his heartbeat is faint. He's lost a lot of blood. It's in God's hands whether he lives or dies."
Alvira wilted, holding Ostrava's hand over her vacant chest, mimicking despair, though her eyes could not produce tears. Sabrathan placed a comforting palm against the back of her plate, regardless of the gesture's uselessness, and allowed her time to grieve.
"We should move him out of the sight of inquisitive eyes," Sabrathan eventually suggested. Alvira agreed, and she hoisted Ostrava into a bridal carry, mindful not to jostle him despite his lack of injury. Together, they brought him carefully to Sabrathan's private nook.
And from above, the burnt-out wisp of a fading soul relinquished his one last tie to the material plane.
The days merged seamlessly, each feeling exactly like the last.
Ostrava still treaded the fine line between life and death. He didn't move; he only breathed in the same, rattling tune of a man destined to pass. Likewise to his stillness, Alvira sat with him, completely immobile. She had visited the Maiden in Black only after enough pestering from Brother Sabrathan but had since done little else, aside from making her companion as comfortable a bed as she could manage. Even her armor lay in pieces unattended, sullying the priest's otherwise unblemished space.
'It's in God's hands whether he lives or dies.'
Alvira sighed. The last time she had left someone's life to God, He had taken him. Yet, this time, the one for whom she prayed was still here.
Perhaps God is merely testing my faith…
For the first time in a while (hours, days?), Alvira shifted her gaze from Ostrava to the priest and acolyte. The latter had cleaned and groomed himself since they'd first met and had even managed to procure a new set of clothes (most likely courtesy of Stockpile Thomas). They were talking animatedly in muted tones, and Alvira wondered what they could possibly be discussing. She stood on stiff legs and took a few steps toward them.
"… can fend for himself for a while longer. The Saint is powerful, much more so than I."
"No! He is trapped by a soul imbibed with the Old One's taint; we must rescue him immediately!"
Sabrathan pinched the bridge of his nose, rubbing his temple with the other hand. "Do you not see that I am preoccupied?"
"Leave the man! He is dead anyway!"
At this, Alvira reached for the acolyte, gripping him a bit more sternly than she'd intended. The man nearly tipped backwards as she pulled him closer.
"Do not announce my companion dead before God has made His judgment," she countered, sounding serene, though she was bristling with righteous ire. Alvira released him when he began to struggle in her hold, and he flopped himself onto the ground.
"I- I did not mean to offend-" Alvira held up a hand to silence him, and his teeth clattered as his jaw snapped shut. Then, she filled the space where he had once stood, taking a seat in front of the priest, and proceeded to ignore the younger man's presence.
"For now, this conversation is concluded. I have the utmost confidence that God will protect His most loyal servant." Sabrathan glared at the man sharply. "Do you?"
"Ye- yes, yes of course; you're right!" The man then shoved his face against the floor as he prayed loudly in a dramatic show of submission. "Dear God, I am a sinner. Please, forgive me my lack of faith-"
"By God, lad; please, let me work."
"My deepest apologies, Brother!" the man sputtered, trying to stand and run all at once; when that proved ineffective, he merely crawled. "Umbasa!"
Sabrathan rolled his eyes as the man bustled away, and Alvira felt the tiniest inkling of a smile gracing her lips. "The Locals are quite eccentric, aren't they?" He winked, causing her smile to break. "Ah, there it is." Clapping one of Alvira's hands between his own, he scrutinized her. "How are you faring, Lady Knight?"
"Not much better," she responded, vying for honesty. Sabrathan inclined his head in understanding. "But I was hoping you could teach me another miracle."
Sabrathan frowned. "I'm afraid there's not much I, or anyone else, can teach you by way of helping your friend, if that's what you're getting at."
"No, I just… want to learn. To be closer to God. Would you…?"
Alvira left her unfinished question hanging in the air, but Sabrathan sympathized with her. "Always," he promised, fetching a recognizable dusty tome, and flipping to a page somewhere in the middle. "First and foremost, I am a healer. Now that you know the basic concept, I can also teach you to cure poisons and various diseases. Will this suffice?"
Alvira dared to smile again in the face of adversity. "Of course, Brother."
Sabrathan beamed at her. "Present your talisman, and we will begin."
Long after the denizens of the Nexus had gone to bed, Alvira found herself wishing that she could traverse to the same dreamland they had all retreated into. However, cursed with a body no longer requiring sleep, she was unable to follow. So instead, she spent her time with Ostrava, lamenting the fact that her hand could not penetrate the glacial steel of his helmet as she smoothed her hand over the side of it. Sometimes, all she desired was to remove the armor so that she could have the privilege to look upon his face, but she wanted to respect his wish to remain unseen above all else. And so, it stayed.
The sound of someone muttering desperately to themselves broke her of her trance, and she poked her head around the pillar from where the voice had originated. There, she found the acolyte on his knees with his talisman trapped between his praying hands as he spoke into the ether.
"Forgive me, Lord, for I am weak,
"I have abandoned Your ideals and succumbed to treachery.
"O Lord, I pray now that You will punish me,
"For I have not the strength to punish myself."
Alvira, drawn to the man by his prayer, touched his shoulder. He sucked in a breath that did more to suffocate him than much else, throwing himself belly-first to the ground. When he turned around, he gazed fearfully up into Alvira's wistful face.
But then, he smiled.
"O Lord, I rejoice You, for my punishment has arrived!" he praised, even as he shut his eyes tight in anticipation for what was to come. But what he expected was far different than what he received.
Alvira lowered herself to the man, taking him by the hand. His eyes cracked open when he felt her, his confusion clearly visible.
"Someone has become lost to you as well?" Alvira hushed kindly. The man swallowed around the knot forming in his throat and nodded.
"Who is he?"
"S-Saint Urbain," the man stammered. "I… left him for dead to run for my own, pathetic life."
Alvira hummed thoughtfully. "What if, perhaps, this is part of God's plan?"
The man's dark brown eyes very nearly bulged from their sockets. "What…? What would God gain by endangering the highest man in His church?"
"Nothing," she answered simply, and the man's head fell against his shoulder, implying that he didn't comprehend; so, she continued. "You, however, stand to gain courage and faith, that will in turn make you stronger. So next time, if you heed the lesson God is trying to teach you, you will possess all you need to protect the ones closest to you."
The man looked down upon her hand around his as he contemplated her words. "I see…" After a long, drawn-out minute of silence between them, the man started to perk up. He raised his head and looked to Alvira directly with a wide grin upon his face. "I finally see!"
Then, he shot to his feet, hugging Alvira to him in a bone-crushing embrace. Once he decided to let go, she was almost depleted of breath. "God has sent you, His angel, to be my guide! Thank you, my guardian; and thank You, my Lord, for Your blessings upon me!"
"I am no angel," Alvira argued, but it was too quiet for him to hear her. The man cheered, still hand-in-hand with her, and Alvira felt her heart become warm. He spun to her, then, gripping her other hand like two children about to play ring-a-roses.
"Your name! You must tell me your name!" the man begged.
"I am Alvira…"
"Oh, a lovely name for a most divine angel!" The man unclasped their hands and bowed. "I am Elijah, and I'll not soon forget you."
Then, all she could see was the man's back as he sprinted away, though he was polite enough to wave. Alvira felt a laugh bubbling in her throat.
He reminded her of Ostrava.
And to that thought, she returned to her sleeping knight to wait for the moment when he would awaken.
Several more days passed uneventfully, but not without purpose. Much to Boldwin's on-going displeasure, he was once more commissioned to repair Alvira's armor. She also brought Ostrava's shield and breastplate to him so that they would be ready by the time he roused. Sabrathan lectured her with some interesting factoids on Boletarian history. She'd even gotten to practice healing diseases on Elijah after he'd eaten a chunk of fetid meat, though he'd tried to suffer through the virus without aid to show off his newfound resolve (Sabrathan had called it "audacity").
Now she was once again by Ostrava's side, meditating, as a much healthier Elijah studied one of Sabrathan's tomes, propped against her back.
It was then that Ostrava began to regain consciousness.
Alvira's eyes popped open, and Elijah didn't have time to balance himself against the sudden shift of her body as she lunged forward, causing the back of his head to hit the floor. He cringed, rubbing the tender spot as he craned his neck to investigate.
"Go get Brother Sabrathan!" Alvira urged, and when he saw the prone knight move, he scurried off. Ostrava exhaled a dry-throated groan as he opened his sore eyes for the first time in weeks.
"Ostrava!" Alvira gasped, and the knight turned his head towards her voice. She took his hand, and when his fingers wrapped around hers, she began to sob.
"Alvira…?" Ostrava croaked, unable to say anything else as he coughed and gagged. Alvira rolled him onto his side so that he wouldn't asphyxiate, and then, Sabrathan was stuffing a waterskin in her hand.
"Help him drink," he instructed; she lifted his visor just enough to push the pouch against his lips, squeezing the water slowly into his mouth. They had to refill it several times before he was satiated.
By then, some of the stiffness in his limbs had abated. He bolstered himself up on an elbow, only to be forced back down when Alvira slumped against his chest.
"What… happened?" he asked slowly, voice still scratchy despite all of the water he'd just consumed. Alvira, lacking the ability to comment through an intense bout of hiccups, merely continued to weep against him as Sabrathan answered for her.
"You nearly died, lad." And prompted by the priest's explanation, the memories came rushing back one by one. They'd released a demon slayer being held captive in Latria. The man had assisted them when they fought the demons, but for some reason or another, he had wanted them both dead.
Who even is he…?
Ostrava's mind was not allowed to wander for long as he was beginning to feel breathless under Alvira's weight. He tapped her shoulder, and she knew immediately, though she continued to cling to his side as she nuzzled her face into the crook of his neck. Sabrathan pressed a hand to Ostrava's chest, and he sighed in relief as his body's residual aches and pains dissolved away.
"Thank you… Brother…" Ostrava wheezed. The older man bowed his head to him.
"Try not to speak too much," he advised. Then, he grabbed Elijah by the back of his shirt and dragged the man away, leaving him and Alvira alone.
"I didn't think you would make it," Alvira confessed, her hiccups having dwindled to occasional whimpers.
"Alvira… I…" Ostrava tried, directly opposing Sabrathan's suggestion, only for his own body to revolt against him. He nearly choked before Alvira soothed his throat with her healing power and another dose of water.
"Don't talk anymore," she whispered. "Just listen."
Ostrava nodded, closing his eyes, and relaxed in her hold. Alvira clutched him so closely that he was able to hear her fluttering heartbeat.
"I started to lose my faith," she continued. "I couldn't save you. For some reason, when I tried, God stopped answering. I feared He would take you away from me forever."
Ostrava draped an arm over her, rubbing circles into the small of her back. An uncontrollable tremor overwhelmed her when tears once again streaked down her face.
"Without you, I would be lost. Ostrava… I… I think I…"
Alvira paused, the words becoming lodged in her throat. Ostrava's head thunked weakly against her chest, and the movement of his fingers lessened before they stopped entirely. A meager snore indicated that he had fallen asleep.
… I think I love you.
Author's note: I just wanted to clarify that the reason Ostrava isn't dealing with extreme muscle atrophy after being comatose for several weeks is because of The Power of MiraclesTM. No, really. That's actually it.
Also, now that the DeS remake exists, some of you may not be aware of who the Acolyte of God is (and actually, since I don't own a PS5, I only found out that he doesn't exist in the remake today). Essentially, our friend Elijah (unnamed in the game) serves as a throw-away NPC that has almost no purpose. His dialogue isn't interesting, and in certain scenarios, he's a jobber. So instead of just deleting him, I slapped some Flex Tape on that one, too! Phil Swift can't even keep up with this fic.
... I did delete the unnamed Worshipper of God, though. There wasn't enough Flex Tape in the world for me to write both of these characters in a good way. So, RIP.