Melia's eyes flew wide open as hot blood trickled down her throat. The masked woman leaned back, empty eye holes taking in their handiwork. Gloating, she realized. A shock of revulsion lanced through her. She gritted her teeth against the stinging pain then reined in her scattered thoughts. Focus… Ether was all around her. If she could just reach it, she would be fine. Her fingers strained for her staff. She squeezed her eyes shut, willing a gust of wind to aid her.

And then, she felt it. A soft breeze, just enough to roll her staff closer. She seized it, newfound confidence making her heart race. The ether pulsed through her veins with each beat, gained power as it picked up the stray shreds of energy in her blood. It gathered in her chest. She pictured it as an orb of firelight, warm and glowing. The ether swelled in unison with her lungs. She exhaled.

Perhaps it was the force of her breath or perhaps she'd summoned wind without meaning to. Either way, her assailant was flung backward, sent skidding across the tiled floor. Both women scrambled to their feet and faced each other. The assassin growled deep in her throat. With almost unnatural speed, she lunged toward the princess, brandishing her daggers. Melia raised her staff, managed to catch both blades at once. She pushed hard, putting some distance between herself and her attacker.

Before she could launch an attack of her own, she sensed something. A heat, a quiet tension hovering overhead that bore down on the vast chamber until it felt more like a closet. Her skin prickled. The hair on the back of her neck stood on end. She felt claustrophobic, tried to keep her gaze from straying. It was nothing. Her mind playing tricks. And if she became distracted now, she knew that it would be the end of her.

A few feet ahead, her foe dropped into a crouch. She could still feel the bite of the blade against her throat. Tiny tremors wracked her body. Raising her staff, she drew upon the ether.

"Melia! Look out!"

The thrum of ether within her dulled as her concentration broke. She whipped her head towards the source of the interruption. Is that… Shulk?

Then, the tension descended on her, revealing its true form. A Telethia. She stumbled away to safety just as its claw grazed the back of her neck. Grounding her staff, she managed to stay on her feet. She froze. The assassin sprang into action, taking advantage of Melia's surprise.

Time slowed to a crawl. She watched the assassin advance on her but she couldn't move. Step after step, blades glinting. Mentally, she wasn't in the Tomb anymore. She was back in Makna Forest. Ether blocked, helpless as her knights died in front of her. Like they were nothing more than pesky insects. Her lips moved wordlessly, trying to summon something. Anything would do.

A body leapt in front of her and parried the masked woman's daggers with ease. Her gaze was drawn to the disheveled blond locks. Shulk. She relaxed, senses flooding back to her. He had come to save her – a thought that made her heart beat a little faster. Unbidden, a smile took over her mouth, as if they weren't fighting for their lives.

She shook herself out of the trance, summoned ice. The ground beneath the assassin turned slick and she slipped. Shulk swung the Monado down on her. Still off balance, the woman rolled to the side just in time. The blade instead struck the ice upon which she'd been sprawled, breaking it into glittering fragments.

Melia wound up then struck the assassin's wrist with her staff. Her efforts were rewarded with a hiss of pain and the clattering sound of one of the knives hitting the floor.

"Nice one!" Shulk sent a smile her way then refocused on the battle.

She wished she could have done the same, but his expression of approval continued to distract her. Seeing the gentle curve of his lips tilt upward gave her butterflies. That fluttering sensation manifested in both her stomach and heart. She bit down on her lip in an attempt to force her thoughts back to the fight, but they wouldn't obey.

Instead, the more she tried to ignore it, the more vivid her imaginations became. Unusual visuals assaulted her mind's eye while strange sensations tingled throughout her body. She could almost see Shulk's face draw closer, could feel the soft pressure of his lips as they captured hers.

A hand grabbed her arm, yanked her backward. Shulk's real face, not the imagined one, swam into view. "You okay?" he asked as he guided her away from the assassin and the Telethia.

The redness in her cheeks intensified with embarrassment. With some difficulty, she collected herself and pulled her arm from his grip. Even though all she wanted was to maintain physical contact. "Yes. Of course. I'm fine." Her voice was stiff, somehow managing to rein in her wayward emotions, lock them in the deepest part of her being. Perhaps she would revisit them later, in private.

He opened his mouth to reply but the roar of the Telethia cut him off. Both sets of eyes flicked to the beast, momentarily losing track of the assassin that crept towards them. Inky blue blood oozed from a cut on its abdomen. It lashed out with its whip-like tail, colliding with Dunban's sword. The resistance confused the Telethia long enough for Reyn to land another hit.

It shrieked in agony and threw itself toward Melia. Anger radiated from it, vibrating the ether around them. She should've been scared. But she wasn't. Shulk was there and so were the others. He would protect her.

Maybe it should've struck her as odd that she had so much faith in him – a man that she barely knew. Surely, at this point in her life, she had been given enough reasons to trust only in herself. No one else could have her safety in mind at all times. Not even Catlaina…

She banished the thought from her head and summoned fire. The element was bolstered by the Telethia's rage. She drew a blazing ring around herself and her companions then pushed it outward. Flesh burning, the beast howled. But the assassin danced out of reach of the hungry flames. She sent another wave chasing after the masked woman. Her agonized cry rang out over the din of battle.

The sound sent a thrill of hope through the princess. For a minute, she convinced herself that the assassin was dead. Or at least too injured to continue fighting. It was almost over. Just the Telethia now. The beast seemed close to its final breaths, its movements erratic and clumps of its flesh missing. Dunban and Reyn were relentless in their attacks. They worked well together, she noted. One defended while the other focused on offense. And, without needing to speak, they swapped roles as necessary.

Sharla and Riki hung back. The healer launched round after round of healing shots, but the Heropon seemed to simply be hiding from the conflict. Perhaps, when this was all over, he would insist that he'd been protecting Sharla and that he'd been utterly instrumental in their victory. Melia fought back a smile, scolding herself for losing her focus again. They all worked so hard. Why wasn't she doing more? Just as she prepared to reach into the ether again, Reyn delivered the final blow.

He dove beneath the Telethia, ramming his weapon into the center of its underbelly. Flesh ripped like paper and a gush of indigo blood soaked him completely. The monster screeched, flew across the room in frantic lines. As if the pain had made it blind. In its death throes, one of its appendages struck the assassin's face. She'd been just about to attack Melia again, but the force of the monster's flailing launched her backward. Her mask landed on the floor beside her. With a startled shout, she raised her arm to protect her identity then scrambled to collect her mask.

"Telethia!" she screamed as she retreated. "Kill as many of them as you can!"

Then she disappeared. No one saw where she'd gone. They all were too preoccupied with the Telethia's imminent explosion. Its body began to glow – a light that grew more intense the closer it got to death. Melia felt the distinct tremble of fear run through her. If the ether burst out of it, they would all die. In such a confined space, the power of the aftershock would be awe-inspiring. Enough to rip their existences into insignificant shreds. Forgotten.

Alvis stepped in front of them, arm raised, palm facing the expiring beast. Fierce concentration rooted in his eyes, turned them dark. The Telethia expelled its ether in a single blast. Vibrant green light illuminated his face, highlighting the tension in his features. But his struggle paid off; none of the residual energy reached the rest of the group. When the ether faded, Melia noticed his labored breaths, saw him swaying on his feet. Perhaps the feat had almost been too much for him…

For a moment, no one spoke. They were each consumed by silent celebrations, coming down from the high of combat, thanking the Bionis for their lives. Melia lowered herself to the floor. Her legs shook so intensely, she couldn't trust herself to stay standing.

Everyone else seemed alright. Alvis was grey in the face, eyes distant and sweat beading at his hairline. She wondered if that was the price to pay for such a display of power. Exhaustion. An all-consuming fatigue that wore him down to his very bones. Then he simply shook himself out of it, shedding any sign of strain.

Riki boasted of his contribution to the victory, as she'd predicted. But truthfully, she didn't mind. It made the whole ordeal feel normal. The only thing missing was Reyn's protests. He was too busy cleaning off Telethia blood to retort. Or… he tried to clean it off. With only his hands, he was just spreading it around. Sharla laughed at him.

Melia pushed herself up to her feet once she was sure she wouldn't collapse. The others glanced at her as she joined them.

"Reyn," she said slowly. "Do you need a hand?"

"What? Oh, this?" He raised his arms, dripping metallic blue blood over the tiles beneath him. "Yeah, I guess so. You have a towel or something?"

She made a swirling gesture with her staff. The motion created a large bubble of water, which she then popped over Reyn's head. A cascade of cold water rained over him, rinsed away the blood. He grumbled his thanks. Shulk snorted and Dunban smirked. Heat rose to her cheeks at their reactions. She'd just wanted to be nice…

With a huff, she summoned a warm breeze to help her soaked friend dry. The laughter stopped, replaced by compliments. But she couldn't hear them. Her own thoughts drowned them out. Had she done something wrong? Should she have let Reyn trail Telethia blood through Alcamoth? She shuffled away, putting some distance between them. They broke off into their own conversations. As if nothing had happened.

"Melia, you're hurt…" It was Dunban's voice that broke through to her.

She blinked. His breastplate had been gouged out by the Telethia's claws. It was a miracle that it had managed to protect him at all. Damil's dented helmet flashed in her mind. A chill ran down her spine.

"And you are in need of new armor," she replied dryly. She had yet to forgive him for agreeing to the marriage. That's what she told herself, anyway. She needed to explain away the unpleasantness frothing within her. He could've put an end to the dreadful business. Why hadn't he fought against her father's demands?

He laughed, mistaking her coldness for humor. And she was not of a mind to correct him. Even with her frustration, she wanted him to like her. It was the only way that their arrangement would be bearable. She pushed the thought away. Right then, she needed to relax, forget about the wedding and, more importantly, the attempt on her life.

"It looks worse than it is," he said. Then he shifted focus back to her wound. "You should let Sharla take care of that."

She argued half-heartedly but he wouldn't relent. It wasn't worth the energy she expended. So, she gave in, consented to being treated. Fortunately, the injury wasn't as severe as it had originally appeared. Sharla patched her up in a matter of minutes. Her hand ghosted up to the bandages, testing their strength. It only took a few touches before she realized something was wrong. Dread pooled in her stomach like buckets of icy water and her heart stopped beating.

"Sharla?" She kept her tone even, desperate to mask her panic. "Did you perhaps remove my locket when you tended to my wound?"

The healer shook her head, dark locks bouncing. "No, I didn't even see a necklace."

That sense of dread worsened, but she maintained every bit of emotional control. She tried to convince herself that the situation wasn't so terrible, that it was just a piece of jewelry. But Kallian had given it to her. Guilt mingled with her earlier anxiety, culminating in a splitting headache. And yet, she doubted anyone could see her turmoil. Even if she removed the ceremonial mask. Her lessons in diplomacy had perhaps been too successful…

"Ooh, Riki find shiny-shiny!" Melia's heart leapt at the words she overheard from across the room. A new hope surged through her veins. "Riki get fixer Nopon then give shiny-shiny to Oka as gift."

She rushed over to the Heropon, exhaling sharply when she identified the necklace in his hand. She snatched it away from him before she could stop herself. The chain was broken – must have been cut by the Telethia's attack – and the hinges were bent. The locket hung open awkwardly, revealing… nothing. Because it was empty. She clutched the gift to her chest, over her heart, tears welling up in her eyes.

She'd known this would happen. The accessory had been in her possession for scarcely three hours, yet it was already broken. Why had she allowed herself to wear it? But she hadn't needed to ask. Her mind supplied the answer without hesitation: Because Kallian told her to. He'd said it would allow him to take on the Tomb Trial with her, that it was a symbol of his brotherly support. Did breaking it mean she'd lost that blessing?

"I apologize, Riki," she said, voice wavering, "but that is my locket. Kallian presented it to me this morning, before my departure."

"That okay, Melly," he replied as he bounced up and down like an eager child. "Riki understand." He paused, glanced around the chamber, then broke into a crooked grin. "Melly just have to promise to help Riki get new gift for Oka."

"I promise…" Her words sounded hollow to her ears. A flush of anger raised the temperature of her body. She wasn't mad at Riki, but she couldn't stop herself from placing some of the blame on him. After all, was it not his fault that she felt a sudden emotional disconnect with her brother? No. It wasn't. It was her fault. She hung her head in shame.

"Lighten up," Reyn said from a few feet away. His hair was still damp from the impromptu bath. Shulk stood beside him, drawing her gaze, dulling the anger caused by Reyn's words. "It's just a necklace."

Maybe a piece of her soul broke when he said that. She tore off her mask. In the aftermath of their battle, he must've forgotten that she was a person with emotions. Her mask reduced her entire existence to an idea. Intangible, above the struggles of mortals. She let it fall from her fingers. Then she faced Reyn, the dam that held back her darkest feelings cracking.

"It is important to me." Her eyes watered as she forced the sentence out.

The teasing grin slipped from Reyn's mouth. "I didn't…"

A tear rolled down her cheek and she wiped it away quickly. Before anyone else noticed how weak she was. But Shulk was watching. He stepped closer, studied her with a warm, soft expression.

"Can I see it?" he asked, not daring to hold out his hand. Perhaps he felt he had no right to reach for her treasure, demand cooperation.

"Yes." With some difficulty, she pried the locket away from her chest and allowed him to pluck it from her palm.

His blue eyes scanned over it. He fiddled with the hinges, caressed them with his index finger as if to assess the damage. After a few seconds of this, he looked up at her. A faint smile reassured her before he even spoke. "This isn't so bad. I can fix it for you, if you'll let me hold on to it for a few days."

She couldn't speak – her throat was too dry – so she simply nodded. Rapid bobs of her head. Warmth gathered in her chest, much different from her earlier anger. It was an unfamiliar sensation and she found herself contemplating what it could be. In a way, it reminded her of what she'd felt for Damil. But even that wasn't quite the same. She settled on 'affection' and basked in the glow of it. Then she remembered her situation. If he finished the necklace in a few days, it would most likely be a wedding gift…

Kallian hadn't waited for her outside of the Tomb – only Catlaina had. She was ashamed at the relief that flooded through her. But, after she'd so carelessly ruined the locket, she couldn't face him. So, she resolved to avoid him until she could forgive herself.

She left her friends in the Ascension Hall and proceeded to the throne room with Catlaina on her heels. The mask was like a block of steel in her hands. But it was a necessary evil. Her father would want to see the seal the ancestors had bestowed upon her. And the rest of Alcamoth would want the same. Though that could wait. For now, she strode up to the throne and knelt before her father.

He commanded her to rise, his usually warm tones seeming harsh. Unease jolted down her spine, made her knees weak as she regained her standing position. She bit down on the inside of her cheek, scanned the perimeter of the Audience Chamber. Extra guards loomed in each corner but beyond that, nothing else seemed off. The space to the right of the emperor was empty. She shouldn't have expected Kallian to be there – he'd told her that he wouldn't be. Not until he healed. And yet, the absence nagged at her.

Without waiting to be prompted, she launched into her retelling of what had transpired in the Tomb. She kept it brief, unwilling to share every miniscule detail. Besides, if he didn't ask, she had no obligation to answer. And he didn't question her story, didn't wonder at the bloody bandages wrapped around her neck. He seemed preoccupied. Something must've been bothering him.

"What… What happened while I was away?" She wasn't certain she wanted to know. But she'd already taken the risk. When her father's moods turned dark, he was unpredictable. Like a thunderstorm – his words the booming thunder and his violence a bolt of lightning. Impossible to determine where it would strike. If it struck at all.

Everything about her father drooped. His shoulders, the corners of his lips, his wings. For once, he appeared small and frail, as if the weight of the empire had finally become too much to bear. He mouthed words, couldn't voice them. Then he spread his hands helplessly. "It… concerns Kallian."

Her jaw ached with the effort of holding back her sorrow. "Is he dead?"

"No. He attempted to be but…" Sorean's brow knit and the lines on his face deepened. He opened his mouth, shut it. A sigh tore through his lips. The sound was heavy, perhaps a bit lonely too. As if he was trapped in his own head. He wanted to share everything he knew but he couldn't. "We are very fortunate that one of his guards is medically trained."

Melia shivered at the implication of the statement. Another suicide attempt, this one deadlier than the last. How could that be true? He said he'd wait for her. He promised…

"You can find him in the infirmary. Perhaps he will wake if you visit," her father said, voice breaking.

She nodded numbly. Her feet carried her out of the throne room. A fog had settled over her, muddling her vision, muffling the sounds that reached her ears. If her friends hadn't been hanging around the transporter, she might've resorted to wandering the palace aimlessly. Like she'd done the first time.

They looked to her questioningly. But, upon seeing the expression on her face, none of them spoke. She breathed in and held it for a second. Then she let it go. Maybe she shouldn't say anything. She didn't want to bring down the mood any more than she already had. And it was none of their business, anyway. But she wanted to break her training, unload all of her grief. For Aizel, Garan, Hogard. For Damil. For Kallian.

"I've received—" She choked on the words and had to start over. "I've received some bad news."

Still, they were silent. No one wanted to be the one to push her. Not even Reyn. The thought gave her pause; it seemed too good to be true. And it was. She did a swift headcount and found they were one short.

"Where is Reyn?" she asked, thankful for the momentary diversion.

"Back to the Villa for a proper bath," Shulk said. If the air hadn't been so suffocating, he might've laughed. She wished he would. "Not that what you did wasn't helpful. He just…"

"I understand." Perhaps she should do the same. The hot water would work wonders on her sore muscles and troubled mind. And she desperately needed a change of clothes. Dried blood stained her neckline. Even worse, she noticed the torn fabric that bared her stomach. How had she forgotten? The adrenaline must have had something to do with it. She blushed, hugging herself to hide the exposed skin.

Sharla stepped in front of her, blocking the others' view. "Well, Reyn's had a good idea for once. Why don't we follow his lead? And meet for lunch after?"

They all agreed with the plan and made their way back to the Villa. Which, luckily for Melia, wasn't far. Sharla gestured for the men to go ahead, then followed behind with the princess and her guard.

"Thank you," Melia mumbled when she was sure the others weren't listening. "I can't believe I didn't notice it until now. And I met with my father like this. I'm mortified." But, if she was being honest with herself, the humiliation was preferable to the numbness.

"Don't mention it. We girls have to stick together."

An hour later, all six of them met in the Great Hall. Melia insisted that Catlaina take the rest of the afternoon off. And, after a short back and forth, the guard reluctantly agreed. After all, the Homs had proven their worth. She had nothing to worry about. The princess promised to handle any backlash from the captain or even Minister Caul himself.

They enjoyed lunch at a casual restaurant in the commercial district. Reyn and Riki were ravenous; Melia feared she would have to empty out the imperial coffers to satisfy them. Shulk ate quietly, lost in thought. She didn't eat at all. Both Sharla and Dunban pushed her to have something but she refused. She wasn't hungry. How could she indulge in anything when Kallian was dying? Well, not dying exactly. But he was ailing and she still wanted to avoid him. The guilt made her nauseous.

After their meal, they decided to do some shopping. Restock supplies, replace old equipment. The group splintered off, each person taking care of their own business. She drifted from shop to shop, not really looking at anything. Sharla appeared at her side with a basket of gauze and tonics on her hip.

"Find any good deals?"

"I haven't been paying attention," she admitted.

"Oh…" Sharla frowned. Then she coughed and lowered her voice. "I know this isn't the best place to talk but you can count on us. For anything. Even if it's just to vent, I'm here. Thought you should know."

Her first instinct was to express gratitude then change the subject. Years of suppressing her feelings didn't just disappear in one day. And she was sure her interaction with Reyn was enough of a step in the right direction. For now. She had to find a balance. A good empress didn't fall apart at every inconvenience. But a good friend didn't push away those that cared for her.

"It's Kallian. He…" Her eyes darted around, searching for unwanted listeners. She didn't notice anyone, but to be safe, she told a half truth. "He's taken ill."

She wondered if there was any point in being discreet. By nightfall, the entire city would know what Kallian had done. The Imperial Guard could be trusted. Mostly. But that certainly wasn't a guarantee. Then there were the miscellaneous servants. Even doctors could betray them.

"That sucks. Hopefully, he'll get better soon," Sharla said lightly, but her expression was grim. As if she knew exactly what Melia had left unspoken. "If you'd like company when you visit him, let me know."

"I will." She probably wouldn't. Even if she went to see her brother, she'd want to be alone. That was another reason she'd given Catlaina the afternoon off. She needed the space to express herself properly. It had been too long since she'd handled her emotions the way she was accustomed to. Maybe that explained why she was so willing to let Sharla in.

Harsh sunlight shone through the curtain, casting strangely colored shadows upon the floor of the physician's workspace. Early morning had long since been taken over by the afternoon hours and the hot air was thick with sorrow and sickness. The room itself was too small for the five people that occupied it, though its privacy was a commodity few others could afford.

It wasn't really even a room. It had two metal walls – one behind and one to the side – and the rest was enclosed by curtains. Curtains that had only been set up for the prince's benefit. Otherwise, it would have been open to the rest of the infirmary.

Yumea sat at her son's bedside in a padded chair that she'd made her personal guard carry. The man stood on the other side of the curtain now, questioning anyone who got too close. Then there were Kallian's guards, three of them in total – that number would surely increase after this incident. But they had blind eyes and deaf ears when they were ordered to. The First Consort had no reason to believe that her display of tenderness would be gossiped about.

She ran her fingers through the prince's hair, murmuring assurances. The doctor promised he'd be alright. His wrists would be permanently scarred, of course, but there was no other damage. Yet she couldn't quite trust that assessment. In terms of physical health, perhaps the woman had told the truth. But Kallian's illness wasn't one that could be detected by the eye, even if the eye in question belonged to a trained medic.

He had attempted to end his life twice now. Her baby… Unruly tears streaked down her face. She wiped them away without thinking about it. The action had become automatic over the years. That was how she'd been raised. Maintain perfection, austerity. Do not crack. Do not break.

Not that those teachings had done her any good. They only saved her from embarrassment. But they couldn't spare her from the grief, the pain. And who could judge her for hurting? The child she'd struggled to bring into the world no longer wished to live. She had every right to fall apart, cry hysterically until her loving husband comforted her. A small part of her craved the chance to crumble. Let her darkest and fiercest emotions come to light. The rest of her refused to cooperate. She couldn't. Even on her own, there would be consequences. If she allowed herself to fracture, no one could piece her back together. Sorean might try. He loved her – and she loved him – but it would never be enough.

With a weary sigh, she rose from her seat. Her fingers glided over Kallian's hair and moved to his wings, delicately tracing the outline of each feather. She froze. Goosebumps formed along her arms as if she'd caught a chill. She glanced over her shoulder. The silhouette of her personal guard against the curtain was gone. Dread curled around inside her, taking her lungs and heart captive. Something was coming and she needed to flee.

But Kallian… Her eyes dropped to his serene face. She couldn't leave him alone with a potential threat. Leaning down, she pressed a kiss against his forehead. His skin felt feverish beneath her cool lips. Then, before she could contemplate the observation's implications, she stood up perfectly straight, faced the entryway.

An unfamiliar High Entia man ripped the curtain aside. Kallian's guards reached for their weapons by reflex. But they never drew them. They could have been statues for how still they stood after the initial reaction.

"Yumea Antiqua, you are under arrest for conspiracy to murder the crown princess," the stranger said, voice commanding. "Come peacefully or I shall have no choice but to use force."

"I did no such thing," she replied. Her fingers grabbed Kallian's hand for support. "Upon whose authority do you act? This is unacceptable. You shall not treat me as some common criminal."

The man seized her shoulders in a grip hard enough to leave dark purple bruises on her skin. She thrashed against him, heart shuddering to a stop. In spite of her efforts, she couldn't break free. He shoved her towards the wall to her left, pressed her face into silvery metal. Then he jerked her arms behind her back. She whimpered as her arms were wrenched around. A sound she despised. She almost couldn't believe it had come from her. Still, she fought on, kicking at his armored shins.

Heavy restraints tightened around her wrists, securing her in that utterly defenseless position. He turned her around like a prize to be admired from all angles.

"How dare you do this to me," she hissed as he dragged her out of the makeshift room.

"I will do with you whatever I please, Your Highness."

At his words, her mind shut down. She moved mechanically, her body shook with what she hoped he'd interpret as rage. He was right. He could do anything to her and there would be no one to stop him. Her guard had abandoned her, possibly on purpose. For the first time in decades, she was… terrified.