55: Aftermath

Dawn on Makvar. It was a pleasant sight, from the balcony of Kav'rak's home. A home that was starkly empty of life now, for his wife had left and taken their three daughters with her. She was staying with her sister, presumably as a way to make it clear to her frequently absent husband that she was not interested in living such an uneven married life. That, and she certainly was not pleased that he had dallied with a servant girl in the royal palace in more recent months. He would get his wife back, one way or another. The children as well, for their best future was with him. He was the one with the money, after all. What hope did his wife have, when she did not even have a job of her own? And even if she got one, it was not as if she would get anything higher than housekeeper or waitress. Hardly the kind of work that could support three children.

Kav'rak stood alone on his balcony, leaning upon a metal crutch under his left armpit, dressed in a simple blue gown. The lower half of his left leg had been fitted with a temporary prosthetic, a simple one at that. It offered little real mobility and was merely a placeholder until he could be fitted with a proper artificial limb, the kind that would offer him similar mobility to what he could have expected from his original organic leg. However, no matter how good a fake he got, it would not take away from the fact that he was somewhat diminished as a man in the eyes of others. It was an old belief, that a makalvari soldier had to be highly mobile, had to be agile enough to leap and climb to get an edge over his opponent. To be missing a leg was to be less of a soldier and to be incapable of the feats of agility their kind was known for. Even the best artificial leg money could buy would not change the perception in others that Kav'rak, regardless of his record, was now a less effective soldier. It was no wonder his superiors were trying to move him to a less combat-oriented role, not to mention that the Brigade Leader wanted him off of the special weapons project.

The sun was warm against his dark blue-black skin, the sky above a crystal blue and the hills of the outlying capital suburbs rolling out before him. Similar well-to-do houses lined the cobblestone roads here, home to the wealthier sorts. Below the balcony was the front yard, a little overgrown in places, but otherwise an organized and calming sight with its blooming flowers and lush ferns. The gate in the bleached stone wall at the front of the property (and those that neighboured it) suddenly opened, and Kav'rak directed his gaze to the male being allowed entry. The guard had been instructed to allow in this particular officer, and the uniform the visitor wore denoted him as a Lieutenant. It was a pristine, freshly pressed uniform, one that Kav'rak had kindly paid for seeing as how the able Lieutenant had not had the funds necessary to buy one of his own.

"Captain?" Sha'Pek stopped in the middle of the front yard, looking up at Kav'rak.

"Come on in, Lieutenant. The door's open. Take the stairs, they'll be on your right when you walk in."

Sha'Pek appeared a little uncertain as to his presence, seeing as being invited to a superior's home was unusual. Sha'Pek let himself into the house, dutifully heading up the stairs instead of poking his nose into the rooms he passed on by. Kav'rak turned around to face the door as Sha'Pek appeared there, before he stepped out onto the balcony. A table with two chairs was off to Kav'rak's left, and he gestured to it, an invitation for the Lieutenant to sit down. He took off his cap and, somewhat tentatively, seated himself. Kav'rak set himself down in the chair opposite. Between them was a glass pitcher filled with water and two glasses.

"Have a drink, if you're thirsty, Lieutenant," Kav'rak said. "No alcohol, I'm afraid. I don't keep any in the house. My wife doesn't like me drinking."

"Your wife, sir?" Sha'Pek grabbed the pitcher by the handle and poured some of the water into his glass.

"She's away, and she took the children with her." Kav'rak could not keep the bitterness out of his voice, and Sha'Pek quirked one brow-ridge, curious as to what the story might have been there. "She'll come back. Women are fickle creatures."

"That's very true, sir." Sha'Pek set the pitcher down, took up his glass and had a sip. He did seem uncomfortable, as was to be expected. A lot of officers would not have looked too kindly upon Sha'Pek, if only because he was not of the kind of 'gentle' birth so many of them shared. He was not nobility, rather Sha'Pek had come up from the gutter. Kav'rak had looked into his records and had been pleased with what he had found. A few higher-ranked officers spoke highly of his fighting skills, whereas others (those who likely did not know him too well) dismissed him as a rogue and a criminal. He had been elevated to his Lieutenancy because of his fighting skills, and some of the older officers did not much like that. Kav'rak, however, was a little more liberal in his views on such matters.

"You've rested well, I take it?" Kav'rak seated himself down in the chair opposite the Lieutenant.

"As best as I can, sir." Sha'Pek took another sip of the chilled water. A gentle breeze wafted over the balcony, ruffling the feathers atop the pair's respective heads.

"That's good. You must be expecting to go back to Dalabrai?"

"Wherever they'll send me, Captain. I do what I'm told."

"Yes, don't we all." Kav'rak narrowed his eyes, and Sha'Pek met his gaze with something uncertain in his own eyes. He knew Kav'rak had brought him here for a special purpose, and no amount of small talk was going to disguise it.

"There's going to be a change of plan where you're concerned, Lieutenant," Kav'rak said, and he saw Sha'Pek cock one eyebrow-ridge slightly, his curiosity piqued. "I'm having you reassigned. I need people I can trust working closely with me, and I know I can trust you, as odd as that may sound."

"Reassigned?" Now Sha'Pek looked worried, even if he did his best to conceal it.

"They're promoting me," Kav'rak announced. "And they're reassigning me. Not only will I become a Major, but I will also be relegated to a more administrative role. 'General Secretary' or some such, something new they came up with just for me, just to get me out of the way. You see, I have as many enemies as I do friends in the royal court. They sent me to Dalabrai likely hoping I'd get killed. Since that didn't work out, they're instead hoping to put me somewhere they can keep a tighter leash upon me. No doubt they will have people working with me whom will spy on me for them. That is why I need people I can trust, outsiders even."

Kav'rak had pondered the matter carefully, ever since he had received the news that he would be reassigned. That was likely the work of Brigade Leader Tav'kar, tempered by whatever supporters Kav'rak himself had at that higher level. As much as Tav'kar would have wanted him well out of the way, Kav'rak still had his connections and people who owed him favours. A compromise had been made somewhere behind the scenes, with the promotion having been part of it.

"You want me, sir?" Sha'Pek appeared bemused.

"You're an outsider, you're not involved in these political games. Not only that, but you're not the same kind of officer as the rest of them. You saved my life on Dalabrai, and I may have saved yours once or twice. I know you can fight and I know you can be relied upon. Not to mention, the position I have in mind for you, that is of a personal 'aide' of sorts, comes with additional pay to your standard Lieutenant's wage. I'm sure you would appreciate the extra money, am I correct?" Kav'rak smirked when he saw Sha'Pek's eyes light up. A man such as him would have been struggling to get by on the standard wages, especially as he came from a poorer background to begin with.

"What kind of job is it, sir?"

"You will help me in any way I instruct you to. You will protect me from my enemies, of which there are plenty. You will even have your own staff, a hand-selected group that you and I can use for whatever roles we deem necessary. Your selections will have to be vetted by myself, but I think you will make the right choices."

"Is it dangerous, then?"

"More than likely. But I suspect a man such as yourself is no stranger to danger." Kav'rak paused, briefly mulling over the subject. He was not about to let his rivals force him aside, nor would he allow them to push him into some kind of suicide mission as they had done by sending him to Dalabrai. His success there had likely put a damper on any schemes Brigade Leader Tav'kar had had in mind. Kav'rak sought to take advantage of that for as long as the opportunity held out.

"That is part of the reason I want you helping me," Kav'rak added. "I know you've probably got the kinds of skills not found in most officers. I did look at your records, although they stated little about your life before you joined the army." He leaned forwards slightly, intrigued as to what tales of his youth Sha'Pek might have had to share. "Were you a thief? A murderer? Something else?"

Sha'Pek shifted in his seat a little, suddenly uncomfortable. Kav'rak smiled, trying to reassure him.

"Don't worry, Lieutenant, nothing you tell me will be shared. It will be between us, no one else."

Sha'Pek considered the request a moment more, before he gave a nod and started talking again:

"I was a thief," he said. "I was only a fledgling at the time, but I was a thief. I brawled, like so many others like me. Until one day I killed someone in a fight over a woman. He was an older male, part of a gang. With them after me, I joined the army. At least that way I would be far and away from my enemies."

"We all have enemies, it seems." Kav'rak nodded in satisfaction, pleased that the Lieutenant had shared the more sensitive parts of his youth with him. They needed to trust each other, and to do so they would have to be somewhat open with one another. "I have enemies at the highest level. Brigade Leader Tav'kar is my commanding officer, has been for years. I know he has schemes in place to undermine the monarchy and keep another Emperor from ascending the throne. Him and other military officials like him, hoping to render us some kind of military dictatorship instead. Whereas I believe in the throne, the monarchy and the role of Emperor; I always have, since I was a child. My father was Captain of the Royal Guard when I was young and I spent many of my days in the palace, roaming the corridors and mingling with royalty. People like Tav'kar would have us become more like the Calsharans under the belief that it's our best chance of beating them. I, on the other hand, have no desire to see us stray from our roots any more than we have."

Sha'Pek still appeared uncomfortable, even more so as Kav'rak spoke. He had presumably realised that Kav'rak was revealing the kind of information that was more or less going to force him to side with the Captain (soon-to-be-Major). If Sha'Pek declined the offer of a job now, then Kav'rak would have no choice but to have him killed. And judging from the increasingly worried look on his face, Sha'Pek knew this.

"Do you believe in the Emperor, Lieutenant?" Kav'rak asked him. "Be honest, now."

"I believe in whoever's paying my wages," Sha'Pek answered. "Be that the Emperor, or you, Major." There was a knowing glint to his eyes then. Kav'rak saw it and smiled, nodding his head slowly in affirmation.

"Very wise answer, Lieutenant," Kav'rak said. He held out a hand, looking to the Lieutenant expectantly. "This is a new beginning, for both of us. You and I, we can make a real difference, together."

Sha'Pek took his hand, clasping it in the traditional way for a moment, before releasing it. Kav'rak watched the Lieutenant for a little longer, trying to gauge just what it was he might have been thinking in that instant. Being thrust into the political powerplays of an officer like Kav'rak had probably been the last thing someone such as Sha'Pek was expecting, yet even with this in mind he appeared level-headed enough.

"Now, it'll take a day or two to make your appointment as my aide official," Kav'rak said. "In the meantime, you're welcome to stay here."

"In your house, sir?" Sha'Pek looked positively taken aback. Kav'rak smiled at his reaction, amused.

"The house is practically devoid of life now," he said, his tone souring. "You might end up having to help me get my wife back. I'm not in much of a state to go dragging her back here myself."


The Odyssey had taken some serious damage but was still flightworthy. The bridge had been rendered inaccessible, more or less gone with what was left of it exposed to space. As a result, operations control had been relegated to a smaller, much more secure secondary command centre towards the heart of the ship. It was a rectangular room full of terminals on which control of the cruiser's critical systems had been relegated. Cameron Mitchell was inside, overseeing things as the ship started on a gentle descent towards Area 51, where it could be properly repaired. Granted, such repairs would take weeks, perhaps even months, but the ship was at least salvageable. Most of the others were little more than gutted wrecks in orbit.

John and McKay had come in not long after their puddle jumper had landed. The rest of their team had gone off to have their injuries treated, or to simply wash and change. John Sheppard had come in looking to get a grasp on the situation as a whole, specifically the status of the fleet. Cameron was still trying to piece that together, as information was sparse and communications lines were disrupted. Soon enough they would know for sure the losses taken, but for the time being they were still very much in the dark as to the full extent of what had happened during the battle.

John was in his scuffed and dirtied night raid gear, whilst McKay was in his somewhat dirtied civilian clothes. The pair had hurried into the secondary command centre asking questions, most of which Cameron could not answer for he lacked the information required. What he did want to know was just how these two, along with the others accompanying them, had ended up involved and just where Atlantis had suddenly appeared from. The story that had followed, about conspirators and alien energy beings contained in mantis-like biomechanical suits was a bit hard to follow, but Cameron had heard crazier things in his time so he did not disbelieve them.

"We took control of Atlantis and flew it over," John explained. "We were too late to save the fleet."

"But you did keep that ship from having a go at Earth," Cameron said. He could see that John was angry, albeit in that inwards manner that was not immediately apparent just by looking at him. Atlantis was gone, just another gutted wreck amongst many, more space junk to clog up Earth's orbit. Even before Anchorpoint, there was simply too much of it up there, mostly old satellites that no longer served a purpose. One of these days, someone was going to have to clean up all that mess. Especially now, when so much more had been added to it over the course of an afternoon.

"I'm hearing some of its fighter craft made a mess of some cities, but I've no idea how bad," Cameron continued. He sat down in the commander's position, at the heart of the secondary command centre. With the Major dead, the command of the Odyssey now fell to him solely. He supposed it was a small consolation after the loss of Anchorpoint station.

"How could this have happened, General?" John asked him. It sounded more like a rhetorical question than one he expected an answer for, but Cameron figured he would give it his best one anyway. It was a question that many would be asking for the months, even years to come. Investigations would be launched into what had happened, with officers such as Cameron and officials such as Director Banachek being asked many pressing questions. Somehow, Cameron just knew they would try and place part of the blame at his feet. Of course, what could he have done with a fleet caught off-guard and a space station that had been yet to receive its full armaments? Not to mention the enemy they had faced, one they had never actually fought before.

"Politics and conspiracy, from what I can gather," Cameron answered. "You said it yourself, there were people on Atlantis in league with the enemy. The fleet was caught off-guard in the middle of a ceremony. Anchorpoint was not even fully finished. Someone called the bad guys in, like you said. This 'Old Man' was responsible, not any of us."

"But all those ships…"

"What can I say, Colonel?" Cameron shrugged. "Shit happens. It's done now. All we can do is pick up the pieces, salvage what we can and press on. We won the war after Pearl Harbour, we'll win this one." He paused, briefly, cocking one eyebrow as he looked up at John. "That is what this is, right? A war? Because it sure as hell looked like one."

There was no denying that what had occurred was an act of war. That is, one made by an enemy that offered no official declaration, no indications as to what it was planning and one that had been supported by influential people. The 'Old Man' was one of the 'Seven', presumably seven powerful people sitting at the top of the world's hierarchy with pull in just about every government and multinational organization on the planet Earth.

"If you want accountability, Colonel, then I suggest you find the associates of this 'Old Man'," Cameron added.

"There are six more like him," McKay interjected. He reached into a pocket on his shirt, pulling out a small crystal, the kind of Ancient-designed data crystals commonly found within the systems on Atlantis. "I pulled this from a computer in the operations centre on Atlantis. I feel like it might have some answers on it, such as the identities of the other people in this group."

"Hang onto that, Rodney," John warned him, eyes narrowing as he turned to the physicist. "There are people out there who'd probably kill you just for having that."

"I'm used to it," McKay remarked, and he slipped the crystal back into his pocket. "I know that if I gave this to some authority back home, it would go missing. These people, the ones like the 'Old Man', they have agents everywhere. They'd make sure that information never sees the light of day."

"Are you suggesting we take this one into our own hands?" John asked him. It was a leading question, if only because it was clear to both McKay and Cameron that John had already made his decision on the matter. Taking the affair into their own hands was about the only real option they had, that is if they wanted it to be resolved. There were powerful, corrupt people out there who were above the law and had control over the authorities that were supposed to enforce it. How did one fight such foes, without resorting to some form of vigilante justice?

"I'm suggesting we be careful with the information," McKay replied. A wise answer to give. Cameron had no qualms with John and his compatriots doing whatever it was they thought needed to be done. Someone had to answer for what had happened today.

"What about this Banachek guy?" John asked him. "You think he had anything to do with what went wrong?"

"Him?" Cameron pondered it for a moment. For all he disliked about Thomas Banachek, he simply could not see the man being involved to any serious level with some conspiracy. Certainly not one that would see the destruction of the ships that were supposed to be under his jurisdiction, nor the space-station he had helped to design and had commissioned to be built. Even so, one could look at it from another angle, that to be the Director of Homeworld Command gave someone the necessary power to essentially undermine Earth's defences altogether. Yet, for all Cameron thought about this possibility, the less likely it seemed.

"I feel like Banachek is more what you'd call a 'useful idiot'," Cameron finally replied, and he shook his head slowly. "He does as he's told. If someone higher up the chain told him to arrange a commissioning ceremony involving just about every cruiser at our disposal, then he'd do it without question."

"You didn't find anything he did odd?"

"Nothing odd about it," Cameron said. "He wanted to play the political game, and the commissioning ceremony was his way to do it."

"Did he make it out alive?" That was another good question, and Cameron honestly did not know the answer.

"Maybe, maybe not. I'm sure we'll find out soon enough." Cameron turned his head then, his attention diverted to a flight officer who had approached from his right side. The officer handed over a tablet computer, upon which was a report of some form. Cameron skimmed through it, frowning at what he read.

"Well, looks like some of the escape pods and shuttles didn't make it," Cameron said, and he handed the report over to John to take a look. "Several of them are missing, presumed destroyed. That means there are a bunch of countries out there with dead leaders. This whole thing is going to get real messy real fast."

John looked at the list of missing craft and the names of those who had been aboard. Essentially, all unaccounted-for personnel and guests were on this list. It was likely to change in the next day or two, as more information was received and confirmed. Names would drop off the list, others would be added. Yet even now, in this early stage in the battle's aftermath, John recognized a number of the names on the list. Not because he personally knew these people, but because he knew of them. Representatives, ministers and the like from civilised nations across the world. As Cameron had just said, this whole situation was going to turn into one chaotic mess. He could understand why Cameron appeared so dour, as not only had they lost many of their ships and Anchorpoint station, but someone was going to get the blame for what had happened. And Cameron was no doubt thinking that he would end up receiving some of that blame. Not that such a thing would be fair, especially as he had put up a fight as best he could and had been on the verge of going down with the ship.

"What's the plan now?" John asked him. Cameron nodded towards the main display upon the wall ahead. They were coming in on a stable descent from orbit, and John figured he had a solid idea as to where they were headed.

"There are repair facilities at Area 51," Cameron said. "This ship needs some serious work if it's going to stand a chance in a future battle with, well, whatever it was that attacked us."

"Void Demons."

"Is that what we're calling them?" Cameron did not appear to like the name. John, personally, did not think much of it either. Still, it was better than no name at all.

"For now, at least," he said.

"And the creature you saw on Atlantis, was that one of them?"

"I didn't see it myself. Aithris and Staff Sergeant Tarasovna did, as did Captain Stanton and Lieutenant Guiterrez. It was some kind of energy being encased within a biomechanical suit of armour. I suppose, judging from what they've told me, that you could call it a 'demon'. It had that kind of look to it."

"I heard the same accounts," McKay added, and both John and Cameron turned to him, interested to hear his opinion on the whole thing. "I think the being inside isn't dead, it's just that its suit was so heavily damaged it was forced to flee. It could be out there, even among the wreckage right now."

"So, what? Is it another Anubis?" Cameron's worry was clear in his voice. The possibility was there, even more so if McKay believed it to be. When it came to such things, McKay's word held a lot of weight. An energy being on the loose taking possession of people was nothing new, but the look McKay gave suggested it was not the possibility they had to worry about.

"It may have dispersed entirely," he suggested. "Not 'dead', just scattered. I can't be sure. It might have even returned to wherever it came from, which I suspect isn't anywhere in our reality." This last sentence caused Cameron to raise his eyebrows. John, however, gave McKay a careful look, waiting for further explanation.

"I mean, I think I've seen where these things are from," McKay said, and his eyes darkened noticeably. John knew right away that they were delving into something McKay would have preferred to have left buried. "During my last stint on Atlantis, I ran experiments with dimensional barriers in an attempt to harvest different forms of energy. I opened a window into another world, the sort of 'dimensional plane' where the energy I experimented with at Project Arcturus originated. I caught a brief look, but when that window opened time itself seemed to change, almost slow down."

Both Cameron and John listened intently, for it was apparent that what McKay had experienced held a great deal of relevance to what had happened today. Any additional information would have helped regardless, as they still knew very little about the enemy that the Nomads referred to as 'Void Demons', or simply the tried-and-true 'Demons'.

"I didn't think about it then as much as I have recently, because I've always been a scientist. First and foremost, I look for rational answers, I rely on logic and reason to reach my conclusions. But now…" McKay trailed off, and he looked past John and Cameron for a moment, uncertainty apparent on his ageing features. The lines of his face seemed to become more pronounced then, making him appear much older than he really was, if only for the moment.

"I looked into Hell," McKay said, and he returned his gaze towards John and Cameron. "That was it. Hell itself, a void completely removed from our universe as a whole."

"Rodney, that's crazy, even for you." John was not very religious, and even with all the craziness he had experienced over the years he could not readily buy into what McKay was saying. However, for McKay of all people to say it, and with such conviction, only implied that there may have been some real truth behind it.

"I blocked out so much of what I saw, a reflexive mechanism to keep me from going completely crazy," McKay continued. He fixed his eyes upon John's own. They contained a deep, ingrained fear that John had never seen on him before, something much more than the kind of cowardly fear McKay had displayed in the past. "But I know what I saw, John. The Devil's real, I would know. I saw his cage."

"What do you mean?" Cameron was having a hard time believing this, more so than John was.

"It was empty."


Aithris' injuries were mending well, unsurprisingly. The Nomad's nano-implants were working their usual wonders, accelerating his healing to the point that the gashes on his chest and legs, not to mention the bruises on his face, were fading away at a startling pace. The Odyssey's Chief Medical Officer, a stern-looking woman in her forties, glanced at the Nomad as he sat on the edge of the infirmary bed, shaking her head in amazement.

"Whatever they put in you, you ought to share it," the CMO said. The infirmary around them was packed full of the wounded, some of whom were in much worse states than Aithris. The Nomad offered the CMO a smile, before he zipped up his uniform shirt. Nearby, Natalia stood and watched, offering Aithris a smile as he stood up from the bed.

"I wish I could, doctor," Aithris replied. "But it is a part of me. So, unless you intend on dissecting me, I take it I am free to go?"

The CMO rolled her eyes at his remark, but otherwise gave him a nod.

"Sure, whatever. Just take it easy. No matter how fast you heal, no use putting unnecessary stress on still-healing wounds."

Aithris nodded in acknowledgment of these instructions, valid as they were. He started for the door, with Natalia falling into step alongside him. She was in a clean uniform, same as he was, and both of them had washed up since coming back from Atlantis. The day had been a long one, made even longer by having such little time between returning from Dalabrai and heading to Atlantis for yet another battle. They needed some real rest now, and Aithris could only hope that an opportunity for just that came by soon. At the moment, the overall atmosphere upon the ship was almost frantic, with personnel rushing about to respond to whatever complications the damage received during the battle were causing at any given time.

"A clean bill of health, I take it?" Natalia asked him. Aithris nodded his head, and he followed her down the corridor outside of the infirmary. She seemed to know where she was going, so he kept pace alongside her. Some of the crew members offered him some surprised, often curious, glances. Not many had seen a Nomad before, so his unusual appearance was turning some heads. A reaction he was somewhat used to, one he had come to expect whilst working amongst the humans.

"And an order to rest," Aithris answered. Natalia took him to what was the ship's mess hall, mostly empty at this hour save for a pair of technicians seated at a table off to one side. A row of windows here offered a view into what was Earth's upper atmosphere, showing little more than blue sky and wispy clouds as the ship continued its gradual descent. Natalia led the way to a table in the far corner, sitting down and gesturing for the seat across from her. She wanted to talk, he could see that plain as day on her face, and it looked like it would be a serious talk.

"What did that creature say to you?" She asked him, as soon as he sat down. Her concern was genuine, her eyes filled with worry for him. Aithris did not reply, not straight away. He had hoped to put the information out of his mind, even though it held an importance that did not allow it to be stowed away so easily. Aithris instead turned to the windows at his right-hand side, looking out across the blue sky and the way in which it rushed by steadily. Soon enough they would be touching down somewhere, likely Area 51 or a similar facility. This ship was in need of serious repairs, after all.

How many others of its kind had survived the battle? Not many, he surmised. The ancient enemy had struck a heavy blow against the forces of Earth, all the more reason to dedicate all available resources to fighting that foe. Perhaps now the higher-ups would listen to him? Few had in the past, and even after what had happened on Sanctuary not many had been willing to take him seriously. Aside from General Janssen, few took Aithris the Nomad seriously. He supposed people like the 'Old Man' could be blamed for some of the inaction, pulling strings behind the scenes to conceal the plans of the ancient enemy. Even so, it could not have accounted for the entire lack of assistance. Denial, it seemed, also took up a great part of the problem.

"Aith, you can talk to me. You know that." Natalia reached over, clasping his hand in one of her own upon the tabletop. It was an unexpected gesture, but a welcome one. Aithris turned to her, meeting her eyes, his train of thought interrupted. He gave her a lasting look, taking in her blue eyes, captivating as they were.

"It's complicated, Natalia." Aithris sighed, unsure of how he should respond. He did not wish to burden her with his problems. She need not have worried about what the Herald had told him, and even Aithris was not sure if he should take it seriously or not. The Herald was a monster, a liar as well. Anything it had said could not be taken as full truth. Perhaps there was some to be found in what he had said, but all the best liars mixed some truth in with their deceptions.

"Try me," Natalia countered, giving him a smirk.

"Another time. I just need to think it over." He paused, noticing the disappointment in the way her smirk dropped away. "It's nothing against you, Natalia. I trust you, I do, I'd trust you with my life. I just don't know how to deal with it myself." He thought on it some more, before he slowly released her hand from his. "I may need to speak to my mother, when I get a chance."

"I think some time off at New Sanctuary could do you some good," she told him, leaning back in her seat as she spoke. Her brow creased slightly, uncertainty making itself apparent in her expression. "And well, if you don't mind—"

"Some company?" Aithris smiled, and this time it was he who took her hands into his own. "I would like that a great deal, Natalia."