Adrestes stands before Watcher Nebi, noting that she is more subdued than usual. It is nothing she says, but her countenance. He has known her for ages—they earned their wings together in the same ceremony—and he has never seen her so pale, never seen her move so…slow. To the souls before her and those who do not know her well, there is likely nothing amiss.
But he can tell.
She is weary.
A Watcher's job is to view the final moments of every soul who comes to her.
And with this Scourge sweeping across this world, there are no gentle deaths, no soft goodbyes.
Every soul is forced to relive those violent moments leading to their demise, most openly weeping. Some insist they be allowed to return to protect those the Scourge has not reached yet, but these are not the kind of deaths that one is allowed to return from.
Even if they are caused by such aberrations.
Adrestes has already ferried nearly a hundred from this world in just a few short days. Their fates are miserable and cruel, and so many innocents look up to him and ask him why, as though he has the answers to what causes mortals to be wicked to one another.
The little ones are the hardest to take. No words seem to make it through to them, to allow them to understand that there is no why or that the why is simply, 'you were in the wrong place at the wrong time'. Some small part of him knows that he was little once, eons ago, when he was mortal. He knows that he was this innocent, this unaccustomed to cruelty, but he cannot remember what it was like then, and so he does not know how to explain to them that sometimes bad things just happen, regardless of whether people deserve it or not. That it is no testament to their own actions, nor is it his concern what happened, just that it has and that it is time for him to take them forward, to whatever waits.
Not in a way that they will understand, not in a way that will soothe their fears.
It does not help that he cannot tell them where they are going. He does not know. It is not his place to judge, and the little ones do not understand that, and they fight against him. They know what they are leaving behind at least, whereas if they go with him, it is a great, terrifying unknown, and—he has been told—he does not make it easier for them with his noncommittal answers.
The few times he has explained to children about the process, they have not been assured. When he tells them the Arbiter judges them based on the lives they have lived and sends them to an afterlight accordingly, they all want to know a million things. What constitutes being bad? What if they stole a sweet before dinner or pulled their sister's hair? What if they accidentally stepped on the frog but did not mean to? What does accordingly mean?
When he tells them he doesn't know how a god weighs any actions against others, they generally cry. And from there it's just a miserable flight to Oribos for everyone.
That's why he prefers the older souls. At least some of them accept their fates. They may not like him much either, but his job is not to be liked.
With the Scourge, though, even most of the adults are unsatisfied with their ends. Either they want to go back or they want to know what has happened to others before they will 'allow' themselves to be borne through the veil not realizing that time is working against them.
The Scourge doesn't just want death, it wants souls, and its minions are constantly attempting to chain the dead to this living world, in a mockery of what should be.
Adrestes is fairly good at catching souls before they can harness their anger or sorrow enough to become something he can't take across the veil. There are a lot of banshees and ghosts clinging to this world in wake of all the tragedy and a lot of souls who have been dragged into the ranks of the Scourge itself, but so far none have been charges he's failed.
And he intends to keep it that way.
All he has to do is stay vigilant.
Adrestes' current charge stands quietly beside him, gaze unfocused, even as her memories play out around them. It's a nice change of pace from all the screaming and crying that he usually has to deal with, and perhaps that is why he finds himself watching her with such curiosity.
He knows her name, but little else. Amaeria Lightswill.
To look at her, one would not guess that she is anything special, and yet, even before the memories play, there is something about her that strikes Adrestes as different.
He cannot place what.
As Watcher Nebi conjures Amaeria's memories, she does not look at the dingy, broken down building she was kept in, nor at the faces of the ones that help rally each other. They decide to break free, that help is not coming so they must save themselves and warn who they can of what is coming to their people's lands.
He almost misses what he should be watching, what he should be using to judge if it is this soul's time, because he is so curious about just what it is about her that draws his attention so. It's not her looks, thinks. He's seen creatures from Azeroth before, recognizes her as one of the main bipedal races from the world, though the name of her species escapes him. She is pretty, with long hair and a willowy body. But he does not see that she would stand out in a crowd. So why does she stand out so?
It is with great effort that he forces his eyes from her and to what has happened. To her final moments. While the mortals are escaping, one of them realizes that the creature who has been keeping them prisoner, using them for horrid experiments, has picked up their trail.
There is a moment of horror that sweeps through them all, and then, it is this despondent soul who steps up. Amaeria shines, even in her memories, telling the others that they can get away, that things will be alright. They just need to have faith. She musters their courage with words that sound so much stronger than they should coming from a beaten and half dead little creature. They form a plan, and make a run for it.
However, their plan is not hers.
They make it across a tricky embankment, but she does not follow. Now that it is time, she is trembling like a leaf, but ignores their calls for her to join them. She tells them to go on without her, that she knows what their tormentor wants most.
Who he wants most.
Adrestes again looks down at his charge, wondering just what has happened before these final memories that has made her so sure that if she breaks away from the group, they will be safe.
She does, surrounding herself with light, tearing her way through the decimated landscape and making sure that she is seen. Even without her tormentor there, there is no way that she will last much longer. Corpses walk these woods. They are taking notice of her, and she is in no condition to fight them. Not alone.
She is doomed the second she steps away from the others, and a sound tactician would go after the others and leave her to her fate.
Her tormentor, however, proves not to be sound. It is almost as though the creature does not even remember there are others missing too, the way he goes after this single soul with such vitriol.
Another glance down reveals that Amaeria is not watching her fate as it plays out. Instead, she is looking toward what little can be seen of the others as they disappear into the night, as though to find out their fates, though her memories cannot show more than what she already knows.
She wants to know if she succeeded.
"If they are not here, there is a chance for them."
He should not have said anything. There is no point in lying to the souls, but this is not quite a lie, is it? Watchers maintain large swaths of worlds at a time, so if those others had died nearby, they would be here. They may come later, but for now, they are still out there, still running.
Nebi lets out a surprised sound at Adrestes' words—she knows how well he usually interacts with the souls, after all.
However, he's not looking at her.
For the first time since he has seen Amaeria, she reacts to him. It's barely a glance up toward him, a pitiful attempt at a smile, and a small nod before her gaze is toward her feet again.
She does not want to watch what is to come.
Nor does her Watcher.
Nor does Adrestes.
When her tormentor catches up to her, it is wicked and brutal and lasts far, far longer than it should. The man's rage toward her is inhuman, and it is no wonder she is so resigned. By the time the replay of her memories is finally over, death is a mercy.
And it is clear that this is not a death one returns from. It is time for her to move on.
She does not argue.
Adrestes takes hold of her and takes flight, through the veil to Oribos. He does not know where this subdued soul will go, but he prays it will be somewhere gentle, somewhere kind.
Their trip is a quiet one. He learned long ago not to make assurances, learned when a soul that begged for peace, a soul he assured was going to get somewhere quiet and pleasant with sun and stars and serenity, was sent to Maldraxxus to fight in the eternal army. In the end, assurances can only be based in judgment, and it does not matter where he thinks a soul should go, only what the Arbiter decides.
And there is no point in guessing or getting a soul's hopes up.
He hopes, in light of what this soul went through, she does not end up in Maldraxxus. The Scourge is like a hellish mockery of the necrolords, just as brutal, but made from unwilling corpses and some tethered souls. He does not want her to have to come to terms with living through the nightmare that killed her for the rest of eternity.
As he parts ways with Amaeria, though he doesn't know if she will hear him, he whispers, "May you find peace."
The next few weeks are miserable as the ascended fight to claim souls before they can be called back to the Scourge. They must get to them before the val'kyr, for their call must be respected, though Adrestes does not know why. They are spitting in the face of the cycle of life and death.
The Archon however, has made it clear. The souls cannot be snatched away from them, and so it is a twisted and wretched race.
Adrestes' wings ache from trying to fly faster than he can and his hands cramp, fingers not wanting to uncurl after clinging to his charges so desperately.
For while the ascended cannot snatch souls, the Scourge's necromancers will—and do, with alarming frequency.
As he releases one soul to go before the Arbiter, dark, hateful runes flicker around him, and he is gone.
Adrestes goes back to Azeroth, back to find the soul, and sees that he has been bound to a rotting corpse. He heaves dry sobs when he sees Adrestes—because he can see Adrestes—and begs to be taken away again.
But he cannot.
He cannot remove a soul from a body, even if it should not be there.
All he can do is leave the soul behind, cursing him.
The Watchers' replacements come early. Too many are burnt out from seeing such horrific acts unfold second after second. They need rest.
They need their memories cleansed.
When Adrestes is called back to Bastion, to be replaced by other Bearers for a time, it is a relief that is short-lived, for there is guilt that comes with it.
There is a race to save the souls of Azeroth from fates that go against the Path and the Purpose, and it feels like they are losing.
He stays longer than he should.
It takes a direct order from the Archon to bring him home, delivered by a grim Devos. She is leading the newest wave, and they all already look worn down before they have even started their sacred duties.
When Adrestes finally returns home, Bastion is more beautiful than he remembers, brighter and calmer and more serene. The sounds of the vespers help soothe him almost immediately. The pale shadows here are not filled with monsters, waiting to snatch away those he is charged with protecting. He will not have to watch memories of people clawing against the odds, clinging to life and failing. He sheds his armor mechanically and dons simpler robes. He tries to relax in the spires, by the gardens, seeking to let these serene images push out the wicked ones.
He will need to resume his mantle of Polemarch soon, but for now, he may rest.
It does not come easily. He has seen more evil in these last few weeks than he usually sees in a millennia, and that such things can happen once, let alone hundreds of times, weighs hard on his heart. He focuses on flexing his fingers slowly, wings resting open around him. They still ache.
He tells himself it is not the first time something like this has happened.
Whenever the Burning Legion reaches a new world, things are always particularly rough. In those instances, however, there is no fight to claim the souls. The ones who die are the kyrian's to ferry.
With this Scourge, though… it is something else entirely. He hears stories of souls getting ripped to pieces while they are being carried, as their Bearers attempt to keep hold of them when the necromancers call them back.
The Temple of Purity is working hard, attempting to settle the nerves of those who have witnessed such horrors, attempting to purify the Watchers that cannot sleep for all they have seen.
Adrestes is tempted to go himself. There are so many who need that more than he does, however, and he decides he can wait, at least for now.
Instead, he goes for a flight.
It is nice to not have anywhere that he is needed to be. It is good to have his hands empty, the wind in his hair. The ambient light of Bastion warms his feathers and his skin, and he knows that he will be alright. This Scourge business will pass, as all the other horrors do. It will be a matter of the past.
They will get back to the point where the memories they see include peaceful deaths in one's sleep, souls surrounded by love and light. Gentle endings, soft goodbyes.
They just need to hold strong through this violent swell.
Despite deciding to hold off on having his memories cleansed, he finds himself near the Temple of Purity anyway, his wings taking him south without even a thought. As he considers perhaps he should go ahead and visit since he is already there, something draws his attention away from the temple, to a small pond nearby.
There is a soul sitting there, on the bank, staring into the waters.
It would not be worth a second glance except for the fact that this soul is well beyond where it should be.
New arrivals in Bastion are to be kept in Olympic Village until they have purified themselves and earned their kyrian form. It is mostly for their protection in truth, as souls are nothing but anima, and it would not do to make it to this peaceful place only to be harmed by the wildlife.
There is usually no problem keeping souls where they ought to be, so it is a wonder why this one has managed to get so far from home…
This one is going to get eaten by a vulpin if they do not head back to safety.
Ascended do not typically address souls until they have their new bodies, but Adrestes is willing to bend the rules just this once. He does not want to leave to find someone else to gather them only to come back to a mangled mound of anima, and it will be a short flight to the village.
Just before he lands, he sees that this soul in particular still clings to its mortal form, and as he draws close enough to see features, he stops in his tracks.
He recognizes her.
She is from Azeroth, one of the many who fell to the Scourge. More than that, she is the one who drew away her tormentor, knowing her fate would be brutal, to give others a chance. He can still remember the way she trembles in her memories, terrified but undeniably brave, knowing what will become of her as she makes her decision to save the others. He remembers how her only interest during the replay of her memories was whether or not those others got to safety.
He feels as though something is tugging him toward her, though he has no explanation for it. Adrestes descends a little further, allowing himself to be drawn closer.
She is resigned, even here, surrounded by eternal beauty and the promise that her eternity will be so much gentler than those wretched final moments. Her melancholy feels out of place here, even for a new soul. Perhaps the losses she has suffered in the living world are still too fresh. It has been ages since Adrestes has interacted with the newer denizens of the realm, and he tries to remember if many of them suffer this sorrow.
He starts toward her again, when a voice calls out her name.
"Amaeria!"
The soul looks up.
An aspirant jogs over, pausing to give Adrestes a slight nod before offering a hasty warning that the soul must not wander so far. As the aspirant attempts to direct her back to the village, she pauses, looking back toward Adrestes. When she sees him, she seems surprised. It is the first time he has seen her look any way but heartbroken, and he's not sure why, but something stirs in his chest.
Relief?
She offers him a nod, shy in how small it is and how awkwardly she turns away to follow the aspirant back to her new home.
Adrestes hovers a moment, watching her go. Part of him is tempted to follow them back, to talk to her, and see how she is faring at the cusp of her next existence.
That, however, would not be appropriate of an ascended, let alone a polemarch.
It nettles him, wondering why this one soul seems to be so important.
"Adrestes!" He turns to find Eridia flying down to greet him. She is tired, but her smile is genuine, as always. "How are you?"
For a second, he is confused, wondering how she knows of his muddled feelings.
"I'd heard you were returning, so there is space for you, if you need." She motions over her shoulder, toward her temple.
He realizes what she is referring to and does not object when she offers to guide him there. When he arrives, he sees so many other Watchers and Bearers already present, already preparing to cleanse themselves. Most of the more heinous memories they will face will be in higher purification pools, ones that aspirants do not have access to. Adrestes is glad that he cannot see them from where they are. He has enough of his own memories to haunt him for now.
Eridia offers to guide him through a cleansing, and he accepts. He is already dressed light enough for one. However, as Eridia prepares the vespers and waters, Adrestes realizes that he cannot get his mind to leave the soul that has made it to Bastion.
Amaeria.
Lightswill, if he remembers, and he's surprised to find that he does. With all the souls that an ascended deals with at any one time, names usually fade as soon as the soul has been dropped off. Some encounters linger longer, if the soul is particularly talkative or if their death stands out.
If he purges his memories now, they will be the ones of Amaeria, and while he has so few, he is not sure that is a good idea. Why it wouldn't be is beyond him, but he almost dismisses himself, much to Eridia's surprise, offering that there are far more traumatized Watchers who likely need her help more.
She is confused, but does not try to force a cleansing on him.
However, even as he turns to go, he considers that this is the exact sort of thing the Archon and paragons always tells them to be wary of. Signs of growing too attached to charges, or that they may be swayed in the future.
After all, if he goes back to Azeroth and finds himself ferrying the soul of the one who hurt this Amaeria, who is to say he will be able to maintain so firm a grip on that soul as on another? Even now, the idea of 'accidentally' dropping her tormentor in the inbetween, to let him fall for eternity or until anima gorgers catch wind of him, does not feel like an injustice.
It is better, for his purpose and all he serves, if he forgets this strange attachment.
Adrestes apologizes to Eridia. "I ferried one of our newest denizens just recently."
Eridia smiles at him, understanding. "And you want to see them settle in safely."
Surprised by how easily the idea comes to her, he nods. "I'm not sure why I'm so—"
He trails off, not sure what to say to describe what he's just experienced. His mind fumbles for the words.
"It happens," Eridia settles down beside the water, arranging her wings comfortably as she rests and motions for him to sit with her. He does. "Everyone here was borne through the veil by someone who's been here longer, after all."
He offers her a nod. It is true enough.
"It's not spoken of, but some seem able to sense when a soul is meant for Bastion," Eridia adds, folding her hands in her lap as she speaks. "I've not experienced it myself, but Lysonia has, twice. She says it's a strange sort of familiarity."
"Like there's some connection to this creature you've never met," Adrestes says. "Like you know them, despite that." He hesitates when Eridia perks up at his words, a glimmer of enthusiasm in her eyes, and feels the frown that tugs on the corners of his lips. "I have brought souls to the Arbiter who ended up in Bastion before. I don't recall feeling this way for any of them. I don't even remember who they are, in some cases."
In most cases, really, as his path does not often cross with those who he has ferried. After a time, he forgets, as do they, when they give up their memories to become ascended. It is generally one of the first memories taken, and he idly wonders how awkward it would be in Bastion if everyone remembered who brought them to their afterlife. Would the ones gathered by a paragon or even the Archon herself feel a sense of superiority, that someone so important ferried them?
It is better that they do not have these strange connections to each other, surely.
Eridia tilts her head, her mind wandering in a different direction entirely. "Perhaps it's something deeper? Like a soulmate?"
No sooner is the word off her lips, Adrestes arches his brow. He does not bother to hide his skepticism.
While believing is one thing, he doubts there's anyone in Bastion who hasn't at least heard the tales of soulmates. He's not sure where the rumors originated from—one of the living worlds, likely—but they are a romantic's dream. It's the idea that there is someone out there in the vast expanse of reality who is made for you and only you, just as you are made for them and only them.
Depending on who is telling the story, soulmates are usually destined for the same afterlife, no matter what worlds or times they come from, a happy ending to their tumultuous lives.
The idea has always sounded tragic to him, considering one must go through so much without this supposed soulmate before finding one another. And that, should anything happen to them, there is no replacement. The idea that a lost love must be mourned forever is…miserable.
He's not much for romance, but if there has to be some, let it have a pleasant ending, not eternal pining for what can never be. That's far too depressing. He'll take the boring old happily-ever-afters any day.
And as far as real relationships, the ones that he's seen stand the hands of time are not built on inexplicable attraction, but on communication and compromise and compassion.
There are soulbound couples who certainly seem like they were made for each other. Eridia and Lysonia are so in sync when they spar or perform their instruments or dance that it's hard to imagine one without the other. But again, there is the matter of effort put into the relationship.
Soulbinds make sense.
Soulmates are just an echo of mortal romanticism, nothing more.
"Whatever it is," Adrestes says, not wanting to offend that sparkle in Eridia's eyes, but not wanting to feed into it either, "I… I do not want it to interfere with my purpose. Tempting as it is to hold on to."
Eridia sighs, but her smile is still in place. "You're always so practical. Come on, then."
She guides him through the process that they both know so well, her words a balm as he faces the memories of the wicked knight who hunted the terrified priestess, and washes them away.
In the end, he remembers only that one of the souls he has recently ferried from a brutal world has ended up in Bastion.
Their name, like everything else, is gone.
Even with his memories cleansed, the first time he goes to Olympic Village on one of his rounds of the realm, he is inexplicably drawn to that soul almost immediately. While his listens to updates from Kalisthene, his gaze finds its way to a soul who sits quietly by a pool, watching the water and keeping mostly to herself.
He is so startled by the way that his eyes keep moving to her, that after his third trip by the village, he goes to the Locus to see how he knows her. When he realizes she is the soul he bore, he returns to the Temple of Purity.
Eridia is unsurprised to hear his story. In fact, it's almost like she's expecting it. Her brow arches, and she bites her tongue. There is a sparkle in her eyes that he does not trust.
He narrows his own. "Just what aren't you telling me."
"What's this? Why so harsh a tone, Adrestes?"
Visephone has alighted behind him while he attempts to interrogate her Hand, and he turns to her, saluting quickly. "Forgive me for my short temper, paragon. I am having…troubles."
"Adrestes has a soulmate," Eridia interjects, sounding a bit too pleased with the notion for his liking.
Even as Adrestes assures everyone who can hear his voice that, no, this is something else, Visephone lets out a soft laugh. "Eridia, don't tease the polemarch so."
The chide does not feel sincere at all, and Adrestes' frown deepens. However, at Visephone's bidding, he explains what has been going on. The strange pull. He explains that he has seen his memories, that he was concerned about it then, too. That he got rid of them to get rid of this. When he catches a glimpse of Eridia from the corner of his eye, she is smiling like a fool.
"Whatever is drawing you to this soul, it is not a memory, so there is no purification that will rid you of it," Visephone says.
Adrestes' feathers ruffle for no more than a second at the thought that he is stuck with this inexplicable feeling, this unwelcome tug. Visephone catches the movement. "Has this caused you to shirk your duties?"
"Of course not!" Adrestes says, straightening up where he stands, indignant. "I am as thorough as I have ever been, and I do not and will not let some idle interest interfere with the messages I relay or the orders I bear or the decisions I make."
Her smile is reassuring, her tone as sweet as the soft chimes around them. "Then I do not see a problem with it, Adrestes." She pauses, considering that he does not seem overly thrilled with her words. "There are some souls who seem…predispositioned to seek out one another."
The word 'soulmate' is whispered almost inaudibly behind him, and he almost turns to scowl at Eridia, though he manages to keep his focus on the paragon before him. That she is gifting him this audience is not something to be squandered with petty looks to annoyances.
"Devos and Thenios had a similar bond when they first came to Bastion," Visephone recalls, thinking back.
Though she is behind him, Adrestes can practically feel Eridia's gleeful smile, as the paragons of loyalty and wisdom are often considered to be the closest things to actual soulmates—assuming they aren't—in Bastion. Adrestes is tempted to scream, but he holds himself together.
Perhaps he will have a talk with Lysonia about her soulbind's antics.
No, that would be a terrible idea.
It would likely do little more than get a wide grin from her. And then lead to both of them taunting him and bothering him together.
For a second, he can see a glimpse of the future, of a shy aspirant who is constantly getting sent to wherever he is by meddlesome Hands who can't mind their own business. Of the rumors that will start and hound them both as they try to stay true to their duties and purpose.
He hopes to the Archon that eternity is not going to be so cruel.
"May I offer you a suggestion?" Visephone asks, interrupting the spiral of his thoughts.
"I would be honored, paragon."
"Let yourself watch over this soul that you are drawn to. Perhaps you will see why she calls to you so." Visephone's great wings spread, and she pulls herself up to hover before him. The soft gusts from her wings are soothing. "If, in time, this connection proves cumbersome and unpleasant, I will help you find a way to end it."
He thanks her for her guidance, and dismisses himself before Eridia can pester him more. As he takes his leave, he thinks he hears Visephone chastising Eridia for her antics. He knows the paragon will not be too harsh.
Regardless, he feels better about his situation. He may not understand it, but to know that a paragon does not find it troublesome is reassuring. And to hear Visephone say that some souls are simply drawn to each other…that is reassuring as well. He is glad that he is not suffering at the hands of some unprecedented development. If it has happened before, without any apparent ill effect, then he can rest easy.
Still, it would be nice to know why this is happening, and, more importantly, why to him.
Those answers are not so easily found, however, and he accepts that perhaps he is not meant to know.
Adrestes checks in on the soul on occasion. They do not interact, but when his patrols take him by the Olympic village, he inquires about her. Amaeria Lightswill.
Kalisthene tells him that she is sullen. She talks very little, but what can be gleaned about her is that she has lost more than she can handle. They take her to the pools to cleanse, but there is so much heartbreak that she cannot face it all. She cannot move forward.
Not yet.
The aspirants are gentle with her, though, and she will be fine, given time.
He is not sure why he is drawn to her, or why he is always so relieved to hear that she is doing a little better at each visit, but for now it is enough.
Slowly, time winds forward.
The aches in his wings subside, and Adrestes can hold a scroll without his fingers going numb or locking into place. He knows that what is happening in Azeroth is terrible—it's so bad that people are being pulled from rotations to other worlds to go to Azeroth just so that those who would normally remain in Azeroth for a century or two can escape the carnage, if only for a while. He is glad that he cannot remember most of the details, that the stories he hears feel distant, like echoes he has never had to know.
In a rare moment of leisure, he finds himself walking along the banks of a small pond, just north of the Olympic Village. It has been a long day and he should return home to rest, but he is in the mood to enjoy the realm he is so blessed to protect. He rests on the bank, taking off his boots and allowing his feet to dip into the cool, clear waters. He pushes back his hood, running his hands through his short-cropped hair and then leans against his knees to watch the fish beneath the surface of the pond flit about lazily. The winds pull gently at his feathers and his hair, and for a moment, all is right.
It's not a movement that draws his attention to the side. Instead, it's that strange tug. He feels it and knows in a second that he is not alone.
"You shouldn't leave the village."
When there is no immediate response, Adrestes turns his head to make sure that he's not going mad. Sure enough, the soul that he is so drawn to is there, close enough that she has definitely heard him. She stands there awkwardly, a translucent image against Bastion's rolling fields, unable to feel the calming breeze or soft grasses beneath her feet.
"I'll go back," she says, voice a little unsure. She doesn't move right away.
Adrestes shifts so that he can appraise her a little better. This is the first time that he can remember being so close to this soul, and he's a bit awed by how bold she is to have wandered so far. "If you head much further north, you'll be eaten by vulpin."
She looks down a little, reaching up to brush back ghostly hair behind long ears. "I don't go further than here."
His brow arches at the implication. "You come here often?"
If she does, he's going to have to talk to the aspirants about that. Souls should not be entering so far into the realm without a body. It's dangerous.
She starts to say something and then looks to the side, one hand rubbing along her opposite forearm. "Well, you were here before, so…I thought you might be again."
Adrestes can't help but quirk a brow.
He can't remember ever coming to this place, and he knows it has no significance for him.
His expression must say as much because she wilts a little, and stumbles over her words. "I just…the first time I came out here, you were here, dressed so casually, I thought it must be somewhere you like to visit." She's looking toward her feet. "I didn't come for a while, not wanting to interrupt or…" Her gaze is toward the sky. Anywhere but him. "Well, you come by and I always know when you come by. I can find you in the sky, no matter where you are and I asked and no one seems to know why that would be so I thought I'd come ask you." Finally, she dares to meet his gaze, and she is shy, quickly looking back down. "I thought you might know what I'm talking about."
Adrestes isn't sure what he expected her to say, but to know that she has felt this pull as well…to know that her gaze finds him as easily as his finds her…
It's intriguing.
And for the first time, it doesn't feel like such a burden.
"Do you believe in soulmates?" Adrestes asks dryly. When he sees how startled the soul is, he instantly regrets it. "I'm sorry, that was a bad joke."
Her laugh is a nervous one.
He's not sure why—it's uncommon for souls to fraternize with ascended—but he pats the grass beside him. She hesitates a moment before coming over and sitting next to him, and he's relieved that he hasn't scared her off.
"I'm engaged," she says, before he can try to find a way to explain what Visephone has told him. He looks over at the soul, notices the flicker of emotions on her face that pass far too quickly to be named before she finally corrects herself. "I was engaged." She looks at her hands, limp in her lap, and then the pool. "I don't think he will come here."
"Very few do," Adrestes murmurs.
Her shoulders sink, and he regrets his words. It is an honor to come here, but it does mean giving up a great deal. She is new and has yet to learn just how much will be asked of her as eternity winds on, just how much she must leave behind.
"Were you?"
"What?"
She reaches out and looks a little disappointed when her fingers go through the water, but don't affect it at all. She settles back. "Did you have anyone? A wife, husband, lover?"
"If I did, I forgot them eons ago," Adrestes tells her. It's the truth. It only takes him a second to realize that he should not have been so blunt, but then, he has never been very delicate in conversations like this.
Amaeria looks like she might cry. She takes a moment to compose herself before whispering, "That must be so lonely."
For a moment, Adrestes can see it, plain on her face, the pain she is going through, the struggle with accepting that she has lost those closest to her. It is one way that other afterlives are kinder. Some allow for families to stay together, for lovers to wait and meet once both of their times have come.
Bastion cannot afford to offer such comforts. This is a place of service, after all.
Still, it does not need to hurt this much, he is sure.
"When you were small, new to your world, do you remember it?"
She blinks, pulled from her melancholy by his question. She thinks. "I have a few memories." Her lips upturn gently as she stares into the past. "My mother always said I was a terror, getting into places I shouldn't."
"Some things never change, it seems," Adrestes says, and smiles when Amaeria covers her face with her hands. "But my point is this: there is very little you remember, yes? Most of it is stories that others have told you?" When she nods, he motions to her. "It happens with all memories. Given time, they fade away. Eventually, your mortal life is like your childhood, there are a few small pieces that stay with you, but most of it fades."
"And then those pieces are cleansed," she says, voice ringing hollow.
"By the time that happens, you will have so many memories from here, so many connections to our people, it will not feel so lonely to let go." He reaches out and pats her hand, and is surprised by how much the action seems to awe her.
Considering she cannot interact with most of the world, he supposes it is something meaningful to be able to feel another's touch.
He must be more careful.
"But what is it?" When his brow furrows with confusion, she motions to him. "Why do I feel like… like if I just walk, my feet will take me to wherever you are?"
His brow arches. He hasn't found an answer for himself; he stopped looking when Visephone told him he wasn't in danger or broken. He thinks back to what the paragon said. "Some souls are just predispositioned to seek each other."
She looks as pleased with the answer as he was. "That's a bit unfair to the living to have soulmates be found in the afterlife."
Adrestes can't help but laugh at that. "We do spend considerably more time here."
"Still…" Amaeria shakes her head. She looks like she wants to say more, but instead she stands up. "I should go."
"You should," he agrees, pulling his feet from the water. As he reaches for his first boot, she waves her hand a little, catching his attention.
"You don't have to go with me. I didn't mean to ruin your…meditation or…whatever you were doing."
He waves off her concern and dons his boots. "I'm heading that way anyway." He tells himself that he can head wherever he wants when he is off duty, so if he decides that he's heading that way, it isn't a lie. Flipping his hood up and into place, he motions to the south. "Shall we?"
The walk back is less than an hour. She is asking him about why collectors are called such if they stay in the realm—she has been reading about Bastion lately—and that it feels like that's what the bearers should be called when aspirants come running up to relieve him of her, apologizing profusely for losing sight of one of their charges.
Adrestes lifts himself into the air and then pauses, giving Amaeria what he hopes will be only a mildly stern frown. "Try to cause a little less chaos with your wanderings."
Her smile, faint as it is, tells him she understands he is teasing her. It is gone quickly as she apologizes to Ikaros and another, younger aspirant, who are quick to tell her how worried they've been that she just disappeared on them—again.
Adrestes leaves her to her reprimands. Already, he has decided that he will have to keep a closer eye on that soul. He can't say he'll mind, though.
As he heads back to his home for the night, one thing about their encounter nettles him. He can't help the irritation at the idea that she has a fiancé.
Had.
In the end, he tells himself that it's not so bad. At least it's proof that Eridia was wrong with her soulmate nonsense.
Despite himself, he has taken to going to a meaningless little pond where he sometimes meets with a soul who should not be there. They talk about Bastion and the Path and sometimes the conversation wanders to other afterlives and worlds and what Adrestes knows of them.
Amaeria seems to be a little better with each visit, and he enjoys seeing the changes that are overtaking her. He does not point it out, but in the time she has been there, her features are already becoming less defined. She is letting go of her mortal life, and he suspects that soon enough, she will be ready to go through her first official purification to assume her kyrian form.
He tells himself he will be there when she does so. Perhaps he will even guide her through it. Usually, it is an aspirant that would do so, but perhaps…
"Almost all of the afterlives are good ones, then," Amaeria says, considering their latest conversations and all she has been reading.
"Mmhm," Adrestes hums his agreement. "One afterlife to torment the wicked is all that's really needed. There's no reason to get creative and waste anima on cruel souls." He pauses as he considers it. "There is Revendreth, but it's not…bad, per se. It's a place of redemption."
"Oh?"
"Those who were wicked, but could still be saved are sent there," Adrestes explains. "The denizens of Revendreth take pride in saving all the souls they can."
"So you have to be really, truly irredeemable to go somewhere wicked. To go to the Maw." It's a statement rather than a question. As he nods, he looks to her and sees that she has a quiet, gentle smile in place. In some ways, she reminds him of Visephone, though he doesn't think Visephone was ever quite as willing to bend or break rules as Amaeria is.
Not that she causes any real harm.
And by now, the aspirants know that this is the only place she goes outside of the village, so she is easy to find. Easy to keep safe.
He really should put a stop to these wandering ways, but none of the other souls have taken it up as well, so there really is no harm to it.
"They'll be happy, then," she says, laying back in the grass and watching the anima flows twist overhead. When she notices that he is watching her, she shrugs. "Everyone, I mean. The people I left behind. Even if what happens is…" she doesn't finish the sentence, gaze unfocused. He knows from their talks and glancing at his discarded memories that her end was not pleasant, and so he knows where she goes when she gets like this, whether it is for a second or longer. He wishes she would begin her purification, so that she could get rid of what haunts her. Whether she knows it or not, she is strong enough. He is about to reach out to tap her arm, to bring her back to the present, when she makes it back herself. She blinks a second, remembering what they were talking about, and then sighs. "No matter what happens in life, they were good, so they will be happy in the end. They will go to good places."
"It's not an ascended's place to judge," Adrestes says. He means it mostly as a joke, since he knows she is not delegating the people she knew to any specific place, but she meets his gaze with one that is most serious.
"Then it's a good thing I'm not ascended yet."
He can't help at laugh at the defiance in her tone.
"I mean it." She closes her eyes and lifts her chin a little. "You may not be able to, but I know. Mother, Father, Prynn, Gryst'lyn, all of them. Even…" she trails off a moment. "Do redeemed souls stay in Revendreth?"
"Not always," Adrestes says, curious about the way she has come around to that realm. "Some are sent on to other realms after they have atoned. Some stay to help with the atonement of others."
"Then they will all go to good places in the end," she says, as though saying it will make it true. "They will, so it's okay if I don't worry for them. If I can't remember to, I mean."
It's the first time she's said anything like that.
"You don't have to force yourself to forget," Adrestes offers. "It will happen on its own."
"Maybe so, but I think…" she pauses, considering her words, her thoughts, with care. "I think there is no point dwelling on what I can't change, what I can't do. Who I can't see. They will be fine, they will be loved, even if it's not by me. Holding on doesn't do anything for them…so it's just about what is good for me. And I clinging to the past, when I am here…when I must…it won't…it would just be a losing battle, anyway."
"You won't be alone," Adrestes assures her.
He thinks there are tears in her eyes, though she smiles past them, pretending what she's said doesn't hurt. He does not remember the pain of letting go, but he remembers it was there.
"I know," she says, and perks up a bit. "I've got friends here. There's Stanikos," she holds up a hand, fingers extending as she draws out her list. She's mentioned Ikaros and two other aspirants before Adrestes realizes that he is frowning a little deeper with each name she rattles off that isn't his. As he tries to school his expression, he looks at her and sees a mischievous grin. She is definitely doing it on purpose. "Oh, I suppose there's you, too."
"I'm glad you have such a vast support network." He hesitates a moment before giving her a more sincere look. "I mean that."
"You're a good sort, Adrestes," she replies, sitting up and drawing her knees to her chest. She rests her head on her knees as she watches him. "I'm glad I get to know you."
Her words make something flutter in his chest, and he's not sure what to say at first before finally nodding. "I'm glad to know you, too."
Silence settles over them, interrupted only by the soft rustle of leaves and grass, and the occasional flip of a fish tail too close to the surface of the pond.
While they enjoy the quiet, Adrestes wonders if he ever had such thoughts when he was new to the realm. Did he try to figure out where his loved ones were going? That they would be safe and happy with whatever other souls they were meant to spend eternity with?
She is good for him, he thinks, and he is glad that he is drawn to her as he is. It is easy for him to get caught up in what should be, what must be. It is easy to lose sight of kindness that way.
The next time he is called to bear—thank the Archon it is some backwater world with little conflict and not Azeroth again—he tries to be gentler with the souls he ferries, and is pleased to have fewer fight him or cry as he takes them to their eternity.
Adrestes has just delivered correspondence to Visephone and is waiting for a response to relay to Thenios when he feels it.
Not the inexplicable tug. He's come to not mind that, so much. He has spoken with Visephone a few times about it, and he has noticed how warmly she smiles when he mentions Amaeria now. It's awkward, but nice, and he knows that tug has a paragon's blessing.
No, this isn't the tug he's come to view with a certain fondness.
This is the feeling of being watched.
He considers ignoring it, but it is so blatant, so annoying, that he turns his head and instantly regrets it.
Both Eridia and Lysonia are there, watching him.
Overtly.
Eridia looks giddy. Lysonia's expression is that of pity and amusement, though she makes no attempt to save him from her soulbind as Eridia casually strolls up to him. She has the correspondence Adrestes is waiting for, and he knows that means he is at her mercy. And she knows he knows it, which makes her smile all the wider and more insufferable.
He holds his hand out, as though he can somehow save himself with so simple a reminder that he has work to do.
Eridia holds up the letter, but makes no attempt to hand it over. "How is Amaeria?"
"Fine."
Apparently that is not a good enough answer to sate her curiosity. "Any adventures lately?"
"If you're so concerned with what she's up to, perhaps you should go visit her yourself," Adrestes replies. He is not about to let his friendship with Amaeria get in the way of his duties. If Eridia doesn't give him the letter soon, he's tempted to just get a solid grip on her and fly her to Thenios so that she can deliver it herself.
Eridia pouts her lower lip, as Lysonia stifles a laugh in the background. She gathers herself and tries again. "I've heard about you and her and your little meetings by the pond." She is playing with the letter that he needs, turning and tilting it in her hands. "It's absolutely adorable."
Adrestes makes a grab for the letter, but Eridia jumps backwards, wings catching her so that she's now hovering off the floor, ready to flit away if he tries again. Lysonia is biting her lip to keep from laughing.
Desperate to put an end to this nonsense, Adrestes falls back on what Amaeria has told him before. "She has a fiancé."
"She had," both Eridia and Lysonia say in unison. Laughter ensues.
Adrestes feels a burning beginning at the back of his neck and working its way around quickly to his cheeks. He has never been one to run away, but in this instant, it is tempting. Instead, he feigns looking away and then lunges forward, catching Eridia unaware and taking the letter from her. He doesn't say goodbye to either as he heads off, and half expects Eridia to come after him. However, when he dares to look back, he can see that she is still where he left her, talking and giggling with her soulbind.
He wonders if Amaeria would be amused by their antics. Well before he reaches the Temple of Wisdom, he decides against telling her about it. Personal embarrassment aside, Eridia acts like whatever is between them is far more than it is, and he does not want to make Amaeria uncomfortable.
She is a dear friend, and he values her too much to risk upsetting her with his colleagues' antics.
"I hear the ladies are tormenting you," Arios says as Adrestes lands near him. Arios is in the upper reaches of the Temple of Wisdom, and while it's unlikely that anyone will overhear them, Adrestes still frowns at the fact that he is being greeted with talk of gossip.
At least it is from Arios, though. Being the Hand of Wisdom, he tends to hear about most rumors before anyone else, and has a rather heavy hand in which ones get squelched quickly.
Arios stands in front of a long table, covered with different scrolls and various trinkets. When he accepts the correspondence that Adrestes has brought him, he tucks it between a few soul mirrors, and Adrestes can't help but wonder just what it is that Arios is working on. It's a common wonder, though he it's rare of him to ask. When he does, the answer is usually just something like 'cataloguing memories' or updating entries on worlds to include new information that may be relevant to Bearers and Watchers alike. Every now and then it's as simple as rectifying spelling errors in texts, though that usually falls to disciples rather than him.
"Voithe will be thrilled to hear you're lumping her in with the others," Adrestes replies, not bothering to hide his curiosity as he looks over the items before them.
"I'm making a catalogue of the Scourge and their necromantic techniques," Arios says, voice somber, movements mechanical as though he has been at this for a while. As if on cue, he flaps his wings twice, quickly, to get keep the blood flowing in them. A few papers rustle, but they are all weighed down so that nothing gets sent spiraling off into the air. "They way they hold onto souls is like nothing we've seen before, and it's troubling. If the knowledge spreads to other worlds, the Shadowlands could be in crisis."
Adrestes nods, grim. "Do you need help?"
"My assistants should be returning from their breaks shortly, and then I'll be taking one," Arios says, leaning forward as he compares two hastily scribbled notes. "Thank you, though, my friend."
With a nod, Adrestes turns to go.
"Oh, Adrestes?"
"Yes?"
"Don't threaten me with Voithe. She's scary when she's angry."
Adrestes takes that as an invitation to stay, though he takes another step toward the ledge. He supposes their topic will determine the length of his visit. "Don't speak ill of her, and she won't be."
"You're deflecting," Arios says, still not looking up.
"You're busy."
At that, Arios straightens up and turns to face Adrestes, appraising him carefully. "I could use a break." He motions to Adrestes, "And perhaps you can help me understand something that's bothering me."
Adrestes narrows his eyes. "Just what is that?"
"I have to say I don't follow what's happening. Plenty of people have soulbinds. Plenty of people mentor aspirants. Even Devos is mentoring a troubled aspirant right now, and she's a paragon."
Adrestes tilts his head. "So?"
"So why is Eridia so keen on keeping tabs on you lately?"
Adrestes considers dismissing himself, but as much as he'd like to just leave, he feels like that will feed the embers of whatever rumor Arios has heard. He doesn't need a full fire. And there's nothing keeping his present company from just following him wherever he goes, anyway. Not if he's taking a break. Adrestes mulls over trying to steer the conversation elsewhere, but considering who he's talking to, decides against it. And anyway, Arios isn't a gossip, even with all the information he's regularly privy to, and perhaps he can help Adrestes with Eridia.
"She has decided that I have a soulmate," Adrestes says dryly.
"Ah." It is as though such a simple statement is all he needed to piece together some great puzzle. Arios nods, mostly to himself.
Adrestes waits for him to say more, or to turn back to his work.
Silence settles over them instead.
Tempting as it is to just drop it—he won't be able to wait Arios out, as the man has infinite patience—he finds himself struck with morbid curiosity. "What?"
"Hmm?" Arios blinks owlishly, as though he is just coming out of his thoughts.
"What do you know?"
"Oh, it's nothing really," Arios shrugs. "It's just that everyone knows you're the worst person to talk to about soulmates."
Adrestes' brow pinches. "What?"
He wasn't aware that people talked about soulmates that often, much less that they had collectively decided he was a terrible person to talk about the topic with.
Though, if that's the reason he's not hearing about it so much, he can't say he minds.
"I'm sure there are less romantic individuals than you in the realm," Arios says, pausing to stretch one wing and then the other—from the looks of it he's been standing in place for far too long. Next, he cracks his neck. "You're just a higher profile than most, so you've drawn her attention."
Adrestes frowns, not bothering to hide his growing annoyance. "What does that have to do with anything?"
"Eridia is the most hopeless of romantics in Bastion, possibly the entire Shadowlands," Arios says, lacing his fingers and stretching his arms out in front of him. Adrestes hears his shoulders pop, and unconsciously reaches up to rub his own. "If she can get you to admit that there are soulmates, that's the ultimate victory. If you admit it's real, no one else can ever argue that it's just made up fluff." He ruffles the feathers in his wings for emphasis with each word that follows. "Ever. Again."
When Arios finishes talking, he simply looks to Adrestes, waiting. For what, Adrestes can't say.
"That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard."
Arios shrugs.
Adrestes turns to leave, but the frustration of finding that Eridia's pestering has garnered notice from others is too much. He leans his head back runs his hands down the lower part of his face. "Is there anyone in the realm not talking about me?"
"I'm sure there's a few Watchers out on distant assignments who haven't heard yet," Arios offers.
As Adrestes bristles, Arios offers him a tired smile. "I'm kidding. Eridia is good at keeping her rumors to the upper echelons." Even as Adrestes lets out a sigh of relief, he adds, "Though it is becoming well known that you've taken to spending a lot of time with a soul you ferried. I've heard from a few sources that they expect you'll be soulbinds by the end of the century. It makes me curious to meet her, especially if Eridia thinks soulmates are a possibility."
Adrestes can't hide his scowl. "Tell me it's for research."
With the shake of his head, Arios shrugs again. "I'm just another romantic."
"We are friends, and I am mentoring her," Adrestes says, standing a little taller. "That's it. Any rumors of anything more than that do a great disservice to both me and to her."
Arios simply nods. "Noted."
There's a brief lull between them before the beating of wings rises up. In no time, three disciples have joined them, each carrying fresh parchment and soul mirrors and other odds and ends for their work.
Adrestes nods his head to them as they salute around what they're carrying and then dismisses himself.
As he turns to go, Arios calls his name again. "Don't worry. I'll take care of it."
Adrestes is heading for Hero's Rest when Kalisthene catches him.
She barely remembers to salute, her movements are stilted. Even the flapping of her wings is off as panic grips her.
Souls are missing.
Two souls, to be exact.
Both from Azeroth.
When he asks for clarification, he's a little bothered that rather than list the names outright, Kalisthene starts with, "Not Amaeria." So much for Arios handling the rumors.
What bothers him more, however, is the relief he feels at those two words. Guilt follows quickly. He should not be playing favorites, especially about something so serious. The fact that Kalisthene is coming to him about it means that this is much more than a soul wandering off from the village.
Kalisthene explains that the souls have been missing for over a day, that there are no traces of them to be found within the realm. Locating spells simply stall.
Adrestes spreads the word and follows Kalisthene back to Olympic Village.
Amaeria is there with the other confused souls and aspirants as Adrestes and Kalisthene address them and assure them that all will be well. They just need to find out what has become of the missing two.
Before he leaves the area oversee the search, Adrestes draws Amaeria aside. Her eyes are wide, as she looks up at him. "They'll be okay, won't they?"
Adrestes wants to assure her, but he has never been one to lie about such things. "I don't know." When she looks around, as though she might join the search as well, he catches her shoulder and draws her attention back to him. "Listen to me. Do not leave this village. I don't care if you want to help. Help here. I don't want to hear that you've so much as set one foot beyond. Not to look for these two, not for any reason. Do you understand me?"
For a moment, she looks ready to argue. However, she seems to think better of it and simply nods. "I'll do as you ask."
"This isn't an ask, it's an order."
That takes her aback, and she's visibly surprised. A small voice in the back of his mind points out that this is the first time he's pulled rank on her.
She is thrown for a moment before nodding again and offering a salute that mimics what the aspirants do. "Yes, sir."
There's no hint of sarcasm or disrespect in the way she says it, but it still bothers him. He can't say why. And now is not the time to dwell on it. Once the souls have been found and everything is settled, he'll have a talk with her and make sure that she understands that he is just looking out for her safety. They are so often on the same page with barely a word that surely, she understands. And if she doesn't now, she will.
Aspirants and Ascended alike scour Bastion, looking far to the north despite knowing there's no way that the missing duo could have gotten so far, assuming they're even together. The search goes nowhere.
It is as though those two souls simply don't exist any longer. It makes no sense. Even if they had been caught by a larion or vulpin, there should still be some trace of them. Some echo left behind in their final moments or scraps of anima that still feel a little like the world they came from.
There is nothing.
Adrestes returns to the village with a few other ascended and they show the souls how they can share memories with them. The flashes of memories are mundane and useless for the most part. None of the people who know the souls seem to have any inkling as to what has happened to them.
They expand the search through memories to souls that did not interact with the missing two as often, hoping to catch some glimpse in the background of a conversation, some clue caught without the owner realizing it.
Finally, a memory is found. While a few souls are talking about their old worlds, there is an instant where runes appear around a soul at the edge of their vision. Then that soul is gone. The memory is captured in a soul mirror so that it can be viewed with more care without the soul needing to sit through the entirety of it.
Kalisthene and Adrestes both pore over the image, transcribing what they can see of the runes. Once they have as complete a copy as they can muster, Adrestes takes what they have to the Archon and paragons.
Visephone nearly weeps. Thenios curses.
The runes are Azerothian.
The Scourge's reach is farther than was thought possible. Farther than should be possible.
There's no way that necromancers should be able to reach this far into the Shadowlands, not without some kind of help from their side. It makes no sense.
Though, nothing about the Scourge seems to make sense.
That, however, is a concern far above Adrestes' station, even as polemarch, so he leaves it to those better suited for such mysteries.
The Archon orders wards to be made to protect Olympic Village from outside spellcraft. It is such a bizarre idea that it is even needed there, but they are easy enough to make. There are already wards protecting the temples, and they are modified to include all areas where newly welcomed souls may reside.
It takes a day to make and establish them.
As the last one hums to life, Adrestes inspects it and wonders if this will truly do the trick. With the Archon's grace, it will, but part of him is still anxious. Mostly, he worries what the souls will think. What Amaeria will think. She and the others have not been here long enough to know that the Archon's decisions will be all the protection they need. Amaeria still talks about the Light as though it is relevant in this realm.
And Amaeria will worry about the souls in other realms.
Surely, the Archon will share their knowledge with others, especially if it means keeping souls in the Shadowlands.
He hopes that, even if Amaeria does not completely trust the Archon, she will trust him when he tells her that everything will be alright now.
He joins Kalisthene while she shares the news with the souls and aspirants, notes the relief that washes over some, while skepticism clings to others.
His gaze is not drawn anywhere particular in the crowd, and an unsettled feeling begins to stir in his gut.
No matter where he looks, there is no inexplicable tug, no draw to meet a well-known gaze.
When they do a head count, there are no longer two souls missing.
There are seven.
Panic stirs anew as people are questioned, memories searched.
One of the stewards sits quietly off by himself, waiting for Adrestes and Kalisthene as they are called over by an aspirant he has already spoken with.
"She said 'please'," the steward whispers, hand extended as though he can reach for the soul that has been kidnapped. "She very scared. I try, but I not help fast enough." Talons close around the air, like even now the steward can reach the soul and pull her back from wherever she has gone. "She ask for help, but I not fast enough."
"This was not your fault, Stanikos," Kalishtene assures him, patting the steward on the shoulder.
Adrestes freezes at the name. It is familiar, and a creeping fear in him knows why before he can possibly know.
"She said 'please'," Stanikos repeats. He offers them a soul mirror.
It is like something has twisted and broken inside of Adrestes' chest when he views the mirror and sees who has been taken.
He sees Amaeria, talking to the steward and looking around, concern plain on her face. And then something shifts inside her. He does not see any signs of anything amiss around her yet, but it is there in her face. She knows it is coming. Terror fills her before the runes flicker to life around her, and she reaches out to the steward, to Stanikos. Just as the steward says, she manages one word before the runes flash brightly and take her away.
"Please—"
A single word, and she is gone.
It infuriates Adrestes.
How could this have happened? Under his eternal watch? He is the polemarch. It is his job to make sure that the realm is safe, for everyone. And he has failed not just Amaeria, but seven souls.
He has always strived to be prepared for anything that may happen and yet this took him by surprise.
And he doesn't understand any of it, but most of all he doesn't understand what happened with Amaeria.
That damnable draw has always been there, so why did it not let him know? Why didn't he sense that something was happening? How was it that the one soul he watched the most carefully could be taken away without him even realizing it?
And after they parted on such uncertain terms.
He plays back the last thing he said to her, the stern orders, the 'Yes, sir'.
The terror as she was taken when he was off waiting for wards to be finished.
If he had been there, could he have stopped it?
It hurts.
Not just the fact that she is gone, but that he has, unwittingly, come to expect her to be around. He has thought of what will happen in the future, when she becomes an aspirant, when she gets her wings. He has already begun to mentor her.
Their connection is already so strong.
And now all of that…all of those unexpected expectations of what will come teeter on the brink of the unknown, ready to collapse.
For what will happen now?
Surely it is not out of his realm of responsibilities to wonder. It is not just one soul that has disappeared. This is a breach in security of the entire realm.
Though he cannot pretend that he does not care more for this one soul, for Amaeria, than he does the others.
A single thought keeps repeating itself. If they had worked just a little faster, gotten things together just an hour or so earlier, Amaeria would still be there.
It is a terrible thought that he is so desperate to have saved one specific soul. There are six others missing as well.
He returns to Elysian Hold, intent on leading a small group to reclaim those who have been taken. Those souls are to be kyrian, and he will not allow their fates to be diverted by overreaching mortals.
Adrestes lays out his plans to the Archon quickly, confidently. He already knows who he can take with him, and has estimated when they will be able to send back their first report. He knows he can get the missing souls back.
He has not finished explaining his plan when his Archon speaks. "No."
The word does not sink in right away as he stares up at her, uncomprehending. At first he keeps talking, though, slowly, like a poison, his mind repeats the word, echoing it, louder until it finally hits home and he trails.
The pain in his chest doubles.
He has never questioned the Archon in all his time in Bastion, but now, in this instant, he almost does. The word sticks to his tongue as he stares up at her, lost.
Why?
He tries to understand, tries to see reason.
These are not souls the val'kyr reached first. These are judged souls, souls who made it to their eternity, who earned the right to earn wings.
As he struggles with his emotions, the Archon tells Adrestes he will not be returning to Azeroth at all for the immediate future. Recent events have taken too great a toll on him.
A part of him wants to argue, to insist that these souls must be saved.
That Amaeria must be saved.
If it were anyone else, he would.
But he stands before the Archon. Her word is law, and she has never led them astray. If she tells him he cannot go, then he must understand that she is able to look at what has happened with a clearer mind than he can, and he must trust that she is making the right decision.
He must be loyal and yet he can feel that loyalty wavering, questioning.
"Leave your plans with me, Adrestes," she says, when she knows he has gathered himself enough to listen. "I will send people to find what has become of them, but you are not going."
It is with mixed feelings that he salutes and relinquishes his few hastily made notes to Thenios. They are tiny in the paragon's palm.
As much as it hurts, Adrestes accepts that if the Archon does not feel he should go on this quest, then he must not. His chest hurts to think of the lost seven, but he accepts that he does not have the power to save them. All he can do is protect those who remain here and hope that he will be privy to the news of what becomes those who were taken.
Time ticks on.
The longer it goes without news, the more he begins to wonder if Eridia is right after all. This pain he feels when he thinks of Amaeria, after knowing her for so little a while, this emptiness that threatens to suffocate him when he imagines an eternity without her…
Perhaps soulmates are real.
Perhaps Amaeria is his.
He struggles. He knows he must trust the Archon, but his head is filled with what ifs and a voice that tells him to go to Azeroth anyway, orders be damned.
He does not falter in his duties, but in the time between them, he finds himself lost. He has not realized how much of his time was taken up with their clandestine meetings and wondering about Eridia's ridiculous idea of soulmates.
And then he finally hears the news.
Lysonia is the one to tell him.
The souls that were taken from them are hardly the only ones. Hundreds, if not thousands of souls have been dragged back to Azeroth, back to the Scourge.
That alone, he could have endured.
But it was what comes next that breaks his heart into pieces. The souls have been used in rituals and spells, twisted and broken and destroyed.
There will be no retrieving them.
They are gone.
Amaeria is gone.
It does not sink in right away just what that means. That comes later, as the days stretch out, as he flies over a lonely pond and finds himself with too much free time. He can't even remember what he used to do with himself before he made time to visit with her.
It is the emptiness that stretches out, that beckons him, threatens to drag him under that pushes the truth of it home.
She is gone.
On one of his rounds that takes him to Olympic Village, he lands, waiting for Kalisthene's report on how the wards are faring, and if there have been any indications of further attempts on the necromancers' part to kidnap more souls.
As he waits, he looks around, noting the different souls and aspirants about, though none come up to him. Idly, he considers that Amaeria would have. If she were still here, she'd be there, with him, talking about their days and asking him about details of Bastion that he considered mundane until he saw the way they interested her.
By the Archon, she has helped him love this realm more than he already does.
She had.
The thought hits him like a punch to the gut, knocking the wind from his lungs, and Adrestes is certain that if he were in the air, he would have fallen from it.
He feels trapped. Despite the open space, the gentle wind, the warm light, he is trapped because he is helpless.
It is too much. This is too much.
His wings carry him upward so abruptly that he hears a few startled gasps from down below. He vaguely hears Kalisthene call out to him, but he does not stop until he is in the Temple of the Purity. He does not wait for a disciple to ready things for him, instead doing the necessary preparations himself.
By the time Eridia finds him, he has already faced and purged the memories that plagued him so.
He notes the blank expression that overtakes her face as she takes the soul mirror that houses what he could not bear. He half expects some quip or remark, knowing that she was well versed in what it is that he has forgotten.
However, she simply stands there, staring down at the memories that have been abandoned. A tear beads on her eyelashes before she abruptly turns her back to him.
He considers staying to see if she's alright, but decides against it. She is clearly turning him away.
And anyway, he is late to pick up a report from Kalisthene, and he cannot allow himself to be derelict in his duties.
