A living mortal in Bastion.
It is a concept so far removed from reality that it feels like it should be dismissed immediately.
When Adrestes first hears that there is a mortal in Bastion, he is in Elysian Hold, going through a few correspondences that request the Archon's attention and deciding which ones actually require it. The ascended who whispers the words pauses a moment when they realize who has overheard them and then leans into it. "A living mortal, in Bastion. Kalisthene saw her."
They stare at Adrestes, wait for his reaction, flounder when he is unphased. He has heard plenty of strange stories over the ages, and he doubts this one is any more than miscommunication and proof that people should write down whatever messages they want to relay.
The gossip is unwelcome, and the ascended finally realizes they will get nowhere with him.
He assumes that he will hear another story or two over the coming weeks. He is not particularly interested to know what ridiculous antics this 'mortal' will supposedly get up to, but hopes that the stories do not grow so wild that he is sent out into the countryside to chase down a living ghost.
He finishes going through the correspondences and begins a brief patrol of Elysian Hold, starting, as always with a check to make sure that all of the realm's wards are in working order. They are kept together and it only takes a quick glance to see the glimmer around each and every one of them to know that all is well.
Adrestes drops down to walk back to the hold's commons, enjoying the feel of the breeze on his feathers. He's caught one or two guards slacking off this way, as they always expect to see him coming from the skies, and he wants to make sure that now, in this time of drought, no one is shirking their duties.
Especially considering that the drought extends beyond Bastion, to other realms. While he doesn't know how many are affected, he does know that the longer it goes on, the more likely devourers will start to push into new territory to find food.
And they can't afford another attack like last time.
Everyone must be vigilant.
At first, all seems to be as it should, until he realizes, rather quickly that there are a lot more ascended huddling together in small groups, whispering to one another. Far more than usual. Most of these ascended would be higher up, in the spires, resting after coming back from their assignments of bearing souls or acting as watchers.
Instead, they are here, feeding the rumor mill.
It seems the rumors are spreading far faster than anything usually does. Adrestes takes a bit of pride in the fact that one of his current guards shoos away their soulbind—despite clear interest in the story of the mortal—before they see his approach.
As a precaution, Adrestes orders more guards be summoned for Elysian Hold, at least until he can talk to Kalisthene and get the truth of whatever has happened. While he doesn't want to feed into the rumors or give them any validity, he figures that it will be better to be prepared than not.
He is about to head off on his rounds—and to find the one who has apparently started the stories—when Kalisthene arrives in Elysian Hold. Just as he thinks this will save him time, she moves closer to him than she normally would, voice low. "We have a problem."
Despite his questions, Kalisthene is adamant that she speak to the Archon, finally leaning closer to Adrestes and whispering that the stories are true. While he's not sure what he was expecting, it was not this, and he knows damned well that if there somehow is a living mortal in Bastion, that is information the Archon needs to hear from the source.
He takes Kalisthene before the Archon and when she speaks, he finds himself having trouble keeping his jaw from hanging slack.
"A creature came through the gateway and an aspirant mistook them for a new soul. Had they not activated a mnemis unit for greeting, I wouldn't have found them so quickly, but it…the creature seems to be," she pauses, trying to find the words before finally settling on the simplest, most bizarre answer, "alive."
Adrestes crosses his arms, feathers fluffing for a second as he realizes that Kalisthene's wings are a jitter with partially puffed feathers. She's not even trying to hide them to appear professional before their Archon.
The Archon's head tilts. "Alive."
"Yes, my Archon," Kalisthene says. She grimaces. "More than that, though, she feels like the Maw."
Any idle curiosity on the Archon's part is gone in an instant. "The living cannot go there. This creature cannot be of the mortal realms and of the Maw."
"I do not doubt you, my Archon," Kalisthene replies, bowing her head. "But this creature wreaks of it, despite the clear heartbeat inside her chest, and came telling the aspirant stories of winged creatures in the Maw, creatures like our ascended. The aspirant was riled up from whatever she heard, and is advocating that this mortal speak with you." There is a brief pause before Kalisthene adds, "I told her if she wants to speak with you, she must walk the Path. I thought that would buy time to come tell you of what has happened, so that you may decide how best to deal with this creature." She pauses once more before adding, "I would have slain her outright, but the way from Oribos was opened for her. I have someone checking to make sure it was done willingly."
Silence descends on the Archon's Rise for a an unbearably long moment before the Archon nods. "You have done well, Kalisthene. Let this creature walk our Path and see our ways. We will watch her and see that she is not a threat."
Kalisthene bows.
When she has gone, the Archon calls Adrestes' name. "Find out everything you can about this…living mortal in my realm. I want to know how she came to be here."
His work is quick as he is able to piggyback off of what Kalisthene has already started. Kalisthene's scout returns to them with more bizarre news that the creature in their realm has been dubbed the Maw Walker in Oribos, for she truly emerged from the Maw itself. She created a path for other mortals to come through the veil as well, and there are already a handful of the living mulling about the eternal city, sharing information and waiting for word back from the one in Bastion.
The mortals are claiming that the veil has been breached in a profound manner, connecting their world to the Maw itself.
The idea is one of the most horrifying things Adrestes has ever heard, and he pities any world that might have the Maw hanging in its sky.
When he relays the information to the Archon, she bristles noticeably. For a goddess who so rarely allows herself to be seen riled, it makes his stomach sink, even after she assures him that all will be fine.
By the end of the day, Kalisthene has informed him that the mortal has passed the first trial that all souls must pass, that were she disembodied, she would now bear the form of a kyrian. Kalisthene says that by all accounts, the mortal seems to be a hero to her people—she has certainly impressed the souls and aspirants in Olympic Village—but that Maw essence around her makes any who have seen it or been sensitive to evil in life shiver.
None can decide if she is truly good or not.
While Adrestes knows there is no precedent for this, he can't help but feel that this definitely breaks the rules. Which ones he can't place, but it feels like…so many are being ignored. Fraternization with the living, allowing the unworthy to participate in their rituals…
And regardless the Path takes eons so how can this creature move along it with such swiftness? The time they thought to have bought themselves to gather information is substantially shorter than they had hoped.
He goes to the Aspirant's Rest that night to take a look at the creature himself, though he finds she is not in the bed that has been given to her. The things she has left behind do wreak of the Maw, however, just as Kalisthene has warned. It does not seem to bother most of the aspirants much, as they rest nearby, seemingly unperturbed. At Adrestes' request, a couple of stewards burn incense around this Maw Walker's belongings, trying to get rid of the hateful essence.
It does not belong here.
Nor does a mortal.
He figures it will be easy enough to locate her. Adrestes expects she will be like an unwelcome pockmark on the realm, from the way the ascended who have seen her speak, that she will feel like a smudge of something wicked in their perfect world.
He opens himself up to the sense that things are amiss, to any scent or feel of the Maw nearby that might draw him to her.
Instead, when he quiets himself and feels for something to draw his attention, there is a pull, an invisible tug. It startles him. It does not feel of the Maw at all, but of something older, deeper…
He vaguely thinks that he has felt something like this before. He does not remember this per se, but somehow it is familiar non-the-less. More than that, he is certain that he has talked to Visephone about it before, that it was not something ominous.
He tries to remember what this was for, what this curl inside of him this urge to follow some invisible path led him to before, but there is nothing. If he wants to know, he will have to check his archived memories.
Or just follow it now.
Perhaps it will take him to this mortal.
And so he takes to the air and allows himself to be drawn forward, across from Aspirant's Rest to Olympic Village. To the small archives housed there.
He knows where she is before he sees her, bizarre as it is.
Most bizarre of all is that she is…familiar.
That inexplicable tug smothers the rotten scent of the Maw and he almost misses it entirely until he has drawn far closer than he would need to sense it.
She sits reading quietly, surrounded by a few texts. He vaguely recognizes that she is from a world he has been to, though he can't place which one or which species she is off the top of his head. For a second, he wonders if perhaps he has borne her across the veil, if that is the cause of this familiarity.
That however, is impossible, because she is very much alive. He can hear the soft thump inside of her chest.
She does not belong in Bastion.
And yet…
And yet part of him feels like she does. That strange pull.
He bristles, wondering if it is a spell of some kind, an attempt to lull him into a sense of security so that she may appear unassuming. She certainly doesn't look particularly dangerous now, with her hair falling down her back, her armor mostly discarded and her bare toes occasionally tapping against the ground as she reads.
Adrestes finds himself rooted in place because he does not know what to do with this strange connection that wants to pull him to her. Should he confront her? Call her on her spellcraft?
Or is it even her doing? He is certain Visephone has told him that this is not something dangerous, not something to be feared…
That it should be explored.
He almost regrets having had those memories purged, though he knows damned well that anything he has let go has been with reason, to serve his Purpose and keep him on his Path. Still… He tries to remember what he does remember about it. The memories are gone, however, save for the fact that it happened.
And that when it happened, it had not been something bad.
But what could this be if not some kind of trick?
Why would he be drawn to something living? Something that has been to the Maw?
Someone.
For a moment, he thinks perhaps she feels that tug as well, because she comes out of her studies and starts looking around, like she is trying to find something very particular. She looks to the sky where he was when he first saw her, before he circled down.
Because he has circled down, slowly, drawing closer to her even as he wonders who and what she is.
A steward puts a stop to that. There is a second, after the steward starts talking to her where he thinks her gaze will still be drawn to him, but then it is passed and she speaks with the steward as though she does no know she is being watched.
He flies closer, resting on a pillar not far behind and above her, eavesdropping to hear her questions and her tale.
It is a dire one, if it is true. A part of him whispers that if she is saying so, it must be, that she would not lie. That ruffles his feathers. He has no reason to trust this creature any more than Kalisthene did when she first met her.
But he wants to. He wants to talk to her, to be the one she asks these questions about the Archon and Bastion and everything. Her voice is pleasant to listen to, soothing like the chimes from the temples.
When an aspirant urges this mortal, this Maw Walker to go to bed, he takes his leave on quiet wings, fighting the urge inside of him to stay, to talk to the creature himself.
He does not need to succumb to such outlandish whims. They feel selfish and that alone is what enables him to depart, because he will not let himself fail in his duties due to personal interests.
He brings what he has learned to the Archon.
The paragons are summoned, despite the late hour, and present when Adrestes tells what he has heard.
He knows that, on rare occasion, some souls are returned to Oribos to be sent to other afterlives, but he cannot recall any who made it to their ascension who could have been sent away, who could have fallen into the Maw to become what the Maw Walker speaks of.
And from the sound of her story, there are many of these fallen kyrian, if that is what they are.
The Archon is troubled.
Devos, alone, seems nonplussed by the news. "Does the Jailer not have eternity at his leisure? Perhaps he invented monsters with wings in his infinite spare time to mock our Archon's creations." Despite her words, she is sharpening her dagger. "This is not our concern."
She is almost flippant in the way she dismisses the news, and Adrestes cannot help but stare at her, bewildered. He is not alone.
Devos, however, is disinterested in his or the others' scrutiny.
"If there are somehow creatures ferrying souls back to the mortal coil," Visephone begins, concern plain on her features. She rarely lands during these meetings, but now she does, her bare feet touching quietly against the stone floor. "If this is true, then we must look into it. It goes against the Purpose—"
"The Purpose and the Path an infallible," Devos interrupts. "We must not question—"
"No," the Archon cuts her off. She hovers, wings flapping slowly, creating soft gusts across the Archon's Rise. "Visephone is right. We must look into this."
Adrestes does not miss the bitterness that twists Devos' lips into a scowl and drags down her brow. It is there for just a second, and yet it is so uncharacteristic. It reminds him of a time, years ago, when Devos had brought up the possibility that the Path could be flawed.
All because she was too invested in a single soul she was training.
It had been written off as concern tied into the troubles with the Scourge and how completely overwhelming it had been for everyone involved to try to gather the souls in a race against time and those who would dismantle the balance between life and death.
Dark times indeed, though Adrestes is glad he remembers little of it firsthand.
That bitterness, however, feels like something he should speak to the Archon about later, in private, even if she must have seen it herself. Perhaps she will chastise him for doubting a paragon, but he would rather hear her grace's reprimand than leave it be and have something horrible come of it.
Thenios offers to send some of his people to Azeroth, specifically to investigate this breach in the veil. His plans are accepted almost instantly, and Devos suggests sending some of her own with his, as guardians in case these winged monsters are real and take notice of their interest.
A joint mission.
The Archon approves it, and the paragons take their leave to make preparations. Xandria heads off to prepare her disciples in case there is going to be fighting. Long has the Temple of Courage sat as Bastion's army, and she wants to make sure that they are ready for anything. They will be mobile in a few days' time, and ready to go wherever the Archon needs them.
Chyrus and Visephone return to their temples as well, awaiting further instruction. Both temples serve more as support, and he knows that they will be preparing extra supplies for scouting missions and the like, just in case this mortal is the harbinger of something wicked.
While he finds it hard to believe that the small creature he observed could be something so dangerous, he is not about to leave anything to chance. He will not fail his people or his Archon.
He doubles security around Elysian Hold. Too many are awake at odd hours, and the rumors of a mortal in the realm are no longer whispered. Everyone is curious, everyone is wary, everyone wants to know what is going on.
It is fortunate that so many of them understand that they will know when they are meant to know, or Adrestes would likely be pulling his hair out by now.
Adrestes is at the Temple of Courage when the beacon calling him for aid is activated at the Temple of Purity.
Xandria and Thanikos have been going over what little they know with him this morning, and they are both at a bit of a loss for what can actually be done. It is not as though they can send people into the Maw itself—that would be suicide—but neither can they let a tear in the veil of this supposed magnitude go unattended. Once they hear back from Thenios' scouts about how grave the situation is, they will better be able to plan, but Xandria is tempted to go ahead and send a few units out to inspect the area, perhaps catch one of these mysterious winged creatures that have been spoken of.
Xandria is confident that when they find one, if they truly exist, they will bear a poor resemblance to kyrian. Whatever they will prove to be, it will not be something that should have been mistaken for one of their own.
Thanikos is the one who notices the beacon first, and wishes Adrestes speed on his journey, teasing him that he's going to miss all the action while helping calm the feathers of the compassionate and troubled with VIsephone.
Adrestes is as swift as ever, his mind calm, despite what is going on. He has been called from temple to temple for eons, and he knows what to expect. Missives and reports and tasks befitting a polemarch.
He knows what he will see.
And it is not the utter chaos that he flies into.
Failing vespers, screaming aspirants, corpses of the ascended falling from the skies.
Black wings.
At first, he is certain that the void has returned in a second attempt to take the realm. He makes to use his own call for aid, but he is interrupted before he can finish casting. An ascended he has flown with many times in the past bars his path to the temple, their snowy wings now dark gray and black. They are almost unrecognizable, and yet he does know them.
"Just fly away." They do not attack him, though they do tighten their grip on their bloodied blade.
The words are laughable in a twisted sort of way, though Adrestes sees no humor in them. Still, there is enough of a dissonance between what should be and what is that he hesitates. When he does not turn away, his friend holds up his weapon. "Don't get in the way of things, polemarch. Don't—"
A sword nearly slices through Adrestes' wing. He narrowly dodges it, having seen a faint turn of the head from the ascended talking to him. His moves are swift and automatic. He has fought many battles on behalf of Bastion, and he knows how to defend himself.
His mace crumples in the helm of the second ascended with a single blow, and they fall from the air. The first to have intercepted him lets out a cry—a name Adrestes recognizes—and lunges forward. He is dealt with equally swift.
As the body falls toward the earth below, Adrestes' stomach lurches. He knew him.
They were friends…
And he has struck him down on instinct.
The screams of others pull him out of what might be a most dangerous spiral of thoughts. There are so many here flying on black wings. So many he may know.
But whether he knows them or not, he cannot sit back and let this happen. He will protect Bastion, even if the threat comes from within.
And he will deal with the knowledge that he is fighting his own people once the dust has settled.
He calls for help uninterrupted this time. The first flare was noticed by Thanikos and Xandria, so when they see another, they will know something terrible is happening. They will come as quickly as they can, but for now…
For now, he must do what he can alone.
He makes it to Visephone, and she directs him away to protect her charges almost as soon as he is in shouting distance. He organizes who he can, sets out a strategy to round up and push back their enemies. As patrols—and finally help from Courage—come in, they set about clearing the skies and then offering aid to those below.
When the fighting has finally ceased, and he finally has a chance to look around, he is struck with the horror of it all.
Vespers that have stood since nigh the creation of the realm are cracked and broken on the ground. In some cases, bodies are crushed underneath them, limbs and faces of aspirants who were undeserving of such absolute cruelty sticking out and lying awkwardly over broken tiles.
He descends, checking a nearest body for signs that they can be saved. Their expression is blank, eyes dull. Their anima has left them.
Adrestes does not swear, but the unbecoming words almost come to his lips now. There is no sense in this.
Another corpse nearby is so similar to the one trapped under the bell, and yet…
Kyrian come in all shades of blue, some with skin almost purple or green, and their hair is the same, from teals and powder blues to midnight shades. Aside from perfectly white wings, blue is the most kyrian thing a soul can be. Blue like an echo of their Archon.
Their attackers, however, are not.
They are kyrian, but their hair is either pure black or some variant of dull gray, so much so that it does not even catch the shine of the light from the realm. Their skin is gray, too, and not just dull from a lack of anima. He has seen this but once before, ages ago, when he was tasked with taking a fallen aspirant back to Oribos. She had fallen from the Path and refused to return to it, and so she had been sent to find solace in another afterlife.
Adrestes has heard that there are many aspirants struggling with doubts now, largely because the drought has them sitting about with nothing but time to contemplate eternity and how something has clearly gone wrong for them to have to idle so.
Still…
Many of these attackers have their wings. How could they have fallen from the Path when they have already walked it? When they have already reached ascension?
Returning to the air, his gaze sweeps his surrounding, and he calls for a few nearer ascended, ordering them to come with him to see Visephone. He must ensure that she is safe before he goes to the Archon.
The paragon is near one of the inner pools, lifting a pillar up so that an injured ascended with a horribly mangled wing can be pulled free. It is easier for her, giant that she is, but she cannot be everywhere, cannot right fallen building and bell all at once. She sees the additional wings coming to help and orders them immediately to search for survivors. Either side. She wants to know how and why this has happened.
Her voice, always so gentle and kind, is bereft with grief.
Adrestes snaps directions, telling ascended to take different areas, to cover the most ground possible. Even as he thinks of where to go himself, Visephone calls his name.
"You will be needed at Hero's Rest." Visephone holds the pillar in her hands a moment before turning and simply shoving it off the nearby ledge and into the emptiness beyond. At least it will hurt no one there. "I obtained a memory from Lysonia—she led the attack."
"What?" He should not question a paragon, but the idea that a Hand could lead such a brutal attack against their own people… He remembers the bitterness he saw in Devos and immediately reminds himself that he should not be questioning the paragons. No matter what her Hand has done, no matter how dismissive she is of the problems arising now, surely Devos could never be tied into something like this.
He feels like he should be going to check on the Temple of Loyalty instead of going to the Hero's Rest.
His concerns must be easily read, for Visephone calls his name again, to make sure he is listening. "I sent aspirants and the mortal to the Locus, to see if they can find who Lysonia is taking orders from. They are to go to Hero's Rest and call for you when they have the information."
Adrestes starts to rise higher in the sky, when the paragon calls his name a third time.
As he hesitates, she motions vaguely toward the Locus. "The mortal may feel…wrong, but she is a good soul. She is not the cause of this. Do not be harsh to her, Adrestes. Whatever ails her world, I fear it may be connected to what is happening now."
The warning feels almost insulting, though Adrestes simply nods his head to her and takes off.
The last day has been full of unexpected and unwanted twists, and he almost wishes that the mortal is the cause of this. That he can rid Bastion of her presence and have things return to normal.
However, he doubts anything would ever be so easy.
Before, he had been certain that Xandria was right, that the creatures bringing souls back to the living realm had to be something else, something other than kyrian. Now, he is not so sure.
As he flies over the southern reaches of the Locus, he looks to Hero's Rest. There is no beacon calling him there, which means the aspirants and mortal could well be in the Locus still. When he looks down to scan the area, he sees that there is a great deal of movement below.
Far more than usual.
The lower he glides, the faster horror rises and catches in his throat.
Every creature he sees below is marked as one who has fallen from the Path. Dark wings, dark hair, dark clothes.
Adrestes stays high enough that they will not think to look for him—hopefully—and scans the ground, searching for signs of those who were supposed to meet him in Hero's Rest. Occasionally, he looks back toward the haven for the beacon, but it is still not lit.
He's not sure why he thinks to look toward the Archon's vault, but he does, and it is there he sees the fight ensuing.
Half a dozen fallen ascendants are diving down, with a handful of aspirants already blocking the way. Someone is coming out of the vault, however, and they are the ones who have the fallen's attention.
It has been ages since Adrestes needed to call for assistance, and yet he finds himself sending out a flare for help for the second time in mere hours. It is most likely that Voithe will answer this call, though he does not wait.
Adrestes dives quickly, throwing his mace into one ascended's back and slamming down in the midst of the aspirants who would cause harm. They scatter around him, terrified.
In a breath, he has his weapon again, and he joins the fray once more.
There is only one untroubled aspirant present, the mortal, and the forgelite prime. A mnemis unit stands behind them, offering commentary on the fight and suggesting when to attack who. Adrestes ignores the automon as best he can, instead doing what he can to keep the attention of their assailants while the others whittle them down.
More come after them, before they can finish fending off the current wave. They must have seen his descent.
It is a brutal fight, with his side outnumbered as it is. He orders them to fall back to the entrance to the vault, making it an easy chokepoint that limits the number of enemies who can get at them at once.
When the last of their attackers finally falls, Adrestes scans the world beyond and then looks back at them, inspecting them for injuries.
His gaze snaps first to the mortal. She is beside Mikanikos, healing a large gash on his arm as the forgelite prime smooths the feathers near it with indignance, mumbling about how dare these fools attack him when he is clearly someone of such import. Kleia—he has learned her name from it being called twice during the fighting—is breathing heavily, wiping blood from the corner of her mouth as she stares around with wide eyes. She is afraid of what is going on, but she has not let that fear deter her. Instead, she is using it to ground herself, to solidify her courage.
Adrestes looks back at the mortal, his gaze pulled there so naturally.
The mortal already feels less Maw-ish than she did the first time he saw her, only hours ago. It really is just a lingering essence from her time traveling through it.
It's a relief.
Her robes are dark and her hair is a deep red, almost the color of venthyr anima. It falls messily over her shoulders, with some still clinging to the skewed shape of a bun she must have had at some point. There is blood on her clothes, but it is all drying, and she moves easily enough that he can tell she is not hurt.
As the mortal finishes with Mikanikos' arm, Kleia lets out a relieved sigh. "Reinforcements are coming."
She stands near the entrance, watching the sky. There is fighting there, but from the looks of it, Voithe's forces are coming in fast and hard. Kleia starts to fix her own ponytail, her mace resting against the wall near her as she turns back to the rest of them. "You didn't lose your drape, did you? You may need it again."
Adrestes follows the aspirant's gaze and finds that the mortal is floating in the air beside him, peering up at a cut on his upper arm. He drops his shoulder so that she can see and mend it faster. Her spell repairs him, but it does not feel like a healing spell should. Perhaps it is simply because she is using spells designed for the living and not the dead. Wrong as it feels, it still mends his flesh, knitting it back together and leaving the faintest of scars, one that will likely fade quickly as time ticks on.
When she is done, she drops back to the ground from her levitate and goes over to a bag resting on the ground not far from them. After rummaging through it, she pulls out a tattered strip of cloth that definitely used to decorate a large vesper, and wraps it around herself, concealing her darker armor and hair.
"We had a few close calls with friendly fire at the temple," Kleia explains, noting Adrestes' critical look. "Overhead, all the dark cloth looks the same, yes?"
Adrestes considers it is not the best guise, but it will work well enough, especially if the Maw Walker stays with them as they leave. They can get her something more appropriate later.
At Hero's Rest or Elysian Hold.
"Where is the other aspirant?" he asks, glancing them over and quietly dreading the answer.
"Pelagos went to Hero's Rest, to send out a warning about what is happening," Kleia explains. "We didn't think we'd be this far behind him…but everything here is in such disarray."
"Did you access the memory?"
"It's a mess," the Maw Walker says. Her voice is as pleasant on the ears as it was the night before, though her tone is irate. "We can't make out who she's getting orders from."
"You may be able to recognize something, of course," Kleia offers, to which the Maw Walker allows a small shrug of acceptance. Kleia motions for him to follow her back inside.
Adrestes simply nods, and starts down, into the Vault. Kleia keeps stride with him, holding the soul mirror, and he glances back to see Mikanikos and Mnemis following him. The Maw Walker hesitates at the entrance, inspecting their fallen enemies, particularly one of the ascended's wings.
When she catches him watching her, however, he beckons her to come with them, and she obediently moves to follow.
"They're calling themselves forsworn," the Maw Walker says, as she catches up. "And they're far too organized for this to be some new development. They have to have been around somewhere for a while."
"Are these the creatures you came to us about?" Adrestes asks.
She does not seem surprised that he already knows. Perhaps she did see him the night before after all? Or perhaps she simply trusts that news travels fast.
"They're similar, but no." With another glance, he can see that she and Mnemis have swapped places, she trails just behind him. He feels an odd relief that she is nearer to him. It will be easier to protect her if something happens. "Their feathers are different. The longer ones are this blackish-gray, but translucent. More like it's part of a soul than…" she trails off a second and motions to Adrestes' wings. "well, feathers. And their armor is different."
"In her memory, they had skull helms and bone-like breastplates," Kleia adds. "You can't really see any of the kyrian beneath the armor." She pauses, looking back at the Maw Walker. "At least not the one you showed me…or the one in Lysonia's memory."
Adrestes feels dread coil inside of him at that.
"They were all dressed like that." The Maw Walker tugs on her wrap, as though trying to make it cover more of her. As though she is self-conscious under Adrestes' attention. "The ones who came to Azeroth with souls and the ones flying around and ambushing us in the Maw." When she notices Adrestes' head tilt at the word 'us', she frowns. "I left a lot of people behind."
He wants to ask more of her plight, but they have reached the inner chamber. Kleia dutifully hurries to set up the mirror.
The memory plays. It is fragmented and the figures blur in and out and even fracture making some of the people in the memories seem to merge together. It is difficult to catch details that would distinguish them from any other kyrian, until the one Lysonia gets her orders from makes her appearance along with what he assumes is the 'winged creature' from the Maw.
Adrestes' feathers bristle.
There is but one person in all the realm who wears a helm like that.
"Whoever is in here, declare your purpose!"
Adrestes' heart drops as he hears Devos' voice ring out. In a swift motion, he nullifies the memory. Kleia takes the soul mirror and slips it back into her robe for safe keeping. Before he can warn the rest of them or do anything, Devos rounds the corner in the hall and strides into the chamber, dagger brandished.
She does not look like the forsworn—her wings are still a pristine white, her skin is still blue, and her purplish-blue hair is pulled up in a tight bun so that the light tips are not visible. She looks as she always does.
And yet, there is no mistaking who gave Lysonia those orders… Even if the memory is so corrupted that they're not seeing the proper image, that voice was unmistakable.
For a moment, Adrestes thinks she will slay them all, here and now. However, even as they have their quiet standoff, where Adrestes wonders how quickly he can ready his weapon—and if it will even do any good—Thanikos and Voithe fan out on either side of the paragon, having descended after her.
Thanikos is the one to relax first. "Adrestes! It's good to see you unharmed." He pauses, looking up to Devos. "If not for him, we wouldn't have known to come."
"How fortunate," Devos says. Adrestes can swear she does not sound sincere. However, Thanikos doesn't seem to notice anything amiss.
He strides past her to them. "This is a most unusual party, if I've ever seen one. Polemarch, forgelite prime, Mnemis, aspirant, and…" he pauses to appraise the Maw Walker. "You must be the mortal everyone's talking about."
"In the flesh," she curtseys.
"That is what makes you mortal," Thanikos replies, resting one of his axes against his shoulder. "What are you doing here?"
"Retrieving a memory for the Archon," Adrestes says.
"Or at least trying to," the Maw Walker corrects. It occurs to him that she has recognized the voice from the memory—as well as that helm—and is feeling just as unsettled at Devos' arrival as he is.
He can see the way Devos is watching them. Even if her helm obscures her eyes, he can see a tension in her jaw that she seems to be trying very hard to hide.
Is this all in his head?
Before Kleia can produce the memory, before Devos can even ask for it, the Maw Walker pulls out a few shards of a broken soul mirror. "It was damaged in the fighting. We tried to see what we could make out, but…it's a mess."
Devos kneels, takes the fragments of the broken mirror in her palm, moves them a bit to see that they do form one mirror. "I'm impressed you were able to get anything from this." She manages to get the pieces to form the shape they should. "Though I should expect nothing less from so diligent a polemarch."
With a salute, Adrestes stands a little taller. "Thank you, paragon." He tells himself it is not a lie, though he knows that is not true. He should not be lying to Devos, should dismiss the Maw Walker's concerns and explain what he has actually seen, for surely there is an explanation that makes sense.
He remembers the friend he has cut down, a mere hour or so ago and that stops him.
Nothing is right.
May the Archon forgive his suspicions, but it will be better to err on the side of caution.
"Did you find anything useful?"
It is an obvious question to be asked, and yet Adrestes feels like it is a trap. Unless this memory is corrupt in some way he has never seen before, then the one giving Lysonia her orders had to be Devos, but how can he tell her that? Is this a test to see if he knows? What will happen if he tells Devos the truth? Will she attack them? What will Thanikos and Voithe do? With whom will they stand?
"Nothing that any of us can glean, unfortunately," the Maw Walker says, interrupting his thoughts.
Devos looks down at the small mortal, clearly displeased that she has the nerve to speak on behalf of their group. On behalf of Adrestes.
He is grateful for her interjection, though. He straightens up again, seeing the way out that will keep those currently under his charge safe. "I feel if the Archon watches these memories, she may have a better eye for it."
Devos' smile seems chilly. "Then I will take it to her right away." She stands up, pauses to let her gaze sweep their small party. "Is something wrong, aspirant?"
"There is much wrong, my paragon," Kleia offers, then looks down. "Forgive me. I did not mean to be so—"
"You are fine," Devos assures her, smiling. "I just wanted to make sure that you did not catch something the other shave missed. I would hate to waste the Archon's time."
"No," Kleia says, voice softer. "The memories are too degraded to make anything out." She pauses and then perks up. "Other than the fact that they call themselves forsworn, of course."
"Forsworn," Devos says the word, considers it. "At least we have something to call them. Thank you." She closes her hand around the mirror fragments as she holds them out to Adrestes. When he accepts them, he is certain there are more pieces than were given to the paragon, and that if anything could have been salvaged from what the Maw Walker presented, it would be truly lost now. "I trust you will handle this, as I should return to my temple." She pauses and looks to Voithe and Thanikos. "You should return to yours, as well. We do not know where these forsworn will attack next, if they will, and it is best we are prepared for anything. And Adrestes—"
"Visephone has requested I tend to some matters at Hero's Rest, and then I will bring what I have to the Archon."
"Of course. I will not delay you from your duties."
Both Hands salute. They turn to follow her out. Adrestes takes his time tucking away the fragments of glass he has been handed, giving the others an ample head-start before he leads their small party out, pausing to pat the Maw Walker's shoulder as he passes her by. When they reach the entrance to the vault, Adrestes hesitates. He can see both Voithe and Devos heading north and northwest, forms growing smaller by the second.
He pauses now, kneeling to inspect the attackers from earlier, taking a helm off of one of them, only to feel his stomach drop. He recognizes this ascended and his frown doubles. The dead man is a kyrian that Adrestes has enjoyed casual debates with in the past, and Adrestes cannot fathom how he could have fallen from the Path. This kyrian was always so dedicated to their ways, a true disciple of Loyalty.
This keeps coming back to Loyalty, doesn't it?
He tries to remember the last time he visited that temple. Devos has never had great need of his assistance, but of late, it feels like she has called on him less and less, and his rounds do not often take him over any of the temples directly, as he is usually pulled away to some degree to check on little things that patrols may have noted or areas that he thinks may need some extra scrutiny.
Could Devos know something of this?
Does she?
Despite it all, he is sure that the Maw Walker's deceit has been for the best. If Devos proves to not be involved in any way, she will surely understand their caution. And if she is…better she not know that they have their suspicions.
"Kleia, the mirror." He holds out his hand.
The aspirant hesitates and then offers it to him. "Why did we lie to the paragon?"
"I will take full responsibility for it," Adrestes assures her. He decides not to point out that she should recognize that voice from the memories. She looks ready to ask more, but instead closes her mouth and nods.
Before he can consider telling her anything else, Thanikos lands in front of them. He crosses his arms, mouth a thin line. "What in the Archon's name is going on, Adrestes?"
"Why aren't you—"
"Because we're already on high alert," Thanikos says plainly. "We're already mobilizing as fast as we can and me flapping madly back to Xandria won't change a thing. I sent someone else with an update."
Mikanikos is the one to speak up. "Lysonia led attack on Temple of Purity. Her memories show she help lead forsworn."
Adrestes can barely make out as Thanikos' brow shoots up beneath his helm. He looks around them, at the corpses scattered nearby, then back at Adrestes. "Lysonia." His expression shifts quickly through a myriad of emotions before an understanding settles over him. He looks back down, scanning the bodies. His frown grows with each face he recognizes.
"You're going to Hero's Rest?"
He starts to say no, that he needs to head to Elysian Hold, but then, he did tell Devos that he was going to Hero's Rest, and he doesn't want pile too many lies together at once. He hates that he's lied at all.
"I need to get these two there," Adrestes motions to Kleia and the Maw Walker.
"And me," Mikanikos declares, more than a little cross to have been left out.
"Well, it's on the way," Thanikos murmurs and then he offers a nod to the Maw Walker. "I'll help get you there."
Adrestes is not sure why it irritates him so much that Thanikos picks up the Maw Walker to carry, but it does. It shouldn't matter, really. And there's no legitimate reason for him to tell Thanikos to put her down just so he can do the same thing, which irritates him more. Thanikos takes Mikanikos in his other hand and lifts into the air. Adrestes takes Kleia, and they head off.
The flight is quick and quiet and uneventful.
Until they are making their descent to Hero's Rest.
That is when it happens.
It feels like something is tearing into their reality, like claws raking through glass, putting pressure on it until it shatters and fracture lines go everywhere.
They are already flying in that direction, so they see it in the distance, too.
A wicked, dark blot against the serene sky. A mar on perfection that—even from Hero's Rest—sends shivers through them.
Adrestes has felt something like this once before, and it was when the Void attacked. That breaching of the realm, the way what came through did not belong. That wrongness. It makes him pause with his charge, just high enough that he cannot simply drop Kleia.
Whatever has come through, it has done so over the Temple of Courage.
Thanikos seems to forget that he is carrying anyone, abruptly shooting forward as fast as he can, heading home. Adrestes almost forgets he is holding anyone himself.
"Kleia!"
The voice snaps him out of his horror, stalls his wings before he can take off for Elysian Hold. He lowers enough to safely set down the aspirant in his arms.
And then, like Thanikos, he is off. The Archon must be warned. Forces must be gathered.
He is almost halfway to Elysian Hold when he sees her.
The Archon herself is flying out, toward the Temple of Courage, to see just what has broken into their realm.
Her realm.
She is a terrifying sight, spear in hand as her massive wings take her across the sky, flying fast enough that it is all her honorguard can do just to keep up with her.
He adjusts his course, tries to join with her.
"Guard the hold, Adrestes!"
He barely catches the order before she is past him.
He wishes he could go with her, protect her and the realm.
Instead, he does as he is told. He pushes himself as hard as he can, making it to Elysian Hold a few precious minutes faster and immediately taking over the chaos that the Archon has left in her wake. Some are already starting to prepare for an assault, but there is no clear direction until he takes up the reins. In minutes order has been restored and the patrols and guards are in place, ready for whatever is to come next.
Adrestes hovers over where he usually stands to vet those who wish to take up the Archon's time. It gives him one of the best views of the hold, allows him to see most directions. It is also where most of his soldiers will know to find him, and will make relaying information far easier.
Liila, Mikanikos, and Thanikos descend into absolute chaos when they reach the entrance of the Temple of Courage. A handful of ascended and aspirants attempt to hold back what Liila first mistakes to be the Scourge.
"Where is the paragon?" Thanikos bellows, rising back into the air and then slamming down into several advancing enemies. They crumple to the ground like leaves as he slashes at the ones who come behind them.
One of the ascended points with her weapon. "She's further in, but we can't reach her!"
This attack is so much worse than that on the Temple of Purity. The creatures that attack now are definitely not forsworn. Some of the stitched together monstrosities that assault the kyrian now are enough that Liila's certain abominations would have nightmares.
She shields one of the aspirants trying to hold his ground against a handful of skeletal creatures. She switches to shadow spells, to shadow form, calling the shadows to cling to their attackers' legs, to trip them up and hold them down. The ascended make quick work of them.
It does nothing. Where one falls, two more take their place.
"They're coming in through portals."
She's not sure who says it.
But then Thanikos is kneeling beside her. "You can heal, yes?"
Her heart sinks, but she nods.
Motioning to one side with his weapon, he beckons for her and one other ascended to follow. "We're going to cut off their reinforcements."
Liila wants to tell him no, that she will provide aid from the shadows, but this is hardly the time to try to make her own plan. She switches the focus of her skill set, embracing the Light that thinks so little of her, and follows Thanikos into the fray. Mikanikos takes another group north.
It is horrific.
She has seen the horrors of the Scourge, seen things done to bodies that shouldn't be possible, but this…
In addition to mutilations and spellcraft, they have used some sort of concoction on some of the kyrian that seems to disease and dissolve them. Those who have managed to mostly dodge vials have holes through their arms, wings. It eats straight through their flesh and bone.
Liila focuses on healing those injuries first, as the kyrian seem ill prepared for such things. It makes sense, she supposes. She can't imagine the dead having to worry about diseases.
They are able to save some, get a few to flee to safety, but for the most part, it is just death.
Liila is struggling with the idea. The Light and its many Churches have taught that what comes after death is kind and gentle, but this is not. There is just as much strife here as on Azeroth, and here…is there anything after?
She hopes for the sake of the fallen that there is.
Maybe a proper peace that they need not worry about fighting to defend.
She and her small group have closed about half of the portals on the southern end of the temple when the Archon arrives.
Her fury is blinding. She meets the aerial assault forces head on, and with each one that she unmakes—because Liila doubts she is doing anything short of completely extinguishing these creatures—the world is filled with righteous brilliance.
The flashes overhead terrify the attackers in ways that no other spell or weapon can.
This is divine retribution if ever Liila has seen it.
The Archon cuts through those in the air, heading for the necropolis.
Some of the braver—or stupider—attackers try to close in behind her, but more lights strike them down, and Thanikos comments that Mikanikos must have gotten one of the larger centurion up and running.
They finish closing the portals here. Thanikos orders others to head to the northern parts of the temple to assure all of those are closed too and then takes Liila and a few others across to the main temple, where it hangs in the sky.
It is worse here. There are so many bodies scattered around. Worse, there are creatures, smaller poorly stitched together monstrosities, that are dragging the bodies back through the portals. When they intercept one, they find the aspirant it was carrying is still alive, albeit barely.
Liila heals her while she looks at the dozens and dozens of portals here.
There are too many to stop all of them immediately. Too many to prevent all of the abductions happening right before their eyes.
Despite what she has been through, the aspirant joins the fight with them. While it's true that there's no where she can go, she doesn't even ask or consider retreating somewhere safe to wait. Instead, she joins Liila in healing.
Normally, it would be tempting to shove the burden onto her, to let her heal her brethren and for Liila to go back to her shadow spells. But this…
This reminds Liila of the Broken Shore, though she's sure this is worse. The demons were cruel, but she can't think of a time they ever did this.
They heal together. The aspirant mends and Liila purges disease.
It is harder to do here because the ground itself feels plagued. She can feel it sapping her energy where she stands. So she levitates and levitates her fellow healer. The space helps both of them.
Their primary goal has been to close the portals, but they are fighting their way toward an incredibly tall woman in the distance. Thanikos has called her Xandria. She's easily as tall as Visephone was—this realm favors giants, it seems—but she is much, much, much more wrathful.
She is fighting whoever has led this assault, as well as slowly diminishing waves of other creatures that she spears and breaks upon the walls and statues of her own temple.
Thanikos signals to her twice that help is coming, but she does not see them.
It is clear that he wants to fly straight to her, to give her back up, but he cannot ignore the abductions happening right in front of them. The creatures are moving faster, trying to get the bodies—the victims—through as fast as they can.
Liila sees a steward who claws futility at the ground, trying to stop its own kidnapping. Liila calls on tendrils of light to draw the creature to her. It suffers a few deep cuts from claws that try to hold onto it, but it is safe with them.
They fight on.
When the necropolis overhead is dismantled, it is like the world is tearing, similar to what happened when it first showed up. This time, the sky cracks with light that encompasses the floating structure, sucking it out of the world in pieces. She can see creatures falling from it only to get dragged into wherever that light leads. She doesn't feel sorry for them.
Thanikos is dividing their group up to close any further portals, when Xandria wins her battle. Her spear finds the center of her adversary and he lets out a most inhuman shriek, greens and dark shades swirling from his body. However, even then, he seems ready to try to keep going, keep clinging to life or unlife or whatever it is that he has.
And that is when the Archon reaches him.
Liila can hear the Archon just as easily as if the woman were standing in front of her, and her voice rolls out across the temple, words a demand.
"Why are you here? Why are you doing this?"
"Because we can." The skeletal thing—a lich—laughs in response. He knows he's lost. Rather than give any answers, he takes the knife at his hip and stabs it into his own throat. It activates something, some spell, that sweeps out around him, down into the temple.
The Archon tries to mitigate the damages, but he is gone.
With a flick of her wrist, the Archon unmakes whatever is left of him. And then she turns toward the rest of the temple. She has a great spear, one that shines with innate power, and she takes that, holds it high over her head and then slams it down into the ground.
Light ripples out.
It surges like a nova, rolling out and encompassing everything, seeking to unmake all that shouldn't be there.
As its edges wash over Liila, burning her, it occurs to her that she should not be there, all things considered. She winces and recoils, closes her eyes against the brilliance washing over everything around her, waiting.
But the absolute agony of a god's wrath never quite manifests.
When the light quiets behind Liila's eyelids, she opens her eyes to find that both Thanikos and the aspirant who has been healing with her have helped to block the worst of it. The aspirant has wrapped her in a shield of some kind, and Thanikos now kneels beside her, one arm around her and the other held out, hand empty, palm out, toward the Archon, who hovers almost on top of them.
"My archon, this is an ally!" Thanikos cries out. "This is the Maw Walker!"
Others offer assurances, though they quickly die down as the Archon focuses her gaze on Liila, expression neutral.
Liila can count on one hand the number of times a god has appraised her like this, and it rarely ends well. Usually, she ends up in a fight, with the deity admonishing her for her hubris as she and her allies attempt to defeat it.
This time is different, thankfully. Liila has never been fond of fighting gods.
"I thank you, for your help in defending my realm and my people," The Archon finally says. "I hear—"
"Get them off the ground!"
The yell comes from behind her, and the Archon turns to see that Xandria is doing what she can to hoist the injured up and into her arms, though even being the giant that she is, she does not have the room to do it all herself.
Liila looks down.
The Archon's light had done something to the plagued ground, but despite it, the plague is seeping back in, spreading like blood poisoning in wicked lines that expand and taint. Whoever is touching the ground that it infects is wilting because of it.
Liila casts levitation spells on those around her that she can reach, renewing her own as well.
The ascended who can take back to the air.
The Archon has all but forgotten Liila. "What is this?"
Xandria passes off a few injured to some of the ascended, who dutifully begin taking them back to the mainland of the realm. "I don't know. I've never seen corruption like this."
"It's a plague," Liila says. All their attention snaps toward her. She shifts a little, feeling like one wrong word will have the Archon skewering her. "When the plague hit the Eastern Kingdoms in my world, it did similar damage…not as fast as this, but the results were similar, I think." Liila looks down to see the way it is webbing over itself, growing, lifting.
It seeks those in the air, like it can actually tell they're there.
"She helped with more than a few of our people who were…plagued, as you said," Thanikos says. He pats her head a little roughly, and Liila has to reapply her levitate. She can feel the sting of something through the soles of her boots, and she looks out over the commons, at all the people who lie there, struggling.
The Archon alights on the corrupted ground, despite calls from all around for her not to, and kneels. She places her hand flat against the ground and there is another pulse.
It sweeps under Liila, mercifully, though she can feel the heat from the light as it burns through the corruption underfoot.
No sooner has the Archon finished channeling it, it is like someone striking a broken bell. The discord surges up beneath them.
Within minutes of her purge, the plague is returning, consuming.
It comes for the Archon, too, as though it wants her more than anything else. There are sinewy veins that extend up, try to wrap around her feet. She takes to the air quickly, frowning at the way the veins reach up a little further, still trying to find her where they know she should be.
"My Archon!"
The voice is familiar, and Liila's heart drops as she looks to see Devos and almost two dozen others descending to meet them.
"You could have come a little sooner!" Xandria snaps.
The Archon holds up a hand to silence her, though it is Devos who replies. "I apologize. Forsworn were at my temple."
"That's two temples in one day," Thanikos murmurs.
Xandria mutters an apology and turns her attention to lifting her aspirants and stewards from the tainted ground. With a motion from Devos, her ascended descend to start gathering others. "If you need, we can take these survivors to my temple."
Liila remembers the memory.
She remembers pointing at the figure that, distorted as it was, was clearly the same as the one who she saw in one of the displays in the welcome center. The Paragon of Loyalty. Kleia had dismissed her concerns, explaining that of course Lysonia's memories included Devos, she was the Hand of Loyalty. She remembers the way Mikanikos was oddly quiet at that, and how shortly after Adrestes froze at the sight when it was played a second time.
"How far away is the temple?" Liila interrupts. She does not miss the way Devos looks down at her, quicker than the others, almost like she was expecting this. "Perhaps there is somewhere closer?"
Xandria is the one to reply. "Hero's Rest would be the closest place to take them."
"It is not designed for this many aspirants, let alone this many wounded," Devos says. Her countenance does not betray whatever she is feeling. "We were fortunate that the forsworn did little to my temple. We can take them in."
The aspirant who has been helping Liila heal lets out a cry as veins reach up and try to wrap around her foot. Thanikos purges them, Liila heals her, almost levitates her again, but Thanikos has picked her up, in considerably more gentle manner than he carried Liila.
The Archon frowns and flaps her wings once, hard. Those wicked veins, which have been reaching for everyone they can, crumble to dust. While Liila doesn't doubt they will be back, they are not quite so quick to reform. The Archon lands, drops to her knees and presses both hands to the ground. She calls her light again, and this time it does not fade. "Evacuate the temple. We will worry about where they go once they are safe from this."
Liila is taken back to the mainland early on—one less soul to worry about, as Thanikos teases, though his tone is a little flat—and from there she sets to helping tend to those who are injured.
The ascended bring her the plagued aspirants and she purges it from them before they are set down, so as not to further corrupt more of the realm. It is repetitive and exhausting, but the few times she tries to show others how to purify this plague, this disease, their magic does not take to it.
She has no doubt that they have spells she would have trouble mastering, but it is frustrating never-the-less.
When the Archon finally leaves the Temple of Courage, everyone can feel the shift. Even Liila.
And by the time the Archon is hovering above Liila, the distant pillars of the temple are already blackening with rot.
"A word."
When Liila nods, the air around her becomes lighter and rather abruptly she is pulled up to hover nearer to the Archon's face. It is a little unsettling to float at the god's eye level. The Archon appraises her a moment, brow pinching together ever so slightly as she inspects Liila. That pinch smooths out quickly. "I thank you again, Maw Walker. When you first came to my realm, I was not sure what to make of you, but it seems you are a good soul. A helping hand in these trying times."
Despite her words, Liila can feel the anger pent up within the god, boiling just under the surface. She is furious about what has happened here. Liila can't say she blames her.
She curtseys as best she can, considering she is suspended in the air. "I am only sorry that you need such help."
"As am I," the Archon replies.
"May I interject?"
Devos has joined them, and Liila wants to laugh at that, because of course she has.
The Archon nods to her, and Devos again tells her that her people will start bringing those they can to her temple.
"If you're temple has been attacked, isn't in vulnerable?" Liila interrupts, not particularly caring that this conversation doesn't include her. "Perhaps another temple—"
"So that they will be burdened already when they are attacked?" Devos looks back at the Archon. "Because it seems that is where this is headed, my Archon. None of the temples are any safer than the others. And I would hate for Humility or Wisdom to fall because they took on more than they should. Not when my temple can handle this." She pauses, looks pointedly at Liila. "Unless our dear Maw Walker has a reason I should not?"
"In my experience, only a very foolish or naïve…or corrupt commander fails to notice when their second in command goes rogue," Liila says, smile thin. "Lysonia was yours, wasn't she?"
Devos's brow shoots up high enough that it can be seen above the odd helm that blocks nothing but her eyes, and the laugh that escapes her is indignant. "You have quite the audacity for such a tiny, breakable creature."
"Lysonia may have been responsible for the attack on the Temple of Purity," the Archon interrupts, unamused by Liila's boldness. "But you will not speak so to my paragon."
There is a warning in that voice, and Liila has no doubt that it would be quite easy for the Archon to follow through on it. It makes her wonder if the Archon can get around her curse and end her permanently, or if she would just keep her around to smite on occasion, when she felt the need.
Liila nods her head in deference. At least she has managed to voice her concerns about one matter to the Archon. Of course it's not the reason she came in the first place. Remembering that there is a reason she came in the first place is the only thing that actually pushes Liila to play nice at all. "Apologies, Archon, Paragon." She nods to each. "The forsworn and now this…they are like horrifying echoes of what my own world is facing right now." She motions toward the temple. "While we can handle the Scourge, the winged creatures that bring back the dead are something new, and we can't seem to stop them. They are eerily like the forsworn."
"Perhaps you brought them with you," Devos says. When Liila's eyes widen, surprised, Devos motions to her. "You must admit that they have shown up on your heels, or that something has gone wrong at each place you visit."
"Or the attendants sent me to the right realm for help when I explained who was hounding my world," Liila replies. She will not let this woman turn things around on her. "And the attacks here and at the Locus were in play before I arrived at either location."
"Speaking of 'here'," Devos motions toward the temple as well. "You said you're familiar with this."
"Enough," the Archon snaps. Devos pulls her hand back, but does not apologize. The Archon looks to Liila. "Azeroth is well known in the Shadowlands for all its troubles. We do not tip the scales in the favor of life or death, but if there are creatures bearing souls back from the Shadowlands, I assure you, we will find them and deal with them."
"We can hardly afford to send people after whatever this mortal is talking about now," Devos objects. "Not when Bastion itself—"
"We can afford to look into what is going on," the Archon says, and there is finality in her tone. She meets Liila's gaze, pointedly. There is something there that says she knows something, something more about Liila, though Liila can't place what. It is unnerving. "Did you require any other assistance?"
"Do you know how to repair the veil?" Liila asks. "It's been torn open. The Maw bleeds directly into our sky."
Both Devos and the Archon are quiet. Liila half wonders if she has overstepped, if she should have groveled a little before asking.
"We will see what can be done—"
"Tears usually heal on their own," Devos objects.
"We cannot afford to ignore this," the Archon murmurs, her expression troubled. "Not if it leads to the Maw."
There is a flicker of something on Devos' face for just a second—anger, frustration?—before she speaks. Liila is sure that the Archon catches it, though the god says nothing. "We cannot go to the Maw."
"We can go to Azeroth," the Archon begins and then cuts herself off as gasps sound from below them. Even as they look down, Xandria flies up to them. Thanikos is ordering people be moved, quickly.
"The plague, or whatever it is, is spreading," Xandria says, motioning down with her triton. "It didn't reach that pillar before, but now it's beyond it. Those tendrils nearly consumed one of my aspirants."
"I'll start moving them to my temple," Devos says, and Liila does not fail to notice that there is a bit of a bite to her words, as though she is daring Liila to argue.
She does not.
The Archon drops toward the ground and Liila drops with her. It sends her stomach into her throat for a second before whatever force is holding her catches her again.
"If you can walk, head to Hero's Rest," the Archon orders. Immediately, aspirants begin to push themselves to their feet. Some are shakier than others. "If you cannot, we will see that you are taken to a temple. You will be alright," the last words are gentler. Liila can feel the way they wash over those below, soothe them.
They soothe her, and the words aren't even meant for her.
The Archon directs her attention to Xandria. "We do not want to overburden any temple, so split them up. Take some to Chyrus, some to Thenios. Some to Aspirant's Rest, if need be."
Xandria bows and begins barking orders. Devos has already departed to instruct her own ascended. The Archon turns back to Liila. "You have done much for my people, and thus for me, mortal, but I have more to ask of you. Will you accept?"
Liila knows this is not an actual question, but a formality. She has always hated authority figures who do this, make something out to be a choice when it is not. A few years ago, she would have nettled this god out of spite.
Now, though… Now she also knows the difficulties of being in a position of authority and having those whose help you not listen or make trouble because they do not appreciate a tone. Her time as high priest has helped to smooth out some of her rougher edges, as much as she doesn't like to admit it.
"What would you have me do?"
"Our attackers here," the Archon turns her gaze to sweep over the temple. "They were from my brother's realm. You will go to him. I will let him know to expect you and that he had better be ready with an antidote for whatever this is when you arrive. Bring it to me and I will ensure that these creatures returning souls to your world are stopped with all due haste."
"Thank you, Archon."
In a breath, Liila is on the ground, and the Archon is shooting through the sky, headed east.
It feels like an impossibly long time as Adrestes waits for news, for anything.
He notices two aspirants who arrive via larion, inspects them long enough to know that the guards nearest them find them no threat, and goes back to surveying the area. A few messages come from different parts of the hold, questions about securing the Spires overhead. He has just sent a few ascended back up into the Spires to tell everyone to get ready—everyone. Bearers just returning, Watchers in between their assignments, anyone who can lift a spear. They will have time to rest later.
"What should we do?" A familiar voice comes from the stairs to his left and he looks down to see that Kleia is there. He assumes it is her soulbind, Pelagos, standing beside her, clearly rattled, his attention snapping around as he takes in the preparations and extra security.
Adrestes almost dismisses them, tell them to go find somewhere safe to wait out whatever it is that is happening. After all, they do not have wings, and any assailants who come here will. It will be easy to pick up the wingless and drop them into the emptiness that surrounds the hold, or just lift them high enough that any landing will break their bodies. It will be easy, if there is full-blown fighting, for he and his soldiers to miss any abductions and realize far too late that any aspirants or stewards need saving. And if there is an assault, he needs to be able to give orders, not babysit.
However, before he can tell them to hide in the chambers below, another thought occurs to him. "Take this path over east and check on the wards. They'll look more or less the same as the ones at the edge of Olympic Village. See if they have been tampered with."
They salute him and are off, taking the stairs two and three at a time.
It's something he usually does in the mornings before he begins his rounds, and he knows that this morning the wards were functioning as well as ever.
He flies up occasionally, to try to get a better view of the temple of Courage, though it is on the other side of the realm and he knows that no matter how far up he goes, he will not be able to see anything from here. That is what makes him drop back each time.
The waiting is miserable, though he has little time to think on it. He sends scouts to the different temples and barks orders to nearby patrols, ensuring that they are at the ready. He receives word back from Voithe that the Temple of Humility is safe, and that they are sending out a few units to aid the Temple of Courage. Her message asks if there is need for them at the hold.
As he tells the messenger to tell Voithe to remain vigilant at her own temple for now, he sees Kleia returning. With a pronounced frown, he dismisses the messenger and waits.
Kleia moves quickly, despite the wear she must be starting to feel—she was at the assaults on both the Temple of Purity and the Locus after all—and in no time, she is close enough to call out. "The Purity and Courage wards were shattered."
Adrestes feels a chill run through him, fluffing his wings for an instant. "Shattered?"
"Like someone took a mace to them or…" she says. "Pelagos and a few others are piecing them back together. One of the ascended said they'd have them back in working order by the end of the day."
The end of the day.
That is too long. Or at least it feels too long.
Never has a day lasted so long here in Bastion.
Adrestes calls to a nearby guard and tells her to redirect more guards to the ward terrace. He doesn't want to chance anything coming through and destroying more of them.
Though to even destroy one…
One would need to have intimate knowledge in kyrian spellcraft, be able to nullify the spells, and then destroy the base to prevent simple reactivation.
That sort of thing takes time.
The kind of time that would leave one open to be noticed.
Surely someone with black wings would have been noticed if they had come near the wards.
A sideways glance reveals that Kleia is still standing beside him. She stands up straighter when he looks at her. He motions to the commons he overlooks. "Go ask around and see if anyone noticed anything or anyone near the wards earlier today." He catches her attention as she turns to go. "Anyone. Even me."
Adrestes is pleased with how quickly she goes about her task. It is good to know that despite her confusion due to his actions earlier, she is still willing to have faith in him. He had half worried that she might try to tell someone of his deception toward Devos.
However, that now seems to be the furthest thing from her mind.
Thinking of that deception, his mind goes to the Maw Walker, and he abruptly realizes that she is very likely embroiled in the thick of things at the Temple of Courage. His feathers bristle at the idea.
She is a mortal, living. The kyrian work hard to shirk their mortal flaws once they come to Bastion, so should they really be relying so heavily on one who has not only not given up any memories, but is also very much still alive?
It seems foolish on their part, and dangerous for her.
He wishes he had been the one to carry her. Then she would be at Hero's Rest. Or here.
He wishes he knew she was somewhere safe.
Minutes turn to hours before the Archon finally returns. She is furious. He can feel the anger rolling off her as she shoots past overhead, straight to the higher platforms just above the Archon's Rise. Adrestes knows what lies in that high chamber, though he has never been in it himself.
That is where the Archon goes to communicate with other realms, with the other gods.
He looks back toward the Temple of Courage, remembering that awful feeling as though something were tearing apart.
When he turns away, he is startled to find the Archon is right before him, form glowing with a righteous anger. Her usual blue hair whips around her like white lightning. "Adrestes, send word to Kalisthene to gather the aspirants who are ready for their final rite. We need more ascended." He bows to her. "And Adrestes?" She motions for him to come closer and so he flies up so that he is eye level with her, so that he can hear her when her voice drops to barely a whisper. "Send aid to the Temple of Loyalty, they were attacked by the forsworn as well."
When Adrestes looks surprised, the Archon frowns. He motions hastily toward the east. "I will do as you command, my Archon, but only two of the wards were damaged, so I don't see how…" He trails off. It is not his place to question his Archon. That said, he pulls the soul mirror from his robes. "I fear I may be out of line, but I would like you to see this. I believe you will see who told Lysonia to attack the Temple of Purity."
The Archon's gaze drops to the mirror. "The Maw Walker saw this?"
"Yes, my Archon."
She extends her hand and he drops it in her palm. It is such a tiny thing compared to her. Barely the size of her smallest nail.
"Adrestes." She says his name as he turns to go and when he looks back at her, he can see that righteous anger barely contained in her powerful form. "I want you to go to the Temple of Loyalty. Tell her we are going to need some of the anima stored there for our new ascended. Take a few others with you." When he seems surprised, she simply motions that he is dismissed. "To bring supplies, of course."
