Liila can see Hero's Rest, see two familiar figures standing near the flightmaster, and the hand that goes up to wave to her as her mount begins its descent. Despite the dread that she would see something that would trigger another flashback, nothing on the ride over has done so. Granted, she made a point not to look at Olympic Village as she flew past.
It wasn't hard, as her gaze had been ahead, checking to see if she could spot Polemarch Adrestes. He is far swifter than the wyrms that transport people from Oribos, however, and he got enough of a head start when he left ahead of her that if he's there, she can't tell him apart—or sense him—from any other ascended in the distance.
There are quite a few now, patrols from the looks of it.
The first time she was here, she is sure there were less of them, though she's hardly surprised that security has been upped since the attacks on the temples.
That makes her think of the fact that there have been no more substantial attacks, according to the polemarch.
Which makes her think of him again.
She wishes she could have gone with him. She'd have even put up with that miserable neck vice grip, if it would have meant that she could have talked with him a little while longer.
Not that it makes any sense.
She knows the two waving to her now better than she does Polemarch Adrestes.
Even if it does feel like she's known him forever.
Liila is just offering a wave back to Pelagos and Kleia when the javelin goes through her wyrm's neck. The creature lets out a sharp shriek, bucking. In a breath, Liila is in the air. She tosses a shield around herself that barely deflects another javelin as she plummets toward the ground.
Before she can try to get her bearings, a hand catches her by the neck with enough force that pain lances down her spine. She reaches up, through the pain, tries to grip the fingers digging into her flesh to pry them free.
A dagger slashes through her forearm, deep. She swears, tries to call shadows, but she has been focusing on her Light magic for most of her time in the Shadowlands and her grasp on shadow is too weak to do more than be an irritant to her attacker.
So instead, she conjures light, bright and blinding and hot. It flares around her, a pale mimicry of the Archon's own fury, but it is enough.
Her attacker lets out a cry, she breaks one of their fingers, they release her, and she drops. There are others around them, fighting. She can see wings and weapons flashing by, as well as burst of anima. Liila catches herself with a levitate just in time that a figure shoots just under her, having anticipated her fall would not slow. It does her little good. They catch her foot, disrupt her shield, and fling her toward the ground.
She hits hard.
Liila barely manages to roll to one side before a sword slams into the ground where she was. Large dark wings flap down hard, stirring the air and stealing the breath from her lungs. The feathers are heavy against her for the second they are present before her attacker is abruptly not there.
She assumes they have taken flight, though as she looks up, it is in time to see an ascended slamming them into the ground a few feet away.
Not just any ascended.
Thanikos.
There are a few others here she recognizes from the Temple of Courage, though she doesn't know their names. They all seem to have come out of nowhere to join this fight. It is baffling how quickly this area has turned into a battlefield.
Liila tries to keep up with all that is going on around her.
A javelin goes through a white wing. Liila conjures the Light, seeks to mend.
The ambush has been intercepted by the patrols as they converge overhead, and as she looks up, she can see bodies falling from the sky, wings twisted and broken and limp.
She catches a falling ascended in a shield, channels as much Light to them as she can. Anima hits them next from another healer, and it feels like a miracle that they get back to their feet, take back to the air, as though they were not almost dead seconds before.
As another figure dives toward her, she dodges forward and braces for the impact. It does not come. Instead, another figure to slams into her attacker and throws them off. They recover quickly, but Kleia does not let up her assault, swinging her mace into them as best she can, and keeping them on the defensive until they take back to the air.
Pelagos catches Liila's arm and pulls her up. She can barely hear him asking if she is okay, barely thinks to nod. Instead, she is shielding Kleia and anyone else in range—it is harder to offer support to the ascended above, as most of them are high enough to be out of reach.
"We should get under the trees!" Kleia yells to them, pointing to a few nearby.
With a nod, Liila and Pelagos start toward them, with Kleia following after, keeping her gaze skyward and her mace ready. When another forsworn attempts to dive down and hit her, Liila pulls Kleia to her, just as the forsworn slams into the earth.
As they try to pull their weapon free from where it has lodged into the earth, a familiar figure slams into them, much as they just attempted to do to Kleia.
Thanikos flips his axes around his hands, refreshes his grip. He's yelling out orders as he takes back to the air, flashing a smile to the trio as both Pelagos and Liila casting preventative spells on him.
Liila scans the sky from where they are. Kalisthene and a handful of other ascended are there. Almost two dozen on their side, with roughly the same on the other, though it is hard to keep track of how many there are with all the movement overhead.
She feels Adrestes before she sees him. He lands near where they are and sets down another mortal, a vulpera warrior who, as soon as she is set on the ground, is demanding to be picked up and thrown at their nearest enemy.
Adrestes looks them over—his gaze lingers on Liila for a second, she's sure—and then he is back in the air alone, much to their vulpera companion's chagrin. Liila casts a few spells on the polemarch before he's out of range, feeling oddly anxious by the fact he is heading where she cannot reach.
Because of course he is. Why wouldn't he?
Kalisthene joins them next, dodging another duo locked in combat to come for them. "Make your way to Hero's Rest. They can't get through the wards!"
Pelagos motions in one direction. Liila can't see the transporter from where they are, and looks back up. It's a long stretch of open space, with no cover in between.
"Go!" Kalisthene orders.
Kleia and Pelagos nod, and they make a run for it. Liila and the vulpera are on their heels. When they are roughly halfway to the transporter, the last of the mortals who has come to Bastion joins them, and Liila can hear Kalisthene call out for him to go back to Hero's Rest, her tone exasperated.
Liila can't help but smile a little as she realizes that the four with her were safely in the warded area when the attack started, and each of them has thrown themselves in danger.
The last mortal is a human mage Liila has met on occasion during her past adventures, and he is setting fire to every dark wing that gets too close. He's not even trying to hit anything other than feathers. Perhaps he figures the fall will kill their adversaries, or perhaps he is relying on others to finish the job.
Either way, it is clearing the air nearest him.
They are almost to the transporter when Kalisthene calls out a sharp warning. A second later, she is slammed into the earth near them. Liila and Pelagos stop to heal her. Three forsworn dive near them, sending them sprawling in different directions. Kalisthene recovers quickly, fending off her own attacker as Kleia and the vulpera take on one of their attackers and the mage draws the attention of another. The last comes for Liila and Pelagos, ignoring the way Kleia tries to get his attention.
A fourth forsworn slams into Pelagos, knocking him into the ground hard. Liila attempts to shield him, tries to keep track of who is where.
Adrestes catches the forsworn who comes for Liila right as he's upon her, swinging him back into the air and out of the way. He pauses to hover nearer to her before he is practically tackled in the air. Her spells feel useless as she tries to keep every heal she knows on him.
To her relief, he never quite hits the ground, recovering before he does and managing to end his opponent in one fell swoop.
A glance to the air and Liila can see that other ascended are heading toward them to help, that most of the aerial fighting seems to be over. In fact, the only forsworn who remain are near her.
They are targeting Liila and her fellow mortals.
It feels a little ridiculous, considering that they are ground-bound. All the forsworn would need to do is stay high enough to be out of range and the mortals are useless against them. Even the mage and Liila can only reach so far with spells.
However, they have deemed them enough of a threat to push for this assault, and it is all Liila and Pelagos can do to keep themselves and their companions up.
Despite calls to keep moving toward Hero's Rest, the forsworn are keeping them trapped in place.
Thanikos lands near Liila, bats away an enemy like they're nothing.
Adrestes is the one issuing orders now, and despite all that is going on, hearing his voice echo out across the battlefield stirs something in Liila that she tries very hard to ignore. Now is hardly the time to swoon, after all.
The forsworn seem to know when their assault has failed, for quite abruptly, their numbers are substantially fewer, despite Liila being sure that they have not all been struck down.
It throws everyone for them to disappear so quickly.
Even as Thanikos and Kalisthene tell Liila and her fellow ground-bound allies to hurry, to get to the transporter during the lull, Kleia looks around, scanning the area, and then stops when she sees Liila. Or rather, what's behind her. She lets out a cry, tells Liila to move.
Liila casts a shield on herself and starts to dart forward, not bothering to glance behind her to see what it is she's running from.
However, she is too slow.
The shield barely pinches before buckling from the force of the javelin going straight through Liila's back.
As the forsworn disappear, just as quickly as they did the time Adrestes was attacked heading to the Temple of Loyalty, Adrestes scans the area and notices, too late, that the last of their attackers are heading straight for the mortals.
Straight for his Maw Walker.
He cries out, starts after them with swift wings, but he is too far away and even as he slams into one with his body, losing his mace in the impact, he sees the other one make contact with their target.
There is a pulse of magic—not quite anima, but not quite not anima either, bizarrely enough.
Another ascended finishes off the forsworn Adrestes had knocked aside, and he whirls back toward the Maw Walker.
He is certain—though he can't say how—that the pulse has come from the Maw Walker, but as he looks to her, his view is blocked by an ascended who does not look even remotely geared for battle, her graceful wings flapping gently as she hovers where the Maw Walker should be.
Damned fool.
Adrestes takes to the air looking past the ascended, but the Maw Walker is not beyond them, either.
And that pull is drawing him toward the newcomer on the field rather than the mortal he expects to see.
He lands in front of her as Thanikos approaches her from the side, looking utterly mystified.
"Maw Walker?"
"Good job dying right at the end, dumbass," says a voice from behind Adrestes.
He turns to see the mortal mage walking up, looking annoyed more than anything.
"Fuck off, Carroll," comes the Maw Walker's voice, from the poorly equipped ascended.
The mage mutters something else that Adrestes doesn't quite catch and turns to ask Kalisthene about Hero's Rest.
Adrestes doesn't bother to keep up. Instead, he steps up to the ascended, inspecting her with care. Her hair is longer than most keep theirs, twisting over her shoulder in a spill of teal, and her armor…could not be called that even if one used the term sparingly.
She's barely dressed for casual company, let alone the battlefield.
Her face is partially covered by a twist of cloth that can't even really be called a hood. She is a bit thinner than most ascended, willowy like an anima-weaver.
More than all of that, however, she is familiar.
It's not her looks, so much as it is that unmistakable pull. Even as he meets her gaze, sees that she looks more than a little irritated, Thanikos reaches out and catches her wing as though he thinks it is not really there.
It stalls, because of course it does, and the ascended falls to the ground, stumbling a little as her wings awkwardly close against her back. Well, one does. The other follows after Thanikos releases it, murmuring an apology.
Adrestes stares at her, not comprehending what he's seeing, feeling. "What…is this?"
"It should wear off in a moment," she murmurs, and it is definitely the Maw Walker's voice. Her lips are a thin line before she puffs out her cheeks a little, brow arching for a split second. "I forgot about this…"
Thanikos walks around her, inspecting her with open curiosity as he echoes Adrestes' question. "What is this?"
"It's a spell," she says, turning her head to try to keep Thanikos in her vision, though her gaze keeps darting back to Adrestes as well, like she doesn't know who to address her answer to. "Sort of a last ditch healing extension for emergencies. It…really should be wearing off any second," she murmurs, looking down, frowning. "It's not supposed to last even half a minute, so…"
She turns a little, inspects the wings folded against her back, looks down, clearly bothered by the fact that she is so clearly…kyrian.
Adrestes can't help but marvel at it.
Kleia steps up to her, pauses, and then kneels to pick up a javelin from near the ascended's—the Maw Walker's feet. It is still dripping with blood. Kleia looks at the weapon and then the Maw Walker. "This went…straight through you."
"Yeah…"
Kleia looks at her and then the spear again, brow pinching as her mind slowly works out what just happened. "Did you just die?"
"Oh, uh, yeah. It'll wear off in a second." The Maw Walker pauses, reaches up, scratches the back of her neck a little awkwardly. "Or…well…maybe not?"
Thanikos crosses his arms, motions to the Maw Walker from where he stands behind her, and looks at Adrestes, mouthing, 'should we bear her?'
The question alone makes Adrestes bristle.
Though…
It is a good question.
Their charge is sacred and if the mortal has died…
But then, she already appears kyrian, and she is joining their covenant… Perhaps she should be brought to the Archon instead. That feels like playing favorites, like letting his own judgments interfere with their sacred duty, but then, when they are so close to Elysian Hold, would it be too much to ask the Archon's opinion?
Or should they view her memories first? Who would even do that here? This is not some mortal world. There are plenty of watchers around, and Visephone could likely serve judge as to whether this is the end for the Maw Walker in a pinch, but…
They should really just go to the Archon.
Adrestes starts to reach out to touch the Maw Walker's shoulder, to tell her they need to go, when he feels it.
It's like a discordant note chiming through the air without making any actual sound. It makes the hair on the back of Adrestes' neck stand on end, sends shivers through his being.
It feels like the Maw.
"There it…goes?" the Maw Walker glances down, frowning again. "This…really shouldn't take so lo—"
Another chord strikes and then another, and the Maw Walker lets out a soft hiss as she falls to one knee. Adrestes and Kleia drop after her, hands extended, though neither of them quite touches her, unsure if they should or not.
Blackish gray runes are flickering to life across her skin, a new one with each off-key chord that resounds silently around them. They come faster, each rune heralding another.
They burn against her pale blue skin, and it is like their touch brings rot. The feathers wither and fall from her wings, disappearing before they hit the ground and the skin beneath is sinewy and rotted. The runes grow stronger, brighter in their wicked glow. The Maw Walker struggles to breathe, curls down.
And then there is a final chord struck, all notes at once.
There is a pulse, must stronger than the earlier one, and suddenly Adrestes is staring down at a much smaller form, curled over itself as black runes fade against pale skin.
The Maw Walker's breathing is erratic at first before it steadies.
There is a stiffness in her movements when she sits back, glances up at them awkwardly. "Sorry about that. I forgot I had that spell. It's been a while since I died while I was channeling holy magic."
Healing magic washes over her, and she winces a little at it—Adrestes can see the runes flicker a little brighter against it, as though they are reacting negatively to her being healed at all.
Pelagos drops next to her, between Kleia and Adrestes, reaching out, though it's Thanikos who catches her under her chin and tilts her head backwards so that he can peer down at her face. "You're alive."
Liila reaches up and pulls his hand away. "Yeah."
"But you died."
"Yeah." She says again. "It's a curse—"
"Let's get to safety before it happens again," Kalisthene interrupts, pointing toward Hero's Rest with her spear.
Liila wants to curl up in a little ball and die of embarrassment.
Dying and having to explain her curse is one thing, but to have shifted into what was probably the most scantily clad kyrian in the realm is another. And the fact that she forgot about that old spell…
She has to say she could swear that her wings didn't usually look as they did this last time, though she's hardly ever taken the time to study them when she's been in that form, seeing as she's usually preoccupied with keeping those around her alive.
What an embarrassing way to die, too… Right when the enemy was retreating, right at the end of things so that she wasn't even needed to heal.
And pretty much all she was wearing was a damned bed sheet.
The way they looked at her was the worst of it.
Pelagos had seemed mystified—he had been one of the few to actually see the initial transformation. Kleia, too. And then there had been Thanikos and Kalisthene and a dozen other ascended around them in the air…
And Polemarch Adrestes.
None of them had seemed to know what to do, other than stare.
And then the spell had lasted longer than it was supposed to. Had felt different, too.
Liila can't help but wonder if it reacted the way it did because she died in Bastion. If the realm somehow picked up on her being a spirit healer, no matter how short the time, and drew it out. Or if perhaps her curse is merely altered by being in the Shadowlands.
Or if it is something that Denathrius did when he messed with her curse during their last encounter.
Regardless, she is left with questions and no idea who to go to for answers.
"This is a very interesting spell," Pelagos says. He is sitting beside her, with her spell book in his lap as he inspects the spell in question. "Spirit of Redemption. That's a nice title."
Liila nods, noting the way their current company is still so…awkward.
Kleia, Pelagos, her fellow mortals, and Thanikos are seated on one of the inner resting areas in Hero's Rest. It's like an inn, but with no roof and only a few walls blocking the view of the plains that roll out beyond. Kalisthene and the polemarch have been addressing security issues—at least, that's what Liila thinks they are doing. She and the others have been ordered to stay put until their safety can be assured for the trip between warded areas to where they are supposed to be formally inducted into the covenant.
She's not sure why Thanikos is sticking near them, though she doesn't mind his company.
Or she wouldn't, if he would stop staring at her like he wants to see if he can't get another look at her spirit healer form.
"So is it a common thing for your people's healers to turn into kyrian?" Thanikos is asking.
As he does so, Liila can feel Adrestes' approach, and she glances over her shoulder to see him come over. He does not sit, but does not urge them onward just yet, either.
She's glad that he's near.
Liila looks back at Thanikos. "Honestly, no. Only some priests learn it, and it's…well, it's like I said, a sort of last ditch effort to keep those around you up during intense fighting. It allows the caster to…cast for a little while longer before succumbing to death."
"But why look like a kyrian?" Thanikos presses.
"I don't know," Liila admits. "It was an old mentor who taught me the spell, well over a decade ago. I don't know if he developed it himself or learned it from someone else."
"There are priests in Stormwind who teach it, too," the mage—Carroll offers. "Most people consider it weird and creepy."
Liila rolls her eyes. Carroll has never been one to speak for most people, not that that's ever stopped him before. The miserable bastard…
Thanikos refuses to be distracted. "But someone in Azeroth knows enough about us that they figured out not only how to transform into one of us, but to teach others to do the same."
"I don't think…" Liila hesitates, considers it. "It wasn't acting like it should have. It didn't disperse when it should have." When Thanikos arches a brow, she motions back toward their recent battlefield. "I've never even been able to land before."
That seems to take both he and Polemarch Adrestes by surprise.
Thanikos cocks his head. "Can you fly?"
"No, just hover," Liila says. "Can't cast shadow spells or move or anything. It's not supposed to last long enough for anything like that. Just long enough to throw a few heals from beyond the grave, so to speak."
Thanikos is watching her with narrowed eyes. One hand props up his chin, and his fingers curl loosely over his mouth as he appraises her.
Pelagos offers Liila back her spellbook. "I don't see anything in it that specifies that she would turn into a kyrian," he offers. "Or anything else, for that matter. There's just a clause about the soul lingering near the caster's place of death. By all accounts, the caster should just look like their soul, not a kyrian. Unless perhaps it has some sort of illusory backlash?"
"But it wasn't some illusion," Thanikos says. "I felt your wing. It was real. You were as much a kyrian as I am now."
Liila wants to tell him that she just doesn't know. She always assumed it was an illusion that made her look like a spirit healer or some latent side effect of the spell that enabled her to continue to cast as it did, just as Pelagos has suggested. She never really gave it much thought, especially since she has only died and had it activate maybe a dozen times in fifteen years. And most of those times were over a decade ago, before she threw herself completely into shadow.
And even then, it never occurred to her that the spirit healers of her world would have an entire culture, an entire world beyond it and that her few seconds of having wings would be a bit of a spit in the face to all the eons they went through to earn their own.
She wants to scream, wants to unlearn the spell and assure them it won't happen again.
Especially when she thinks of the polemarch. When he looked at her, she hadn't been able to see much of his face, but his mouth had hung open, and then it had snapped shut and he had… The way he had looked at her. Even without being able to see his eyes, she had felt his gaze.
And it was intense.
She wonders if he is angry.
If she refocuses on shadow magic, her next death will be so much quicker. There will be no drawn out hovering, no unintentional impersonation of a kyrian.
It is after she has again explained the spell as best she can that Polemarch Adrestes finally says it is time to go. They will fly the mortals over to where the ceremony is going to be held to induct them into the covenant, and then they will go to Elysian Hold, as was intended.
Liila wants to ask him—well, she's not quite sure what she wants to ask. Rather, she just wants to make sure that they are still on good terms, that he hasn't seen her assumption of that form as some sort of overstepping on her part.
It feels foolish to want to tread carefully, and yet…
In the end, she tries to push it from her mind, instead focusing on the events that follow, on her induction into the covenant.
There will be time for questions that she can't even put words to later.
Surely.
Adrestes and Thanikos go to brief the Archon and paragons with what has happened as the induction ceremony comes to a close and Kalisthene offers to answer a few questions before arranging for some larion to take them up to the hold.
Word of the attack has already reached them.
"The forsworn were after the mortals," Adrestes explains.
"They killed the Maw Walker," Thanikos adds.
Devos is sharpening her knife again. "A pity. I assume she has been borne to Oribos, then? We can return the body to her people, as well." When Visephone lets out a startled noise, Devos gives her fellow paragon a chilling look. "Surely we are not playing favorites with the mortal souls now, are we?"
"Of course not," Visephone says, straightening with indignation at the mere idea.
"Our ways are sacred, Devos," the Archon interrupts before Visephone can say more, "and you are forgetting a step in our sacred duties." She turns her gaze to Thanikos and Adrestes. "Was her death judged to be her time?"
Devos does not look amused.
"It was not," Adrestes says, "though no watcher's judgment was passed."
The Archon's head tilts, ever so slightly. "Oh? We have a mortal who can call spirits back to their bodies among us now?"
The ascended have never been fond of mortals who dabble in death and resurrection. It is always a nuisance to be in the middle of viewing a soul's memories, only for them to be called back, by necromancer or healer. In many ways, healers can be as annoying as necromancers, as they both dabble in things they know little of. Healers, at least, do not tend to tether souls to rotting corpses. Those souls do not succumb to later deaths as easily as a mortal who has simply been restored by a well-meaning mender.
"No, my Archon," Adrestes says. "The Maw Walker is burdened with a curse. Her soul is bound to her mortal vessel."
Even as Devos mutters something about whether the Maw Walker is really cursed or just participating in dark arts, the Archon considers it and frowns. "The dissonance in my realm earlier was from her fall."
"From her resurrection," Adrestes corrects. He explains what he saw, all of it, the runes that lit up and the way they made her kyrian form wither and rot. The way she had been back on her feet with surprising speed.
"She can create the guise of a kyrian?" Devos asks, looks at the Archon. "I trust this mortal less and less the more I hear of her. What is to stop her from pretending to be one of our kind whenever she wants?"
"She has to die for it to happen," Thanikos says.
Devos gives him a sour look. "According to her. From the sounds of it, she didn't want you to know she could do what she did."
"Azeroth is hardly the only world to have spells that mimic us for a short time. The living always strive to understand the dead. It makes the great unknown that comes after less daunting to them," Thenios interrupts. "And I've heard of the spell they're talking about, but I would rather see what happened than hypothesize on guesswork."
Thanikos offers his memories before Adrestes can his. It is for the best, as Thanikos saw the transformation itself, or the pulse of light that over took her. Thenios seems to notice something right away. He pulls the memory back, stops it during the pulse and trails his finger over the edge of the form. "Watch."
The memory moves in slow motion, and Adrestes watches in awe as the form takes shape—something eerily close to kyrian, but not. And then, as the light is dimming, the form keeps shifting, changing until there is no mistaking it as one of their own.
Chyrus has moved over to the image, and he kneeling near it for a better view when he abruptly laughs. "This is our own folly, not hers." He looks to the Archon. "We had her walk the Path. She overcame the first challenge, the one that gives souls their aspirant forms."
Visephone's feathers ruffle. "You think that's all it took?"
"That and dying," Chyrus says. "The realm recognizes her as having passed her first rite."
Adrestes stares at the memory and then looks to the Archon. She has not said anything as their paragons debate what has happened, but she does not seem surprised. Adrestes stands a little taller. "I do not think this will be an issue. She is alive again and her form returned to her mortal one."
"She did say the spell took longer than it should have," Thanikos points out.
They play the full memory for good measure. Adrestes examines her again, watches the confusion she struggles with, the awkwardness. The duplicity that Devos wants to be there so badly simply is not.
"What concerns me," Thenios begins when the memory has played out, "is what may happen if she dies again. We all know how the realm can cling to its own, or what it perceives to be its own."
He is, of course, talking about the echoes and translucent imprints that are sometimes left in the wake of a kyrian's death. It is not too uncommon to come across a ghostly figure patrolling a road or the sky, or to find an echo of a craftsman at their place of work after they have passed. The realm remembers what they forget and what slips away, and these echoes can stay present for a long time before whatever anima that created them dissipates.
Adrestes has seen plenty of these ghosts over the years, has seen far more than usual since the attack on the Temple of Purity. Visephone and her disciples have done their best to dispel all these echoes, and yet one or two keep showing up, an ascended returning from a flight who walks a predetermined path to the pools before disappearing only to reappear in the air, coming down to land. An aspirant who guided others through their mediation, sitting where they can always be found, offering smiles to any who get too close. Things of that nature that have longer loops than others.
The stronger the impression left behind, the more the echo can interact with those still in Bastion, though it can never be anything more than an echo. Even if some can hold actual conversations.
The idea that Bastion might do something similar to a mortal upon their passing…
They have never had a mortal die in Bastion, until now, so it is hard to say what the realm will do.
But considering she has passed her first rite…
What if the realm does not want to allow her resurrection next time?
Part of him is sure that would not be so bad. In fact, it feels like a good idea, to let her be one of them, as though it is something that should have happened long ago.
Not that that makes any sense.
"Perhaps she would be better suited aiding another realm," Devos suggests.
Xandria openly scoffs. "Nonsense. We just need to keep her alive. That's generally a goal one has for allies anyway."
As Devos snaps something about not wanting to babysit the mortals—any of them—Chyrus finally stands. He turns to the Archon, dips his head to her. "Perhaps a soulbind would help?" He motions back toward the hold, in the direction of the mortals. "Those who are bound are always more resilient."
"That is so intimate a thing to ask of someone," Visephone argues.
"It is no more daunting an act of service than any other we might ask of them," Chryus counters.
Straightening up a little, Visephone shakes her head. "The mortal will not understand just what is being asked, and to ask one of our own to offer oneself into such a bond with someone not even of this realm…"
"Other realms are more utilitarian with their use of such things than we are," Thenios says. "And they can be undone, so it's not as though it would be for eternity, not as though it would affect any judgment on the mortal in the end."
"I could bind with her," Thanikos offers. Adrestes stiffens as his attention snaps to the Hand, not sure what to say. He is certain he wants to protest the idea, though he can't quite say why. "It would be an honor. She's a good fight and a good person." He holds up a hand, motions to Devos, "And soulbinds can feel each other's emotions, yes? I'd be able to tell if she's being honest. Binding with her could bring some much needed assurances as to her intentions."
"Honesty is not an emotion," Devos murmurs.
"But he would be able to feel the anxiety that comes with not wanting to get caught in a lie," Xandria says, nodding to both herself and Thanikos. "It might take a little while to get used to what her moods mean, but—"
"Mortal emotions change very swiftly," Visephone says. "One of our very tenets is to let go of mortal flaws, and the way their emotions shift so rapidly is one of those things we strive to overcome. It takes eons for ascended to bring such calm to their minds…"
"Thanikos can handle it," Xandria dismisses.
Adrestes finds himself a little annoyed at how Thanikos seems to stand a little taller at his paragon's faith in him.
"You do not deal with the new aspirants as often as I do," Visephone says. Her gentle tone is firm, her expression uncharacteristically stern. "Older aspirants can have trouble soulbinding with newer ones because of the difference a few centuries of meditation and cleansing can do. I would not want Thanikos—I would not want any ascended to fall in battle because they are trying to ignore some shifting myriad of emotion in the back of their minds."
Xandria is unimpressed. She looks to the Archon. "I defer to you, of course, my Archon, but I have the utmost confidence that Thanikos can handle this. If not, I can."
"Let's not escalate this. If one mortal binds to a paragon, they'll all expect to," Thenios says.
As Xandria points out that they're trying to prevent the realm from deciding the fate of a mortal soul who hasn't been judged and that it's a bit different from letting every mortal buddy up with a paragon, Visephone argues that it is not in the best interest of the mental health and general alertness of anyone in the realm. "Maybe the Archon herself can tune out such things, but it will throw off an ascended, especially someone who is not close to the person they are binding with, who will not know what to expect at all from them—"
"I think it is as Thenios says," Devos interrupts. "We are escalating when we should be going in the other direction." She lets her gaze sweep over her fellow paragons, almost completely ignoring Thanikos and Adrestes, then she looks at the Archon. "What if we let her bind to an aspirant? A newer one. They would likely be more accustomed to any shifting emotions as their own are still considerably more…mortal themselves." She motions to Chyrus. "And as you pointed out, any soulbinding leads to increased resilience. We could test out if this is something worth doing with an aspirant and the Maw Walker."
Thenios considers it, nods. "If it proves successful, then other mortals could be given soulbinds as well, once they have proven themselves to the realm."
"It could be a reward to aspirants who have proven themselves recently," Devos says. "An act of loyalty."
"An aspirant soulbind would be a good idea," the Archon says, silencing Vispehone as she moves to argue further against the idea, even if she is the only one still against it. "Adrestes—"
"If I may make a suggestion," Devos interjects. The Archon appraises her a moment and then nods, giving her the floor. "What about that one she already knows, the one who's taken an active part in recent events?"
"Kleia will be facing her final rite soon," Adrestes says. "She will be ascended herself."
"No, there was another, wasn't there?" Devos asks. "A newer aspirant, as—again—we want one who can connect better with mortals. I want to say…Pela—"
"No." Visephone's frown is pronounced. "I know who you speak of, and I have been aware of him—and his struggles—since before the forsworn came to light."
Devos' brow furrows. "You think he could fall from the Path from something so simple as soulbinding with a mortal?"
"He will see her memories when they bind, and the Maw Walker has been to the Maw," Visephone says. "He will see absolute cruelty! He will see where all souls go, how bad things truly are. I would not do that to someone teetering on the edge of the Path as he is. We have lost enough already."
"Pelagos is also already soulbound," Adrestes says, despite himself. When all eyes turn to him, he stands a little straighter, hopes he does not look as awkward as he feels. "He is bound to the other aspirant, Kleia."
"One can have more than one soulbind," Thenios says. "And he will also see the heroics this Maw Walker has already done. I've been inquiring about her and her record is fairly impressive. She is a hero to her people. Perhaps knowing someone so proficient is on our side will be the boost he needs to stay true to the Path."
For a second, Adrestes can swear that Devos is about to insist they not speak of the Maw Walker with such high praise, but she seems to remember herself, to remember that she is trying to get a struggling aspirant to soulbind to someone they are trying to prevent the realm from claiming before she can be judged.
Devos looks back at the Archon. "Of course it is up to you, my Archon, but I wanted to make that suggestion before you send Adrestes off to try to gather candidates."
"It is a good one," the Archon says. "The Maw Walker will soulbind to Pelagos."
While Adrestes would never question the Archon's decision, he can't help but frown at Devos as he turns away to go deliver the news and assure everything is set up.
For just an instant, he thinks that Devos is watching him, eyes sharp, like she is trying to determine how he feels about what has been decided.
As though his opinions would mean anything.
He shakes it off and heads to find the mortals. They should have reached Elysian Hold by now.
Liila crosses her arms as she and the other two mortals stand before the forge of bonds, listening as it is explained to them, along with the concept of soulbinds. She has heard reference to the act a few times throughout her time in the Shadowlands, but having someone actually sit down and explain the how and why of it is interesting, to say the least.
One of her fellow mortals is Carroll Bishop, a human mage who has made it a point to not look at Liila since his comment about her death. While they have only crossed paths infrequently, it has never been pleasant for either of them. Carroll absolutely despises her, and she has had quite the time in the past provoking him into temper trantrums that end with her dodging fireblasts.
The other mortal is Inaar Sandstone, a vulpera warrior who seems to be perpetually in some kind of motion, who currently cranes her head back as far as she can to try to meet the kyrian gazes around her as she cracks her knuckles and fiddles with her gauntlets. Liila in unacquainted with her fellow Horde member, though she is sure that will be remedied in the coming weeks.
They are told that once they have proven themselves within the eyes of the covenant, they will be assigned a soulbind to help strengthen them, for it is more than just a closeness of kindred spirits, but amplifies their own strengths and shares them with one another as well. The rite is considered sacred, but in light of the troubles that are no doubt going to come, the Archon has decided to make her mortal allies as durable as they can be.
Liila has a feeling she's responsible for that, in light of recent events.
She wonders how the kyrian feel about that, about being asked to bind themselves to strangers when it is usually so intimate a process reserved for deep connections.
And from the sounds of it, it appears they will be sharing much more than strength, but memories, too.
Liila wonders how that works, especially for aspirants. If an aspirant has not forgotten all of their past and they soulbind, does their soulbind then have those mortal memories? And when the aspirant purges them, will the soulbind still have them? Will the aspirant be able to see their memories through the eyes of their soulbind? How does that affect the cleansing process?
It is a lot to think about, and she figures she will ask Pelagos or Kleia when they have time to themselves. Perhaps they can share their own experience with soulbinding with each other with her so that she will have a better idea of what to expect when her own time comes, once she has jumped the necessary hoops to prove herself, as suggested.
She wonders if whoever she soulbinds with will feel her annoyance with different people and rules or her absolute mistrust of Devos.
That will go over wonderfully.
Soulguide Daelia stops her as she turns to follow Carroll and Inaar from the chamber and back to the main commons of Elysian Hold. "Maw Walker, a moment. And you as well, Pelagos."
They cannot help the curious glance they share as they walk back to the ascended. She tells them they are to soulbind. Almos instinctively, Pelagos takes a step back, startled. He voices concern over the possibility of losing his connection to Kleia. Liila can tell Kleia worries the same thing the way she stiffens where she stands behind them. She does not protest, however, not like Pelagos.
"One may bind to multiple souls at a time," is the simple answer.
Kleia and Pelagos seem awed by the very idea of it.
Liila hesitates.
From the way things were explained earlier, she had thought she would have longer to consider this, longer to question how it worked and make sure that she understood all the little details that might be important for such a momentous thing as binding one's soul to another's.
She does not know if she wants to share her memories with anyone. Part of it is that she does not want anyone, Pelagos included, to see her at her lowest, does not want to be reminded of it herself. It has taken so much work to put her past where in belongs, and she does not want it stirred up anew, not like it was in Maldraxxus. Her nightmares are already worse because of that miserable realm.
She doubts anyone needs to feel her night terrors as she does. They already ruin her sleep, why should someone else have to suffer from it, too?
Another part is that she is afraid if they share memories, Pelagos will remember why she was familiar that first time he saw her, and that that will make her remember it too, like some weird chain of dominos.
Though…what is there to even remember?
And how can she protest when she doesn't know exactly what it is she's trying to avoid?
Soulguide Daelia does not give Liila time to voice any concerns. She instructs her where to stand, and Pelagos joins her. He looks a little nervous, but still gives her a reassuring smile, despite his own doubts.
And as he looks at her, she knows she can't just turn this away. This is important, and that he is willing to do this at all, means more than she can likely understand.
Even if it does come on the tails of an order from up high.
Liila's not sure what she channels, if it's magic or anima or something else, but as it brightens, she can see…
Well, she wouldn't quite call them memories. They're blurry scraps at best that fill her mind so quickly, flashing away. Just as she can almost make out figures or hear voices from one, it is being replaced with another.
Mostly, she feels sensations. Awe, hope, fear, doubt, determination, concern.
She sees Kleia in a few flashes, from a viewpoint that is clearly higher than her own. Their conversations blur past, words running over one another and turning to meaningless gibberish.
When it finally stops, the world around her feels surprisingly dark. They are in a closed off chamber under the Archon's Rise, but it still shouldn't be this dark. Not in Bastion. She stands where she is, very still, blinking to try to adjust her eyes to the world around her.
Pelagos has recovered faster than she has, and he is waiting beside her, a hand on her shoulder and smile in place. "Are you alright?"
"Fine," Liila murmurs, still blinking past the splotches of memory that are settling into…well nothing, it seems. "You?"
His smile grows and she can feel an odd, faint bubble of warmth in her own chest, like if someone were to wrap her in a soft blanket, but from the inside. "I've existed a lot longer than you have, so it may take another moment for you to get acclimated."
As he speaks, Liila realizes that they're not standing in front of the forge of bonds anymore. Now, they're sitting to the side, with Kleia watching over them anxiously from Pelago's other side, peering curiously at Liila.
Liila considers what he's said, glances him over. "You saw my memories then?"
His smile slips a little. "Well, they weren't as clear as when I bound myself to Kleia," he pauses to look back at her, and she offers him an encouraging nod. "Most of it was pretty hard to follow, actually."
That warm bubble in Liila's chest is gone. There is a tinge of sorrow in its place. She reaches up to rub her forehead. "Yeah…" She doesn't want to dwell on those memories, doesn't want to find out they become clearer later. "So this makes us stronger…?"
"Yes!" Pelagos perks up. He pauses and looks at Kleia. "You can probably explain it better than I can."
"Soulbinds can work better as a team, communicate without as many words, pick up on cues in battle more readily," Kleia lists and then pauses, "and it does add a resiliency to the soul, and through it the body." She motions to her own and then pauses, looking Liila over. "I imagine it will do something similar to you, though you are the first mortal to ever bind with a kyrian."
"So I'm the test dummy, hmm?" Liila says, inspecting herself as though she may see some physical change. Of course, there is nothing. Liila nudges Pelagos, "Or should I say we're the test dummies?"
He lets out a faint laugh and pats her shoulder. "The Archon would not have allowed this if there was a chance something bad could happen because of it."
She feels surety bubble up inside of her, strong and true, even sees a few flashes of the Archon overseeing events. For a second, there is a kind smile, a knowing sense that she is safe and guarded.
She knows this feeling is not her own. She remembers the Archon's barely contained fury, how close she came to being smote a the Temple of Courage. She remembers how uneasy she felt being around an angry deity.
As Liila nods slowly, Pelagos hesitates. "You've had a lot of trouble with gods in the past, haven't you?"
Unbidden, her mind snaps back to the battle against Ny'loatha and N'zoth. Pelagos gets a bit of a cornered animal look for a moment before whispering, "The Archon is not like that at all."
"I figured," Liila murmurs, pausing when she notices that Kleia looks a little lost. She wiggles her fingers. "She has considerably less tentacles."
Kleia's eyes widen.
Pelagos' laugh is a nervous one. "We'll be able to learn a lot from each other, I think."
"I hope so," Liila says, and she means it. That seems to bring back a genuine smile to Pelagos' face, though the sorrow inside of him never quite abates. It is something far too deep. She stands up.
He follows after her. "If you need another minute…"
Liila waves off his concerns. "I should probably catch up with the others, see what there is to do."
From the concern that she can feel from Pelagos, she half expects that she will fall over the second she tries to take a step. However, she does not. She has to say, as they exit back into the brilliance of the realm that she does feel stronger. And some of her deeper aches are muted.
That makes her pause, look back at him. Horror curls in her gut as she abruptly remembers that is fucking cursed and the curse affects her soul, and she just wrapped herself up with someone else's soul. What if it can spread somehow? What if she's just damned him in the same way that she has been damned, without even warning him?
Even as her attention snaps back to Pelagos, that terror rising up to grip her like N'zoth's endless limbs, he is giving her a confident smile. "I'm fine. Really."
She can feel the assurances from him, feel way he seeks to help her rein in her own fears.
"No aches?"
"No aches," he pauses, "though I do sort of sense yours…" His brow pinches. She tries not to think of her curse, not to send those memories to him. She's not sure how the whole memory thing works, anyway, but she doesn't want to let him get drawn up in some of the less pleasant aspects of her past.
Even as she tries to think of something—anything—not traumatic to focus on, he wraps her in a tight hug. It startles her, draws her back into the present. His skin is cool, much cooler than any living creature she has ever touched, but there is a warmth inside of her that blooms all the same. A surety that everything will be alright because, if nothing else, they will work together to make it so.
Liila hugs him back.
When he finally pulls away, he holds her by the shoulders, peers at her, a reassuring smile in place.
He starts to say something, but even as he does, Liila is distracted.
That inexplicable pull draws her gaze upward, and she watches as Adrestes descends, returning from some other part of the hold and disappearing onto a platform overhead. She stares after him for a second. She can't see him, but she knows he has not strayed far from where he's landed.
She feels confusion, realizes a little late that it is not her own as some sort of bubble of understanding replaces it.
Her gaze snaps down to Pelagos, and he is trying not to smile. There is a sparkle in his eyes that she's not sure she trusts. "We should report to Polemarch Adrestes."
Liila's not sure how she feels about this soulbind thing.
"I specifically told them not to speak out of turn, and the first thing the mage did was start accusing the Archon of damning souls herself," Adrestes says, not bothering to keep the annoyance from his tone. "The impudence alone…"
Arios bats a scroll out of Thanikos' hands and it falls back to where it was resting on the table. "Do not distort my order."
Thanikos looks a little like he wants to pick up Arios and toss him off the platform. Instead, he adjusts his wings and crosses his arms. "You said you needed me."
"I said I needed help," Arios replies. "You were sent."
Adrestes can tell that the Hands' relationship has been a little…strained of late. Thanikos is restless because of what happened to his temple. He wants to do something that feels meaningful, like soulbind with a mortal he barely knows.
Or just charge into Maldraxxus and wreak vengeance. There are plans to retaliate against the necrolords, but they are still very much in the works, still very much waiting on seeing how easily the mortals can obtain resources for them.
Xandria is likely pulling her hair out.
As Hand of Courage, Thanikos has been the go between for all of his displaced people. He's even been to part of the Temple of Loyalty where some of his injured disciples are resting and regaining their strength. They are being kept rather close to the Temple of Wisdom, and as a result, Thanikos seems to spend most of his time here instead of at Humility.
It's likely for the best.
Adrestes heard that he got into a shouting match with Voithe a few days ago. The details matter less than the fact that people saw it happen and it was not a great boost for morale. Fortunately, Chyrus was able to sort things out before it got too out of hand.
Arios is on edge because of all the rumors he is having to field, all the doubts. He is having a poorer time of squashing the wilder stories than usual, partially because it is hard to keep up with which ones have actually happened. With mortals in the land of the dead and the forsworn and everything else, even matters that can usually be dismissed are requiring more scrutiny than usual.
Arios picks up a scroll, puts it back down. Picks up another. He hands that one to Thanikos, who is less than thrilled.
"At least the Maw Walker returned to us," Arios says. "A good omen, I hope."
"As do I," Adrestes murmurs. He relays a few details of the induction of the mortals as Arios sorts through his scrolls, occasionally handing one to him or Thanikos. Thanikos offers his own thoughts on a few of the details himself, like how he sort of wants to pick their new mage, Carroll, up and just play catch with a few other ascended to see if they can't teach the mortal some much needed humility.
"Or you could hand him over to Voithe," Arios says, disinterested. "She'd probably do a better job of it than whatever games you're thinking of."
Thanikos lets out a low grunt, coming out of whatever imagined mage toss he has playing out in his mind. "Killjoy."
"You have other things to worry about," Arios mutters.
Thanikos makes a face, but doesn't argue.
Silence settles over the trio for a few moments before Adrestes finally can't help himself. He's been annoyed since the induction ceremony and the more he thinks about it, the more irate he becomes.
"They had her soulbind to an aspirant." He pauses, realizes he is being vague. "The Maw Walker, I mean."
Arios is unimpressed. Thanikos just looks bored.
Adrestes isn't sure why their apathy bothers him as much as it does. Perhaps he simply wants someone to commiserate with, and considering his rank, there are few he can go to, current company included.
He takes a few scrolls that Arios hands to him, stares down at them. Finally, he can't help himself. "The aspirant already had a soulbind and everything."
"That was poor taste," Thanikos murmurs, nodding as he twists his lips to one side, disapproving.
"If the Archon felt it necessary, who are we to judge?" Arios dismisses.
Adrestes is taken aback. He is the Archon's right hand, her voice in times of need. He is not questioning the Archon's decisions. That would be blasphemous.
What he's doing is just…
What is he doing?
"It seems a little cruel is all," Adrestes murmurs. "You should have seen the soulbind's soulbind. She looked like she was being pushed to the side. As much as she tried to hide it, it was obvious."
"I thought you said they needed someone who wouldn't be as bothered by unstable emotions."
"I did."
"And it would make sense to have someone she's already met."
"I just think there are plenty of kyrian who don't have soulbinds," Adrestes mutters.
"Like you?"
Adrestes stands up a little straighter, staring at Arios with incredulity.
Before Adrestes can point out that he is not an aspirant, Thanikos shrugs. "You do seem a little jealous."
"I'm not."
"Then why question the Archon's decision?" Arios asks.
"I'm not." Adrestes snaps for a second time. "I'm merely saying…never mind." He scowls down at the next scroll he is handed.
If he's honest with himself, he doesn't know what point he was trying to make himself. He knows he wasn't trying to question the Archon's decision—even if it was more of Devos' decision that the Archon simply approved—but at the same time, as he considers what he's said, he supposes it could come off like that.
And with all that is happening, he should not be speaking out in any way that could be construed as mistrusting the Archon. If a disciple happened to come by and overheard their conversation, it could cause a ripple of doubts of all kinds.
And that's the last thing he needs right now, the last thing Bastion needs.
The silence stretches on for a few minutes before Thanikos sighs. "You don't sound jealous. Just grumpy." He shrugs. "I know you're just annoyed that rules are being bent left and right to allow for these mortals to join with us."
Arios nods, even as Adrestes tries to object. "You have always been adverse to change."
Adrestes feels his feathers bristle, even as he tries to school them. "There's nothing wrong with the way I am."
"No," both Hands say in unison. Thanikos pats Adrestes' arm, reassuringly. "It makes you great at what you do."
Adrestes fights the urge to insist that he does not need reassurance about his ability to do his job or anything else because even as the thought comes to mind, he thinks that perhaps he does. Perhaps it is simply all the madness of the last few weeks and the way his routines feel almost nonexistent right now that are making him this easily annoyed.
After all, the Archon's decisions do make sense and there is no reason not to trust in her.
And yet it still nettles him that the Maw Walker has been assigned a soulbind who already had one.
Perhaps he just needs to find some time to mediate on it, to let his mind wander and get to the root of the issue.
Not that he'll have time to do so anytime soon…
"I'm curious, Adrestes. What would you have thought if she was bound to someone who wasn't already soulbound?"
He blinks, looks up at Arios. Adrestes shrugs. "She wasn't."
Arios lets his hands rest on the table as he gives Adrestes a pointed look. "But if she was? What if she had been bound to someone, say Thanikos?"
Thanikos frowns. "Why are you using me?"
"Because you said earlier that you volunteered to soulbind with the Maw Walker during the initial discussion."
"Fair enough." Thanikos concedes, considers it. "It would be interesting. To be soulbound to a mortal." Even as both Adrestes and Arios look to him, a bit surprised that he is willing to muse over it at all, he shrugs. "If she was bound to one of our anima-weavers, they might be able to pick up some of her spellcraft faster. They could learn those plague cleansing spells, and whatever else she has tucked away in those mortal memories."
"So now we want mortal memories?" Adrestes asks, frown firmly in place.
"We could use some of the information," Thanikos argues. "Like when we've gone to the Locus in the past to look up memories of particular events or spell sects. This soul mirror just happens to be alive."
"Don't call her that," Adrestes says, taking another scroll that Arios hands his way.
Arios tilts his head, watches Adrestes for a moment. "You and this Maw Walker seem to be closer than I'd realized."
"We're not," Adrestes says, a bit surprised by the accusation.
"You do seem fond of her," Thanikos says, agreeing with Arios for the first time in what feels like forever. Adrestes simply frowns as Thanikos scratches at his chin, considering it. "I don't think it's wise. It'll probably end even worse than last time."
Arios smacks Thanikos upside the head with a scroll. Thanikos sighs. Arios keeps sorting scrolls.
Adrestes watches them, suddenly acutely aware that he is missing something.
"I meant the soul you took in, years ago. The one that was taken from us," Thanikos says, dodging the next scroll whack and hopping backwards, out of Arios' reach. "At least then, she was supposed to be here. This time…"
Arios holds out a scroll for Thenios to take. As he reaches for it, Arios switches his grip and smacks him with it. "Enough."
Thanikos scowls. "What? Just because he forgot how cute they were, I have to, too?"
Adrestes' brow pinches. He recalls that he knew one of the spirits that was taken from them, but nothing more. There is no face, no name that stands out when they mention them. The closest to being curious about what happened then—before now—that he has ever been was right after he cleansed himself, when Eridia reacted as she had.
Like she was mourning her own loss.
No one else had mentioned anything about it to him.
And why would they have? He is not the first nor the last to remove painful memories. It is a tenet of who they are. They know better than to hang themselves up on feelings that will make it harder to serve their Purpose and Path.
It seems that recent events have everyone acting a little off.
"I wasn't aware I was 'cute' with a spirit," Adrestes says. Even if he had known one, been friends with one, he can't imagine having broken any rules or—
"Eridia and Lysonia teased you that she was your sou—"
"That should be all the scrolls Chyrus will need," Arios interrupts, dropping a few more into Thanikos' hands. "Please deliver them quickly."
Thanikos looks ready to argue that he's not some disciple to be dismissed in the middle of a conversation, but Arios catches his gaze and there is something in his own that makes Thanikos leave without an argument.
When he is gone, Arios goes back to sorting the scrolls. "I will be glad when he has a temple to return to."
"As will he," Adrestes murmurs.
For a few minutes, the world is little more than the sounds of papers rustling as Arios sorts through what is on his table. They are scraps that have been recovered from the Locus, brought here to be reassigned for safe keeping until order can be restored. There have been two more forsworn attacks on it. Both times, the forsworn appeared long enough to crack mirrors and ransack the archives before disappearing again.
Both times there was no tracing how they got there and left so efficiently, and both times, Adrestes and Voithe showed up seconds too late to put a stop to things. The guards there now are too few, and more fall with each attack.
Thenios is considering simply abandoning the Locus for now, though there is so much history there that they are losing.
After the second attack, Arios and as many as could be spared went and gathered everything they could. There will be more expeditions like that in the coming days—the mortals may even help—but it has been a stressful task, made worse by the fact that they do not know when or if the forsworn intend to attack any of the temples again.
Wards have been made to protect Hero's Rest and the Archon's Vault and more are in the works for the rest of the Locus. Had they the anima to spare, they would already be done.
"It is something to think about," Arios says, startling Adrestes out of his thoughts. When he looks up, Arios sighs. "You… you do seem to have an attachment to the mortal. And it is unwise. She will be here for…a few years, at most?"
"Years?"
"I'm being generous with whatever time you might have with her," Arios says, lips a thin line. "Any deep connection will end abruptly, Adrestes. And even if the veil somehow stays open forever, she is mortal, she will die, and the Arbiter alone knows where she will go. The likelihood that you will see her again after that is…miniscule."
"Your point is?"
"I don't want to see your heart broken again," Arios says. "I know you can cleanse yourself, but it… yours wasn't the only heart broken last time."
Again, Adrestes thinks of Eridia. She still doesn't talk to him like she used to, still seems to keep him at a bit of a distance. Keeps things more professional than she did before. "I have no intention of falling for some mortal, so you needn't worry."
"You look at things with logic and fit everything into a place and a routine, but Adrestes," Arios meets his gaze with one that looks almost like pity. "That's not how love works. You can't just…decide not to fall into it."
Adrestes bristles despite himself. He stands a little taller, his feathers sleeker. "I barely know the creature, Arios. I'm hardly falling over myself to see her next."
His mind whispers to him that that's a lie. There is that tug, that draw, and with it, there is hope that their paths will cross again and again, sooner than later.
There is a fondness there, growing inside of him.
And Arios is right with all that he has said. There is a reason he is the Hand of Wisdom, after all.
It will go poorly if Adrestes feeds this…infatuation.
As Arios hands him another scroll and changes the subject, Adrestes decides that he can ignore it. And if he can't, he will go to Visephone to get rid of it. It will not get in the way of his work, nor will it cause his colleagues and friends strife.
Neither Carroll nor Inaar nor Mitchell nor the other mortal who allied with Maldraxxus speak as they sit around a table with Liila in Oribos. The other four sit there, mugs of various drinks in front of them, all growing cold.
Baine is recuperating from his time in the Maw in a private room in the inn, but they all know when he wakes up from his first nightmare here. His screams echo down until he can be quieted by familiar faces dragged here from Azeroth.
He is healing nicely—he did not have many physical injuries when they found him—but his mind…
Liila wants to find the other leaders now. Not because they are special and need to be returned to Azeroth in order for it to function, but because they are people and they are being tortured.
Bolvar says he will do what he can to get leads, that if they can find trinkets that belong to the person, then they may be able to track them down in Torghast.
Liila has already sent a letter to Whisper's mom, asking for anything of Whispers—and Shadow's—that could be used to find them. She is mostly done with the letter to Blood's ex-mate. It has taken some prodding, but Bolvar has agreed to make her a list of death knights who went through the veil with her.
Carroll has promised to get word out to any and all Alliance families for trinkets and keepsakes.
At least, she thinks that's what his non-committal, haunted look agreed to when she managed to get his attention for that fraction of a second before he slipped back into his thoughts.
All in all, the four she is with are not handling what they've seen in the Maw very well at all. Liila knows she didn't either, when she first showed up, that the first couple days in the Maw hit hard, and that was when she could least afford to let it do so. She was forced to compartmentalize what she was seeing in a way that these four have not been, and so they are processing it differently than she did.
Inaar is the one to speak first. "They…they just don't know how bad it is, right?" Her voice is high, gentle. "If we…if we show them our memories, they'll have to do something else with the souls, right?" When no one responds, she wilts a little. "At least the kids…"
"So anyone who's died in the last…two years?" Mitchell says, finding his voice. He alone seems to be recovering quicker. His spellbook is open and he's been making notes rather than just sitting there, trapped in the memories of what he's seen. He's making a plan, though Liila can't attest to how smart it will be. "They're in the Maw."
"Since at least the burning of Teldrassil," Liila replies, wrestling with what sort of send off to finish her letter.
"How am I gonna tell Ma that Great Aunt Molly's getting tortured as we speak?" Carroll says finally. He was the hardest of them to get to leave the Maw, once he arrived. He had wanted to save the souls, as did they all, but he had also wanted to track down specific souls, which is impossible, as far as Liila can tell, without some kind of honing spell. "How are we gonna even put a dent in the number of souls that shouldn't be in the Maw?"
"The attendants and brokers are looking at that soul keeper we found," Liila says. "If each of us has one—"
"We can, what, get a dozen, maybe even a hundred souls among the five of us? Maybe double that with the others who went to Ardenweald and Revendreth?" Carroll snaps. This is not his usual boorish nature coming out. His voice is laced with desperation. "With thousands pouring in every minute? With thousands getting destroyed every…" He slumps in his chair. "This is unreal."
Liila feels guilty. She wishes she could do something to soothe the minds of the new maw walkers, but at the same time, she wonders how she has been able to stay task oriented in the Maw when there is so much wrong there. So many souls are being twisted into shades, so many fall apart as they get to them, sure that anything that approaches must be a tormentor of some kind. So many are so desperate not to suffer anymore that they embrace nothingness instead.
It is too much to think about. It is far, far, far too much and so Liila pushes it away, out of mind. She focuses on what she can do because it is all she can do to keep from falling into despair.
And she worries about what her despair will do to that faint echo of sorrow that never quite leaves her now, since her soulbinding.
One of the things she made certain to do when they were down in the Maw was to make certain that each of her fellow mortals can use the waystone as she can. And they could, they can. She is relieved that they will not be relying on her to drag them out every time they go. There will likely be times when quick retreats are necessary, and if they must wait on any one person to activate the waystone, that would put them all in peril.
Hopefully their ability to use the waystone is a product of their mortality and the fact that the gateway recognizes that they should not be there. That will mean any and all mortals will be able to come and go from the Maw. They will have to wait and see for confirmation, but for now things are looking up.
It does make her wonder, though.
Is it the fact that they are mortal that allows them to come and go? Or is it something else?
When she and the leaders first found the waystone, it had taken all five of them to charge it, though now it seems that it is sitting in perfect working order, as though no effort has been made to drain it since it's reawakening.
Why hasn't the Jailer simply destroyed it? It was in clear disrepair before, so it can definitely be damaged. And if his enemies are using it, as they obviously are, wouldn't it make sense to dismantle it to ensure they will be rendered helpless in the future?
So why…?
Again, Liila feels like she was allowed to leave the Maw that first time, and it doesn't sit right with her. What would be the purpose of allowing her to escape, to alert the Jailer's enemies of what is going wrong?
Though, many of his plans seem to have already been coming to a head before she showed up. The Maldraxxi were already destroying each other, Denathrius was already hoarding all the anima, the Arbiter was already down, the forsworn were already building their ranks.
Maybe the Jailer thinks that she and her fellow mortals are so insignificant that it doesn't matter what they do.
Or maybe they're somehow playing into some part he has already set aside for them.
That notion makes her shiver.
"Do we know exactly when it started?" Mitchell asks, staring at his spellbook where it rests in his lap. His feet are propped up on the table, crossed at the ankles, and it makes Liila's own limbs ache just looking at the unnatural angle he's in.
"Sham and Gore are not in the Maw," Liila offers, voice soft. "Warbrave Oro died after they did, and he's in Bastion, so they're somewhere…wherever they're meant to be."
"But we can't see them because they can barely open any ways to the infinite realms," Mitchell says. "So if they're in some quiet little realm and that realm is in trouble, if that realm gets overrun by the Jailer's forces or something else, they'll just die out there, needing help, and we'll never know."
"What's the point of living if you're gonna die and end up deader?" Inaar whispers. Her perpetual fidgeting has come to a stop, and her ears droop. "Isn't the point that there's supposed to be something nice at the end?"
Liila frowns. "Well, if we can get things back under control—"
"We're fucking mortal," Carroll snaps, his voice ringing out enough to catch the attention of a few nearby creatures. Most don't bother to hide the fact that they are eavesdropping now. "And you think we can fix all the afterlives? We can barely keep our own world from falling apart and we're supposed to fix…"
Liila can understand their anguish. She shares it, even if she doesn't express it the same. She has thought these thoughts, considered just what a small mortal can do to really tip the scales at all. It is somewhat of a relief to know that she is not alone in being terrified when she even glances toward the bigger picture.
"We're grains of sand," she offers, finally, "and grains never do anything other than cause a nuisance by themselves. So let's be a nuisance to the enemy, until there's enough of us to do something meaningful. Maybe we can distract from other machinations that the eternal ones put into play or—"
"You're so inspiring," Carroll mutters. He finally reaches out and grabs the drink in front of him, takes a long drink, pauses, inspects it. "What is this? Is this anima?"
Liila groans, runs her fingers through her hair. She took a shower when they got back from the Maw, tried to scrub the corruption from her, and she thinks she feels a bit better. She's letting her hair dry on its own, and it's currently pulled over one shoulder in a loose twist of dark red against the lighter colored robe she's bought. Better that she save her black robes for the Maw and have something else for when she's in Bastion. She doesn't want to be mistaken for a forsworn, after all.
When she came down, she found the others haven't even made it to rooms or showers yet. They're still too stunned, too horrified.
Well, except for Mitchell. He's still busy intermittently scribbling notes.
She knows better than to ask questions before he's ready to share.
Everything is overwhelming, but at the same time, if she focuses on just what they meant to accomplish, then they are doing well enough.
Liila holds up her hand counts on it. "So we can all come and go as we please." She holds up another finger. "Tal-Inara is going to replicate the soul keeper so that we can all draw souls back with us. Even if it's not much, it's a start. And maybe they can be enhanced as we get better acquainted with them. And who knows, maybe we can lead expeditions with Shadowlands denizens who have soul keepers as well. We may be able to sweep through areas, gather more souls than we expect."
Carroll's lips twist at the idea, at the futility of it all, but Inaar perks up. She sees the plan, the path Liila is trying to paint and she nods as she envisions it herself. She holds up her fingers to mimic Liila and then extends a third, building on the positivity that Liila is trying to nurture. "We found some anima for the Archon…"
"And Maldraxxus," says the last of their group, a kul'tiran druid who has been quiet until now. She introduced herself as May before the plunge into the Maw, but has said little else. "The Seat of the Primus is going to need a lot to stay operational, to fend off the corrupted houses."
Liila nods.
She and her fellow kyrian covenant initiates were assigned three tasks by the Archon after their induction ceremony. When they got to Oribos, to take the plunge into the Maw, they had found that at least Baronness Draka is thinking along the same lines, for she sent her mortals back to do much of the same.
First, they were to find a way to rescue souls from the Maw. It was something Carroll had been rather combative about, demanding to know why the ascended didn't simply skip 'tossing them down there' to begin with.
The paragons and Adrestes had been offended by his tone and phrasing, but the Archon had let him speak.
And then she had explained to him why they were continuing on as if nothing was wrong.
If a soul is left even temporarily in their world after their death, they can reestablish ties to it and become impossible to bear across the veil. When this happens, the souls must be left behind, and that is no good for anyone or any reality.
Because souls left in the mortal world rot.
It's the reason that ghosts seem to be so consumed by rage and hatred. They are not meant for the living world and if they stay behind it grates at them, tears them apart at the seams and very little can suffer such pain without becoming horribly bitter and angry.
So the souls must be gathered.
Bastion cannot serve as a waiting realm. Even without the drought, there would not be enough resources in any one realm to house the sheer volume of souls who come through at any given time. Any realms reached would be overburdened and collapse in days, if they lasted that long.
With the drought, there can be no new realms made either, no waiting realms for souls to mill about until they can be judged.
And even if such a realm could be made, it would be susceptible to attack from devourers or other realities and no one would be able to do anything to stop it.
The Archon seems to have assumed—hoped that perhaps the Maw is not equipped to handle so many souls coming in at once, that perhaps there is chaos in the wake of such an increase and that that very chaos can buy the souls being thrown in there time. That the tormentors cannot get to everyone at once and so there is a chance for most.
The reality of it, however, is so much grimmer. The mawsworn do not care to torture souls so much as break them down, as quickly as possible, to harvest as much anima as possible. If they were spending time on each soul, tormenting each one, then perhaps there would be that backlog, that chance that the Archon hoped for, but they are handling what is coming into their realm with horrifying efficiency, using the fragments of the damned to build themselves up, make themselves stronger.
It is a nightmare that Liila does not see a solution to.
Not unless the Arbiter can be woken up.
She idly wonders if anyone has tried loud noises yet. Maybe if they can get a few dragons to roar in her ears at once…
The second thing they were assigned to find was anima.
There is plenty of it in the Maw, though Liila suspects it is too tainted to be used anywhere else. She hopes she is wrong.
And then there was their third task.
Inaar holds up another finger, having taken over. "And then there's the memories of the mawsworn."
Thenios and Xandria wanted those. They want to be able to inspect the Mawsworn more closely, to see just what it is that is in the Maw and if it can truly be their own people, fallen so far from grace.
Liila and the others went out of their way to draw the attention of a few, to fight them, to focus on what they did, how they acted. And then when they'd brought the creatures down, they'd examined the bodies, taken off the helms.
The mawsworn with wings are definitely kyrian.
Mitchell suggested bringing a body back, and they had almost gotten one to the waystone when they'd been attacked by more than they could handle. The winged mawsworn had taken their brethren's corpse and forced them into a hasty retreat through the waystone.
Liila was honestly surprised that all of them had made it and that none of their attackers had managed to come through after them.
And she wonders if the waystone will even still be intact the next time they try to go into the Maw.
If it is, she will have to wonder why.
And who she should talk to about that. The Archon? If possible, Liila would like a chance to talk to her without Devos hovering nearby, ready to interrupt the conversation at a moment's notice.
Even with Polemarch Adrestes' assurance that they don't need to worry about the paragon, Liila cannot bring herself to trust the creature. Devos is too quick to argue, too quick to try to belittle and dismiss anything Liila or the other mortals say.
Perhaps when she gets back to Bastion, she can convince the Archon to speak with her without any of the paragons, so that Devos cannot claim to be slighted.
Though, such an audacious demand from a mere mortal will likely be met with mistrust in itself…
It's a mess, to be sure, but at least progress is being made.
Their official tasks are finished. Find anima, obtain clearer memories of the mawsworn to show to the paragons, and find a way to get souls out of the Maw. They were told not to worry about actually retrieving any just yet—to instead focus on the if and how of it first—but none of them intend to go back before they can save at least a few souls. For now, they are just waiting on those soul keepers to be crafted.
Which reminds her.
"Mitchell," she says. "Did you talk to the House of Plague survivors about plague antidotes?"
"Yeah," Mitchell says. "Marileth says he'll work on it, but it might go faster if maybe we can get some tomes from the necropolis."
Liila frowns. Despite knowing him for only a short while, she is fond of the plague deviser, but she is also aware that his grip on reality is tenuous, or it was when last she saw him. "Is he aware that the necropolis is in ruin?"
"I'm not sure," Mitchell says. He pauses. "His memories are a mess."
Liila blinks, curious. "You've…seen his memories?"
"We're soulbound," Mitchell says. "The Maldraxxi wanted to make sure a mortal soulbinding with someone wouldn't fry our brain before setting us up with a few others," he motions to May, who simply nods, "but once we've gone a few weeks without spiraling into madness, there's a few others who have already volunteered to bind with me, to help me get a better grip on Maldraxxi spellwork and the like." His eyes light up a little. "They have some neat casting techniques."
"But you've got nothing useful on the plagues just yet?"
"Nah, I'd tell you otherwise," he assures her. Then he frowns. "By the way, why does Marileth think you're his student?"
Liila winces. "Trauma response? I…I'd be happy to sort that out. He was just so…lost. With all he's been through, I didn't think fighting against a harmless delusion would really be…helpful. To anyone."
"Yeah, I get that," Mitchell murmurs. "Kind of annoying though. He's already compared my mixing abilities to yours twice." He makes a face. "Says I should ask you for tips."
Liila can't help the smile that tugs on her lips. They are both alchemists after all, and in the past Liila has often been the one to bring Mitchell reagents for his potions and flasks, seeing as he chose to focus on tailoring as another profession and has never felt that he could adequately juggle three.
However, even with Liila being an alchemist, she has never been on par with Mitchell. She makes potions and flasks and little things that other adventurers can use to help with their journeys.
Mitchell was in the Royal Apothecary Society for his nuanced thinking and utter genius when it comes to creating and perfecting different concoctions.
"It's killing you, isn't it?"
Mitchell gives her a thin smile. "I don't need some random guy's approval."
"He's your soulbind."
"I still barely know him from anyone else," Mitchell mutters. "But as I was saying, if we could go get a few tomes he told me about, we could probably get started on that anti-plague agent."
"Where are they?" Liila asks. "Is there a chance they're not in the necropolis?"
"Doubt it, but they might be in some other parts of the fallen house," Mitchell says, sighing and closing his tome. "I was going to go snooping around, but there's some pretty messed up stuff in there, and so far I haven't found anyone to go with me…"
Liila tilts her head. She knows what he's not asking, but she loathes the idea of going back to Maldraxxus. However, if it means that they can get something done other than sit here and sulk about how miserable the Maw is… "We could go now."
Inaar looks up, glances back in the direction of the enclave. "You think we have time before the soul keepers are ready?"
"If nothing else, it'll give us a distraction," Carroll mutters. He stands, glances at May who simply follows suit and leads the way out of the inn. Inaar shrugs and follows.
Mitchell watches them go a second and then looks at Liila. "Should we warn them about the ground warts?"
When they first get to Maldraxxus, they swing by the entrance to the Seat of the Primus while Mitchell goes to get a list of tomes from Plague Deviser Marileth. Despite Liila's earlier aid to the realm, her decision to join Bastion's covenant has left her barred from entering the Seat and so she waits outside with the others. May does not go in.
Carroll swears, looking around at the realm and not bothering to hide his disdain for the skeletal figures that get too close. One would think he was from an actual area that had been overrun by the Scourge, for all his antics. He is not. He is Stormwind born and raised.
Liila chats with Secutor Mevix, who doesn't seem too terribly hurt that she has gone elsewhere. As they speak, a familiar voice calls out Liila's name. She looks up and smiles when she sees Aspirant Thales and Hipokos step out into the open.
Thales holds out a hand, and she reaches forward and catches it, clasps it warmly. He pulls her in for a quick hug. Hipokos hugs the both of them, squeezing gently. "We have heard a few bits of your recent adventures. We are glad to know you are still standing."
"I'm glad to see you're doing well, too," Liila says before pausing to appraise them carefully. "You haven't been able to go back to Bastion, yet?"
"We are helping tend to some of our worst injured brethren," Thales says, his smile slipping a little. "We will not leave until they can come with us." He pauses, smiles again. "And Kynthia and a few other more able-bodied ascended are staying as well, to assist with defenses and help us pull our weight while we are here."
It is then that Liila notices Kynthia is standing a little ways behind Thales, waiting. She nods to Liila. "If you have need of me, I will happily help you slay anything within this realm."
Secutor Mevix doesn't seem worried that he might make that list, nor do any of the nearby maldraxxi who definitely hear her comments. Rather, they seem impressed by her dedication, like they might make her an honorary maldraxxi, if they thought offering wouldn't set off her anger.
Carroll looks like he very much wants to ask why Thales is wearing a blindfold, but also very much does not want an actual answer.
Mitchell calls out for people to move. Hipokos helps guide Thales out of the way, and Kynthia comes out into the open, frowning at the scenery that stretches out before her. She waits until Hipokos and Thales go back inside before asking where the mortals are headed and taking to the sky.
Liila is not sure how, but she somehow managed to forget just how bad things are in the House of Plagues in her short time away. Perhaps it is because she only ever dared the outskirts, but the disease and plague and rot that is rampant here is so overbearing that she is certain that she will carry it away with her, spreading whatever is here like a blanket in her wake, even if Marileth has gifted them trinkets to ward off the worst of the effects.
Like so many other things these days, she tries not to think about it.
They weave their way through the ruins, avoiding what they can, doing their best not to step in the sludges and slimes. Still, they draw more attention than they want to, and are constantly battling souls that would likely not even bat an eye at them, might have even welcomed them, had they not succumbed to the foul concoctions here.
Liila is glad that Plague Deviser Marileth was not claimed by all of this.
Kynthia slams into the ground from overhead, scattering a few crazed slimes and then offers Carroll a hand up. He takes it, steadying his breathing and adjusting the cloth he's tied over his mouth, in an attempt to breathe in less of the toxic air around them. He does not trust Marileth's trinkets to keep him safe. He barely trusts anyone with him, to be honest, and even scowls when Liila heals him.
Because of course Liila is stuck healing again, and she's not sure how that happened when there's a damned druid in the group with them.
In the end, it doesn't matter. She keeps the others up as they fight their way to the fallen necropolis, for of course that is where the texts that Marileth need are kept.
Assuming he remembers correctly.
It takes over an hour, but they make it to the necropolis, unsure what horrors they will face, what twisted monstrosities will be waiting for them.
It is with trepidation rather than relief that they find nothing.
The sludge barely ripples, and any noxious clouds have settled near the ground so that so long as they tread carefully, they do not disturb them. May hoists Inaar up onto her shoulder to keep the small vulpera from breathing in any toxins. They do not want to risk having to try to heal whatever these contaminants may cause.
Kynthia is airbound, not wanting to stir the fumes with her wings, and they call for her to keep watch for them. She is displeased, but agrees.
The five of them descend through a hole in the wall.
There is surprisingly little in the way of tainted air once they are inside, and that only makes them more uneasy. This should be the epicenter of all the contamination, where the worst of the worst is.
They peek around corners and stick close to the walls as they head in, until at last they find their way to what is left of the library. They split up and take to the different shelves, searching as quickly as they can for the titles Mitchell calls out.
As Liila is searching, she finds two tomes with almost identical titles, save for a beginning article. "Mitchell, what was the name of the third—"
As she turns around, Liila comes face to face with a skeletal visage that is covered in slime. The edges around the empty eye sockets are jagged and fractured in a way that makes them look angry.
It is not until the creature rises up to her full height, a few tentacles twisting around her feet, that Liila recognizes who has found them, for she met her once, while trying to help Marileth make some kind of potion when she first came here for her.
For his margrave.
"Margrave Stradama—"
"Thieves!" The skeletal slime lets out a hellish screech and lunches forward.
When the mortals return to Bastion, scouts relay the message to Adrestes so that he can beat them to the Archon's Rise. The Archon is not there at present and neither are the paragons, but he suspects the mortals will return to where they met with them.
He has been helping higher in the Spires to find space for the documents rescued from the Locus, and as he descends to where he usually surveys the commons, he finds a sorry sight.
There are no injuries that he can see—not that he would immediately recognize them on mortal bodies, even if some are similar to his own—but their demeanor is muted.
And the smallest one is still trying to pick slime out of her fur. When he finds himself examining the Maw Walker more closely than the others, Arios' warning comes to mind. Even if he does not feel that he is too fond of this mortal, he can see how his interest might be seen as playing favorites, so he makes a point to inspect the others with equal care, even as that mysterious pull tries to force his gaze back to her.
The anima they offer feels like pure corruption, but Adrestes summons anima-weavers to see if anything can be done with it. They are good about not showing their discomfort at having to handle something from the Maw.
Even with that gone, the essence lingers around the mortals. It is more than a stench or an ill feeling. It feels like it assaults all of the senses at once, but Adrestes ignores it well enough. They are in poor enough spirits as it is, and he doesn't want them to feel unwelcome after going to the worst of places in existence on behalf of Bastion.
They present him souls next. He is impressed that they have already found a way to gather them, considering they have only been gone a little over three days.
These creatures work quickly, and he supposes it is good that there are three of them. He idly wonders what might be done with an actual army of these creatures.
Adrestes realizes he is watching the Maw Walker too late. She meets his gaze with a tired one, gives him a faint nod as she explains how they attempted to bring a mawsworn to Bastion.
He is relieved they were unable. They do not need so tainted a creature here.
He thanks them none-the-less.
Turning, he focuses on Carroll, who is asking how they will go about showing their memories to whoever can capture them.
Adrestes instructs them to go to the forge of bonds for the souls they have brought to be evaluated and that when they come back, he will have soul mirrors ready. Each of them has five.
Souls, that is, saved from the Maw.
It is more than he expected of them. They explain the soul keepers, explain that the attendants are making more, that maybe they can lead expeditions into the Maw to save souls, that they can bring others out. If there are more who go with them, they can increase the number of souls saved exponentially.
When they speak about it, there is pain in their eyes, in their voices. What they have seen is worse than they had imagined, and they are scrambling to feel as though they can actually do something about it.
The Maw Walker—he supposes she will need a new title now—is almost resigned as she listens to the other two. She has seen more of the Maw than they have. He wonders if her shoulders are supposed to slope that way, or if perhaps she has been wearing her grief this whole time, and he never realized it because he is unaccustomed to her kind.
He tries to pay more attention to the others.
Soul mirrors are brought after they have released their souls into Soulguide Daelia's care. Adrestes notices how many of the souls are small, though he cannot say if they are children or just tiny species. Soulguide Daelia seems confused as well. She looks at him as though asking what she should do with these souls who are not meant for Bastion, but he motions for her to hold off for now.
They will figure something out, he is sure.
With the memories captured, Adrestes tells them to rest. They will be given places to stay within Elysian Hold, places of honor.
The words don't seem to mean much to the three.
He frowns. He is fairly certain from the few texts he has read on Azeroth since the Maw Walker's first arrival that Azerothians hold honor in high regard, that they should be pleased to be praised for their actions, pleased to be gifted places to rest among the worthy.
Perhaps they are simply tired.
Or perhaps what they have seen in the Maw is that terrible, that it mutes the good around them.
He will have to keep an eye on them.
Adrestes sees to it that someone will lead them to where aspirants rest when they are in the Hold and then dismisses himself to inform the Archon of their return and show her the soul mirrors.
Xandria is with her, when he arrives. They are discussing what is to be done with Maldraxxus. The Archon tells Xandria to wait a moment and welcomes Adrestes as she always has. It is reassuring to have something that has not changed in these recent weeks.
He offers her the mirrors, and the three of them watch the first together.
Adrestes recognizes the kyrian fighting techniques immediately and his heart aches. The lunges, the aerial dives …the way they hold their very weapons screams of Bastion. Xandria watches it with care.
The memory continues, the mortals discuss if they should bring the body back to Bastion. Adrestes cringes at the way the try to pick up the creature, the way the wings drag across brittle rocks. His own wings itch just from seeing it.
Again, he is glad they were not able to bring that body here.
The archon freezes the memory, touches the soul mirror and enhances it. The world sweeps out around them and it is as though they are actually in the Maw itself. The figures are no longer shadowy apparitions. Instead, they look like flesh and blood, like Adrestes could reach out and touch them and they would have weight beneath his fingertips.
The ground is decayed and dead, and there are fragments of souls everywhere. He is glad it is frozen, that he cannot hear whatever was beyond the mortals' conversation.
Then he hears Xandria swear.
She is looking up.
His gaze follows hers, and he balks. There are more mawsworn kyrian in the skies overhead.
So many more.
Surely, if they had this many people missing, someone would have noticed.
If there are this many, just in this fragment of the sky, how many are there total in the Maw?
Another thought strikes him.
If there are this many, then it is more than just a handful of bearers missing.
This force is likely enough to abandon entire worlds. And if any are Watchers…
The number of souls being tossed into the Maw is horrifying indeed, but the number of souls no longer being gathered is another he has not thought to consider.
How could things have gotten this bad?
Visephone appears within the frozen memory, and startles notably, not having expected to see…this.
She gathers herself, looks around, up at the army overhead and then down. She sucks in a sharp breath.
As the Archon and the rest of them look at the paragon, she moves to where the body is sprawled on the ground and kneels. She murmurs a name, looks up at the Archon, bewildered. "This is a Watcher. He should be a few years into a centennial watch on a small world. His first." She reaches out as though she can touch him, close his eyes that are wide and staring blankly into the red-black sky. Her hand passes through him because of course he is not here. "I remember him well because he just recently took leave from me to become a disciple at another temple."
"Which one?" Xandria asks.
"Loyalty."
"There is something rotten in Devos' citadel," Xandria mutters.
The memory dissipates instantly, reverting back to the few shadowy figures that represent the mortals and their former attacker.
"Visephone, Xandria, a word in private." The Archon is flying higher into the Spires, to her personal chambers. It is somewhere she retreats only when she does not wish to be disturbed by anyone. That she is inviting them with her… "Adrestes."
He straightens up. "Yes, my Archon?"
She holds out a hand. "The soul mirrors."
He hands them to her, not bothering to offer to secure them himself. He has a feeling that the Archon will be watching all of them shortly.
"Give the mortals orders to aid another realm," the Archon says. "I do not want them wandering Bastion on their own just yet."
He bows to her. By the time he has straightened up, both paragons have followed their Archon up to her private chambers.
Adrestes returns to the lower reaches of Elysian Hold, finds the mortals where they are resting. They have had time to bathe and feel considerably less Maw-like. He is pleased that it has washed from them so easily, though he can't help but wonder what that corruption will do to the pools used for bathing. They'll have to keep an eye on it and make sure they are purified more frequently.
He tells Carroll that the Archon wishes to aid the Winter Queen. The mortal stiffens, looks a little wary. "Just…what is Ardenweald?"
Adrestes frowns, unsure what he is supposed to say to that. "A realm of rebirth."
"Is it…like Maldraxxuss? Or closer to Bastion?"
"Neither," Adrestes says.
Carroll looks like he wants to ask more, but instead, he offers Adrestes a salute. "When are we needed there?"
"As soon as you are rested."
The relief that washes through the mortal is palpable. He calls out to Inaar, relays the message succinctly. The tiny creature lets out an odd sort of acknowledgement before flopping down on the bedroll she has been given. The speed with which she falls asleep is impressive.
Adrestes pauses, frowns. "Where is the—" he stops himself before calling her the Maw Walker.
"Dragonlily said something about samples," Carroll mutters. "I imagine she'll be back soon enough."
Adrestes steps away, considers it. When they spoke on Oribos, she had mentioned samples from the Temple of Courage, hadn't she?
"New robes, I see," Thanikos offers as he lands near Liila and begins walking with her. The Temple of Courage looms closer with every step, a blemish on the otherwise perfect realm.
Liila nods. "I thought I'd be less likely to get blitzed by friendly ascended mistaking me for forsworn if I wore something lighter."
Thanikos nods. One of his hands rests on one of the axes on his hips as they walk. "Smart." Then he frowns, "Though wandering alone is not so much. Not at the moment."
"She's not alone," Pelagos says, standing a little taller. He and Kleia are on Liila's far side, but she has a feeling that Thanikos doesn't quite consider their trio to be the safety net that they have.
"I was hoping that I'm unassuming enough that the forsworn won't be after me again just yet. Or that maybe my curse has them reconsidering how to deal with me in general."
"It's not just forsworn, you know," Thanikos offers. "With the drought, the animals are hungry, too."
"We are being careful," Kleia assures him. Her mace has been in hand since they left Hero's Rest.
"From the looks of it, you seem to be heading toward my temple."
"We are," Liila says, peering up at him to see that he is watching her. "I have a friend who is working with what's left of the House of Plagues to see about making an antidote or dispersal agent or something of the like, but he needs samples of what's here to narrow down what we're dealing with."
"That's…going to be tricky," Thanikos says, frowning.
"Is it still expanding?" Liila asks.
"No, not at the moment," Thanikos says. "The drought's actually helping in that way. It seems to 'reach' for large quantities of anima, and the ground is starved enough that it doesn't just eat its way across the realm." He motions ahead. "We've got a perimeter, and we're keeping an eye on it and keeping people and animals from wandering too close."
"So if I walk up to it, it'll spread toward me?"
"Well, it'll spread toward them for sure," Thanikos motions to Kleia and Pelagos. "And me. We're basically just big, tasty chunks of anima to whatever that is."
"So…because I'm still alive, am I not anima?"
"You are," Thanikos says, reaching out and patting her head. "Well, your soul is. But it's wrapped up in that body, which isn't. That might throw off whatever it is long enough for you to get a sample or two."
"Do you think it's conscious?"
"I hope not," Thanikos frowns. "If it is, I may have to take to stabbing it."
Liila can't help a faint laugh at that. "Might be a good stress release regardless."
Thanikos laughs, and it is a rich sound, though it dies far too quickly. He sighs, nodding to two more ascended who land just ahead, intercepting their path. "This is as far as you two go," he says to Pelagos and Kleia. Then, he offers Liila a hand. "I'll fly you over the temple. It'll be faster and you can get some of the samples from deeper in."
Liila is upside down, with Thanikos holding her by her feet and hem of her robe, using tweezers to get a few tiny bits of plagued cloth into an Azerothian vial when Adrestes catches up to them.
The wind from his wings sends the bits of cloth skittering across the corrupted ground, out of Liila's reach, and she sighs. The blood is rushing to her head as it has been for a while now, and she is starting to feel dizzy.
"This should be enough."
Thanikos climbs higher into the air before abruptly tossing Liila into the air herself. He catches her easily in his arms as she falls past him and gives her a wink when she looks up at him, incredulous.
"Are you trying to break these?" Liila asks, holding up the four vials she has in a small wooden box. Each is wrapped in wool. She figures that if items from the realm of the living are not made of anima, perhaps it will be easier to contain the plague if it is inside of them.
Adrestes joins them. He is unamused, as well. "Do try to remember that mortals are considerably more fragile than souls."
Thanikos allows himself a sigh. He looks down at Liila. "Shall I take you to the nearest flightmaster?"
"Unless you have a faster way to Maldraxxus," Liila says. Even as she speaks, she can't help but look to Adrestes instead of Thanikos.
He watches her for a moment. His lips are a thin line, and she can't help but wonder if she's done something to offend him. Upon her return to Bastion, it felt oddly like he was trying to ignore her, though she can't think of why he would. She's not done anything offensive that she can think of.
Unless… unless he is displeased about the whole turning into a kyrian thing… that wasn't intentional, though, so surely…
"Nothing that a mortal body could pass through," Thanikos says. It takes her a second to realize he is responding to her earlier comment. He drums his fingers against her arm. "You're too corporeal for ascended paths."
Liila eyes him, curious. "You seem just as corporeal as I am."
Thanikos grin is lopsided. "I suppose I do right now." He does not offer to elaborate. Instead, he looks at Adrestes. "Or perhaps Adrestes is going the same way you need to go?"
Adrestes's frown is pronounced. She can feel the displeasure rolling off of him, almost as well as she can feel that draw that still beckons her, still makes her want to reach out and touch him, to stay near him and nestled against his side, fingers laced, hearts beating together…
Do kyrian have hearts?
Or is their anatomy completely different from a mortal's?
"I simply came to tell you that the Archon requests you aid Ardenweald, as soon as you are rested enough and able."
Liila stares at him, thumps her fingers against the sides of the little box with her vials. "I can go there after I drop these off." Adrestes nods. "What am I supposed to do, exactly?"
"Anything that will benefit them," Adrestes replies. "We must serve as a unified front if we are to stop the Jailer."
"But I thought we were supposed to focus on one covenant—"
"And you are. You are showing Ardenweald that Bastion stands with them."
"Right." She looks down at the vials again. Then back at Adrestes. "Am I supposed to come back with anything?" His brow pinches.
Thanikos laughs. "Do not rob the Winter Queen on our behalf."
Adrestes' expression—what little can be seen of it—implies that he is appalled Liila would go there. Liila wants to smile at him, tell him she was teasing, but he flies off so abruptly, without even properly ending the conversation.
She watches him go, feeling like she has just been rejected.
It makes no sense.
Thanikos flies her to Hero's Rest after stopping long enough to tell Pelagos and Kleia he's taking her there.
Pelagos offers her a warm smile, and she realizes that he can feel the odd dissonance inside her, that empty feeling that the polemarch has left her with.
She tries to mimic what he does, to send reassuring feelings toward him, but she doesn't know if it works or not.
Soulbinds are an odd thing.
Odd, but not entirely unpleasant.
"They're using the old ways," Thenios says, quietly. His hair ruffles gently in the breeze, but it brings him no comfort. He is looking at the Archon, and his body is rigid, as though a single movement might send him crumbling to dust.
Arios stands dutifully beside his paragon, holding a number of old scrolls that look as though they, too, might fall apart with a single poke or prod. His countenance is grim as well, but there is something in his eyes that Adrestes has not seen in a while.
Hope.
And maybe a little pride as he stares up at his mentor.
Thenios motions to Arios, who produces the first scroll with the utmost care to the Archon. She skims it quickly, frowns.
When Xandria looks confused, Visephone motions to the parchment. "In the early days, we had not developed the bells and incense to open the way to the veil. That came much later."
"The only reason we developed the paths in and out of the realms as we have," Thenios explains, "is because with so many ascended, it was too chaotic to let everyone come and go as they pleased, wherever they pleased. Without designated areas, there were a few collisions, a few injuries, almost a death. It can be a pain to have to go all the way to the designated areas to leave and return to the realm, but it prevents chaos."
Xandria stares at him, lets what he's saying sink in, looks down at the parchment, scowls. "And with everyone playing by the rules, it's easy abuse them without being noticed."
Adrestes considers it. If the forsworn are simply popping in and out of the veil to make their strikes, it is such an obvious tactic. He should have seen that…
Though…
He has never tried to enter the veil from Bastion through any points except the designated ones. He had never questioned that it was possible from just anywhere. Part of him had assumed that the realm was built differently or in a way that the veil was thicker or…
"Should I send patrols through the veil to see what I can find?"
"There's no need," Thenios says. "I've already been. You either wouldn't get back your patrols at all, or the next time you'd see them, they'd have black wings."
The Archon's gaze snaps to Thenios, as do those of everyone else present.
They are in the Archon's personal chambers. The air is thin here, making it hard to find purchase with wings, and it was by the Archon's will alone that anyone will ever fly this high.
Xandria, Visephone, Thenios, Voithe, Arios, and Adrestes have been allowed admittance.
It is very hard for Adrestes not to allow his gaze to wander, to see just how and where their god reclines in the few precious minutes she has of freedom throughout eternity.
The room is much like those of the ascended, with floating plants and cascading waters, sheer curtains and soft bells and windchimes. It is humbling to know she allows them so much of the same comforts she enjoys.
"How did you find this out?" Xandria asks. She is examining the scroll.
Thenios winces, then he stands a little straighter. He is still looking at the Archon, as though even a glance from her will make his entire world collapse. "I told her what she wanted to hear. That I was losing faith. She assumed I meant in you, not in her, and she…" his voice wavers, his wings droop, and he has to pause to swallow. "She told me everything."
For the first time, his gaze lowers. It is unfocused.
"They are hiding in plain sight, my Archon, and there are so many of them." He shakes his head. "I knew she was wavering, but I thought I could bring her back to us. I never thought that she could…"
"How are they hiding among us?" Visephone asks. "We had no spells for that. The mortals cannot see us—with great exception—even when we are through the veil. If they have fallen, they should be marked thus."
"They're using glamours," Thenios says, and produces one. It looks like an insignia of some kind, from where Adrestes stands. "It's not kyrian magic, but that of another god. Helya."
The Archon's expression is ever calm. She holds out her hand and Thenios hands her the insignia. She turns it slowly, inspecting something that Adrestes cannot see. Whether it is because he is not right beside her or because it is something only a god can see, he cannot say.
"This was to be yours."
"Yes."
"How well guarded is your temple?"
"The wards stand," Thenios says. "I am…mostly confident in my disciples. There are a handful still at my temple that I would not trust to defend it, but Arios has reinforced our wards with some of our own and only he knows where they stand, so even if they dismantle the ones in Elysian Hold, they won't get to us." He takes in a slow breath, steadies himself. "Devos is doing the same for Loyalty, because she knows you'll be coming for her sooner than later. She hopes to have three temples against you by the time you make your move."
Adrestes instantly knows that Devos must be trying to turn Chyrus. He is the only other paragon not present currently, namely because he is meeting with Devos, asking for her advice with settling the minds of some of his worried aspirants and disciples, explaining to her that—as the youngest paragon—he has never seen anything like this before.
Adrestes doesn't doubt that Chyrus will not utter a single lie to Devos, but he also knows that Chyrus has the utmost faith in the Path, and that he will be a most amicable distraction for his fellow paragon. He has been purposely sending Voithe to these meetings in his place so that he can lament over how he has been excluded from any of the private gatherings himself.
The Archon's expression never falters. But Adrestes can feel it in the air. The anger. It has not left her since the attack on the temples, but it is more oppressive than usual, enough so that even he feels uncomfortable.
It occurs to Adrestes, as Thenios explains about how the god Helya is in league with the Jailer—how Devos is in league with the Jailer—that the reason the Archon hasn't simply smote Devos may have been to make sure that Thenios does not fall with her.
They are soulbinds, after all. Soulmates if such things exist.
And they are on opposite sides of a budding war.
For one to fall and not the other… Adrestes must say he is proud of Thenios. And Eridia and any others who are resolute in face of their most trusted companions' fall from grace. He cannot imagine the inner strength that must take.
Th inner turmoil they must wrestle with.
He had a soulbind, eons ago, and he remembers the way emotions were shared, the way it was impossible to not know what the other was feeling, to not be affected to some degree by those very emotions.
To be able to separate oneself from those emotions…
To be able to play along those emotions in such a way that Devos thinks Thenios may yet be on her side…
That is impressive.
Adrestes finds his respect for the paragon of wisdom renewed, and can see why Arios stands so proud beside his mentor.
As they discuss what else Devos may have up her sleeve, a mad flapping of wings reaches them, followed shortly by Chyrus.
His robes are torn and there is drying blood on his clothes and his fingers, though he seems to have healed himself well enough. "My Archon, I am sorry. One of her scouts came to tell her that the final rite has started, and she realized I was nothing but a distraction."
When he lands, it is a little awkwardly, though the Archon's light washes over him and in a breath he is erect and his clothes pristine. The Archon assures him he did well as she looks him over like a mother might a child, inspecting him for any injuries she might have missed. Of course she has not.
While the Archon assures Chyrus that he has done well, Xandria exchanges a look with Visephone, who is not in the least bit surprised to hear that things are in motion.
"I had Adrestes and Eridia gather our aspirants this morning," Visephone explains. "One of the mortals is going through the trial, as well. The first Maw Walker."
"Would you like me to send reinforcements to where the aspirants are?" Xandria asks.
"There is no need. They should be returning to Elysian Hold by now," the Archon says. "We will have a quiet ascension ceremony, and then we will expose Devos and her treachery and bring the Temple of Loyalty back into order."
"What if some of the forsworn try to slip into the hold?" Adrestes asks.
The Archon pauses, considers it. And then she curls her hand into a fist around the insignia that Thenios gave her earlier. Adrestes can hear it crack and splinter.
And then there is a pulse.
It sweeps out from the Archon's hand, from the broken insignia and beyond, rolling over everyone present as little more than a faint wind.
"There will be no more hiding among the ranks of my ascended," the Archon says, giving Adrestes a reassuring nod. "Begin the preparations for the ceremony."
When the crest of ascension is destroyed, all that Adrestes can think is that this shouldn't have been able to happen. He checked the wards himself, multiple times that day.
By the Archon, he'd been past them just minutes before the ceremony started, making certain that all was well.
And yet somehow, the forsworn were able to get to them anyway.
The wards will have to be moved once order is restored.
For now, however…
Now there is chaos.
Aspirants are being drawn into the air and dropped, while the ascended around them scramble to defend themselves, let alone protect the flightless.
There are so many forsworn.
At least…at least they can no longer hide. More than a few forsworn had been exposed within the spires when the Archon destroyed Thenios' insignia, and there is little doubt that damned near every temple had some kind of surprise as the traitors were unmasked throughout the realm.
But now they all bear the black wings they earned through their doubts and duplicity. Now the fight is beginning in earnest.
As Adrestes strikes down an enemy, he cannot help but think that they should have acted on their knowledge of Devos' betrayal earlier. If they had…
If they had, they might have lost Thenios, too.
And anyway, what could have actually been done differently?
Assault the Temple of Loyalty? Could it truly be that everyone there is corrupted? That the place they have sent those with the worst doubts has been feeding those doubts instead of alleviating them? He wonders about those from the Temple of Courage, if they are safe.
If they are fallen.
And then it occurs to him that any who hadn't yet fallen in Loyalty have likely met unfortunate ends as those around them were exposed.
For the first time in a long time, he has genuine doubts.
Fears. For those he could not and cannot reach to protect.
So much is going wrong, so many things are falling apart, making him feel so…helpless, like the Path he walks is crumbling beneath him and no matter how he tries to stay on it, there will not be anything left to stay on at the rate things are going.
These thoughts are terrifying.
But he will not succumb to them.
He will make it through this fight, and he will rally those he can, and if these thoughts persist, he will purge them, as he always has.
Across the commons, he sees a familiar form, and a low growl catches in his throat.
Andromede.
So Devos' interjection into the fighting hadn't been to save him, but one of her own.
He tries to go after her, but her wings are swift, and she evades him, even as other forsworn jump at the chance to strike him down.
When he has the chance, between opponents, to look around, his gaze is always drawn to the Maw Walker, the Dragonlily as the other mortals call her, as though it is more of a title than a name.
She moves quickly, fending off attackers and helping the stewards and aspirants still present to get to safety.
Overhead, Xandria commands the battlefield with Thanikos and a few of her stronger warriors. The forsworn are having a difficult time finding purchase within the spires, even with their numbers, and are trying to spread out and avoid the paragon, though she is quick to go after any who seek to get to the upper spires. Disciple Apolon is charged with assisting Adrestes while Xandria, Thanikos, and Disciple Atremede lead others further into the spires.
At one point, Adrestes sees Chyrus, far overhead, wielding Compassion as he is surrounded by dark beating wings.
Voithe does not let him fall.
He hears Thenios at another point, barking orders as he ascends higher, searching for Devos, because she is definitely here, somewhere.
She was the one who destroyed the altar, who incited this current chaos.
She is the one who has incited all of their chaos, if he thinks about it. He tries not to. Now is not the time.
Adrestes feels the wards come back up.
Strength flows through him. His enemies waver, their wings skip beats and they struggle to stay in the air, their weapons grow heavy as the ascended gain the upper hand.
When the retreat sounds, it is a broken bell whose chimes grate on Adrestes' ears, nearly stunning him.
He manages to keep hold of his mace, to block one final attack, and then he is alone. No dark wings beating with misplaced fury, no dark vessels assaulting the injured below.
The Forsworn are gone as quickly as they have come, back through the veil.
Adrestes hurries to the wards and finds that the one that has been reinstated is in pitiful shape, but it is enough. The mortals and a few aspirants and ascended have gathered here, and based on the bodies scattered around them, it was quite the fight to defend it.
Adrestes calls guards down to keep the place safe and repair the ward properly.
He leaves Kalisthene in charge of the commons and goes to find the Archon. When he does, she is on one of the highest platforms.
Thenios is sprawled out, one wing bleeding badly from where what looks like a spear was shoved through it and dragged down. Bones are exposed, snapped. Dark magic that reminds Adrestes of the Maw pulses over the tattered flesh and feathers.
The Archon is tending to him, mending the wing, though the wound resists her will.
"Speak, Adrestes."
She does not conceal the anger in her voice, though she keeps her focus on her paragon.
"The mortals were able to reestablish the wards. The Forsworn have gone."
"How bad is it?" Thenios asks, voice shaking.
Adrestes flinches. "Very. I will have the casualties for your shortly. As well as the names of any recognized forsworn."
There is a crack. Thenios cries out as his bones snap back into place, the Archon having lost her patience for a gentle touch. "And Devos?"
"I thought she was up here," Adrestes says.
Chyrus lands beside him, moves to help the Archon with Thenios. Xandria hovers to Adrestes' side. "She's not in the realm anymore." When they look up at her, confused, Xandria's grip tightens on her triton and Adrestes hears the cracks that spiderweb over its haft before he sees them. "She escaped through the veil, all the way to the Maw." She holds her head a little higher. "Unlike the mortals, she won't be coming back any time soon. I made sure of it."
"This can't be happening," Thenios whispers.
"I want a full status update within an hour," the Archon demands.
Adrestes tries not to flinch at her tone—there is so much anger there. It is justified, of course, but he has never seen her like this.
He quickly descends.
The list of those slain is a long one. The list of those fallen from the Path is longer. Adrestes recognizes so many of those listed as traitors to the realm. He cannot fathom how this could have happened, how the forsworn could have gained so much popularity in so short a time.
Because Devos was loyal not so long ago, wasn't she?
The problems seem to go back to the time when they were fighting against the Scourge necromancers to claim the souls of Azeroth. To when she took in that one soul from Azeroth.
Uther Lightbringer.
Perhaps he is what started this spiral into madness.
Regardless, Adrestes will have answers. He must.
For his Archon, yes, but for himself as well. He needs to know how this could have happened, so that he can assure it will never happen again.
Kleia's feathers fluff at the sound of footsteps drawing closer, and despite everything, it's cute. It reminds Liila of young birds trying to look bigger to their attackers. When she reaches her, she offers Kleia some juice that she's procured from a shaken steward.
Kleia's hand trembles a little as she reaches for the cup. She pauses.
Liila conjures one of her stronger healing spells to wash over and through Kleia. She has learned that her spells are not quite…comfortable for those in the realms of the dead, but they still function to help on a structural and mechanical base. They will mend broken bones and knit together split flesh, but it does not leave a sense of rejuvenation in its wake like it is supposed to.
Or a numbing effect.
She has likewise noticed a similar problem with their spells on her. She suspects it is a result of being from different planes of existence. The living and the dead were never meant to fight together like this.
Kleia's hand grows steady, and she takes the juice, sipping at it without really tasting it. "Thank you, my friend."
Liila sits next to her, her own body protesting the recent abuse—she's been thrown into several walls and pillars in the last hour, and it's hard to keep up with the damage when the forsworn have decided to focus on her as they did.
At least it felt like they did.
She counts herself lucky that she wasn't actually killed. In the time she's been soulbound to Pelagos, she's found that he can sense some injuries in her, when they're bad enough. She doesn't want him to feel her die. It's bad enough that she'll have to feel it herself.
Kleia finishes her juice and rises to her feet. It takes a moment—she is stiff and still injured, despite Liila's efforts.
Liila moves to help her up, though Kleia is tall enough that she can use Liila as an armrest. She's gained a few inches since getting her wings, Liila realizes. Kleia seems to notice this, as well.
She stares down at Liila and then smiles. "You've helped me so much these last few weeks."
"Of course," Liila says, dismissing that Kleia might owe her anything.
Kleia's smile widens a little at that. "I mean it. Without you, I would not have my wings. Without you…" her gaze unfocuses slightly. She shivers, her feathers ruffle, and she pushes away her dark thoughts. "Will you soulbind with me?"
Liila blinks, surprised. She knows that her binding with Pelagos was done out of necessity, and has figured that in the event she is told to change her bindings, or have another it will be a utilitarian move just as the first was.
This request from Kleia feels more personal than that.
It feels a little like being accepted home, and for the first time, thinking of this realm as a home doesn't feel so terrifying. Perhaps it is because she has Pelagos already, perhaps it is because this realm seems to seep into her the longer she is here.
Liila nods. "I'd be honored."
