Soulbinds are a funny thing.
Perhaps it is because Liila is not actually meant for this system, but it is just so…
Intimate.
She has known Kleia and Pelagos for a little over a month, spent just over half that time actually around them, actually soulbound to them, and yet her connection to them is deeper than damn near any other person she has ever met. She knows without looking up if they are in a good mood or if something is nagging at them. She knows from the way their emotions echo inside of her how they are faring, even when she isn't by their side, even when she is in another realm.
She has yet to return to Azeroth—considering how much of a difference there is in the flow of time, Liila feels like she'll miss far too much if she risks going back to the land of the living, even for a day—but she doesn't doubt that she will be able to feel them, even there.
She's heard from Shawn that he could feel his soulbind when he went back, to gather keepsakes from the families of the death knights who are missing. He ended up being gone almost a week here, even though he came back within the same day for him.
That makes Liila feel a little better. It makes her feel like she has more time to set things right. After all, the Scourge can only move so fast, and with the time difference, she is moving faster.
Regardless, she has known these people for such a little time, and they are so intrinsically a part of her that she can't imagine not having them in her life, though she knows that this binding is temporary. That makes her a little sad, knowing that this will come to an end, for even if they can save the day, the veil will be closed.
And even if she does manage to miraculously shed her curse and die for good someday, she does not doubt that she will not be sent here. This is where the good are sent, where those who sacrifice themselves in service go. And Liila… Liila has rarely meant harm, but she has caused enough of it in selfish fits that she knows she is not qualified for wings.
It is for the best.
She would likely fall from the Path if she tried to walk it in earnest.
But that means that this bond is temporary, and it makes her heart heavy if she thinks on it too long. So she tries not to. She tries to keep herself in the present and to be mindful of the emotions shared with her, to block out the memories and keep them as blurry imprints behind her eyelids rather than flashbacks that aren't her own.
Despite her best efforts, however, she cannot block it all. She cannot block the deep, quiet sorrow that she feels from Pelagos, something he never talks about, but lives with, hiding behind bright smiles and promises that he is doing well, when asked. There is longing in him, too, especially when he sees ascended overhead, gliding through the skies on wide-spread wings. He wants to fly with them, wants to be worthy. His determination mixes with doubts—she cannot pinpoint them, but that could just be because she is new to soulbinding. Regardless, she feels when his confidence rises and when it wavers, when the doubts creep in, and he feels small and useless.
It makes her feel a little useless herself, because she does not know how to make things better for him, does not know if she should try. He is always so kind to her, but she wonders if he wishes he hadn't been ordered to bind to her as he was. He must feel her doubts and anxieties the way she feels his, and she wonders if that makes things worse for him.
She hopes not.
With Kleia, she is much more grounded. Liila feels determination most of the time, though she always knows when Kleia is flying, because of the joy that curls inside of her. Twice, she's been certain that if she closes her eyes, she will feel the wind in her hair.
There is concern there, too, but if there are any doubts in Kleia, they are not something that Liila can sense. She doesn't try. Kleia may have invited her to bind with her, but she still struggles with what is acceptable for privacy.
Liila tried asking about it once, before she had soulbound with Kleia, but both she and Pelagos had seemed confused by Liila's questions about privacy and the like. They had finally just told her that soulbinds share everything, that they are meant to share everything.
From what Liila has heard, this intimacy has bothered more than a few mortals. It's putting a strain on the relationships of mortals who are now each bound to their own soulbinds, who now find themselves knowing others as well as their spouses. Better, even.
Carroll has talked about doing something about that, but if he's come up with any spells to make it so his soulbind can't sense him, she hasn't heard about it.
He wouldn't tell her anyway, she thinks, but she would hear about it from someone else eventually. Shawn, maybe.
And now she's not sure she would want to do anything to the bond, to alter it. Even if it would give her more privacy.
Because she feels like it would change things between the three of them.
And she wouldn't want to hurt them with any type of rejection.
So she mulls over the bond they have when it comes to mind, and tries to walk the line of not thinking about her own emotions too much, hoping that they are not distracting to the others, and she ignores it when she is not with them.
As best she can.
Lately, however, it has been harder to ignore Pelagos' feelings, as he is struggling with doubt. And the stronger his doubts are, the stronger the concern that comes from Kleia. They build off each other in a way, a sort of cycle. Pelagos doubts, Kleia worries, Pelagos doubts more because Kleia worries, and so on.
And that happens as they both try to send out positive assurances.
Liila sometimes wants to say something, but doesn't know if it is her place. They have been bound to each other so much longer than she's even existed. She doesn't want to overstep.
But lately, Pelagos doubts have been…different. Liila doesn't know how, exactly, but they don't seem to feed off Kleia's concern like usual.
Or maybe she just doesn't know what it is she's feeling and is completely misreading everything.
It's all so confusing, having someone else's emotions in her head. That coupled with that damned draw she feels toward the polemarch…
That is something the others don't seem to share with her. She asked them, sort of. What did they think of Polemarch Adrestes?
All she got were words of praise for the strong-willed polemarch, a man who has never erred from his Purpose or his Path. A creature to strive to be like.
At least when she asked Thanikos, he offered more than platitudes. "If a butterfly interrupts his routines, he's in a bad mood for a week."
It's no wonder the polemarch frowns so much these days.
Liila has tried talking to him once or twice, tried to bring up the draw, but he is always so quick to dismiss her. The second someone else comes up, he is talking to them instead of her. It doesn't matter if they tell him it's not important or that they can wait.
It's…frustrating.
And quite obviously proof that he is not feeling this strange draw. If he was, he'd be looking to her as much as she does to him, surely. And when she peeks his way, he's never looking hers.
It makes her oddly miserable, just thinking about it. It shouldn't matter, and yet it does. She wants him to notice her, to talk to her.
She wants to see him smile.
Worse, there is a miserable little voice in her head that says she has seen him smile and that it is glorious.
She wants to strangle that part of her that whispers that she knows things she doesn't. It still bothers her when she nears Olympic Village, and so she avoids the place, especially after her last time there with Kleia and Pelagos. She had a moment, a flicker of a vision where she recognized a fucking potted plant and they noticed that something happened.
How much they felt or saw is beyond her, and she hopes they only felt the flicker of fear that bubbled in her briefly. If they saw more, they haven't said anything.
And they aren't the kind to lie or hide things.
They're not like her.
Liila is out gathering herbs. The forsworn seem to plan attacks to do the most damage or to sabotage caravans and the like, things that can be predicted. Her impromptu gathering runs haven't been attacked yet, and she thinks it helps that she doesn't plan them in advance. They don't know where she'll be, so the only way she'll get attacked is if she stumbles into an area they were already planning to assault.
It helps that Xandria is routing them from beyond the veil, making sure they do not have free reign out of sight.
Liila has just finished looping around some vulpin, keeping a safe enough distance that she doesn't catch their attention, when she notices a lonely aspirant walking the road not terribly far from where she is.
She looks their way and abruptly feels doubt that is not her own swelling inside of her, flickering like a fire, fighting itself.
Working her way quickly back to the road, Liila knows it's Pelagos the second she gets a clear view of him. It's not like with the polemarch. There's no pull toward him that tells her exactly who she's seeing in the distance, but rather she recognizes the way he walks, the way he moves, the way his emotions echo louder because he is closer.
At first, she attempts to pick up her pace, to catch up to him. She tries sending him feelings that she can see him, but she doesn't know if that can actually even be done. She needs to sit down and ask exactly what gets shared and how, but the subject makes her so uncomfortable…
She can faintly feel Kleia, wherever she is. Kleia is sure that whatever it is she is doing, it is right and just. Liila can sense that confidence, that dedication. It is steady.
Pelagos, on the other hand, is equally determined, but at the same time there are those loud doubts, and that deep quiet sorrow that he does not talk about.
It is those doubts in him that make Liila pick up her pace to follow after him, especially when he turns off the road and starts out into the fields.
She knows that doubts can lead kyrian to fall, and if Pelagos is to fall because of something, Liila does not want him to be alone. She does not want him trapped somewhere or attacked by patrolling ascended. If he falls, she will help him get out of Bastion and somewhere safe, somewhere where he will not face the Archon's wrath.
If worse comes to worst, she will take him back to Azeroth and hide him there. Somehow.
He is her friend and she will keep him safe, regardless of if he is on the kyrian Path or not.
Pelagos heads toward one of the many giant cliffs that interrupt the plains, towards its base.
Liila follows. She calls out to him thrice, tries to get his attention so that she isn't merely a shadow stalking him, but he is too far ahead to hear her. Those doubts in him, that uncertainty, are rising up.
When Liila feels her own anxiety rising, a curl of surety twists inside of her. It is Pelagos, sending her positive thoughts or…something.
She feels a little guilty as she considers that he's probably getting the same sensation from Kleia.
Again, she tries to send him positive thoughts back, but there is no indication in the way his emotions move to show she has succeeded.
Liila pauses to look up, to check for patrols or any indication that they are not alone, be it from friend or foe. It occurs to her that just because she has not been attacked by the forsworn yet, just because they are being driven back, does not mean it can't still happen, that she and Pelagos should be more careful.
Though… the forsworn seem to avoid her now that they know she can't stay dead, but that hasn't stopped them from trying to get others, mostly caravans traveling the roads.
Caravans carrying food and supplies.
The truth of it is that the kyrian could probably just wait the forsworn out. Liila doesn't know if kyrian can starve, per se, but they do seem to need to eat, even if it is less frequently than mortals. If the forsworn remain locked down in their temple, as they are, they will eventually succumb to hunger and have to surrender.
Liila wonders if that is why the Archon has not ordered any strikes against Loyalty yet. However, curious as she is, she doubts that anyone will be including her in the battle strategizing anytime soon. There are others far better suited to that.
When she looks back down, she curses herself, because Pelagos is gone.
She hurries to the base of the cliff, and then looks around, even climbing it a little to get a view over the fields to see if he has gone back out into them. The golden grasses sway as they stretch out across the plains, uninterrupted.
Liila drops back down and wanders along the base of the cliff, looking for signs of her friend. She's so busy trying to find footprints—something she's never been good at—that she almost walks right past the cave entrance. It's well hidden, with soft vines draped over it to block the way in.
Liila hesitates, steps closer, listens.
She can hear voices.
That gives her pause.
Following Pelagos to make sure that he's safe is one thing. Crashing some clandestine meeting, though… After all, it's not like she knows too much about him, despite feeling as close as she does. Pelagos could have some private relationship or all manner of things he doesn't want her to know about.
Even as she turns to go, she feels it.
Panic.
Whirling back around, she rushes into the cave, one hand already bright with a healing spell in case it is needed. She freezes however, when she makes it into the small chamber, when she sees Pelagos casting his own healing spell, the light of the anima surging through the chamber. He is struggling.
Without thought, Liila heals his target as well.
His anima fades around the ascended he's been healing a little faster than her light, and when he sees it, his head snaps toward her so quickly. Terror fills him and spills into her so readily that she feels like she may drown in it.
"Maw Walker."
Liila stares back at him, surprised.
And then she realizes what she—what they have done.
The ascended Pelagos was healing has black wings.
Liila takes a few steps closer, but pauses when Pelagos places himself between her and the forsworn.
"He's not a bad person," Pelagos says. Liila can feel the doubt, the uncertainty.
And suddenly it makes sense. These recent doubts…
She has not been feeling Pelagos doubts about himself, but rather doubts about another, fears that this person he is putting his trust into will betray him.
Liila motions to Pelagos and then the figure behind him. "What's going on?"
"He…" Pelagos pauses, looks over his shoulder, as though to make sure the one behind him does not mind if this story is told. "There is discord among the forsworn."
A soft curse sounds.
Pelagos turns and kneels beside the fallen ascended again, carefully reaching out and checking a few injuries that are not healing properly.
Liila walks a little closer, holding her hands up to show she means no harm when the forsworn's attention snaps to her. His feathers fluff slightly, as though to make himself bigger than he is. Unlike most ascended, he does not move quickly to school this display.
She recognizes him, though she can't recall his name. He stares up at her, grimaces when Pelagos touches a wound on his shoulder.
Pelagos perks up despite that and turns to Liila. "This wound isn't healing like it should. Perhaps it is like one of those plagues from your world."
That is all the invitation Liila needs. She walks over and sits beside Pelagos, inspecting the wound and ignoring the confusion on the forsworn's face. There is magic in this wound, likely residual from the weapon that inflicted it, and that magic is slowing the natural healing process and blocking healing spells. Liila doesn't touch him, as the forsworn flinches away from her when she tries, but she does lean close enough to take a good look.
Then she settles back and goes into her bags, pulling out her spellbook. She flips through the pages. "I have seen this before. It's not a plague, not a curse, per se…"
"I can't dispel it," Pelagos says. "I'm usually pretty good with magic ailments."
"Hmmm, give me a minute…" Liila murmurs, pausing to read some notes on an older dispersion spell and then flipping forward a few more pages.
"Why are you helping me?"
Liila doesn't look up as Pelagos answers. "You're a good person, Nikolon—"
"I'm your enemy," the forsworn snaps. "I've turned against the Archon, fallen from the Path—"
"Not my Path," Liila says. The name Nikolon makes everything fall into place, and she remembers him from the Temple of Purity. She remembers he fell shortly before the attack. She can feel the tension rolling off of him, and so she pauses to look up at him and offers a wink. "If Pelagos can vouch for you, that's good enough for me."
Relief, gratitude, pride all swell up inside of her, all foreign.
She smiles a little as she keeps searching through her notes.
Nikolon shakes his head, slumps forward a little. Pelagos catches him. "Neither of you should be here. If you're caught, you'll be treated just as I will. As traitors."
Pelagos sits a little taller. "Everything will be fine—"
"It can never be fine again," Nikolon says, head in his hands. "The Path is flawed, Pelagos. And even if it wasn't, I can't go back. And I can't go back to them, either." He stares at his feet. "They're sending us to the Maw. Even if we don't want to go. They say it's a test of loyalty, that Devos is waiting for us." Nikolon shakes his head. "But there is nothing good in the Maw. There can be no good that comes of going there. They said once I see it, I will change my mind, but I have borne souls to Oribos, flown over its edges. That place is wicked."
Silence settles over the three of them for a moment before Liila considers what he's said about the Maw and an idea bursts to life. She moves to another section of her book, inspects a few pages and then straightens up as she lightly raps the back of her knuckles against the page. "You've pissed off Helya."
"Who?" Pelagos and Nikolon say in unison.
Liila motions for Pelagos to come closer, moving her book so that he can see it, too. She offers to turn it so that Nikolon can see as well, but he makes no effort to scoot closer, instead eyeing her with open suspicion. "She's a god of death," Liila says and offers a brief explanation of what she knows. It's not much. "She used to work for Odyn, but turned against him for some reason or another. She claims souls for herself…and currently she's in the Maw working with the Jailer." Liila looks at Nikolon. "Have you gotten in any fights with mawsworn?"
"I…yes," Nikolon says. "When it was my time to go to the Maw. I did not want to, and they tried to force me. They said that we need power if we are to expand the Path, offer another way."
"I'm glad you got away," Pelagos offers. "The Maw is such a cruel place."
His words ring in a way that says he does not understand just what he is saying. There is an innocence in calling it something so simple as 'cruel'. Liila nods, pats Pelagos arm. Her words are to Nikolon. "I'm glad you're not there, too. The souls don't need anymore tormentors."
"I would never—"
Liila shrugs. "The mawsworn do."
Pelagos and Nikolon both look absolutely appalled. Nikolon sinks down, laying on his side. "How could things have gone so wrong?"
Liila watches him, listens as Pelagos tells him he will be alright, as he frets over the fallen ascended as though they can actually help him in any substantial way. Liila looks back at her spellbook and then moves closer, readying the spell that can help break through the mark of Helya's wrath. "I'm curious. What did you think would happen when you became forsworn?"
Nikolon grimaces as Liila's spell puts pressure on the one already on him, as it grows brittle and finally breaks. Pelagos is quick to heal him again after that, and this time, his flesh mends as it should. "I thought…we could find a place where all of us who do not belong to the Path could go, that we could still do good, still… I don't know." He sits up again, tests out his arm, rolls his shoulder. "They said the Archon would never accept us if we did not follow the Path as she wants, that she would smite us, so it was imperative we strike first, that we show we are formidable enough that she would reconsider any attacks, but…" He shakes his head again. "All this violence helps no one." He pales a little. "All those innocent lives lost…whatever way forward we should be taking, it is not that." Nikolon inspects his shoulder as best he can, running his fingers over his skin. "When they struck me down, I thought…at least it is the end. At least I don't have to worry about all of this anymore." He stops to give Pelagos a look that he pretends is irritation, though there is gratitude shining in his eyes, despite his clearly conflicting emotions. "But it seems I'm not meant to give up the fight so easily."
"We can make things right," Pelagos says, and Liila has never seen him so confident. "I'm not sure how just yet, but there is a way forward and it doesn't involve the Maw for anyone, ascended or forsworn."
Nikolon simply shakes his head. He sits in silence for a moment, fingers splayed over his shoulder. "I have nowhere to go."
"You could come to Elysian Hold," Pelagos offers. "I will stand with you. We could—"
"That would just get us both killed."
Liila glances at Pelagos, sees and feels how crestfallen he is to have his idea rejected so quickly. "We could try talking to someone about how the forsworn are not unified. Maybe not toss you to the Archon, but we could talk to…" she fishes around in her head for a leader who might not want to strike down the forsworn immediately. "Maybe…someone."
Nikolon lets out a bitter laugh. However, even as he starts to say something dismissive, he hesitates. "If…if you could find someone who would be willing to show mercy, I could help get the other forsworn who realize their mistake. There are a great many who regret the attack on the Temple of Purity, who found out about it later and were appalled. Many forsworn—especially aspirants—are only there because they feel they have nowhere else to go." He pauses, frowns when he sees the hope already burning in Pelagos' eyes. "But many more do support Devos and her plan to join the Jailer. I would not want you—or anyone else foolishly walking into forsworn territory, thinking we are all waiting for open arms to welcome us home."
With a soft smile, Pelagos reaches out and takes Nikolon's hand in his. "We will find somewhere for you, so that you do have a home you can feel welcomed in."
Nikolon stares at him for a second, and Liila is sure she sees the forsworn blush, if only a little, before looking away. "You are the best of us, Pelagos." He pauses, glancing at Liila and eyeing her a moment before tilting his head back, never taking his eyes off her. "You're not so bad either, Maw Walker. Though I doubt the Archon will be pleased with either of you, if she finds out what you're doing."
"It's okay, she'll won't be the first god I've disappointed." Liila says, feigning an innocent look when Pelagos gives her a cross one.
He turns back to Nikolon, giving him another smile before pulling a small flask from a pouch on his belt, along with a purian and bread roll. "You just worry about getting your strength back. I'll come by again soon, when I can. Hopefully I'll have news on what can be done to help you and the others."
Nikolon weighs the purian in his hand. "You shouldn't come back at all."
"Well, if you're not here, I won't look for you. How's that?"
When Nikolon merely makes a noncommittal grunt, Pelagos pats his newly healed shoulder and then stands, motioning for Liila to do the same. Liila feels a little guilty as they slip back out into the brilliant light of Bastion, to see a few patrols off in the distance. They head toward the road, and she wonders if he would have stayed longer, talked longer, if she hadn't been there.
It is not until they are back on the road that Pelagos wraps her in a tight hug. "Thank you."
She hugs him back.
When he lets her go, he is all smiles. "I have been trying to mend him for almost a week now, but that spell—you said it wasn't a curse?" When Liila shakes her head, he beams. "I have been trying to figure out how to heal around that, but…thank you." He hugs her again. His grip is tight and warm. When he releases her, they start down the road. "Nikolon was a friend to me, before everything went wrong. He guided me through several cleanses, spoke with me about how some memories would not leave me, listened. I always felt…respected, with him. Like it wasn't great failing that some of my memories cling to me as they do."
Liila nods, listens. Pelagos tells her about the different times he spoke with Nikolon in the past, how he had mostly admired him from afar, how he had always been disappointed when he went through cleansings with other disciples instead. He tells her how he saw the fight that injured Nikolon happen in the sky, how he was going to make a run for the nearest warded area, when he saw the one, injured forsworn escaping the others.
"I still don't know why I did it," he says, motioning toward the air as they walk. "but I ran out, and I found where Nikolon had fallen—I didn't know it was him then. But I just…he needed help. So I went out, and I helped him. He took care of his attackers for the most part, I just kept him up. And then, when they were down, he turned to me and he…" his expression is gentle. "He held his mace up for a second, like he would attack me, too, and then he just set it down, knelt, and waited. Like he thought I would finish the job." Pelagos snorts. "I helped get him to the cliff instead. It was hard, he passed out for a little while, and I had to drag him…wings make that very difficult. Twice I thought he'd died on me."
Liila can't help but smile as she listens to him talk. And she decides, as he tells her of how Nikolon tried to send him away when he decided he would heal him and help him, that she will protect him, from anything and everything. Even the Archon.
Because Nikolon is right.
Pelagos is the best of them.
"Archon preserve us."
The words are a barely hissed whisper as Arios frowns. He seems to debate what to do for a moment before he ducks back around a corner and motions for Adrestes to join him. Even as the polemarch stares at him in bewilderment, trying to figure out what in the realm is going on, Arios peers around the corner. His feathers are sleek, as though he is ready to take flight as quickly as possible, anything to get away.
Even though they are in his temple.
"Of all the problems in all reality, I do not need that one. Not today."
Adrestes takes a step back and looks out over the temple commons. His gaze is instantly drawn to the Maw Walker, who is standing yards away, talking with others. She is relaxed and unconcerned, so he forces his gaze away, searching for whatever danger is causing Arios grief, but all he can see are a few aspirants and ascended going about their business. One of the flight lessons is being administered, and a aspirants are practicing gliding and riding winds to the top of the temple. Just as he starts to look back at Arios, he again glances at the Maw Walker. She is speaking with an ascended and one of her soulbinds. Pelagos.
He frowns.
The fact that she has more than one soulbind makes Adrestes bristle, even if it shouldn't matter. If nothing else, it makes the mortal more resilient and less likely to perish anytime soon. And anyway, it's not his business who she or any other mortal or anyone at all soulbinds with.
And yet…
And yet that is not the matter here. Arios is hiding from something, and Adrestes cannot see that there is anything or anyone who would require hiding from.
"What's wrong?"
"Do you see that mortal?" Arios asks, peering around the corner and then dragging Adrestes back around it with him so that he can't be seen, either.
"The Maw Walker?" Adrestes asks, as he didn't see anyone else. He isn't given the chance to look again, to search for whoever it is that bothers Arios so.
Arios is about to say something, but stops and stares at Adrestes, eyes wide, expression frozen in something that is akin to dismay before he peers back around the corner himself. "That is the Maw Walker?" He pauses, looking back at Adrestes. "The Maw Walker. The one who came first and is soulbound to our people."
Adrestes nods, puzzled. "Yes?"
"You're talking about the red-haired elf. With blue eyes."
Adrestes' brow pinches together, trying to remember if he ever actually learned the Maw Walker's species. "Yes?"
"That is not just any mortal, Adrestes. That is the Dragonlily," Arios says, mouth a thin line. He shakes his head. "She is a terror." He uses a soulmirror from a nearby table to angle around the corner to get another look without exposing himself. The Maw Walker and Pelagos are slowly making their way this way, and Adrestes can't help but watch his friend with growing concern as the Hand flips up his hood as though to hide himself.
"Are you sure you have the right mortal? The Maw Walker has been incredibly helpful—"
"As she can be, when it suits her." Arios says, frown firmly in place. "I barely had time to do much in the way of research about her before our…encounter, but it was all over the place. There are so many rumors, it's impossible to know what's real, but… I do know she has a complete disregard for the natural order, is more than willing to bend and break rules that don't suit her whims, and…" he shudders, then realizes that Adrestes has no idea what he's talking about. That helps him regain at least a little composure. He straightens up. "She's one of the mortals who was breaching the veilnot too long ago." Arios pauses, appraising Adrestes. "I…suppose you wouldn't know about that." When he shakes his head, Arios scowls. "It happened outside of the realm, so it wouldn't have fallen under your purview, but that mortal," he jerks his thumb over his shoulder in the direction of the Maw Walker, "and her friends figured out how to peer through and then breach the veil. And they did it with increasing regularity as they mapped out where our Watchers reside on Azeroth during their vigils."
Adrestes cannot help the way surprise bristles his feathers. The idea that any mortals would be breaching the veil with any type of regularity is horrifying. He almost wants to peer around the corner, as though he will somehow view the Maw Walker anew. Instead, he focuses on Arios. "Why? What were they doing? Bringing back the dead? Grabbing souls?"
"No, they didn't try to pull anything back to them, they were just sending things over to our side. Bribes."
"Bribes." Adrestes frowns. He thinks of the Maw Walker and cannot see her attempting to bribe anyone. "The mortals were trying to bribe us."
"With pastries." Arios throws his hands up, nearly flings the soulmirror in his hand, but manages to catch it in the last second. He sets it back down on the table.
"They weren't bribes, and they definitely weren't pastries."
Even as the words come, seemingly from nowhere, Arios freezes, his feathers fluffing for just a second before he can school himself. He looks down and past Adrestes.
Adrestes turns his head to see one of the mortals who has not allied himself with their covenant standing near them, seemingly having come up from the other side of the temple, behind them, as they focused on the Maw Walker—perhaps he had been attempting the flying exercise. He is one of the mortals who makes Adrestes shiver, if only because he so clearly should not be a mortal anymore. He is a creature who defies the balance of life and death, one Adrestes knows has been made this way through outside forces, namely those of the Scourge.
This is a soul that the ascended failed.
The mortal stares up at them with open dismay. Arios and Adrestes stare back at the small creature for a moment, and Adrestes can see the emotions shifting through him based on the way his brow and lips contort and his hands move to start an action but jerkily stop as he changes his mind.
Abruptly, he points at Arios and looks to his side, to where the Maw Walker and Pelagos are approaching, easily close enough to hear anything said now. "You said they didn't eat bagels!"
Pelagos looks as confused as Adrestes feels, though the Maw Walker simply puts her hand on the other mortal's and lowers it. "Mitchell, no."
"Don't you 'no' me!" The mortal, Mitchell, stomps a foot. "You said they couldn't eat the apology bagels!"
"Yeah, I lied," the Maw Walker replies without batting an eye. "They just don't want them."
Mitchell is aghast.
Pelagos stands there looking like he's trying very hard not to laugh. His lips are pressed together and his cheeks puffed out a little. He turns his head away to avoid eye contact with Mitchell as he looks at him.
This is the first time Adrestes has seen the Maw Walker with another mortal she is familiar with—she keeps her interactions with the other kyrian mortals rather professional, especially with the human one, whom she doesn't seem to enjoy the company of at all. The feeling is quite clearly mutual, and yet they have managed to get along without incident in their time here, which Adrestes finds impressive on both of their parts.
This mortal, however, is clearly one that the Maw Walker knows on a more personal level.
Mitchell looks at her with narrowed eyes, mouth open and ready to yell. Except he doesn't. Instead, he stands there, the wheels in his head turning slowly. "How could you? That was important and—"
"The apology bagels came about from a drunken whim. They weren't that important." Before Mitchell can argue further, the Maw Walker walks over, a little closer to Arios and motions to him. "This is literally the ascended who came and talked to me to explain about how they didn't know what the point of the bagels was and how they were completely meaningless to them."
Mitchell deflates a little when Arios nods in agreement and confirms that he was the one who spoke with the Maw Walker. "You could have at least explained it to them," Mitchell mutters, looking down and then back at them, earnest. "They weren't bribes. They were apologies."
Adrestes cannot help himself. "What were you apologizing for?"
Mitchell focuses on him, straightening a little as he motions vaguely, as though to help paint some picture of what he says. His hand gestures are meaningless to Adrestes. "You spirit healers have to watch some of the dumbest deaths ever, and it's gotta be frustrating after a while."
"It's okay," the Maw Walker says. "The ascended do not judge."
"Still, after someone misses an elevator for the seventeenth time, it has to be annoying." Mitchell prattles off several other ways that people he knows have died, all sounding equally foolish. Most involve cliffs. And repeated deaths in almost the exact same manner, as mortal healers seem to be involved with resuscitating the idiots involved, in some cases with the specific intent to allow them to again attempt whatever stupid stunt killed them the first time.
Adrestes considers that if he had to watch the mortals kill themselves in these manners over and over, he would be annoyed with them. Watching death is never easy, and having to watch damn near the same one happen on an unnecessary repeat…
He knows at least one Watcher who came back to Bastion ranting about how stupid the creatures were from the world she had had to watch. How one would die a certain way and then thirty more would do the exact same thing, how the creatures seemed unable to learn from others' mistakes. How she had wanted to send just one back to yell at the others to Stop. It.
But alas, those had been deaths she could not send them back from.
Mitchell looks disappointed as his ramblings draw to a close. "We just thought you guys could use a break, or a treat or something, to make up for all the dumb stuff."
"We do not want bagels or pastries or anything else shoved through the veil," Arios says pointedly. "We do not want anything from you, mortal. There is nothing to apologize for. Do not breach the veil, especially for so paltry a reason."
The Maw Walker closes her eyes, shakes her head as though she thinks that Arios has made a grave mistake. Pelagos is trying not to laugh at the absurdity of it all.
Sure enough, Mitchell has perked up. "Oh, so the issue is a potential security breach? That's it?"
Arios does not hide his displeasure at all. "That is but one of the many problems with what you were doing."
"You know that sending an inanimate object through the veil requires a completely different spell setup than like, sending a person or a spell, right? And the more pieces something has, the harder it is to send through, so a bomb or anything that could cause damage would be impossible." He pauses. "That's why we decided on bagels. They're one piece. We weren't sure if frosting would make things more complicated, or we'd have tried cupcakes."
"That is not the point."
Mitchell cocks his head. "What is the point? That we can't send you stuff just because someone said we can't? Why can't we? If it's not hurting anyone—"
"Because it opens the way for people to build off your spells," the Maw Walker says. "You might not mean harm, but someone could copy the spell, modify it, send something wicked through."
"I genuinely want to meet the asshole who can get ahold of my spellbook, much less read it," Mitchell snaps.
Arios is rigid, the muscle in his throat twitches. "There is a natural order to things. The different realities are not to interact because it breaks the walls between them and can lead to chaos. As you are seeing now."
Mitchell crosses his arms. "Yeah, that's not how the current breach started." He notices Pelagos looks curious and motions vaguely into the distance. "The Helm of Domination, an artifact infused with death magics that allowed the Lich King to control the Scourge, was destroyed. Breaking it tore the veil asunder."
Pelagos brow shoots up.
Before he can respond, however, Arios snaps, his words coming out in a rush. "Regardless of how the current tear in the veil started, we don't need anyone else making others. Because shoving things through the veil enough times will tear it."
"Well, no problem there, I won't be sending anything through to you ingrates any time soon."
At the assurance, Arios bristles. He looks from Mitchell to the Maw Walker and back. "You…still have the spells? In your possession."
"Yeah?"
Arios' frown is pronounced. "You should destroy them."
"There will be sunshine in the Maw before that happens," Mitchell says, rolling his eyes, then considers it. "My spellbook is well guarded."
"Everyone thinks their defenses are impenetrable. Until they aren't. I cannot count the number of souls who I have brought across the veil who were convinced of their genius, only for it to fail them at the most crucial of moments," Arios says, tone firm. "Get rid of the spells."
"And who exactly are you to order me around?"
"Arios Riftbearer, Hand of Wisdom." Arios straightens a little, motions to the mortal. Adrestes can't help but notice that he seems to motion to the Maw Walker, as well. "Regardless of my title, consider the experience I have, the things I have seen. Do not be so stubborn that you cannot see reason."
Mitchell stops, appraises Arios with an expression that says Arios' authority is not recognized in the slightest. He shakes his head and looks at the Maw Walker. "Instead of lying, you should've just told me they were anal bastards."
"Be nice," the Maw Walker says.
"Nice like them?" He gives Adrestes and Arios a onceover that says he thinks something is wrong with them. Even as the Maw Walker starts to say something, magic bursts to life around Mitchell's hands as he begins to conjure a spell. In a breath, his form his fading as he teleports himself away, a single middle finger extended toward the sky as he fades out.
The Maw Walker shakes her head, turning slowly to look up at Arios. She points to where her fellow mortal was. "If he starts sending things through the veil again, that's on you. I did my part."
"You were supposed to destroy the spell."
"You said to make sure he never cast it again."
"You should have destroyed the spell," Arios repeats, tone strained. "Or the whole spellbook—"
"Have you ever tried to get a mage's personal spellbook from them?" She points again to where Mitchell was. "You can't. They enchant them. With backlashes and all manner of other trap spells." She points at her face. "I lost my eyebrows trying to get that book."
Adrestes has never seen Arios look so displeased. His frown is pronounced, his arms crossed, feathers sleek as he stares pointedly down at the Maw Walker, as though his disapproval alone will send her running to go fix things.
She just crosses her arms and frowns back at him.
For the first time, Adrestes can see why Arios might not appreciate her as much as he does.
"At least it didn't kill you," Pelagos offers, trying to lighten the mood.
The Maw Walker's frown deepens. "Oh, it killed me. Twice. Then Mitchell switched the spells up a little to see who was after his book."
Arios stiffens. "You valued your eyebrows more than your life?"
"I'm not gonna stay dead," she replies, annoyed. She gives them a dismissive shrug. "It took three months for my eyebrows to grow back in. Mitchell called it my mark of shame. And then told me I was too dumb to ever be a mage, so I really needed to stop trying to learn in secret," she pauses, considers it, adds, "He did say that if it really meant that much to me, he would tutor me, but that I'd be lucky to be able to light a candle."
Pelagos doesn't know if he should grimace or smile, and instead just kind of stands there, awkwardly. "Oh."
An awkward silence settles over them.
The Maw Walker sighs, shifts uncomfortably. "I couldn't get the page out of the book and couldn't destroy the book itself, so I finally told him that the spirit healers couldn't eat the bagels. That the bagels just sat there, molding and getting possessed by angry spirits."
Pelagos relaxes a little, pleased that the conversation is shifting. "Can spirits possess food?"
"Oh yeah, they can possess anything," she says. "My point, however, is that I did what I had to to get the result you wanted," she points at Arios. "So you have no room to complain. I held up my end of our bargain. If he goes back to his shenanigans to spite you, that's not my responsibility."
Adrestes can feel the displeasure rolling off of Arios, though the Hand doesn't say anything. However, that barely registers with Adrestes, as he is instead thinking of what the Maw Walker has said. "That mortal killed you twice."
She seems genuinely surprised by the anger in his tone. "Well, I wouldn't put it that way." When Adrestes' frown deepens, she again motions vaguely to where Mitchell was. "There were a lot of escalating backlashes that led up to that. It was set up so that anyone who tried to touch or take the book would get shocked and then burned and then…well, if you're dumb enough to mess with it too many times, after all the warnings—"
"He killed you twice."
"The defensive spells set up around his spellbook killed me twice," she says. Then she motions to herself. "And it probably would have happened at least one more time if he hadn't set it up to just burn off my eyebrows instead." She glances around at them and then shrugs. "He was lying in wait because he had figured out someone was tampering with his spellbook, and figured it would be easier to talk to someone without eyebrows than someone dead." She lets out a half laugh. "He was so relieved it was me—he'd thought some group was trying to steal his life's work."
At her laughter, Arios bristles. "Death means nothing to you, does it?"
The accusation makes something shift inside the Maw Walker and her mood goes sour. She glares up at him. "I gave my word I would make sure that spell was never used again, and considering what I was trying to repay, I chose not to worry about the price on my end." She pauses, composes herself, her expression falling neutral in a way that Adrestes has not seen before. It makes her look almost like a statue. "And there have been no breaches with that spell, and I've not attempted anything either, so do you really have room to complain?"
"What was the bargain?" Adrestes asks.
The Maw Walker looks up at him, like she may dismiss his question at first. However, instead, her gaze drops, almost as though she is purposely avoiding his. "I thought the spirit healers might have information I could use, so I was trying to get in touch with them, and knowing that I wanted to get in touch with them is what got Mitchell and the others on their track to send gifts. That and a lot of alcohol." She seems to struggle with herself a moment before saying, "I will talk to him. To make sure he understands how serious an issue it is."
Pelagos starts to reach out to put his hand on her shoulder. Whether it is in solidarity or compassion, Adrestes can't say.
The Maw Walker abruptly claps her hands together, making her soulbind stall. "Well, since Mitchell's ditched us, I suppose there's not much left to do here." She pauses, looks at Pelagos. "Unless you were planning to fly the gauntlet again."
Pelagos offers her a small smile. "I'm done for the day." He offers a salute to Adrestes and Arios, and the Maw Walker mimics his actions. It is Arios who waves them at ease.
As the two head off, Adrestes looks to his friend. Arios has pushed his hood back already and is massaging his temples with his fingers. "Those fools playing with the veil again is the last thing we need…"
"What was the information she was after?"
For the first time since he's seen the Maw Walker, Arios' expression grows softer, sadder. "That curse of hers. She wanted to know if we could remove it."
Adrestes winces at that. He knows the answer before Arios can say it because the kyrian have never been well versed with curses. They have never had a need to be. The few times a Bearer was cursed during their sacred duties, the Archon sent for help from other realms to remove it.
"She could go to Ardenweald," Adrestes speculates.
It is not the first time he has considered this, her curse.
In fact, it is something that plagues him quite often, if he is honest, in his rare downtime, and on occasion even as he is relaying messages and the like around the realm. His mind tracks back to how pretty she was with teal hair and white wings—not that she is not pretty now, for she is.
He winces when he is alone if he thinks of the way her curse made her wings rot as she was forced back to life. The idea makes his own wings ache. He has had nightmares about what happened, a few times now. In his dreams, he is always trying to stop the rot from coming, from spreading, because he is certain that that sort of damage cannot be inflicted upon a soul without some of it lingering.
He sometimes wonders if there is damage to her soul that cannot be seen because of the way the curse wraps around her, warps the impression of her that he can feel.
He thinks of the way it flickered against Pelagos' healing when it brought her back. Of how stiffly she moved when it was fading, like her soul thought it no longer belonged in that body.
Part of Adrestes whispers that her soul doesn't belong in her mortal shell, that she should have been rid of it a long time ago, though he doesn't know where this notion comes from.
Perhaps it is just because he knows she has died more than once, more than any mortal should.
He has wanted to ask her about her curse himself, on a few occasions, wanted to hear her say that it is not so grave an issue, that he need not fret over her wellbeing, but he can never find the words to breach the topic, and when he does try to talk to her, it is always painfully awkward.
He is not sure where things went wrong between them, but something has.
He enjoys her company more than the others mortals, and he knows that he is playing favorites, so he makes the effort to make sure that he does not focus solely on her, that he includes the others, deals with their issues in a timely manner.
Though…of late, she seems to dismiss herself while he talks to the others, if her official business with him is already done, leaving whatever little things they were talking about unfinished and forgotten.
Thinking back, he wonders if it is something he did when she died. If perhaps she blames him for not managing to stop both of her attackers instead of just the one.
It was his responsibility to keep her safe…
"By the Archon, no…"
Adrestes snaps out of his thoughts, realizing that he has been staring after the retreating form of the Maw Walker. He can't see that she's done anything to further agitate his friend. When he looks to Arios, the Hand shakes his head, eyes wide with disbelief.
"Please tell me that's not the mortal you're infatuated with."
Adrestes brow pinches. "I've told you—"
"Don't you lie to me, polemarch."
That throws him. Words will not come, and so instead Adrestes stands there, staring at Arios with his mouth slightly open, frozen in his bewilderment. Finally, just as Arios looks like he thinks that perhaps he has overstepped, Adrestes shakes his head. "I'll admit that I am…intrigued by her."
"Intrigued?"
"Intrigued."
"If that's all it is…" Arios considers it, tilts his head one way and then the other. "You know, she's the only of our mortal trio whose background check is still ongoing," Arios points after her, subtly so that if either Maw Walker or Pelagos glance back, they will not see. "And it's because she's a terror, like I said. There are so many rumors about what she has or hasn't done that it's almost impossible to get an accurate record. And I know for a fact she started at least half a dozen of those rumors. Like courting the fallen prince of her people. Never happened, but still somehow highly circulated in certain groups. And there's gaps. I know she put on quite a show about what she did during her world's fight against the Legion, but from the information I've come across, she seems like she just disappeared for months during the invasion. Months. And even worse, it's like she never even existed before the Scourge. Or if she did, I haven't been able to find anything about her yet."
"I can't imagine it's easy to get information from the mortal realms," Adrestes offers, as though that will excuse the gaps.
Arios stares at him, shakes his head. "Some of it, sure. But I'm telling you. No one knew the Dragonlily before the Scourge. It's like she didn't exist."
"Maybe she went by another title?" Adrestes asks, without thinking. Even as Arios' brow pinches, Adrestes shrugs. "If someone tried to look her up as the Maw Walker, they'd only find her for a short period. She was something else before that. And a lot of people do refer to her as 'the' Dragonlily, so maybe that's more of a title, too?"
At that, Arios stops, considers it. "Another title… another name…" He frowns. "That would be on brand. Why did I think of that?" Even as Adrestes shrugs, Arios glares, points at him. "Still. She is very likely the worst mortal to get attached to."
Adrestes can't help his smile. "I wouldn't be so quick to judge, ascended." He smiles at the way his friend scowls. "After all, you may find that in those missing years, she was an absolute saint."
"I very much doubt that."
"You never know."
Liila is surprised.
Arios Riftbearer.
When she was trying to dissuade Mitchell from playing with the veil, she hadn't realized that the ascended she was talking to was actually the one she had spoken with before.
Despite their conversation, the veil had still been between them. Liila had used a potion to allow her to see and hear what was beyond it for a short while, as she had to try to communicate with all the other spirit healers—Watchers. But what she had seen had been distorted. She'd known he was dressed differently than the others, that he was bigger than the others, but beyond that, there wasn't anything.
As soon as their conversation had ended, she'd had trouble remembering his voice or if he had even been male or female. If not for the notes she had taken during the conversation—notes he told her to take—she might not have been able to hang on to any of the eerie encounter.
She has to bite back the urge to laugh when she realizes she's been thinking of sending him flowers.
He was rather adamant that they not send anything, wasn't he?
Though…would it go against his wishes if they're on the same side of the veil?
And would it do anything to make him less cross with her?
Because lying was the only way she'd gotten Mitchell to stop in his quest to show the spirit healers some appreciation.
She has already chased down Mitchell, with Kleia in tow. Kleia has done a better job of explaining what Watchers do and why they need to not be bothered while they are on duty. Mitchell is miffed that Liila is harassing him about it still, but has promised that nothing else will be sent through the veil, upon his return to the world of the living.
She's not sure how much she trusts that, but she did promise Arios that the spell would never be used again.
And he had held up his end of the deal, so she couldn't very well just abandon hers, even if she did feel like she had done her part.
Regardless, she wants to smooth things over with Arios, and seeing as Polemarch Adrestes seems to be friendly with him, she has come to Elysian Hold to ask for ways to do that.
Only the polemarch is out on patrol and no one can tell her when he'll be back.
She sighs, swinging her arms behind her and forward as she peers up at the sky, wondering if she'll be able to tell which direction he's coming from. She should, with that damned pull.
Even as she considers that maybe she can just wander the realm and see if that draw will simply drag her to wherever he is, a voice whispers in her ear, "What're you looking for, Maw Walker?"
Liila turns her head to find Thanikos kneeling beside her. He looks a little disappointed that she didn't jump, but brushes it off and grins at her.
"I was hoping to talk to Polemarch Adrestes." When Thanikos nods and tells her the same as the other sentries she's asked, she motions to him. "Maybe you can help me, though." His brow arches and he bows his head a little, motioning for her to go on. "How well do you know Arios?"
"We've been friends and colleagues for longer than you've existed," he offers. "Is this about that little dialogue of yours?"
"You heard?"
"Arios does not like your lack of respect for authority."
Liila is tempted to say that respect is something that is earned, not automatically given just because someone was given a position of power, but she chooses not to. She doesn't want to argue with Thanikos. "Well, I would like to make amends."
There is clear amusement in his eyes as he appraises her. "Did you really map out where our Watchers are stationed?"
Liila rolls her eyes slowly toward him, crossing her arms. "I found and talked to a few. I'm sure you'll be proud to know none of them told me anything other than I needed to mind my mortal business." When Thanikos snorts, she motions out toward the Temple of Wisdom. "Am I doomed then? Has he decided I'm just too awful to deal with?"
"Honestly, I think he's a bit upset with himself at the moment," Thanikos says, considering it. "He didn't think he was asking as much of you as he did." When Liila's brow pinches together, confused, Thanikos reaches out and pats her head with a large hand, and it reminds her so much of Haa'aji that for a second her heart hurts. "He didn't think he was asking you to die for a cause."
"He didn't ask too much."
Rather than answer, right away, he just smiles. Then he pats her head again. "I'm sure you'll win him over with your charm."
Liila lets out a dry laugh. "What charm?"
With a wink, Thanikos stands. "The best thing you can do to make amends is what you're already doing. Saving reality and all that."
Liila sighs, but accepts the advice with as much grace as she can muster, curtseying to the Hand as he inspects the hold. She turns to go, but pauses. "Oh, I do have another question."
"Another thing you were going to ask the polemarch?"
When she nods, she can swear that Thanikos looks amused, but nods for her to continue.
"I was wondering if there were ever any examples of forsworn being accepted back to the Path."
His humor is gone in a breath. "The forsworn are a new development, so no."
"Those who fall from the path, then," Liila corrects. "Because that happened in the past, right?"
Thanikos crosses his arms, starts to answer, but then reconsiders and sits on the top step and motions for her to join him. Liila does so. Thanikos leans forward, his forearms against his knees as he stares out across the commons. "It was extremely rare for people to fall from the Path before the drought. Even if the Path took time, there was still always movement, no matter how slow. There was comfort. There was the pursuit of crafts and music. Time to work on hobbies and commune with nature."
"You don't have that now?"
"Not like it was," Thanikos says. "We've had to put a stop to festivals and training courses. There's no anima to spare for the arts. No anima for the forges or the scribes. No anima for the chefs and bakers to try new creations, no anima for the arborists to try new techniques. Barely enough to keep the orchards functioning at all. It happened by inches," Thanikos says. "First we had to cut back the festivals. Scale them down. Then they had to stop. Just until the drought ended. Then the scribes needed to use less paper, less ink. The forgelites needed to make do with less ore. Then there wasn't enough for all of them to work at once. People had to share, people had to choose who could pursue their crafts and who had to wait."
"And finally everyone was left waiting," Liila says.
Thanikos nods. "I think it's easier for those of us who are already ascended. We still have our rotations bearing or watching, our duties beyond the realm. The aspirants, though…they can do nothing but wait to resume their rites, which seem more and more like they will never start again." He sighs. "To answer your question, though, no. Before the drought, no fallen aspirant ever came back to the Path. Once they fell, they were sent back to the Arbiter to be rejudged and sent to an afterlife that would suit them better."
"Did any ascended ever fall?"
Thanikos tilts his head back, thinking. "Not in my time here. It seems like I did hear about one, long, long ago. I don't know any details. I imagine they were taken to the Arbiter, too."
"But that can't be done now, so even if they fall, they're stuck here, still." Liila murmurs.
Thanikos arches his brow. "Feeling sorry for them?"
"A little," Liila says. She leans back on her hands where she's sitting, staring down at her feet. "I can't imagine knowing I didn't belong, but knowing I had nowhere else to go."
"Well, we did try to help them," Thanikos says. Then his laugh turns bitter. "Or we thought we did. Devos suggested sending any who fell to her, that she would try to guide them back. I suppose we know why she really wanted them, now."
Liila is quiet for a moment, feeling herself wilt at the thought. These people needed help, needed understanding and compassion, and instead they were used, deceived. What could have happened to them, if Devos hadn't been in charge of them? If they had been allowed to work through their doubts and fears?
Maybe they really could have found a place here, if they had been given a real chance.
"Do you think they can be saved?" Liila asks, without thinking.
"After what they've done?" Thanikos asks. He grimaces. "It was the forsworn who disabled the wards that protected my temple, that paved the way for the maldraxxi attack." He's quiet a moment before adding. "We lost roughly eighty percent of our disciples, more of our acolytes, more of the aspirants who were studying with us."
"I'm sorry," Liila says. She reaches out and puts her hand on his arm.
His smile is sad as he places a large hand over hers. "We would have lost far more if not for you. You and your mortal plague spells."
Liila isn't sure what to say. As she flounders, Thanikos abruptly reaches out and catches her in a headlock, tousling her hair with his free hand. "You've got a good heart, you know that?"
Even as Liila thwacks his arm, trying to get him to let her go, she feels that familiar tug, and something stirs in her chest. She barely manages to peek out and see that Polemarch Adrestes is hovering in front of them, above the stairs. His expression is impossible to read.
When Thanikos finally lets Liila go, she quickly moves to comb her fingers through her hair and tame the tangles he's left.
"What have I missed?" Polemarch Adrestes asks.
"Just the rise of Polemarch Thanikos," Thanikos says, puffing his chest and fluffing his feathers out for emphasis. "It turns out I am an exemplary substitute." He glances down at Liila for back up and so she bows her head to him in deference.
"I think Xandria will miss you terribly."
He feigns a serious expression, nods. "You're right. The promotion wasn't meant to be." He hops to his feet and bows to Polemarch Adrestes. "Your position is secure."
"Thank you," Polemarch Adrestes says, a wry smile in place.
He waits until Thanikos has taken to the air before descending onto the platform himself. Liila stands up, offering Thanikos a wave before he heads off and then realizing that she has the polemarch's attention.
He stands in his usual spot, tall and proud as ever. His smile is gone as he looks at her. "You needed something?"
Liila straightens her robes a little, trying to make herself even a tiny bit more presentable. "I…well, actually I talked to Thanikos about it, so…"
He frowns.
Even as she considers asking him about the forsworn, and if they could ever be reintegrated into the kyrian ways, she wonders if it will draw too much attention if she asks more than one person so soon, if it will bring scrutiny to her and her soulbinds.
As it is, she can brush off the topic now as curiosity. If she keeps pressing, her loyalty could come into question and if people find out that Pelagos is helping a forsworn, she doesn't doubt it will end just as poorly as Nikolon predicts.
She considers asking instead about Arios after all, getting a second opinion.
However, even as she opens her mouth to ask, an ascended is there, calling the polemarch away on business within the hold. He nods to them and then looks at her, his wings beginning to unfurl before tugging back against him. "Was there anything else?"
"Nothing important," she says.
His lips are a thin line. He barely gives her a nod before he is off, and Liila is left standing there and wishing very much that she had been able to think of anything to ask him about, if only to hear his voice.
Instantly, she scolds herself and heads off. There is far too much to do for her to be loitering around like a fool. And he didn't seem impressed with her and Thanikos' joking around anyway. He's probably right there with Arios in his opinion of her.
For some reason, that thought hurts.
As Liila's time in Bastion winds on, there is one thing she knows with growing certainty.
Polemarch Adrestes is a hard man to read.
It has been just shy of a week since her last encounter with the man, but Liila just can't seem to let it go, and it's bothering her more than usual. Especially the way he watched her and Thanikos fool around with such a…neutral expression. Like he wanted to chastise them for not taking things seriously.
The more she thinks about it, the more she is convinced that he was not pleased with them.
Though why…
Could he really be so strict that he's against any smidgeon of fun someone might have?
Or is it something else?
Is it because it's her?
Half the time, he seems displeased to see Liila, and that's when he's not simply disinterested in her presence. If there is anyone else around, he tends to focus on them more than her, and if she comes up to speak with him alone it is like he tries to speak as quickly as possible, like he is trying to limit the amount of time he has to be near her.
Or like he's pulling his own teeth out in pausing to make sure he has not forgotten to tend to something she needs.
She's gotten to know his various frowns very well and can typically tell his exact mood based on which one he gives her, from minorly inconvenienced to wanting to break something.
Anyone else and she doesn't think it would bug her so much, but with him…
With him she has this inexplicable draw that pulls her to him, and it hurts that he doesn't seem to want her anywhere near him. It leaves a sort of emptiness in that tug, like she knows that it will be there, but that it is little more than a whispered torture.
She wishes that she had this draw toward someone else, someone who doesn't mind her presence. Thanikos, maybe. He's kind. He doesn't always make the wisest choices, but he's nice to her and always quick to offer a smile and a compliment.
If not for that pull, she thinks she wouldn't mind Polemarch Adrestes as much. She wouldn't feel slighted as she does.
And if she could just work with Thanikos or Kalisthene, she wouldn't have to worry about it at all. That pull only seems to rear its head when the polemarch is nearby, so there's nothing to make her miserable when he's absent.
But of course, she cannot pick who she works with.
She can, however, limit her time around the polemarch, and so she does. If it is possible to pawn off a status report or missive on someone else to deliver to him, she does.
Because she's watched him, very carefully, over the last three weeks, and he doesn't do what he does to her to anyone else. She's sure of it. It's not just because she's not ascended or not a kyrian. If he wanted to limit his time around her because she was mortal, that would be one thing.
But she's seen him smile at Carroll.
Carroll.
He's one of the most disagreeable prats she's ever had the misfortune of knowing and the polemarch will smile at him and not her.
She wishes she could get rid of that strange pull. She wishes she didn't know whenever he shows up, wishes that her gaze didn't wander to him when she lets her guard down. She wishes she didn't have these strange memories of him where his guard is down and his eyes are kind.
She wishes she wasn't being rejected for…something she doesn't know she's done. That he would just tell her what it is that bothers him so that she could make sure not to do it anymore.
Though, for that to happen, she'd have to give him the opportunity, and in the last week, she has not.
She's being pitiful.
Liila slumps down against one of the chaises in a small corner of Hero's Rest. If there were a sun, this spot would get shade most of the day, she thinks, but of course there is not one and so it is as bright as every other crevice in this realm.
Pelagos sits with her, and she has mimicked the way he stretches out on his own chaise. She is smaller than who these things were made for, and it makers her feel like a child, trying to play with adults.
Warmth spreads through her, an assurance that no one thinks she is small and helpless.
Liila sinks down on her chair, so that just her eyes peer over the high armrest as she stares at him.
He laughs.
Since finding out his secret about aiding Nikolon, he has been even warmer toward her than he was before, impossible as it is to imagine. She knows he has been to see Nikolon twice since. He has told her in private that the forsworn is healing nicely now, that he only lingers in that cave now because he has nowhere else to go.
It has been awkward because Pelagos has not told Kleia yet, and Liila feels like it is not her place to tell Kleia, either. Their soulbind knows they share something that is not with her, but not what. Liila has felt the small curl of loneliness in Kleia, and she seeks to mitigate it in other ways, in spending time with her and journeying with her, though that feels a little like deception when she is out with Kleia, knowing that Pelagos is tending to someone branded an enemy of the realm.
It's…messy.
But Kleia doesn't seem to dwell on it. Nor does she pry.
Likewise, neither she nor Pelagos pry into any of Liila's past. They always perk up when she tells a story or offers something, but they seem to know how wary she is about her privacy. They can likely feel it.
She wonders if that is her main feeling, like Kleia's determination and Pelagos' sorrow.
Kleia lands as Pelagos mimics Liila, peering at her over the edge of his own armrest. She has a few different scrolls and missives in her hands, and Liila doesn't doubt that they are going to be on the move shortly. However, Kleia doesn't immediately launch into any objectives she's been given, so there is at least a small lull.
She settles onto a third chair. It's different than most of the others here, at Hero's Rest. There's no back to it, and it lets her wings hang down behind her. She has lamented to them but once how there are many little things one must grow accustomed to once one has wings, including having to find new ways to sit and sleep. She does not wish anything were different, but is very dutiful in warning Pelagos about what he will need to prepare himself for, when he gets his own wings.
Pelagos always beams at her when she says things like that, and it makes Liila's heart swell.
This spot has unofficially become theirs. Liila is certain she's never seen anyone else sit here, and the one time she noticed someone trying to claim Pelagos' chaise, the stewards shooed them away, insisting there were other chaises in other corners.
Sometimes Stanikos joins them, though he is rather shy about it. When he is here, he is quick to give Liila's hand a squeeze, but he is still a little shy about joining conversations and doing anything more than listening with quiet awe as they tell stories and make plans.
Sometimes Clora or Sophone or Sika stop by. Once, Mikanikos was there, waiting for them, irritated that they were not exactly where he was told they would be when he wanted them there.
For the most part, however, it is just the three of them.
Liila stretches out, so that her cheek rests on the armrest as she watches Kleia, waiting for orders.
However, before Kleia can say anything about the local tasks, a voice interrupts.
"Dragonlily!"
Liila perks up, looking around and locating Lash as he saunters across the commons toward her, Duskeh loyally tagging along, despite pausing once to inspect a nearby steward and sniff their feathers. The saber didn't seem sure what to do when the steward turns and pats his head.
By the time Lash has reached them, two other stewards have carried over an extra seat for him. He watches as they toddle off to do other chores and then looks back at Liila, arching a brow. "Bastion's dredgers?"
"They're much happier and treated far better than dredgers," Liila replies. She does not go to Revendreth often, wanting to avoid Denathrius' reach as much as possible, but she can still remember the bleak looks the dredgers gave her, how they fretted over being 'mucked' if they messed up a task.
To even think that a steward might have the threat of death held over them if they failed to clean fast enough or…
She is glad that they are free to do as they please, even if what pleases them most is helping others and keeping things tidy.
Lash offers a small nod and then takes a seat, a bit startled to find a steward is beside him again, offering drinks. "I help!" he chirps at him when he notices Lash is watching him and then hurries off.
Lash holds the glass in his hands—despite being an orc, it is large for him. He appraises it, takes a sniff, and then a sip. Then he nods and drinks. "It takes me by surprise every time I come here, but this realm is a lot…brighter than Revendreth."
"It is," Liila agrees.
"Didn't you come here straight from the Maw?" Lash asks. "How did you not go blind?"
"Magic," Liila says, waving her hand in an arc without conjuring any.
Lash rolls his eyes. Then he sets his glass down on a table that he pauses to inspect because it definitely wasn't there a moment ago, and glances around for the steward who has to have brought it. The nearest ones are all busy doing their own tasks, however, and he finally looks back at them. "Have you heard about the Ember Court?"
A chorus of 'no's meet him. He looks a little disappointed and then sighs. "That's to be expected I suppose." He motions back over his shoulder, as though he is pointing to the realm he usually aids. "Prince Renathal thinks that the realms should build better relations by mingling, and what better way to mingle than to come together for court—parties so to speak."
"That sounds like a great idea," Pelagos offers.
Kleia nods.
Lash looks from each of them to Liila and then back around, seemingly surprised by the enthusiasm he is being met with. Liila can't help but smile at that as he goes on. "Well, in order for that to happen, we need to invite people from other realms to come." He hesitates, motions to Liila. "Do you have any good ideas? I don't want to ask the wrong person or insult someone by not inviting them or…" He relaxes a little when he notices the curious looks from the kyrian and Liila's arched brow. He runs a hand down his face. He looks so much more exhausted than the last time she saw him, a couple weeks ago. "Maybe I'm making too big a deal of this, but… Venthyr politics are maddening enough as it is. It's damned near impossible to so much as wave at someone without making four enemies and two unintentional rivals."
He tells them of how there is now a venthyr noble trying to steal Howl from his wife, Veena, and how Veena had to duel the noble to get them to back off. The duel wasn't nearly as impressive as it could have been, considering Veena is a holy priest and it gave her a distinct upper hand against the venthyr in question.
Liila has to say she doesn't mind missing out on all of that. What little interactions she did have with the nobles of Revendreth were more than enough for one lifetime. Well, all save Theotar. He's a decent sort, and whenever she sneaks into the realm, she makes sure to visit him before she goes.
Lash motions to her. "So…do you know who I could invite from here? To go to court? I don't want to offend anyone here by asking the wrong person or just inviting people in the wrong order or…well. I thought I'd see if you had suggestions."
"Now, what exactly is the Ember Court? A party, you said?" Liila asks, wanting to make sure she doesn't somehow make things worse for Lash once he gets back to Revendreth.
"Well, from what I can tell, yes. A more formal one than anything we ever went to. Prince Renathal will host a court every so often, and people from the realms will come together to discuss plans for the future and relax a little, too." Lash scratches at the back of his neck, clearly uncomfortable. "There will be refreshments, of course. Maybe some entertainment? We're still scrounging up the necessary things, but…we really need help from all the realms, if we're going to make this into something worthwhile."
"Sika can come."
Lash startles and turns to find the steward standing beside him. He blinks, then glances around. "Who is Sika?"
"Sika is Sika," Sika says, motioning to herself. "It sound like you need help, yes?" When Lash nods, Sika nods back, knowingly. "Sika will come. Sika will help."
"That's a great idea!" Pelagos exclaims, smiling widely. "Stewards are fantastic representatives of Bastion!"
"We only found here," Sika agrees.
Lash's brow pinched a little. "When I said represent…"
"Sika very busy now, but I come when you call." She nods, pats Lash and then Duskeh, who sits beside dutifully beside his master. She offers everyone what looks to be strudels as she sits in another chair that was definitely not there a moment ago.
The table is now in the middle of the group, where the strudels rest, and Lash is trying to figure out when it was moved, if the way his gaze keeps darting to where it was and where it's at now is any indication.
Kleia appraises their newest addition, and speaks carefully. "Now Sika, I know you like to help—"
"I do-hoo!"
"But we talked about taking on too much at a time, remember?"
Sika makes a few chirping noises and dismisses Kleia's concern. "Sika help. That final."
Liila bites her lip as Lash dares to give her a questioning look, as though wondering if this is alright.
"Sika is the assistant of the forgelite prime," Liila says. "She's very important."
Sika tilts her head, listening, then nods. "Yes. Sika help forgelite in Olympic Village. Keep things running."
Lash offers her a salute. "It's good to meet you, Sika."
Sika's feathers fluff with glee before she offers her own salute. "Yes. More friends always good."
Lash takes out a large scrap of paper and pauses, asking Sika to spell her name before jotting it down. "So, I will be sure to let them know about Sika," he nods to the steward who chirps back happily. "And then I should have a few others, too. And if you have suggestions for the other realms…"
Liila arches her brow. "Not going to hit up Mitchell and the others?"
"I don't really know anyone who went to Ardenweald," Lash says, reluctantly, "And I'd trust Mitchell to pick people to represent Maldraxxus about as far as I can throw him." He pauses, looking to Kleia, Sika, and Pelaogs before clarifying, "which is to say he might get a couple right, but the chance that he'll mess things up is pretty high, too." He hesitates, "Veena is asking around Ardenweald and Howl's asking around Maldraxxus right now. We figure if we can each get four of five names, we can have the prince vet them and figure out who should go on the lists and…well, you've talked to people from every realm, fought alongside them…" he trails off, shrugging.
"How big are these parties going to be?" Liila asks.
"Honestly, I don't know how big they'll end up, but for now, the one we had was rather small," Lash shrugs again. "The goal is to get bigger as word spreads and all that."
Liila arches her brow, nods. That there are to be parties is intriguing. That they are to have people representing the realms… She asks about any names from Revendreth or directions Lash has been given. If she knows who is coming from Revendreth, she can suggest rough equivalents from the other realms. He explains about the cryptkeeper coming to the first court and how Theotar has said that once things get rolling, they may someday invite the Countess herself.
So a harvester. Liila considers it. Harvesters are basically the paragons of Revendreth, so the end goal is to be something grand indeed.
For now, though, Lash is considering getting Stonehead to come. Liila has to be reminded who he is, as her interactions with the biggun were limited.
"Pelagos and Kleia could go," Liila offers, glancing at each of them.
Pelagos frowns. "Well, I'm just an aspirant. I don't really have important stature or…anything. And if you're already inviting Sika, she would probably outrank me, so to speak."
Kleia drums her fingers on her knees, ruffles her feathers and then settles them back. "Well, if we could pave the way for someone higher up, I suppose that would be an honor. And we could learn about the dos and don'ts so that we can make sure mistakes are not made by those of greater import."
"Maybe one of the Hands could come," Pelagos suggests. "Thanikos, Hand of Courage, or Voithe, Hand of Humility… Assuming there is someone who could handle their tasks for the day or so they are gone—I don't imagine they would be gone much longer than that?"
Lash agrees that courts are likely not going to be more than an afternoon or evening at most. He says he's not sure about where or if people will be housed when they make the trip over, that he will ask about it.
"I'm sure someone could step up and fill in for them, then," Kleia agrees. "The Paragons will likely be too busy to attend anything until the forsworn can be properly dealt with, but I don't think it would be too much to ask a Hand. At worst, they would just have to decline and come another time."
They spell the names for Lash as he jots them down.
Liila and Sika brainstorm a few others who might be alright for lower ranking parties, and Lash mulls over the idea that the court might someday be powerful enough to actually invite the paragons themselves. He grins at the group. "Of course, the Archon is always welcome to swing by."
"That not likely," Sika says, even as the others start to laugh. She gently explains how the Archon is very, very busy. Lash politely listens, not bothering to interrupt and explain that it was a joke.
The atmosphere around them feels light, and Liila has to say that this is the sort of thing she wouldn't mind doing more often. When everything is always doom and gloom, it wears on the soul and hers is already so tired.
Lash asks about a few other ascended he has met on brief forays into the realm, to see if anyone he knows might be eligible to come.
"Oh, you could invite Polemarch Adrestes." Liila is not sure why she says it.
From everything she's heard, the polemarch is a man of routines and hates when anything interrupts them. And he hardly seems like the type to go to parties.
And yet…
Pelagos sits up a little straighter in his seat. He has a faint smile as he flashes her a look that she doesn't quite understand. He's radiating warmth, but she doesn't know how to interpret that, either. Rather than say anything to her, he looks back at Lash. "Will Liila be invited to these courts?"
"I…don't know," Lash admits.
"Why would I be?" Liila asks, puzzled. She can already think of a dozen reasons she shouldn't go, the top one being she just doesn't want to. "I'm mortal, remember."
Lash laughs. "Ah, but you're the Maw Walker."
"So are you."
"I'm a maw walker," Lash clarifies, pointing to himself. Then he points at her. "You're the Maw Walker. There's a difference, and everyone knows it. Draven still growls the title whenever he refers to you." He grins. "He's a bit bitter than you didn't come back to Revendreth."
"Tell him it's because he threw me off a cliff," Liila says, teasingly. "It hurt my feelings, among other things."
Lash cackles at that, shakes his head. "You know, I explained your curse to him, how easy it was for Denathrius to make you a useless pile of flesh and bone, and he just scoffed. He said that Denathrius could make him a useless pile of rock with little effort, but that's not stopping him from doing what's right."
Liila scowls playfully. "Tell him to stop being such a gossip and to call me Dragonlily like everyone else."
"He'll probably just refer to you as the Maw Walker more often, if I do that."
Liila rolls her eyes and dramatically falls back on the chair she's on, arm slung over her eyes. When Lash is done laughing, she sits back up, makes a few suggestions for who to invite from the other realms, offering a brief description of the different people. She admits she doesn't know if they're the best choices, but that she thinks the margraves are likely the equivalent to harvesters and she's pretty sure the only margraves left are enemies, so the next highest ranks to invite—to aspire to invite—would be the barons and baronesses, like Draka and Vashj. With the night fae, she suggests one or two of the droman.
When he finally heads off, Lash seems to be in considerably better spirits, hopeful about this mysterious court. Duskeh picks up on it and trots along with him cheerfully, mirroring the bounce in his master's step.
Indeed, the day seems like it is going to be a good one for everyone. Kleia reviews a few minor tasks—nothing pressing—that should be handled over the next couple days, and the four of them left—Sika has stayed—enjoy the quiet that settles over them.
Or so Liila thinks.
It turns out that not everyone is content to enjoy the quiet.
"Maw Walker is hurt?"
Sika has been watching Liila for a while now, curious. Concerned.
When Liila simply arches a brow, Sika pushes, "Mortal friend say Maw Walker is cursed?"
"Oh, right." Liila waves her hand, dismissing it. "Pelagos and Kleia actually saw the affects…" The other two wince, nod. "It's… It doesn't stop me from doing anything important."
Sika's brow is pinched, her head tilted ever so slightly. "But curses are not good."
"No, they're not."
Sika stares at Liila, blinking a few times as the wheels turn in her head.
Liila leans over and offers her a reassuring pat on her hand. "It's fine—"
"Curses can be undone, yes?"
"It's…" Liila winces at that. She doesn't want to talk about this. "We call it a curse, but it's a bit…more than that."
This is a topic that follows her, anywhere she goes where she stays too long. She had hoped that people having seen it in action earlier would have sated any curiosity about it, but it occurs to her that in an entire realm, a dozen people seeing her die isn't very many.
Oh, this will not be fun.
She focuses on memories of studying curses with druids rather than what actually happened to her. She knows that her expression will be blank as she talks—in her past, her friends called them void tantrums, where rather than throw a fit, she just managed to shut off any display of emotion. A blank face and a monotone.
It was a defense mechanism against her tormentor, who reveled in every wince and shudder and waver in her voice.
She doesn't use it much these days, not since she settled down with Haa'aji and knows how important it is that the kids be able to read her easily.
Even so, it is still a useful skill she doubts she'll ever fully abandon. She uses it to keep her emotions from being known to all around her when she's having a rough day and to occasionally make herself impossible to read when she turns to mischief.
Soulbinding puts a bit of a kink in her defense, however.
They don't need to see her expression to know her feelings.
And that…that is probably the biggest thing that bothers her about soulbinding. The only thing, really. That loss of privacy.
So she focuses on friends who have helped over the years and hopes her emotions do not shift too much within her, do not show just how much it bothers her that the subject has come up. Because she does not doubt that if she does not explain this well, it will come up again and again, and she does not want to spend more time on this subject than she absolutely must.
"I was captured by a Scourge lieutenant who fancied himself a bit of an innovator. He experimented on myself and others. Supposedly, it started as a desire to making the living into pets in the way some death knights keep ghouls on hand. However, it…he was never satisfied with what he could do. And I can be very…uncooperative when I want to be." Liila cracks her neck. "He wanted to make sure the spells he put on me couldn't be undone, so he structured what he made in such a way that if certain pieces are removed, other pieces gain strength or cause backlashes or…" Liila stares at the table in the middle of their little group. The silence over them makes her runes itch. She wants to throw something. "I have been to every group and sect of healers and spell-theorists out there, including spirit healers—Watchers. What could be removed has been removed."
"You've spoken with Watchers?" Kleia asks, surprised.
"Oh, was that what you made that deal with Arios was about?" Pelagos asks. Kleia looks puzzled, feels a little hurt to have been left out of the loop.
There is a tension, a concern curling inside of Liila that is not her own, and it is getting unbearably strong.
Liila simply nods. "I made myself enough of a nuisance to enough Watchers that someone—Arios finally spoke with me." She pauses, allows herself a faint smile. "Apparently it is frowned upon when we mortals start successfully identifying where Watchers are stationed throughout the world." She gives them a wink. "Something something no fraternizing with the living and all that."
Her attempt at humor falls flat. No one smiles.
Pelagos looks like he is fighting the urge to come over and wrap her in a hug, and Kleia is stiff where she sits. She can feel their horror, their concern. She wonders what memories they may have seen.
Sika alone seems to be able to keep the subject going. "So this curse… it still very strong? So strong that Revendreth's sire can use against you?"
"Well, it is comprised of death runes, so it makes sense that a death god can tamper with it," Liila shrugs. "Again, it's not… I can still do what I need to."
"But…you need…help?" Sika asks. There is something in the steward's eyes that tells Liila she needs to tread very carefully on this subject. Kleia has told her about a time she asked a steward not to help, how the little creature had been in tears as its Purpose was rejected.
"Again, what can be done has been done."
"What did Arios tell Liila?" Sika asks.
"That there's nothing more to be done."
That's not completely true, but what Arios did tell her is something she doesn't want to think about. Not right now.
Sika's feathers ruffle. She sits there a moment in quiet before hopping to her feet. "Sika go now. Much to do."
Liila worries that perhaps the steward will get tangled up trying to do something that can't be done. The stewards rarely seem to get genuinely upset, but not being able to help with something they want to tends to trigger distress even faster than being in danger. She hopes that Sika will get distracted with something else, that she'll forget about this before it can cause her any grief.
The quiet around them isn't as relaxing as it was just a few short minutes ago.
"Don't worry about her." Pelagos reaches out and pats her arm, and the sudden contact makes Liila jump, despite herself.
She quietly curses herself; she always gets skittish when she talks about this. It brings back too much, even when she tries not to think about it.
"Is that what those marks are?" Kleia asks, tilting her head, looking at Liila. When Liila's brow pinches, Kleia motions to her. "There's one on your neck, one on your cheek."
Pelagos leans forward to look at Liila, though he's careful not to touch her this time. "I don't see anything."
"I didn't until after I got my wings," Kleia says. "And they're very faint. The light has to catch them just right… I thought maybe they were just tattoos or…wards or something to help when you're in the Maw. Something to hide your presence, perhaps. They do feel…Maw-ish."
Liila starts to argue that they'd Scourge runes, not Maw ones, but it occurs to her that with what's she's learned in the recent weekes, the Scourge was basically made by the Jailer, so in the end…
The memories of how she got these marks come unbidden for a breath before she can push them down. It only takes that breath, however, for the repressed emotions and blurry fragments of memory to be shared. The taunts, the pain, the wicked laughter, the footsteps, the unbridled violence of it all.
Pelagos and Kleia are pale, any of the day's earlier good humor completely drained. They echo her pain, aches in their own chests that reflect back to her. Aches for what was done to her.
This is exactly what Liila never wanted to happen.
Kleia reaches out to her, and Liila stands up.
She can feel the concern, the helplessness, the desire to help. She has been through this before.
So many times.
In the beginning, she would start the conversation, seeking aid, anything to ease the pains and burden of this miserable curse. She would spend days and weeks going over all that has been done with every new faction or friend she made, seeking any new trick that could get her even a little further toward freedom. As time has gone on, as group after group have hit dead ends, the hope and the help has turned to a stale pity. Especially after what Arios told her, about how there is nothing more to be done. About…
Her state is stagnant, and she does not want to waste time going over every little detail again so that Kleia and Pelagos can tell her what the Hand of Wisdom already has.
She cracks her neck again. Her runes itch. She tries not to feel their pity. "Well then. No sense in lying around," she murmurs, tapping a few tasks that she's already offered to take care of herself. "Best get to it."
Adrestes has alighted at the Temple of Wisdom with news and missives for Arios. He also wants reports on the temple's dealings with Loyalty.
As of now, Bastion and Loyalty seem to be at a stand-off. Loyalty is too well fortified for the ascended to simply sweep in and retake, but at the same time, the forsworn seem pinned in place now that their hide out is known.
There have been a few skirmishes in the air and on the paths leading up to the citadel, but nothing substantial as of yet.
Well, nothing save half a dozen attacks on caravans and one on the Locus. Again. They are losing so much history with every attack and Adrestes cannot fathom why it is so important to the forsworn to take all of that away. It is violence, just as surely as the attacks on the temples, even if it is something he prefers to actual lives being taken.
The lesser evil.
Adrestes wishes they could just wipe out the traitors, but the Archon is reserved. She has not said quite so much, but rather it is the way she tells him more time is needed. She is trying to think of how to save the fools who have turned on her.
Or at least he thinks it.
And that makes him pause, when he actually allows himself to push down the anger that rises in him at the thought of their treachery.
Can any of them be saved?
Thanikos told him of the Maw Walker's question about if the forsworn could be brought back to the Path, and it has made him wonder.
He wishes she had asked him, instead.
If not for what has happened, the forsworn would have been handed back to the Arbiter to be reconsidered for another afterlife—without the drought, there wouldn't have been many of them at all, save for the few Devos cultivated herself, like Lysonia.
With the only path leading down right now, the forsworn have been kept here because even if they are not meant for Bastion, everyone knows they are not meant for the Maw either.
One does not go from one extreme to the other.
Except some of them have.
Upon each trip down, the mortals fill soul mirrors with memories of unmasked mawsworn and over a dozen have been identified. Thenios wept when he saw two who had been disciples of his. He blames himself, because he trusted them to his lover, and she has led them down the darkest of paths.
When Thenios is not trying to solve the problem with the Arbiter or where the souls can wait, he is patrolling the perimeter of his temple. Looking at him, one would not know how close to death he came, how badly his wing was injured by the one he trusted most in all the Shadowlands. But there is a stiffness to him now, a rigidness.
Adrestes does not think he has seen Thenios remove his armor since the attack on the Spires.
The Archon speaks with him often.
Adrestes wonders, sometimes, if there is still a fear that he will fall, as his soulbind has.
He pushes the thoughts away, flying into one of the inset libraries that surround the Temple of Wisdom, carved into the cliffs themselves. The last time he was at this temple, Arios told him he'd be working in there for the next while. This is one of the larger libraries, with room enough for multiple ascended to remain in the air inside without being too cramped.
Arios is not present, but a few ascended are.
Adrestes flies to the nearest one, asks about Arios' whereabouts. He is told to wait, the Hand will be returning shortly. So he does, pausing to take in others who are mostly sorting things, rearranging the archives to give room for salvaged materials from the Locus.
As he looks around, he sees a familiar face, a new set of wings.
He flies over to Kleia and watches as she searches the archives, fingers tracing along the scrolls and tomes as though a simple touch with allow her to recognize what she is looking for.
"Do you need help?"
Kleia jumps, nearly loses the rhythm in her wings. She drops about an inch before catching herself. He backs up enough for her to turn to face him without hitting his own wings with hers. She brushes feathers against the bookshelves as she turns, adjusts herself so that she is in the clear.
He can't help a faint smile. All new ascended have a bit of trouble getting used to just how much room their wings take up, whether folded or spread. He's seen partners nearly take each other out of the air because they try to fly as close together as they used to walk, not realizing that it cannot be done.
Kleia hovers there a moment, seeming to debate what to say before giving in. "There are Maw marks on Liila, on the Maw Walker," she corrects as though he does not know who 'Liila' is.
"I am well aware of her curse. I was there when last it activated."
And even if he hadn't been, every ascended who comes close to the Maw Walker is aware of those hateful runes on her, has seen at least one or two. The Archon has seen them. In all honesty, it is part of what made them so wary of the creature to begin with—those marks have the essence of the Maw steeped in them—though their caution proved unnecessary.
Adrestes finds himself a little annoyed when Kleia does not drop the subject, as though Adrestes was not there when the Maw Walker explained it herself.
"I…for them to be on her, Maw magic must have been present in Azeroth for a while," Kleia explains, seemingly oblivious to his growing agitation. "I thought…maybe we have information on it. Maybe something new, in light of recent events, even."
Adrestes' brow pinches together, not that Kleia can see. One of the benefits of his uniform is that any surprise or confusion he may feel is well hidden, so long as he can keep his mouth closed. It has helped him plenty of times in the past with convincing those who report to him that he cannot be surprised.
When he doesn't speak, Kleia fights with herself more and then lowers her voice, flitting toward him a little too close and then falling back to a point where she's still closer than he would like. "Those marks are not something Liila asked for or wanted."
"I was there when she explained it," he says, unable to keep his tone from falling flat.
She looks down, winces. "It…her curse is more than what she said before. There is so much more to it than what we saw. It hurts her. Constantly. Consistently." She shivers. "Since I have been bound to her, there is an ache there that never goes away. I can feel the way it wears on her. She seems to ignore it well enough, but it is relentless."
That gives Adrestes pause. The Maw Walker has always been quick to downplay her curse, assuring that it is inconvenient, and something that she worries can be manipulated by gods, but little more.
The idea that she is actively suffering…that it is not just painful while dragging her back to life…that feels like it changes things. Somehow.
Kleia glances over her shoulder. "If we could get rid of them…"
Adrestes frowns. "We do not have records of Maw magics. Nothing that could be used in any substantial way, that is."
With a nod, Kleia looks back at him. "But there are some writings on Scourge magic, aren't there? We could look at those."
Adrestes is brought back to when Devos came to the Archon, years ago, declaring that there was Maw magic being used in a mortal world. That was when she had declared the Path to be flawed.
From what he remembers, there were some comparisons done between Maw and Scourge runes, but in the end, it had been dismissed as eerie similarities and nothing more. The two sects had been different enough that they were not necessarily based upon one another, and considering that that had been so sure that there was no way for anyone in the Maw to contact anyone in a living realm, any attempts to prove correlation between the two had been ultimately shelved as useless research.
"All of our records on Scourge magic are currently in Elysian Hold," Arios' voice comes from behind Adrestes, and he looks over his shoulder to see the Hand has flown up behind him during their conversation.
Kleia offers him a quick salute. "Thank you. Do you know which library—"
"I believe the Archon herself is reviewing them," Arios says, frowning. "I would be happy to let you know when they are available."
"That would be wonderful, thank you." Kleia's feathers fluff a little as she thanks Arios again, and then Adrestes, as though he has done anything other than listen. She lingers a moment before deciding she should not press the matter.
Once Kleia is gone, Arios frowns.
"I was wondering when this would come up."
"The curse?"
"What little I know of it is horrific enough," Arios murmurs. "I worried it might start affecting her soulbinds."
"You think she's only asking because it's bothering her?"
"She only knows to ask because she can see what we cannot, the things that mortal hides." Arios shakes his head. "It would be better if she kept those secrets to herself."
Not for the first time, Adrestes considers they are all a little off thanks to all the madness gripping their realm and beyond. Normally, Arios would curious, hungry even for new information, and the more obscure the details, the more enthusiastic he would be. Even if it was something dreadful, he would want to know, so that if it came about again, they would be prepared.
Now, however, with everything else going on, it's no wonder that he doesn't feel like doing the things he loves. Learning, helping others to learn.
And it doesn't help that one of Arios oldest friends in the realm has turned up as an enemy. The news came earlier in the day, when memories from Carroll's latest trip to the Maw had shown a few unmasked Mawsworn who had escaped the mage.
Klotos is not only forsworn, but he is one of the many who has descended into the Maw. He is mawsworn now.
Thenios, Eridia, and countless others have lost soulbinds, even if they are not dead yet. And many more, Arios and Adrestes included, have lost valued friends.
Watcher Nebi, an old friend who got her wings the same time as Adrestes, has been identified as forsworn. She has abandoned her most recent post to take up the wicked cause against the Path. Adrestes wishes he could find her, shake her until she realizes her folly, until the light bursts back to life in her lifeless hair and she returns to the Path.
He doesn't know if that's even possible.
If they could bring them back, if they wanted to come back, would they be accepted? After all the pain they've caused?
He remembers the aspirant who was crushed by a bell, who lay there, expression blank, lifeless. Innocent lives have been taken, and he doesn't know if there is any coming back from that.
It would be so much easier if he did not know them, if he could look at them as monsters and nothing more.
Instead, he sees them and he sees friends who once stood proudly with him through the eons, who sacrificed and served alongside him.
It makes him wonder, and he does not like it.
Just like he doesn't like now how his mind goes to the Maw Walker and the runes he has seen on her.
Those marks are not something Liila asked for. It hurts her.
Adrestes stands there a moment, fist clenching slowly before he abruptly realizes that he is wrinkling the missives he has in hand. He gives them to Arios quickly. "Do you think we should send her to Ardenweald after all? To see if they can help her?"
"Just drop it, Adrestes." Arios offers him a few correspondences to take with him, all but dismissing him.
"No."
Arios blinks, straightens a little. "What?"
"I want you to answer my question."
"You're too attached to the mortal, you won't like the answer."
Mouth a thin line, Adrestes straightens up as well. He's just barely taller than Arios, but he uses his height to his advantage, to look down on him. "Tell me."
At first, he thinks that Arios will leave him there, his command ignored. The Hand turns to go, pauses, debates it a moment and then looks at him. "Maybe this will help reinforce when I say you really shouldn't be getting so attached. That soul will never come to Bastion."
"We don't judge souls, Arios."
"It's not a judgment on her," Arios says, shaking his head. "There might have been a way to remove that curse, once upon a time, if she hadn't let novices tinker with it first," Arios says, mimicking Adrestes frown. "But the way they pulled it apart, got rid of some pieces as they have, it's just tightened the grip of what's left. I don't need to be a night fae to know that removing any more of it will cause substantial damage to her soul, removing all of it will leave nothing but scraps."
Adrestes shakes his head, the words not sinking in.
Arios gives him a grim look. "Removing the curse will kill her and there won't be enough of her left to bear across the veil. Whether that curse stays or goes, she will never know an afterlife beyond the interactions she has here, now."
Arios waits a moment where he is, to see if Adrestes will ask any more questions, before finally turning to go.
It takes Adrestes a little while longer to process what Arios has said, because hearing it has broken something inside of him, and it hurts like nothing he has ever felt before. There is a loneliness that is pooling in his gut, threatening to overtake him.
He thinks of the Maw Walker, of the times he has been with her, of the way she smiles when she is talking to her soulbinds and friends, of the way her face lights up or her eyes roll.
She is a good creature, a good soul, and the idea that she will never know an afterlife, never know peace…
Adrestes finally looks at the correspondences in his hands, to see where he will need to head next.
He cannot focus on this. Not now.
Liila avoids returning to Bastion for longer than she should.
She started off not wanting to deal with what had happened, how she had run away when they had seen a part of her that she had never wanted anyone to see. And then she had realized that they would need to talk about why she ran away like she did and had stayed away even longer. Because she doesn't want things to be ruined.
Because her past has a way of doing that.
Ruining things.
The only person who ever got close to knowing those happenings that so readily parade through the minds of her soulbinds gave up on her. She had loved him, confided in him, and he had left her. He'd said there were other reasons, too, but she knew the truth of it. The bulk of his rejection was because she was too broken, and she had let him see too many of her cracks. There had been too much damage to ever be repaired completely, and he hadn't wanted to live with something so fragmented.
She has a fantastic track record there. A former fiancé who thinks she is a poor imitation of what was, a long-time unrequited love who thinks she is broken, a best friend who kept her around because he thinks she can't handle rejection.
And then there is the polemarch, whose smile slips the second he realizes he is smiling in her general direction.
N'zoth's words come unbidden into her mind, clear as if he is here with her in the Maw.
There is no place for you here or anywhere else. A failed priestess and a failed soul, destined for misery.
Liila wonders how many people are suffering still from the old god's words, how many of them have lingering 'voices' in their heads. There's no doubt that that god's damage will be long lasting, that many of the heroes who fought against it and its armies have yet to see the full effect it will have on them.
Because words can have so much power.
Liila wanders the halls of Torghast until she feels sick, until she cannot remember the cool breezes of Bastion or the smiles of the children she wants to protect. That is when she retreats, finds her way back to the main chamber—difficult as it is. She finds a few lost denizens of the Shadowlands along the way, but no signs of her death knight friends or anyone else from her world.
She limits her time in the open Maw, constantly looking to the skies for signs of the mawsworn kyrian.
Or Devos.
Because it is suspected that she is here. Xandria says she chased her to the edges of the Maw, that the fallen paragon retreated inside of it, but no one feels like they can be sure of where Devos has actually gone.
Liila is surprised that the fallen paragon does not simply wait for her and her fellow mortals at the waystone, ready to strike them down.
She is also surprised that that waystone still stands, and that it is not heavily guarded by the Jailer's forces.
The feeling that she is playing into some game the Jailer has set up washes over her, grips her.
And she feels the faintest of notions that she will be okay. It is such a tiny echo, but it is there, and she knows it is not her own.
It seems that no matter how much distance is between them, her soulbinds still have a front row seat to whatever sordid show is going on in her mind.
That is what finally turns her path back to Bastion.
She gets back in time to be swept up in a fight to get Mikanikos a sacred hammer that the forsworn have procured during her absence.
The next time Adrestes sees the Maw Walker, it is as she stands with Mikanikos, holding a few diagrams for him as he examines the ruined crest of ascension. Her robe is new, with a high collar. She has gloves now, and a hood that is brushed back for the moment. It's shades of pale gray and blue.
It is not as flashy as some of the outfits he has seen other mortals wear as they wind their way through the realm, and he wonders if this would be considered humble, where she's from.
Not that it matters, of course.
When Mikanikos finally orders a new centurion to take the blueprints from Liila, she seems relieved. She nods respectfully to the forgelite prime, who barely gives her enough attention to wave her off.
She turns to come up the stairs, pauses when she sees that she has Adrestes' attention. There is a moment where he sees something flicker across her face. The emotion is gone too quickly for him to tell what it is, little more than a passing shadow. Her expression is blank as she heads up toward him. She nods to him, starts to pass him.
He almost reaches out to catch her, to stop her.
Because he wants her to linger with him for a while, wants to ask her about her curse and about why she was gone from Bastion as long as she was—because her absence was noted, especially with how concerned her soulbinds seemed to grow, the longer she was gone. He catches himself, but not before she can take notice of his outreached hand.
She hesitates, looks up at him. He can see the slight tension in her shoulders.
"Well done," he tells her, silently willing the words to ease her muscles. He notes the faint outline of a rune on her cheek.
It hurts her.
She simply nods in response to his praise and waits, as though to see if he will send her off on some other mission, or… He is not sure what she seems to expect of him, but he does not like the way she looks like she is waiting for something unpleasant to happen.
Like she doesn't know where she stands.
He wants her to look at him differently, like she looks at Thanikos, perhaps. He wants to see her relax and smile, maybe tell him a few of her recent exploits—
She has been avoiding him lately, he realizes abruptly. That makes something ache inside of him, an ache which mingles with the one from the knowledge that she is one of the many damned by the Scourge, one of the many the ascended have failed.
He barely knows her, and yet he misses her.
Adrestes frowns at himself.
His infatuation is growing despite his efforts, just as Arios warned.
For once, he wishes that the Hand of Wisdom might not be so quick to figure everything out, that he could be wrong about something.
She is still waiting.
Adrestes nods to the Maw Walker, not knowing what else to do, and she dismisses herself. She doesn't go to rest where the other mortals generally stay, over on the northwestern wing of Elysian Hold—he is certain she would have, if only because of the dark circles under her eyes. Instead she takes a larion and leaves the hold.
It is not until she is gone that he wishes he had told her to take better care of herself.
Liila hops the larion before it reaches Hero's Rest, levitating down into one of the rolling fields below. A few of the cloudstriders graze lazily nearby, unconcerned with her arrival. She sighs.
She wishes she could be as unbothered as they are.
Instead, she can't help but think of the polemarch. When he stopped her, she wasn't sure what was going to happen, but the fact that he was barely able to say two words to her before frowning with such pronounced displeasure was…
Miserable.
She's not sure what she's done to make him dislike her so, but it must have been something substantial. She wanders through the lush grasses, trying to think back to what she could have possibly done. He seemed fine with her before she joined the covenant.
Perhaps he does not like her work ethic? She doesn't exactly take her tasks with a smile and bounce in her step.
Or perhaps it is the kyrian form she took. It is not the first time she's considered this may be the offense that made him step back from wanting to associate with her more than was necessary. Though…it hasn't seemed to bother Thanikos or Kleia or Pelagos. Not in a way that has made them want to avoid her.
No, that's something that only he does.
As the breeze washes over her, soothes a few of her more prominent aches, she considers that she's being an idiot. She needs to just ask him what the problem is. After all, it's not like they need to be friends. She just needs to know what not to do around him so that their interactions aren't so damned awkward.
Though…if she's honest with herself—something she struggles with on a good day—then she wants to be more than just associates. She wants to be able to sit somewhere and listen to him speak without feeling guilty that she's hovering around someone who wants her gone. She wants to hold his hand and not feel certain that he would recoil if she tried.
She doesn't even know why.
She pauses when she comes to some small flowers blooming in the field. Her robes brush against one of the nearest ones and it comes loose from its stem. Rather than thud into the grass, it rises up into the air, like it might just float away.
Liila sits down next to it, taking off her gloves so that she can reach out and carefully touch a petal.
It is impossibly soft.
As she leans away from it, not wanting to damage the little flower, her fingers brush over the grass and she stops, staring down at it.
Grass in Azeroth has never been this soft.
How is she just finding this out? She has been aiding Bastion for weeks now. Has she really never once let herself rest in this heavenly place?
As she considers that at least part of the realm can still surprise her—and that at least she's not getting another one of those phantom memories that of course the grass is soft—she moves her hand slowly through the golden blades that carpet the ground beneath her.
Even when she presses down, the grass still pops back up, undamaged. How can it be so soft and so resilient at the same time?
She's tempted to take off her robe and just lay down. She doubts any overhead patrols would appreciate seeing a random naked mortal sprawled out in the fields, however, especially considering they weren't very impressed with seeing her wrapped up in what amounted to a bedsheet before.
And knowing that the ascended can see her curse even when it is dormant makes her want to add on a few more layers… as she has already, with her gloves and higher collar. She can't do much about the one on her cheek, though, not without pulling her hood down so low that it covers all of her face.
If the ascended can see her curse, it makes her wonder who and what else can. The night fae? The venthyr? The maldraxxi liches?
The mawsworn?
And if they can see it, can they alter it, in similar ways that Denathrius did? What about the Jailer?
How much more danger is she in when she goes to the Maw than she realized?
Glancing up, she hesitates. The skies are clear.
And she is tired and doesn't want to think and is fairly certain that if she focuses on how soft the grasses are, maybe her mind won't wander where she doesn't want it to go.
She glances up again.
There is nothing but blue skies and soft light overhead. And forsworn attacks are growing less and less frequent by the day.
Liila lays down, feels the grass tickle her ears, turns her cheek against it.
Its scent is so subtle and fresh. Liila rolls into it so that she is facing down, the small blades of grass gently cushioning her face.
She tries to let her mind blank.
For a time, it does.
Liila is not sure how long she lays there, just existing in the moment, free of the miserable thoughts of how the world is falling to pieces or… any of the myriad of dilemmas that have plagued her lately.
As she lets out a soft hum, she wishes she had someone to share this with, despite everything.
The polemarch comes to mind, but she pushes that idea away, sourly.
No, it's not some stranger who she's missing.
It's Haa'aji.
If he were here, he'd probably pull the grass up just to be an ass. Might nibble some. Thread more in her hair and stick some down her robe to get back at her when she doesn't pay attention to him right away.
He has always created the best kinds of chaos.
"Liila?"
Kleia's voice comes from somewhere nearby, and Liila's ear twitches.
The kyrian are eerily good at not making noise when they approach, and it throws Liila every time. One would think the wings alone would be noisier…
The fact that they sometimes are makes her wonder if they can control the volume of it somehow, if they can choose to announce their presence.
Or maybe she just wasn't paying attention enough, and they are not as sneaky as she thinks.
"I don't want to bother you if you want to be alone, but this really isn't the…safest place to rest."
Liila turns her head slowly, peering up with one eye. Kleia is kneeling next to her, concern plastered to her features.
"Can you control the volume of your wings?"
"What?"
"I didn't hear you come up."
Kleia blinks, once, twice. Then she furrows her brow. "If ascended can do things like that, I'm a long way from learning it."
Liila sighs, sits up. "You mean you're not instantly good with wings?"
Kleia seems to weigh something in her head for a moment before finally sitting in the grass with Liila. "No. they have us train as aspirants to practice avoiding obstacles and gliding and things of that nature to prepare us for getting them. It's a learned skill. Flying, that is."
Liila nods. She's seen a few of the practice sessions. She saw Inaar participating in one of them, gleefully falling through little cloud circles, only to run back into the end of the line to try again. It did look like fun.
Their conversation is tentative at first, but as it winds on a little, talking about wings, they settle into a comfortableness that Liila has missed dearly. Kleia loves the subject whole-heartedly and it is fun to watch the way her wings reflect her excitement as she talks. Her feathers ruffle and slick, shiver and bristle. Liila has never considered how expressive wings can be, and she wonders if she has been missing it with the other ascended, or if they train themselves not to show their emotions.
There is a small worry in her that Kleia will bring up what happened last, the way she ran away. Liila should apologize for that. But to do so is to open the door to talk about why she is apologizing.
Whether it's because Kleia can read her or something else, the subject never comes up.
Instead, they talk on a little longer until Kleia again suggests that this is not the best place to relax. They are too open for wildlife or forsworn attacks. And Pelagos is waiting for them at Hero's Rest.
As Kleia says that, Liila feels a gentle pull in her chest, as though Pelagos knows he has been brought up.
No, not a pull.
There's only one person who pulls her.
"Can I ask you a weird question?"
"Of course!"
Liila still hesitates, even as Kleia guides her back toward the road and to the nearest teleporter that will take them up to Hero's Rest. "Have you ever heard of someone…being sort of drawn to someone else?"
Kleia blinks, tilts her head. "Well, a lot of soulbinds find they have affinities for one another before they decide to bind themselves." Then, another thought strikes her and she perks up, "Oh, and of course there's soulmates."
Liila can't help but arch her brow. "Soulmates?" It seems like she's heard that term before, though it's not a common one. She tries to remember if she ever heard it on Azeroth, but can't recall anyone ever talking about it there. It's definitely an afterlife term. "Is that like people who soulbind who are couples?"
With a sparkle in her eyes, Kleia shakes her head. "It's the idea that everyone has someone made for them. Souls who were destined to be mates." Kleia starts to say something and then pauses. "I could go on for hours, but the short of it is that soulmates are destined to find one another. They may come from different worlds, be born in different ages, but eventually, they will find their way together and live happily ever after."
Liila stares at her, frowns. "That sounds terrible." When Kleia looks surprised, Liila motions to herself. "You're telling me that I might have to wait thousands of years to find this person who was meant for me? That's depressing."
"It is not," Kleia exclaims. "It's romantic."
"Not for the thousands of years that I'm lonely," Liila argues.
"You don't know you're missing them until you have them," Kleia says, matter-of-factly. "So there's no great emptiness. It's just when you meet them, you know."
"I'm sorry, but this sounds absolutely wretched." Liila shakes her head. "What if I settle down in the meantime? What if I'm married to someone else when this soulmate shows up? Am I just gonna leave my partner of however long for this random stranger?"
"Soulmates are never random and never strangers," Kleia says, standing a little taller. "They are always known to each other. They're drawn together, destined."
That last comment makes her think about Polemarch Adrestes.
Liila's mouth twists to one side. "Well, what if they don't like you?"
"You're being very contrary," Kleia says, pouting a little.
"No, I'm serious," Liila says, reaching out and lightly touching Kleia's arm. Her soulbind seems surprised by the action. "What if you're drawn to some person, and they very much do not like you?"
Kleia's brow furrows. "That…well, that wouldn't happen with soulmates. They're meant for each other, so they wouldn't not like each other."
"Is there anything else then? Where you can be drawn to someone and not be soulmates?"
"I'm…not sure I follow you."
"Like, you know they're there before you should," Liila explains, struggling to find the words. "Like…if you just let yourself walk, you know you'll end up right in front of their disappointed, frowning face."
Why does it feel like she's asked that before? Maybe not in quite so many words, but still…
She frowns. She'd thought these déjà vu moments were over.
When she looks at Kleia, Kleia looks as confused as she feels. "We can ask Pelagos about it, if you'd like."
"It's not a big deal," Liila murmurs, waving it off.
Kleia looks like she doesn't quite believe her, but she drops the subject, instead turning to other matters, like how much fun Inaar seems to be having with every training session offered, be it one with wings or weapons.
Adrestes has decided that he would like to speak with the Maw Walker. It is not because that inexplicable draw has been replaced with an empty ache when he considers that she must dislike him. Nor is it because of that growing concern for her health and wellbeing, for her eternity.
He is the polemarch, the Archon's right hand. A bearer of souls. He does not care what mortals think of him and he does not involve himself in their fates.
He simply wishes to speak with her to make sure that the awkwardness between them can be dulled, to assure that she feels…welcome.
Welcome enough.
After all, the mortals have been useful. They handle more menial tasks and can breach the Maw in ways that those of the Shadowlands cannot. It extends their realms' reach, and allows the natural denizens to focus on more dire matters. Matters that mortals cannot help with.
Like figuring out where to send the souls other than the Maw.
Because it seems that the Jailer's forces are much more efficient than the Archon anticipated, and the souls being sent to the Maw unjustly are suffering in ways her grace had not expected.
He was not supposed to hear that conversation, though he assured the Archon that he knows it is no fault of hers that this has happened. Any miscalculations are such that no one could have foreseen.
Adrestes alights in Hero's Rest and speaks with Kalisthene a moment. He is pleased to hear that the forsworn threat is contained for now, despite an attack on the welcome pavilion, led by Andromede. It appears the mortals were able to injure her, but she has escaped them again.
They will put a stop to her treachery in time, he is sure.
The thought of her inevitable demise brings him no joy. Instead, he feels a little like there is a hole left in him, any emptiness carved out by the fact that people who should have been good, should have been true to the Path have fallen so far.
When he is caught up, he dismisses himself from Kalisthene. He catches her curious glance toward him when he does not immediately take back to the air, instead letting himself wander the area. He ignores it.
He can barely remember coming here as an aspirant himself, though the memories are so old that when he looks around, he sees that little of what he remembers is still there. He has flown past here countless times, landed and spoken with sentries and patrols time and time again as the eons marched on, and yet he has not given himself the chance to take it in.
The stewards hurry to and fro, unconcerned with his attention. The aspirants sit a little taller, though. A few salute him, but he waves them at ease. He is not here to make them jump through hoops, not while they are resting between whatever tasks have been allotted to them.
He waits for it.
For that tug that will tell him where to go, that pull that will draw him without a conscious thought.
It does not come, and his steps are aimless.
Finally, he asks after her and Inkiep directs him to the Maw Walker's corner.
When he comes up to it, he finds two familiar faces, but no Maw Walker.
"The way she was asking about it, I don't think it was rhetorical," Kleia is saying as he walks close enough to hear their conversation.
"I think I know what it's about. Surely you've noticed how she changes, how she blushes when she sees the—Polemarch!" The last word is practically a strangled shout. Pelagos shoots to his feet, salutes. His eyes are wide like he has just been caught saying something he shouldn't have.
Adrestes stops in his tracks, noting the way Kleia jumps up in time with her soulbind, and salutes as well. He waves them at ease. "I did not mean to interrupt."
"Oh, it is fine," Kleia assures him. She dares a glance at Pelagos. She looks a little confused about his reaction. As confused as Adrestes feels.
"I was wondering if you know where I might find the Maw Walker."
"She is checking on progress with the plague dispersal agent," Kleia says. "I'm not sure how long she'll be gone, but she did just return from the Maw not long ago, so it shouldn't be too long. If there is some thing you need, we would be happy to assist."
Adrestes frowns. "Thank you, your service and dedication are noted." As both newly ascended and aspirant thank him, he motions to them. "Would you mind telling her that I need to speak with her whenever you see her next?"
"Of course," they say in unison.
Adrestes nods, turns to go.
He nearly stops when he hears Pelagos whispers, "That was close…"
As Kleia asks what he is talking about, Adrestes slows his pace. However, their voices drop, and he cannot hear whatever is said next.
He dismisses it, noting that it sounded like they were talking about someone's feelings for another. Perhaps Pelagos is simply worried that whatever gossip he is confiding to his soulbind will spread now that someone else has overheard.
Adrestes brushes it off and takes to the air.
He has rounds to make.
When Liila gets to Hero's Rest, she heads to the baths that are carved underneath the main area. There are a few paths that wind down along the sides of the floating rock, with whimsical sheer cloth as the only guard rail keeping those traveling the well-worn paths from falling over. There is plenty of room for aspirants to walk two abreast, so there is no fear that she will fall herself, but she still keeps away from the edge, closer to the rocky wall.
Despite not intending to, she has returned the Maw far sooner than she meant to, as Bolvar was waiting to catch her when she flew through the city, coming back from Maldraxxus.
On the plus side, Jaina Proudmoore has been saved.
On the down side, she is exhausted.
Going to the Maw always leaves her feeling drained, but the waters of Bastion have a way of restoring her like nothing else can. Sometimes she can barely even feel those deepest aches while she rests in the gentle pools.
A particularly small one has been designated for mortals. Apparently, the essence of the Maw lingers on them and it is incredibly unpleasant to those of the Shadowlands. Carroll and Inaar say they can sort of feel it, sometimes, but none of them really notice any great difference. Not until they are cleansed of it do they realize it, anyway. Liila is the same. She always feels lighter, safer, healthier, as soon as she washes away that invisible corruption.
There are curtains around this bath too, as Carroll could not stress enough that he is not comfortable with the openness of the baths. He values his privacy, and Inaar and Liila don't mind it either. After all, even if the kyrian do not peek at them as scoundrels, being a mortal is an oddity here and it does draw gazes, intentional or not.
When she comes out, Pelagos is waiting for her, near one of the paths. She has again traded her darker robes for the blue and gray one she uses in Bastion.
"Polemarch Adrestes wanted to speak with you," he says.
Liila frowns.
And then considers that she did tell herself that she needed to talk to him about the awkwardness between them. Perhaps she can snare his attention long enough to address the issue. Assuming nothing else requires his immediate frown.
Pelagos watches her. He draws her to a quieter corner of the baths. "Are you alright?" When she blinks, confused, he motions to her. "You seemed to…well…" He looks embarrassed. "You don't look happy at the idea of having to see the polemarch."
"It's nothing," Liila says, with a sigh. She runs her fingers through her wet hair, absentmindedly beginning a loose braid over her shoulder.
Pelagos blinks, surprised. Then, he schools his expression into something that looks like he is trying to walk a thin rope with the utmost care. "I, um, hope you don't see this as overstepping, but I noticed before you seemed to…have a bit of an infatuation with him."
Liila stills, drops her hair, narrows her eyes. "What do you mean you…'noticed'?"
"Well, you have a hard time keeping your eyes off him when he's nearby," Pelagos starts. "And you perk up when he's around. And you blush a little and…feel a little…different."
The gears in Liila's mind try to turn, but they don't quite have the momentum, and instead she simply stares at Pelagos, trying to comprehend what he's telling her.
She acts differently when the polemarch is around?
Really?
She hasn't noticed anything, though…
She thinks of that draw. It does seem to redirect her attention when he's around, especially if she's not careful.
Even as she considers it, it hits her.
Maybe that's the problem.
Maybe that's why he doesn't like her. Because he, like Pelagos, has mistaken her attention for some sort of crush, and he doesn't know how to let her down easily. Perhaps if she explains to him that she's not interested in him like that, that she's not secretly lusting and longing after him, he won't be so unbearable anymore.
When she looks back at Pelagos, he is trying very hard not to smile. When she quirks a brow, he scratches at the back of his neck. "Sorry, I do try to give you your privacy, but your emotions can be very…loud."
It's the first time he's breached the subject with her, the first time he's openly acknowledged what he can feel from her. It's oddly relieving.
Liila narrows her eyes at him with play mistrust. "Is that so?"
"It's not just you, if you're wondering," he says, turning and motioning for them to head up to the main part of Hero's Rest. "The others who have soulbound with the other mortals say the same thing."
"So we're just these dramatic little creatures you're stuck listening to, regardless of if you want to or not?"
"I wouldn't put it quite like that," Pelagos says, laughing. "It's just that kyrian practice meditation and finding our center, being calm and settling our minds, for eons. Your emotions change so quickly that it can be hard to catch all of it. Mostly it's just general feelings and a sense that things are shifting, though it's impossible to pinpoint to what. Like watching a wheel with pictures on it spin." He watches her, curious to see her reaction. "I hope you don't find this rude, but being bound to you helps me see how far I've come."
If he is being sincere, then this is a huge relief.
She knows he is. Pelagos has never been the deceptive sort, and being bound to her as he is, he has to know how much this means to her. It's like a weight being lifted from her shoulders.
"If I can help, then I'm glad to be of service," Liila teases. "So Carroll and Inaar both have soulbinds now?"
"Trainer Ikaros has taken in Inaar," Pelagos says, perking up as he explains, "and Leda has bound herself to Carroll."
"Poor creature," Liila murmurs. When she notices the surprise on Pelagos' face, she shrugs. "Carroll is a lanky ball of rage and arrogance."
"I have been told that he does not like you," Pelagos says. "I'm curious about that."
"It's a long story," Liila starts, but pauses. This is a good opening to ask about something that has been nettling her for a while. "Or can you see it when I think of it?"
"Ah, that is a bit…" Pelagos tilts his head one way and then another. "If it's something you have very strong emotional ties to or something you really focus on, then yes, I can see glimpses of it. Otherwise, there might be hazy images, but nothing…substantial." He pauses before adding, "And mortal memories in general seem to be fuzzier and harder to see."
"Really?" She can't help the relief that washes through her anew. She should have asked about this sooner. Much sooner. She's been a royal idiot.
A curl of warmth is inside of her, an assurance that she is not a fool of any sort.
It almost makes her want to cry. She pushes the feeling aside, but does pause to hug Pelagos. He wraps her in his arms the way Haa'aji does, like a protective brother, keeping her safe. She leans her head against his chest for an immeasurable moment, unconcerned about whether something passing by might see them, before pulling away.
Pelagos appraises her, that warm smile in place as they start walking again. "Leda was asking me about it the other day. She's never been soulbound before, but from what she had heard, she thought she might have messed up the binding somehow. Ikaros said the same."
"So you all just sit around and talk about us when we're gone?"
Pelagos laughs and nudges her with his elbow in response, though he's careful not to accidentally send her tripping. They're almost to their corner at this point, and they fall into a companionable silence.
She only has a few sparse items that she takes with her to the Maw, due to the way its corruption seeps into everything, and so she makes sure to wash those as well when she gets back, including her robes—those have been taken by a steward for deep cleaning, even though she tried to tell them it was unnecessary. She carries the rest of her things now toward where she keeps her bags, in their corner.
It's an odd thing to be able to leave her belongings in Hero's Rest and know that when she comes back, they will be untouched. The people of Bastion know what theft is, but none of them seem to be able to imagine doing it themselves.
She carefully sets her things under her chair to make sure they are out of the way in the impossible chance that someone needs to use it while she is gone.
"Have you used the transporters yet?" Pelagos asks. When she gives him a curious look, he grins. "With Sire Denathrius no longer having such a vice grip on the anima flow, Bastion has been able to reclaim a few tiny pieces of what were lost." He leads her over to the platform. "This way, you can see what the polemarch wants and be back in no time." He grins. "And Kleia will want to hear that story about you and Carroll, too."
She rolls her eyes, but smiles, patting his arm before following his instructions to use the teleporter.
Liila is whisked away through the leylines of the realm, and in a blink, she is standing in Elysian Hold.
Granted, it is an uncomfortable blink. She wonders if it is because she is a living creature, or if it is simply something she must get used to. She still doesn't like using the transporters to get from the ground to Hero's Rest, either.
She feels better about things than she has in a while. Perhaps it is because she has just cleansed herself from the Maw's corruption or because she knows her memories are not quite the show that she has worried. Or perhaps it is because her soulbinds always accept her back like she actually belongs there, that—even if it is only temporary—she feels a little like she has a home here.
Perhaps it is because neither they nor Sika have pestered her about her curse upon either of her returns to the realm. They understand it is not something she wishes to have hanging over every conversation, and they respect that.
She can feel the edge that talking about her curse brings beginning to dull, if only a little.
Now, if she can sort through whatever the problem is with the polemarch and get to some common ground, she might actually have a pleasant night.
Liila goes to where the polemarch typically stands, but he is not there. As she glances around, scanning the area for signs of him, she feels that tug.
It is faint enough that if she were concentrating on anything else, she's certain she would have missed it.
She is curious, though, and for once she has some downtime, so she decides to let it lead her.
Her steps are slow at first, and she spends much of her time trying to figure out if she's really feeling any change in that tug, if she feels like she's moving in the right direction. There is no little voice to whisper if she is getting hotter or colder, though.
Finally, she lets her feet take her where they want, paying only enough attention to make sure she does not walk into anything or -one. As she goes, she takes her time to really look at Elysian Hold.
It is beautiful. From the tapestries and drapes that billow gently to the pristine marble floors to the soft chimes of bells from impossibly high places overhead.
Liila imagines it must be necessary for the Watchers and Bearers who deal with so much death in their eternal existences to have calm when they are not serving their eternal purposes. The ones coming back now to such chaos must be so taxed emotionally.
Further, she can understand the need to forget. She knows if she had to gather souls that were like her tormentor, she would likely toss them straight into the Maw without batting an eye rather than risk them getting judged worthy of Revendreth or Maldraxxus. She would hate to find that he had made it anywhere else. If she were on the Path, it would make her fall to know something so wicked wasn't being punished for eternity.
Still, even if the Ascended aren't supposed to judge, there needs to be some sort of back up plan for things like…this.
It's such a complicated issue that she feels for the Archon and the paragons and everyone else across the Shadowlands who are trying to come up with a solution. They are good people, and she knows good people don't just sit back and let bad things happen. They're trying to find answers where there are none to be had.
Not yet anyway.
"Do you need something, mortal?"
Liila blinks out of her thoughts to find an ascended hovers in her path, hand resting on the mace at her hip. Apparently, her wanderings have taken her to one of the few places she is not welcome.
"I was looking for Polemarch Adrestes," Liila says, feeling a little awkward. What if they ask her why she thinks he'd be here? What would she say? "I heard he wanted to speak with me."
The ascended's expression is as hard to read as Liila's void tantrums can be. It is an odd thing to be up against herself in this sense. She thinks of how Pelagos says her emotions shift faster than his do, and that he is still on the Path, that the ascended strive to have a calmer demeanor than even the aspirant in question.
Perhaps the creature before her is really as calm as she looks and not hiding behind a façade, as Liila does. Perhaps, once again, Liila is the only one hiding things.
"If you wait for him near the Archon's Rise—"
"What's going on?"
She knows he is there before he speaks, but is still awed by the fact that he appears from behind the ascended blocking her path, his pace brisk.
There are others with him, but she barely notices, barely hears as the guard between them explains that Liila has wandered over, looking for him.
Polemarch Adrestes frowns.
That brings her back.
The awe of how accurate that damned pull is fades as she realizes that she's being a bother. Her heart sinks a little, and she wonders if Kleia and Pelagos are watching the saga, so to speak, as her feelings shift and twist.
Polemarch Adrestes thanks the guard, gives a few orders to those present and then steps around the ascended and motions for Liila to come with him back the way she came.
"I'm sorry," Liila says as they head back toward the commons. "I should have come back another time."
"It's fine," Adrestes replies, voice distant, detached. Emotionless. "Since the forsworn attacks, we have had to increased security around the wards." He pauses, glances down at her, as though appraising if he should have told her about them or not. As though she was not one of the ones who went to defend those who pieced them back together during the attack on the Spires.
Or perhaps it is because of something else. It is hard to tell when all she can see is the lower half of his face.
Liila hates that hood.
Though, as an ascended, he probably doesn't offer much in the way of expressions anyway…
But Kleia does…
Liila feels an odd pang of sadness at the idea that both Kleia and Pelagos may someday become so expressionless as some of the ascended she has met, and she decides that she must think of them as simply guarding their emotions, rather than not having them.
To be a shell is too cruel a fate for anyone.
She knows firsthand about that.
"You wanted to speak with me?" She prompts, realizing that she is allowing herself to get far too distracted.
"Yes," the polemarch says, though he doesn't elaborate. He pauses mid-step and then motions toward a small alcove up ahead. They head toward it in silence.
It turns out that it is not an alcove as she thought, but a slightly twisting hall that leads to parts of the hold she has never been to before. It's an overlook that runs behind some walls that leads all the way to the lower chamber beneath the Archon's Rise. It looks like it is not used often—there is no rail here to keep aspirants or stewards—or her—from falling, and it is not terribly wide. Adrestes takes up most of the space and she falls in line behind him.
She does not know that the point where they stop has any real significance other than being far enough from the main hall that no one can eavesdrop.
"How do you find Bastion?"
For a moment, terror grips Liila, and she is certain he is asking her about her sense of déjà vu that even now hits her when she dares tread too close to Olympic Village. When she doesn't answer, he turns so that she can see his profile, folds his hands behind his back, looks out and up, toward the hazy spires in the distance.
Liila can see more of them than usual and realizes that just as much of Bastion is in the air, out of reach, as is that she can walk. Perhaps even more.
"There is word that some mortals are…reconsidering their allegiances," Polemarch Adrestes says looking down at her. "I was curious if you were doing the same."
The idea is a bit of a slap in the face, and Liila allows herself to express her dismay, staring up at him with open incredulity. Whatever he is about to say dies on his tongue.
She stares at him for a moment longer, making sure that there is enough time for there to be discomfort hidden beneath that damned hood. Then she straightens up a little, schools her expression and feigns disinterest, knowing damned well that he'll know she's hiding how she actually feels. "I was unaware that I have acted in such a way that my loyalty to Bastion's cause would be up for debate."
"That was not my intention." The words come quickly, there is a hint of regret in them. When he speaks again, however, it is with his usual detachment. "I am simply trying to make sure that I can make accurate plans for the future."
However, this small crack has been enough to assure Liila that the ascended are not as void of emotions as they would like others to think. She is not sure why that comforts her as it does.
She wonders if Kleia gets headaches from the way Liila's emotions shift.
"I made a deal with the Archon," Liila says, not looking up at him. "I will find a way to help alleviate the corruption in the Temple of Courage and she will grant help to stop the mawsworn from bringing souls back to Azeroth." Liila is quiet a second before adding. "Even if you do not feel my word alone is trustworthy, consider that I've dealt with enough gods to know not to cross one that is generally—and currently—benevolent."
The polemarch lets out a soft hmph.
They stand there in silence. It is not the same silence that she shared with Pelagos, and she wishes he were here.
"I did not mean to offend you." His words are quiet, though clear enough that she cannot pretend to have missed them. When she peers up at him, he is not looking at her, but instead the sprawling city overhead. He allows himself a quick grimace. "I did not truly wish to speak with you about allegiances."
Liila's brow pinches. "Then why did you want to see me?"
"I…" he trails off, lets his gaze drop and turn, slowly, to her. "I seem to make you uncomfortable. I was hoping to…discuss how it might be handled. I do not wish to be even a small reason that you—that anyone would wish to leave."
Liila blinks. She's not sure what to say to that. "I'm not leaving."
"I do not wish to be a reason for discomfort then," Adrestes corrects. There is a hint of annoyance that he needs to clarify anything.
Liila appraises him a moment. "I wanted to talk to you, too," she says. "I've been under the impression that you dislike me, and I haven't been able to figure out just what it is that I did."
The polemarch's feathers ruffle, ever so slightly, just faint enough that it could be dismissed as a result of a breeze, and Liila is reminded of the way Kleia's wings are constantly shifting as she talks.
"I do not dislike you."
Liila eyes him. "Sometimes it seems like you go out of your way not to talk to me."
"I don't see how I can do that when you won't ever come talk to me yourself," Adrestes says. "If you can, you pawn off missives and reports on the other mortals."
"Because whenever I'm talking to you and anyone else is present, you talk to them instead of me." She tells herself she will not say it, but in the end, the words come out unbidden. "You even joke with Carroll."
They frown at each other.
"I do not dislike you," Adrestes repeats.
"I don't dislike you, either," Liila says.
That miserable silence returns, though this time it is just a hair different, like it doesn't know quite how to settle around them.
Adrestes's feathers shiver again, he crosses his arms, looks away. "I was told I was focusing too much on you. That I was playing favorites. I did not want the other mortals to feel unwelcome or less important."
"I see," Liila says. It's all she can think to say at first. "Well, then. I suppose you did a good job of switching that around."
"I am sorry," Adrestes says. His voice is gentle now in a way that stirs both fragmented memories and butterflies in her chest.
Liila crosses her arms, looks toward the city and clouds, swallowing down these confusing emotions. She is good at not reacting outwardly to pain or misery, but this is another beast all together. "It's fine. I should have said something sooner."
"As should I."
"So we both have abysmal communication skills," Liila says, then pauses when she considers she really doesn't know Adrestes well enough to joke about such things. Especially when they're just barely getting along again.
When she glances up at him, one corner of his lips is upturned. Those butterflies are losing their damned minds.
She makes sure to keep her expression neutral.
He offers her a hand. "Perhaps we can start over."
Liila pauses a moment before reaching out to take it.
"Polemarch!" A voice interrupts them, and they both look up to find a messenger descending. "Chyrus would like to speak with you while he's here."
"Of course," Adrestes says, nodding to the ascended. They flit away quickly, and he glances back at Liila. "You know the way back to the commons?"
Liila motions over her shoulder. "Back the way we came and hang a…right when I get back to the main walkway."
Adrestes nods, turning to face her, and then he lets himself fall to the side, off the ledge. He falls a few feet before spreading his wings and propelling himself up with a powerful flap.
In a breath, he is gone, and the gusts from his wings are already a faint memory.
As Liila makes her way back to the commons and then to Hero's Rest, she realizes that she feels lighter, both in hearing that she has not done any great misstep to offend the polemarch and that he has allowed her to see him…relax isn't quite the word.
Perhaps she is just pleased that she got to see him at all.
That she got to see that half smile, fleeting as it was.
As she heads back to her corner that this comforting realm has given her, it strikes her that Pelagos is never going to believe her when she says she's not actually infatuated with the polemarch.
Worse, she's not sure she can believe herself about that anymore.
Somehow, she can't bring herself to mind.
