Adrestes has just finished getting his updates about the Temple of Courage from Xandria—the paragon is constantly attempting different purification spells from Thenios' archives to see what, if anything has an effect on that miserable plague that has claimed her temple—and is heading back toward the Temple of Wisdom with more bad news when he feels that familiar tug.

He has never sensed it while flying in the middle of nowhere before, and it makes him pause, slowing his flight. He looks down, let's the draw guide his gaze, and frowns when he sees a small figure below, laid out on one of the large rocks near a lake. Despite his altitude, he can still make out enough details to realize that there is blood spilling out around that tiny figure and his stomach starts to twist.

His chest tightens.

He thinks of what Arios has told him about the curse and how the only way to remove it is to destroy all that she is. That in itself is upsetting enough, but worse has come to mind. Allies must live with the fact that their friend and comrade is forever damned. Enemies, however, have a means of ending her permanently. If the forsworn learn this, that removing her curse will be the end of her, they can use that to their advantage.

And looking down at her now, his stomach flips as he thinks about it.

Because something has happened for her to be laying there, so still.

This can't be happening.

He descends quickly.

It is not until he is considerably closer that he realizes he is not seeing blood at all.

The Maw Walker lays on the rock, but rather than blood, it is her hair, down and fanned out around her in long, wild twists. He's tempted to call out and tell her not to lay like that, that someone will think she's been dropped headfirst onto the rocks below.

He certainly did.

A greeting dies on his lips, however, as he realizes that she is sleeping.

Here, of all places. In the middle of nowhere, far from any of the warded areas or regular patrol routes.

Her bags are set a few feet to her side, stacked neatly, and she is laying on her back, one hand resting on her stomach and the other arm draped over her eyes.

He lands near her.

Xandria has—when not attempting to purge her temple—led a pointed effort to rid the realm beyond the veil in Bastion of lurking forsworn, driving them back into the Temple of Loyalty, so there is less of a chance that the Maw Walker will be attacked here than before, but it doesn't mean that she is safe. It will take considerably more time and anima before the wildlife settles down to what it used to be.

Adrestes stands there a moment, debating whether he should wake her or not. It is not safe here by any stretch of the imagination, but at the same time, this is quite possibly the first time he's ever seen her sleep.

Mortals need more of it than the ascended do, more of it than aspirants do. During his trips to Hero's Rest of late, he's seen mortals curled up on mats and chaises, resting at all hours. It doesn't even need to be dark for them to fall asleep.

Something the Maw Walker is proving now.

Still, she seems to sleep less than many of the others, and he wonders, if he wakes her now, will she be able to get back to sleep in a more appropriate setting.

He also wonders what she is doing out here to begin with. He glances around.

From the ground, there are no notable areas nearby. Hero's Rest is a hazy blur in the distance. Even the road is too far from them to be seen clearly.

Baffled, he looks back down at her.

And stills.

Her lips are twisted into a grimace. Her fingers are curled against her stomach, like she is trying to grip something. Her body shudders, and she lets out a small cry. A whimper follows.

Adrestes kneels beside her. Her breathing is getting more erratic by the second, more small cries strangling in her throat. Finally, she let's out a pitiful, "No!"

Without thinking, he puts a hand on her shoulder and shakes her. "Maw Walk—"

She lashes out almost the second his fingers close around her shoulder, nails like claws as she shrieks and kicks and tries to fend off whatever was in her dream. Whatever nightmare he has made physical.

She is quicker than he expects, and manages to get a good grip on his hood, jerking it with a strength her small frame shouldn't have. Adrestes ducks his head down, loosens his hood so that she can have it, and darts backwards, into the air, out of reach.

Shadows stir around her, gathering on that rock, seething against the pale world.

For a moment, he thinks she will attack him with her spells, as her gaze darts frantically around and then snaps to him. Fear settles on her features as she stares up at him, eyes wide, hair a wild, tangled mess around her.

And then something clicks into place.

Her expression shifts back to fear for a second, before it smooths. Her breathing starts to steady, and she looks up at him, meeting his gaze with one that betrays nothing of what is going on inside her head.

They stare at each other, tense.

"Polemarch?"

The word is more of a question.

He nods.

She starts to say something, starts to motion to him, and then sees that she has his hood in her hand.

"Fuck," she mutters, drawing her legs to her so that she can lean an elbow against one, pinching the bridge of her nose with her free hand. Her hair flutters softly around her from the gusts of his wings. She holds out his hood to him. "I'm sorry."

He lands again, considers that the reason she seemed thrown by his identity is because she has never seen him with his hood off before. He comes over and takes it from her, inspecting it quickly. There are two tears in it where her nails managed to get through the fabric.

He frowns.

"I'm sorry," she says again. "I'll…I'll pay for a new one."

"There's no need," Adrestes assures her, tucking it into his belt. It is not as though ascended must buy their uniforms after all.

"I ruined it, I'll make amends," the Maw Walker insists.

"There really is no need," Adrestes assures her.

She is looking around, inspecting her surroundings as though she's not quite sure where she is. He's not sure why, but he sits beside her. That makes her pause, and she looks up at him. For a second, he can swear he sees fear in her eyes when she meets his gaze. It's gone quickly, as she looks away, out at the water. She rubs her neck.

"I'm sorry—"

"If you apologize again, I'll toss you in the lake," he says, hoping that something so ridiculous will ease some of the tension in her small frame.

She does let out a dry laugh, so he considers it a partial victory.

He frowns again. "You shouldn't—"

"Be out here on my own," Liila finishes, rolling her eyes. "Yes, I'm aware. Thank you for your concern." She pauses as she dismisses him, glancing up at him and then saying, "I do mean that. It's just a bit of a non-issue for me."

Adrestes quirks his brow, appraises her. "I simply don't want anyone finding your corpse on a flyover."

"If someone finds just my corpse, I'll be impressed," the Maw Walker mutters and then rubs her face, trying to banish whatever dream she was having. She is still tense.

He realizes, rather abruptly, that she is not concerned with being killed because she knows it will not be the end for her.

That makes his stomach twist.

Her only visible rune—since she started dressing in a high collar and gloves—is on the cheek furthest from him, and Adrestes fights the urge to reach out and turn her head so that he can see it. He already knows what it looks like, anyway. He's seen her often enough to memorize it. He's looked it up, too, in some rare downtime since Kleia first mentioned it, since Arios told him she was a lost cause. Their archives have it listed under Scourge runes, but there is nothing that says what that particular one means or does. As far as he knows, it's useless without others, a single part of something bigger.

Thenios and Arios has been looking into the mortals in general and says that both Carroll and the Maw Walker are somewhat living legends in the realm of the Living. Thenios has told more of the details to the Archon, but Adrestes has heard a few snippets while he guards their privacy.

He knows both Carroll and the Maw Walker were present for the corrupted Titan's downfall, that they are both prominent figures in their communities. He knows that 'the Dragonlily' is renowned for having a vast network in the living world, having helped people from all across her world and others.

They are impressive. She is impressive.

However, Adrestes has not heard much more about her curse, and only knows that Arios is better versed on it than he is. He wonders how annoying Arios will be if he goes to him and asks for more details. Especially after all the warnings about not growing too attached to his mortal.

"Consider your soulbinds then," he finally says. When she looks at him, he shrugs one shoulder. "They will feel it when you die."

She stills. "Will it kill them?"

"No, but it will hurt immensely." He motions toward Hero's Rest in the distance, since that is where the trio normally meet. "If Kleia is in the air, it will knock her out of it, and an ascended can be hurt just as easily as an aspirant if they hit the ground too hard."

Before he can add that Pelagos could come to harm, too, the Maw Walker seems to reconsider her actions. Her gaze flits back and forth, appraising thoughts she doesn't voice.

She finally lets out a slow groan. "I'll go back to Hero's Rest shortly."

Adrestes can't help but smile at that. She is not nearly as unmanageable as Arios likes to claim. "Do you want a lift?"

She pauses, gives him a once over. "Are you going to carry me by the neck?"

"I don't have to." He doesn't hide his amusement when she eyes him. "You don't like that?"

"None of us like that," Liila says. "None of us mortals anyway. And I assume that is how you all carry souls, and I doubt they like that."

He can't help his small smile, though it is gone quickly. "Souls don't always want to come with us. It's best to keep them far enough away from our wings that they can't do any damage once they realize persuasion won't work."

Liila nods. "Well, one accidental shake, and we living creatures will be paralyzed—or getting our own trip to Oribos."

"I'll inform my sentries to be gentler with the lot of you."

She gives him a mock bow from where she sits. "Now then, I won't sleep out here anymore, but do you think it will be too dangerous if I work out here? Just for a couple hours every now and then?" When he cocks his head, she motions to her bags. "I make flasks and potions. It's not that I can't in Hero's Rest, it's just that I find making these things rather relaxing, but stewards are very helpful and they sort of…"

"Take over tasks when they get the chance," Adrestes finishes for her. She nods. "And you can't make things in Oribos?"

"If I am in Oribos, Bolvar is glaring at me from somewhere," she pauses and looks at him. "I'll just be minding my business and there he is, peering around a doorway, over a plant, through someone's wings," she ducks down, acts like she's parting feathers to peer at him, "quietly willing me to go do whatever it is he wants."

Adrestes laughs. He doubts that the mortal in charge of the efforts in Oribos is doing anything of the sort, but he can tell that she's enjoying herself. More than that, she seems to perk up when he laughs. Her ears stand a little straighter, and he thinks that's a good sign.

"He doesn't simply ask?"

The Maw Walker lets out another low groan. "Of course not. Because what he asks is beyond stupid, and he knows I won't humor him."

Adrestes arches a single brow. He can hardly imagine ever refusing the Archon's orders, even if he did not fully understand them, or ever calling her orders stupid, even if he didn't want to follow them—like when she ordered him to guard the hold instead of assisting at the Temple of Courage. "What does he ask you to do?"

"He wants me to go into the Maw and save specific people, to not come back until they are saved," she frowns. "He wants me to demand the Archon send people to find them, too." She rolls her eyes toward him, checking to see his reaction. "He's angry with me that I didn't ask for help with finding those four when I first came."

Adrestes appraises her, wonders how much of what she says is actually true and how much is just what she perceives to be true. "I can see the value in wanting to save your allies," he offers.

"There are thirty-four of them still in the Maw," she says. "Thirty-four whose deaths are unconfirmed. He only cares about two of them now." Liila looks up at him. "And it's not like I'm not looking. It's just not enough, apparently."

"You found two?" When she nods, he tilts his head. "Why are those four so special?"

"They're leaders," she says and lists them. She curls her fingers after counting them. "They were stolen by mawsworn from our world. They flew in through the breach in the veil, chained the leaders, and took them into the Maw, to Torghast." She pauses. "So far as I know, they haven't done that to anyone else. I imagine I'll be briefed if they do."

Adrestes leans against his knees. He's heard about the abductions by mawsworn, but hadn't realized they were done by fallen kyrian. He should have, considering the other mawsworn likely don't have a way to reach the tear in the veil, as he's been told it is in the sky.

He thinks about what he's heard her say, what he's heard the other mortals in passing in Elysian Hold say. "It sounds like you and the others here are more concerned about the overarching matters, rather than the smaller details."

"We want to save our world, and that takes priority over a handful of people," she says. "I mean, I have friends in the Maw. I want to find them, too, but I can't just ignore everything else."

Adrestes nods. "All you can do—all any of us can do—is save who we can."

The Maw Walker wilts a little, and for a second, he can see the weight of all that is happening and how it bears down on her. He wishes that earlier humor would come back.

He wants to offer that perhaps he can send someone with her next time, but he doesn't know that he can actually offer such a thing. They are stretched so thin right now.

Perhaps once Bastion is returned to order, they will be able to return the favor.

And the Archon has promised aid, when it can be given.

"How much do you need to do?" he asks, motioning to her bags. "How many potions?"

"Oh, I've actually finished for today," the Maw Walker says. She leans over and drags her bags to her. She fishes around in one and gingerly pulls out a few of her most recent creations. She holds them out to him, an offering. He takes one to be polite. It is the shade of the potions he uses to heal himself in a pinch, though considerably smaller. She seems to realize that, glancing at the small vials as though she is wondering how to make them bigger. With a frown, she simply tucks them back into her bags. "I just thought I'd get some rest before heading back. I had a feeling there'd be nightmares this time, and I didn't want…" she pauses, looks up at him. "I am sorry."

Adrestes reaches out and lightly puts his hand on her shoulder. "You can stop apologizing."

"I usually warn people not to wake me," she murmurs. "Or just find somewhere isolated."

"You sleep out here often?"

"Here and there." She sighs, looks at the water. "It's peaceful."

"Have you tried sleeping at the Temple of Purity?" Adrestes asks. "Any of the temples, really, though the Purity is more accustomed to dealing with such things. The vespers help with nightmares." When she blinks up at him, surprised, he gives her a half smile. "You're not the first nor will you be the last haunted soul to come to Bastion."

She looks down, her smile is quiet and sad. For a moment, he thinks she will say something, but she changes her mind. "Thank you, polemarch."

"Adrestes is fine."

"Thank you, Adrestes."

A shiver runs through him when she says his name, and he almost asks her to say it again, though he catches himself. That would be…inappropriate.

She motions to herself. "You can call me Liila, if we're to be on a first name basis."

He nods to her. "Very well, Liila."

There is a sparkle in her eyes, and he can almost swear that she shivers herself. He almost repeats her name to see if it will happen again or if it is just in his imagination.

Instead, Adrestes looks out over the waters, wishes that he could sit here with her forever.

The quiet around them is a pleasant one now, much more so than it was before their talk in the hold, anyway. When he closes his eyes, he can see talks and peaceful lulls like this in the future. It feels like a familiar promise.

He frowns as he realizes that he is slipping into a daydream. He's getting a little ahead of himself, isn't he?

They hardly know anything about one another, hardly know each other.

And yet…

"Can I ask you a question?" The Maw Walker—Liila breaks the silence.

"I am always happy to help, in any way I can."

She lets out a faint laugh. "I…" She stops, tries again. "Have you ever felt like you're being…pulled or…" She looks down, searching for the words. He tilts his head, growing more curious by the second about what it is she is having so much trouble voicing, and thinking of his own topics that seem to be a struggle, when he's around her. As he considers again that at least now they seem to be on better terms, she finally just shakes her head. "Do you believe in soulmates?"

Adrestes cannot help the dry laugh that escapes him. "No." He gazes out over the waters. "If you want someone who believes in that sort of thing, you should talk to Eridia. Or Arios."

"No," Liila says, and he can hear the smile in her voice. "That's okay. I was just talking to Kleia a while ago and…" She shakes her head again. "It's such a terrible concept."

"Isn't it?" Adrestes says, a bit pleased to find someone else who agrees with his stance. Most are either lovestruck like Eridia or seem amused by the notion. "The idea that there's only one person in all of existence for you, someone you might never even cross paths with…"

"That if something goes wrong, like they die, you just have to be sad forever."

Adrestes looks at her, nods. "It's miserable."

"Horrible," Liila agrees. She's smiling as she shakes her head this time, rolling her eyes quickly. "Pelagos and Kleia seem to think it's so romantic, and I just…do not get it. At all."

"I've never understood it, either," Adrestes says. "I'm told that people avoid talking to me about it because I depress them with my stance."

"Pelagos says I have all the romanticism of a rock."

Adrestes laughs. "That's far nicer than what Eridia and Lysonia say of me."

It takes a moment for what he's said to sink in, for him to realize he's spoken of Lysonia as though they are still friends. It hits him, that he has so many memories of her, so many little things that were good that now have a bitter light cast on them, twisting them.

A hand rests against his arm, and he looks down to see Liila, still beside him. She looks up at him with an expression that says she knows what it is like to lose someone in this manner, to have them turn against her, and it breaks his heart that she must know this pain as he does.

He reaches out and rests his hand over hers, fingers curling around hers, the soft fabric of her gloves wrinkling against his touch.

For a just a moment, it is like all the wrongs and miseries of reality cannot reach him because right here, right now, things are exactly as they should be.

A vulpin snickers in the distance.

"I suppose I should head back," Liila says, finally breaking the spell that's been upon them, upon him.

Adrestes rises with her and waits as she gathers her things. When she looks up at him, questioningly, he offers her a hand. "I did say I'd take you back."


As Liila's feet touch the ground, Adrestes wishes her well and takes back to the air. Liila offers him a small wave and can't help but watch him as he departs, heading north toward what she guesses is the Temple of Wisdom.

She's still staring after him when she feels it.

A little bubble of joy inside of her that is definitely not hers.

Turning slowly, Liila finds Kleia standing there, trying very hard not to smile broadly. They stare at each other in silence until Stanikos toddles over, offering juice and a happy chirp. Liila accepts it with a soft thank you, and Stanikos fluffs up a second, happily, before heading over to Kleia.

The steward has taken to hanging around Hero's Rest more often lately, since noticing that she seems to avoid his usual haunt, Olympic Village. He is always quick to ask Liila how she is doing and to reach out and give her hand a squeeze and tell her she is safe.

She's not sure why it means as much as it does, but she's hugged him twice now. He doesn't seem to mind at all.

When she gets to her corner, Pelagos is already there, talking with Mitchell and Mikanikos.

Mikanikos has commandeered a table and has several designs laid out on it. He is in the middle of a lecture that Mitchell is barely paying attention to, while Pelagos tries to keep up, inspecting the plans and nodding every time Mikanikos points to a new spot.

Bron stands off to the side and offers Liila a hello as she passes.

Mitchell is on Liila's chaise, though there's plenty of room for them both. Stanikos joins her on the other side, peering at the plans Mikanikos has.

"Crest of Ascension nearly done?" Stanikos asks.

Mikanikos stops mid-sentence and bristles at having been interrupted. He gives the other steward a stern look. "No. I make bigger, better."

Stanikos offers a supportive chirp, and Mikanikos grumbles a moment before turning back to his plans.

Liila leans over to inspect them. They look like a mixture of engineering and architecture, and neither mean much to her. Haa'aji used to show off things like this, and she learned long ago to simply smile and nod.

Mikanikos looks pointedly at Liila even as she settles back, still sipping the juice Stanikos brought her earlier. He notices her drink and then looks at Stanikos, who in turn hops up and says, "I get sweet juice."

The forgelite prime grumbles a little more before turning to address Liila. "You travel realms." There is a pause, but even as she starts to say yes, Mikanikos starts speaking again. "I make crest better. It needs more. More power. You get."

It is not a request.

Liila arches her brow. "What are you looking for?"

At that, Mikanikos' feathers shiver, his brow dips down, and he glares at his plans. "Not sure, but you find it, you bring it."

Liila ponders what he's saying. "You mean maybe…some sort of…magic or anima amplifier or…?"

"You find it, you bring it. I make stronger crest, not break so easy."

Liila nods slowly. "Well, it would help if I had an idea of what I'm looking for."

Mitchell leans forward, waves to get Mikanikos' attention. "Are you looking for something mechanical or organic or magical or—"

"If I knew, I would get myself," Mikanikos snaps, giving Mitchell a very pointed frown. "I exhaust ideas in Bastion. Need new things." For the first time since Liila has met him, the forgelite prime deflates a little at the admission.

"Oh, do you go to that Ember Court?" Mitchell asks, ignoring the way Pelagos and Kleia both perk up at the mention of it. "Because Marileth says they're great, and a good place for sharing ideas. Apparently, he's learned a lot from some venthyr named Theotar."

Mikanikos stares at Mitchell. "What is Ember Court?"

"The venthyr host it," Mitchell says with a shrug. "I hear they invite people from all the realms."

"We're going next week," Pelagos says, smiling brightly. "We can take a list of any questions you want to ask."

"I must know questions to ask them," Mikanikos murmurs. He considers it, then nods firmly. "I go with you."

Kleia's brow shoots up, Pelagos looks like he wants to say something, but it's Mitchell who speaks out. "I think you need an invitation."

Mikanikos's feathers ruffle. "You think I am not allowed to go?"

"We can talk to the people who host it," Liila offers. "Maybe they can spare an invite…or let you come visit sometime soon?"

Mikanikos grumbles again, taking the juice offered to him as Stanikos returns. Pelagos and Mitchell accept some as well. He gulps down his drink and then abruptly rolls up his plans, pointing at Liila and then Mitchell, not seeming to care that the latter is not allied with the kyrian. "You have orders. You find new thing. You bring it to me."

"How will we know if it's new to you, though?" Mitchell asks. "Just because we've never seen it doesn't mean you haven't."

"Bring all the things," Mikanikos snaps. "All of them."

Mitchell gives him a sarcastic salute, and Liila elbows her friend as she assures Mikanikos they will figure something out.

As the steward heads off with Bron in tow, Mitchell narrows his eyes after him. "I bet he tastes like—"

"No," Liila interrupts, holding out a finger toward him. He snaps at her, close enough that he almost bites her finger, but she doesn't budge. They both know he'd regret it if he actually got her. "No eating the stewards."

"What about the forsworn?"

Pelagos lets out a nervous laugh. "I don't think I quite get the joke."

Mitchell looks him dead in the eye, expression serious. For a moment, there is complete silence. And then Mitchell and Liila laugh. He shakes his head and waves his hand to dismiss it. "Oh, just an old joke that we forsaken aren't very picky with where or how we get a meal. Or who."

Kleia and Pelagos both look at Liila to see if he's really joking.

Liila shrugs, amused that they can't seem to tell if she thinks he's serious, despite their bond.

Mitchell kicks back, taking over Liila's chair and lounging on it so that his legs extend behind her and prevent her from stretching out if she wants to. "Think the brokers might have something?"

"We could ask, but there's a broker station here in Bastion from what I hear, so he may have already gone to them."

"What about Ve'n…ues in the Maw?" Mitchell says, narrowly saving himself from speaking openly about Ve'nari. The fact that half a dozen mortals know where she is has not been sitting well with the broker at all, but Liila doesn't see how she can get help in Torghast without letting them in on the secret.

Ve'nari has them all on thin ice, but Liila has faith that she'll warm up to most of them over time.

Maybe not Carroll.

Even as Pelagos asks what venues would have to do with anything and Mitchell rambles about what he 'really' meant, Liila considers that he has a point. Ve'nari might know something they can use.

Or maybe the Runecarver would. They are, after all, already planning to go see him. In fact, Liila has been waiting on Mitchell for the last two days for that very trip.

It seems it is all the more pertinent now.

When Mitchell seems to feel he has successfully confused Pelagos and Kleia to the point they have forgotten about venues in the Maw—considering how good kyrian are at staying on track, Liila doubts they have—he hops to his feet and gives Liila an expectant look.

They excuse themselves, neither of them particularly thrilled about where their next stop will be.

When they get to Oribos, they head straight toward the center of the great platform. Liila looks into the spiral of souls dropping down. She wishes she could reach out and grab the souls as they fall past, spare them from ever having to see what lies below.

But she doesn't have that kind of power.

Instead, she sighs and takes the plunge.

The world streaks by her, like it always does, and she holds her breath. She falls too fast to breathe properly, and if she opens her mouth, she'll feel like she's suffocating. So she holds her breath and closes her eyes and waits for the inevitable shift in her surroundings. There's a feeling in the air, when one reaches the Maw, an oppressive aura that presses on a person from all directions. When that hits her, she'll open her eyes and start counting. At seven, she'll cast levitate to prevent a heavy impact.

Having a physical body makes her fall a little faster than the souls around her.

The world shifts.

She opens her eyes, starts to count.

Her levitate takes effect just in time, and she slow falls for maybe a foot. Mitchell does the same.

They makes their way into Ve'nari's lair, wave to the broker, and head into Torghast. They'll ask about any sort of amplifiers on their way out. For now, they are on a mission.

Liila steps through the portal and into the chamber beyond. No matter how many times she goes there, she is always surprised by how cold it is. There is a perpetual wind that nips at her exposed skin, makes her feel like she will lose a finger or the tips of her ears if she stays there too long.

"Ah, mortals. You have returned." The voice is a little stronger than the last time she was here, she thinks. "Have you more memories to return to me?"

"Not this time," Liila says, apologetically, as she walks up to the Runecarver. The giant frowns down at her, inspects her small frame. If he wanted, he could reach out and catch her in a breath, crush her in his palm with almost no effort.

But if he did that, he would have one less ally, one less soul trying to find a way to help him, and he is too smart to diminish what miniscule chances he has.

"You wish for me to make you something, then."

His voice is tired, almost resigned.

Liila shakes her head as Mitchell assures him that that's not it either. As Mitchell asks what the Runecarver knows about how the ascended get their wings, he opens one of his bags and pulls out a box. It takes both hands to hold it and he passes it off to Liila. She carefully sets it down on the ground to one side before opening it and pulling out two hand sized pillows as the Runecarver rattles off a brief explanation of the Crest of Ascension to Mitchell.

From the looks of the little pillows, one would not know the effort that went into making them.

They are smaller now than they started out, smaller than they will be.

It has taken a great many favors, but she has managed to get things together. Thousands of feathers from Ardenweald and Bastion, enough cloth and leather to dress a dozen people, and thread…so much thread. Not the regular kind, no. She had to buy it off the stitchmasters, and they were not particularly willing to part with it until she recruited Mitchell into her scheme. He was the one to stitch it all together, too, and who helped her test them for durability. Grandmaster Vole helped with that as well, not that he was actually asked. Rather, he just showed up and reclined on the pillows, commenting that they were a pointless exercise in decadence, but interesting, none-the-less. Especially because the grandmaster can lay on these without any limbs sticking out over the sides.

There is a bet going as to what they are for.

Everyone who has seen it, either in the stages of its creation, when Liila was gathering materials, or upon completion have been amused by the commission, but intrigued as well, and more than a few maldraxxi and brokers came over throughout its creation to inspect it and ask what it is for.

Liila has been careful, however, as she is still not sure who all she can trust. The Jailer has many allies, after all, and she would like to keep him in the dark as much as possible, especially considering the Runecarver is still his captive. If Liila draws attention that she has made things better for him, then the Jailer might move him out of her and the other mortals' reach.

And so, across a few realms, people simply know that she has gathered a host of materials that are seemingly gone. Some thing she stole them away to the land of the living, and she's content to let them speculate. It makes it more fun, when the rumors get back to her, to see just how wild they get.

Like the one that she was Kael'thas' consort. That apparently started as a prank one of her friends was pulling, claiming she was unavailable because she was off to seduce the elven prince. Then, every time they'd told the story, it had been a little more ridiculous, until somehow it twisted into her having a torrid love affair.

Liila absolutely loves the chaos of it all, and makes a point to not clarify things like that one way or another when people come to her trying to find the truth.

And so she figures that she will let the tale of what has happened to these pillows follow the same route, as very few even know how she got them out of Maldraxxus.

Because there was no transporting the pillows as they were made. Not without multiple flying creatures and ropes and all manner of resources they can't afford.

The brokers played the final role in this endeavor. It was technology they had found through their many travels that enabled Liila and Mitchell to shrink the pillows down as they are now.

The Runecarver frowns as she sets the pillow down near his knee. His hand rests near her, wicked claws that could skewer her in an instant. She taps thrice on a small rune on the pillow and darts away. She stops a few feet back, waits.

Then, just as she thinks something has gone wrong, the pillow expands and bursts to its full size in a second, bumping against the Runecarver's leg because of its close proximity and knocking Liila back because she has not moved far enough away.

As the Runecarver reaches out and presses his palm against the pillow—it seems small next to him—Liila sets up the other one and does the same, this time with more care.

She looks up at him, motions to the pillows. "They're for your knees."

Mitchell nods, pats the nearest one. "If you can lift your legs, we'll shove them under."

It takes a bit of effort—the Runecarver has been kneeling for so long that it is hard for him to adjust—but in the end, they are able to get both pillows underneath the giant. Mitchell inspects the stitchwork, frowns as he looks to make sure the Runecarver's boney limbs are not going to puncture the leathers.

Liila beams up at him. "We thought about trying to get you blankets, too, but—"

"But there is a world to save and no time for such frivolities," the Runecarver says sternly, frowning. When both Mitchell and Liila look up at him, a little hurt, he takes in a slow breath, appraising them. "This is still appreciated. More than you know."

"We're still looking for your memories," Mitchell promises.

Liila nods. She watches as the giant shifts a little, the softness finally between himself and the hard floor, and then shifts a little herself, feeling guilty. "I do want to ask you something, if you don't mind."

"I am a captive audience," the Runecarver replies.

Liila reaches out and pats his hand as Mitchell digs through his own bags and holds out a jar of anima. "In case you're hungry. Do you get hungry?"

The Runecarver accepts the paltry offering, swallows it in a single gulp. "What are your questions?"

"I think the Jailer is letting us come and go from the Maw, to an extent," Liila says. "But I can't figure out why. My getting to Bastion forced Devos to play her hand early, made it so that Bastion didn't lose quite as much as they might have."

"I doubt the Jailer cares about Bastion beyond the point of wanting it in chaos," the Runecarver says. "So long as the Archon is distracted, it serves him well."

Liila nods, mulling it over. "But he was there, when I first left. He saw me, was close enough that… Denathrius was able to see the curse on me, was able to manipulate it easily."

The Runecarver reaches out to touch her cheek with the back of a massive claw, and she feels the rune itch as though it might burst to life at any second. "You fear you are an unwitting instrument in his plans." When Liila nods, the Runecarver lets out a bitter laugh. "We all are." He lowers his hand, looks at Mitchell and then back at Liila. "Have you told the Archon your concerns?"

"Not yet."

"Tell her," the Runecarver says. "When it comes to the Jailer, no one can be too careful. He has had eons to perfect his plans. If he seeks to use you, it is because he sees you as interchangeable with others. It is up to you to prove him wrong."

Mitchell frowns. "Well, I don't know how we'll do that, but at least we are mitigating his efforts. A little. I think."

"The more you can step in, the more others can focus on what he does not want them to," the Runecarver says. He pauses to look down at the pillows beneath him, but does not say whatever he is thinking.

"Well, we're still trying to find a way to undo those chains," Mitchell says.

Liila nods again.

The Runecarver appraises them with that unreadable look of his before tilting his head. "Why were you asking about the crest of ascension?"

"It was destroyed," Liila explains. The Runecarver swears under his breath. "Mikanikos, the forgelite prime, has fixed it, mostly, but he says he needs something…more. To make it more powerful."

"He was super vague, though," Mitchell adds.

The Runecarver thinks it over a moment before drawing a few symbols in the air. They shimmer and then merge to form an image of the old crest of ascension. He stares at it, as though peering into its very essence in some way that Liila and Mitchell cannot. "If you can use artifacts from the other realms ruled by eternal ones, that would make the ascended more powerful."

"Artifacts?" Liila and Mitchell echo in unison.

The Runecarver opens his mouth to speak, but stops. He stares past them, into space. "I…cannot remember."

There is frustration in his tone, and he curls his free hand into a fist.

Mitchell reaches out and pats that hand and gives him a reassuring nod. "It's okay. We'll figure this out."


When Liila and Mitchell return to Oribos, one of the attendants flags them down quickly, and tells them that there is a group of mortals waiting for them. They exchange a glance before heading to the inn to a sight that makes Liila smile.

The last few weeks, it feels like when she's not actively traipsing the realms, she is writing letters asking people for help or offering updates. While the Eternal Ones make their plans, Liila and Mitchell have been making their own, and now, Liila hopes that one piece may be about to fall into place.

Over half a dozen priests sit in the center of the inn, tomes and texts scattered across their table as they talk quietly amongst themselves. They are Horde and Alliance both, friends made throughout her times adventuring and from her time in the priesthood.

Veena is there, too, with Howl sitting back, eyes closed, arms crossed, and legs crossed at his ankles as though he is sleeping through the conversation which is obviously about spellcraft. Liila knows better, though. Howl is always listening; it's what makes him such a good spymaster, despite being a warrior.

When one of the priests across the table sees her, a goblin named Tizzle Sprogworks, he lets out a loud, "Heeeeeey!" that has the rest of the priests looking up and join in in the most annoying greeting she's ever heard.

Liila holds her arms out and hugs a quel'dorei who comes over to greet her. The elf, Wren, tousles her hair, nods to her. He and Tizzle are more of her former guildmates. Mitchell has never liked Wren, but he's happy to clasp hands with Tizzle, to give a few nods to the other priests.

There are a few faces missing from those she requested the aid of, but she tries not to focus on that.

Liila and Mitchell take a seat, borrowing a few chairs from a nearby table and then squeezing in with the others so that they can discuss what needs to be done.

Tizzle is the one to talk first. "So what's this about needing to purge some diseases? I thought we left that shit behind in the mortal world when we die."

"Yeah, it's…more than diseases," Mitchell says, puffing up a little as he takes the spotlight, so to speak. "It's plague upon plague, and it's a mess. However bad you think it is, it's worse."

And then he goes into the details, with painful care, making sure that everyone who can hear his voice knows just how bad a condition the House of Plagues is in, and just how poorly its margrave has fared.

Because she is faring horribly.

Mitchell, Liila, and their little group had barely made it out of the House of Plagues when they went there for the tomes Marileth had asked for, and all injuries and inconveniences accrued there were mostly thanks to Margrave Stradama. She had proved impossible to kill, and any attempt to attack her had resulted in noxious gases and slime-backsplash that had corroded whatever it touched. It didn't help that she was mad with pain and plague. Add in the tentacles and, well… One would think that after fighting so many old gods, the denizens of Azeroth would be better at combatting tentacles.

One would be wrong.

Fighting Margrave Stradama was very much impossible.

"Margrave Stradama may not be able to be saved, but if she can be…" Liila takes in a breath and then motions. "Let's reconvene in Maldraxxus. It'll be easier if you can see the problem."


Adrestes arches his brow as the ascended before him salutes. They are one of the dozen kyrian who have been in Maldraxxus, guarding the other dozens who are too injured to be moved. Adrestes knows about the injuries sustained, the body parts removed. He knows of the constructs built using his people's bodies.

It has been a point of contention between Bastion and Maldraxxus, one that Xandria has been pushing to have rectified. She wants to lead an attack on the corrupted Maldraxxi houses, but the gears of war are turning slowly, at least according to Xandria.

This, however, sounds like things may finally be starting to move.

"Let us speak with the Archon," he says, motioning for the ascended to come with him.

The Archon has been spending far more time on the Archon's Rise these days than she used to. There are far more missives and visitors than there used to be, so it comes as little surprise.

The Archon is speaking with Visephone now, though both of them drop whatever they are discussing as soon as they see Adrestes walk up. He salutes, introduces the ascended with him.

"A small envoy from Maldraxxus is seeking permission to come to Bastion. They wish to offer their assistance with purifying the Temple of Courage, to start mending the relations between our realms."

The Archon's fury has dulled as the weeks have marched on, but it is still there, and it flares enough to be felt by those in her presence as she listens. She inspects the ascended who has come with the message. "Do you feel they are sincere?"

The ascended kneels, bows their head in reverence. "I do, my Archon."

"They may come," the Archon says after a moment's pause. "Through the official pathway. And they will be escorted straight to the temple. If they so much as look anywhere else, there will be consequences."

As soon as the ascended has taken to the sky to relay the response, Adrestes is in motion, gathering who he can to provide a proper escort so that the Maldraxxi will neither be able to cause harm if they are duplicitous nor be attacked by the forsworn if they are honest. Among others, he will need to reach out to Xandria and Thanikos, as both will likely want to be present for this.

The task does not end up as straightforward as Adrestes would like.

Despite the Archon's decision, there ends up being a little more dialogue between the realms before an agreement can be reached.

In the end, it is negotiated that rather than the whole group marching through the realm, a small number will be allowed to summon the others near the fallen temple. They give a list of who will be coming, of who will be expected, and it is halved by the Archon, with a warning that they will not be allowed to have a strong presence in the realm and that if so much as a single slime outside of the list appears, all present will be purged.

Adrestes is waiting with the Archon herself, Xandria, Thanikos, and a small contingency at the meeting location when the maldraxxi summoners arrive, flanked by mortals. Liila is among them, and instantly, Adrestes feels some of the tension in him leave.

If she is involved with this, then he has faith that it is not the treachery they have feared.

He recognizes a couple of the other mortals as those who come and go on behalf of other covenants, but for the most part, they are new faces.

As the summoners set up their gateway to allow the remainder of their group to come through, Liila comes over to stand nearer to Adrestes. There is a bit more of a bounce in her step than usual, and he can't help but smile at her as he nods her way.

She has barely nodded back before Thanikos kneels next to her. "You think this will work?"

"Who better to dispel what plagues your temple than the ones who created those very plagues?"

Adrestes frowns at the plural. He knows what afflicts the temple is an amalgamation, but that does not make it any more pleasant of a reminder.

Before he can ask after anything else Liila might know, the gateway flares to life and a few figures come through. He doesn't know any of them.

Not until Margrave Stradama appears.

Her robes are dark and crisp and new, adorned with a few cyrstals that offer a greenish glow. Only her skeletal face and hands can be seen, but he knows her well from a few meetings with her over the eons past.

She stands tall and proud, easily able to look Xandria in the eye. She stoops into a deep bow toward the Archon. "It would seem we were wronged by the same fools. I am more than happy to undo their schemes, if you will allow it."

The Archon inspects her from where she hovers and then gives her a single nod.

Margrave Stradama barely gives the rest of them a nod before looking at the temple and making a disapproving clicking noise with her tongue. "This is atrocious."

"Indeed," says a smaller figure beside her. "There's been absolutely no respect for our creations. You can't just toss them together like this…there's no artistry at all."

As Xandria growls, the margrave calls for her companion to hush.

"Can you fix this?"

"Oh, most certainly," Margrave Stradama assures them. "We will need time to set things up, however. I trust you can control that itch to spear us in the meantime?"

Xandria's brow furrows, her grip on her triton tightens. "Just what are you setting up?"

"Containment units," the margrave replies. "We're going to pull apart the contagions and seal them off individually. They'll be easier to transport home that way."

Adrestes and Thanikos both bristle at the idea, but the Archon simply nods. "You walk a thin rope, margrave. Tread carefully."

The margrave smiles at them. It feels like a chilly one, though Adrestes cannot be sure. It is hard to read emotions on a skull.

Margrave Stradama snaps her fingers, looks around. "Now then. Marileth, Mitchell, if you would."

And just like that, the area shifts into a flurry of activity.


"I'd say they got it all," Tizzle says, tapping his staff against the ground.

Liila and her fellow priests have spread out to examine the Temple of Courage in the wake of Margrave Stradama's departure.

It was an impressive sight, to see the House of Plagues set up focal points to draw the different plagues used and untangle them from each other. Liila and her fellow healers—as well as kyrian healers—helped to prevent the plagues from escaping—for lack of a better word—their new confines.

The way the margrave and Marileth talked about the damned things, it sounded like they actually did have a sentience on some level, a desire to spread and cause rot and death, and Liila cannot help but wonder just what it was that kept this horrid blend of plagues from consuming all of Bastion.

Was it really just the drought to thank?

One plague that had been drawn nearest to Margrave Stradama had damaged its focal point, surging past where it was being called to and instead swirling around the margrave like some sort of magical snake, its magic staining the air even as she held out a hand and let it come to rest in her palm. She had talked to it, like one might a naughty pet.

By the end of it, there were eight sealed containers that the maldraxxi wheeled back through their gateway, back to the recovering House of Plagues. Margrave Stradama has told them there shouldn't be anything left, but to be good little mortals and check.

And so they have, as the Archon has watched over the maldraxxi's departure, assuring that none of them stray or linger in her realm.

Liila and the other priests have felt for any dissonance in the world around them, any signs of corruption that may remain.

If there is anything, Liila and her fellow mortals cannot find it.

Liila kneels, fingers touching the cracked marble beneath her. There is nothing lurking just beneath, nothing seeking to rise up, to respond to her touch.

The real test, she supposes, will come when the kyrian return. After all, the concoction that was here reached for anima.

Even as she considers it and straightens up, a large hand pats her back, nearly sending her tumbling forward. Tizzle catches her in a shield, as though he needs to.

Thanikos laughs. "Well done, mortals."

When Liila looks up at him, he smiles warmly at her, and she realizes it is the first time she's ever seen a genuine smile on his face. She glances toward his feet, to make sure there are none of those hateful veins reaching up to grip him, and then looks back up. He is scanning the temple grounds. There is relief in his stance, satisfaction in his eyes.

"We can rebuild," he says when Tizzle comments on how everything is in poor shape. "What matters the most is that we can rebuild." He nods, mostly to himself, and then looks to Tizzle and Liila. "Thank you."

Xandria calls for him then, and he takes off like an arrow, leaving the two of them, to tend to his paragon's needs.

Tizzle looks after him, letting out a low whistle. "So does everyone gain a few feet in height when they die?"

"Seems like it, doesn't it?" Liila says, looking at him and smiling.

Tizzle hums, shakes his head. "Well, then. If this is all you need," as though this were some paltry task, "then I should head back. That sword's not gonna pull itself out of the planet."

Liila nods. "I'll miss you."

With a grin, the goblin merely shakes his head. "Speaking of being missed, would you write to Haa'aji? He's been harassing the couriers in Zuldazar to the point that I heard about it in Orgrimmar, when I was coming here."

Instantly, Liila feels guilty.

And then it occurs to her that, with his information network, Haa'aji likely knows every letter she has sent, every person she has reached out to.

Every time it wasn't him.

"How long as it been, in Azeroth?" Liila asks. "Since I came here."

"About a week." Tizzle says. "And you know Haa'aji has the patience of a gnat. The fact that he's not already here is mind-boggling."

"He has to look after the kids," Liila says.

"That's not gonna last much longer," Tizzle warns, looking up at her. "Do you really need to stay out here? Because I don't know that you two have ever been apart too long. And if you don't want him coming here, there's only one way to really stop that."


"The Archon says we will likely have to wait until Sire Denathrius' hold on the anima stores are completely undone before we can advance any further here," Xandria says as she looks over the temple from where she stands, near one of the larger training arenas. "Once she gives the go ahead, we'll start moving our people back. In the meantime, we might at least get some cleaning crews in."

Thanikos is practically dancing the way he paces, hops toward something, turns to inspect something else. "We'll need to get those in Maldraxxus back, too."

"It's in the works," Xandria says, pausing to go over to a bell that hangs awkwardly in the air, suspended by a few tattered drapes. She wrenches it free and it makes an out-of-tune clang. She examines a few cracks running through it and then sets it down. "Perhaps it will be better to leave the temple empty until there are adequate resources to restore it."

At that, Thanikos whirls to face his paragon, looking something akin to a threatened baby larion. "It will take some effort, but—"

"It will take substantial anima to mend the damage, to make new bells," Xandria pauses to inspect the nearest structure, "and walls. We as a realm can't afford that right now. We can find ways to administer the Rite of Courage from the other temples. There's plenty of opportunities to prove oneself as it is."

Thanikos's wings droop, his shoulders slump. He glances at the nearest crack in the tile beneath him and conjures his own anima, channeling it into the ground to mend the stone beneath his feet. When he is done, the long crack that runs through the marble below has an odd hiccup in it, where the stone has smoothed from his ministrations.

Adrestes wants to ask him if he intends to do that to ever inch of the temple, but doesn't, especially when he notices the way Thanikos looks out over the area, quietly noting all the damage himself.

Xandria's hands are on her hips, her triton slung back over her shoulder. Despite her grim words, her countenance is better than Adrestes has seen in weeks. She is as excited as her Hand, though she is trying to keep herself in check, to make sure the hopes of others are not lifted too quickly too soon.

"Adrestes."

"Yes?"

"The wards are ready?"

"I've already sent someone to Elysian Hold to activate them," he replies. "We should feel them come up any time now."

Xandria nods. "With the wards, we won't have to worry about forsworn coming in and attacking during any renovations, at least."

"The mortals are pooling the anima they find toward restoring the transportation network," Adrestes says. "We'll have quick access to the temple before too long, so supplies won't have to come by road."

Xandria and Thanikos are both pleased with that.

"It's going to be a while before we are all home," Xandria says, drumming her fingers against her hips, "but we will be."

Thanikos is beaming again. "I'm going to go check on the other arenas."

"Wait for the…wards," Xandria says, sighing as her Hand flies off on his own. "Archon's grace, but that fool lives on borrowed time."

Adrestes hops up into a hover. "Shall I keep him company?"

"If you don't mind," Xandria nods to him, gives him a weary smile. It is the first time she has allowed herself to do so in so long, that tired as it is, it still fills Adrestes' heart with something he can't put to words. Something powerful. "Make sure he doesn't impale himself on anything."

With a nod, Adrestes heads off after Thanikos.

It is hard to see the temple this way, broken and empty. He has so many memories of this place. Like everywhere else, there is history here that has been lost. Friends who have been lost.

There are no bodies.

Those that could not be retrieved were consumed by the plague, the very anima that made their bodies being used to fuel and sustain it. It has been chaos trying to find out all of those who fell, to separate the list of the dead from the list of the forsworn.

Now that they have access to the temple again, they can access the memories of the temple itself, of Bastion. It will be a painful and grueling task, one that Xandria will take on herself, no doubt, but it will offer a surety they have not had.

People will be able to begin to mourn what was lost. Who was lost.

When Adrestes catches up to Thanikos, he is pacing the length of one of the smaller arenas in the southern reaches of the temple, one used primarily by aspirants training in hand-to-hand combat. His gaze sweeps the area as though he is peering into the past, as though he can still see the groups scattered across the grounds, resting and sparring, preparing for their rite or just honing their skills. Thanikos has always been good at matching people up, assuring that no one was feeling overwhelmed or out of their league.

It has been too long since he was able to attend to his usual duties.

"We'll need a wall for the fallen," Thanikos says, and Adrestes realizes that he's been noticed. The Hand turns to face him. "I think it would go well here. It can watch over the newcomers, be remembered by all…" He nods, mostly to himself. For the first time since the temple has been cleansed, his smile slips. "I know many will need to forget. It will be too hard to hold what has happened here, to not let it cloud judgments and…" his voice breaks and he grows quiet for a moment. "I'll remember for them."

The words are so quiet, yet so firm. His brow pinches as he stares into the past, nodding slowly to himself.

A shiver runs through him, and for the first time, the confidence he has sported these last few weeks cracks. His feathers puff a little as tears bead on his eyelashes.

Adrestes reaches out, arms open, and Thanikos practically collapses against him, leaning his head down against Adrestes' shoulder and shuddering as he begins to cry. Adrestes nearly loses his footing, not expecting his friend to crumble the way he has, but he catches himself, holds them both up.

There is nothing he can say that will make any of what has happened better, but at least he can be here for him, now. Adrestes holds him, ignores the way Thanikos' armor pinches at him in places, and wishes against everything for a better tomorrow, anything that will help his friend and his realm—and himself—with healing.


Liila sees her friends who are returning to Azeroth to the portals. Tizzle will not stay—he doesn't want to know what comes after death, doesn't want to know just how messed up each realm is. He tells her he's heard that her flappy friends are content to damn all souls to the Maw, and that he doesn't want to know the truth, that so long as he doesn't know, he can choose what to believe, to think that they are not doing something so vile. Liila tries to understand.

She thinks, if she did not know them as she does, if she had heard of how they drop all souls off at Oribos before she had met the kyrian, she might have been against them, too. She might have joined the forsworn, viewed their rebellion to be of the same merit as Prince Renathal's.

Tizzle wishes her well, but tells her as he goes, "I'll come back if you call for me, but I'd rather you didn't."

And then he is gone.

Millie Thornbrew stands nearby, waiting until Liila has wished the others well on their way off, back to the battlefields she pulled them from. The dwarf is with Wren. Millie and Liila met during their battles with the Legion. She is an incredible discipline priest, unparalleled in skill. Liila has known Wren considerably longer, though she holds them both in roughly the same regard.

Liila looks back at the two of them. "Are you sticking around for a bit?"

"We're going to help Mitchell in Maldraxxus," Wren says, pointing over his shoulder. "Apparently there was one other mortal with him, but she couldn't handle the realm and switched covenants to the fairy one?" He glances down at Millie and she nods.

"Yeah, apparently she was a druid, and they get along with the night fae really well anyway?"

"Ardenweald is a druid's paradise," Liila offers, walking slowly with them back into the city. "Maldraxxus is a hard realm to stomach."

Millie laughs. "I don't know. From what I've seen, I like it." When Liila arches her brow, Millie grins. "Earning your place among comrades? Fighting for honor for yourself and your house? And for fun? It's great!"

"You don't mind the ground warts?"

"They add character," Millie says, waving Liila's concern aside. "And I've never shied away from a challenge in my life."

Liila pauses, looks up at Wren. "Will you be okay?"

Like most other elves, Wren suffers nightmares because of the Scourge and all that was done to Quel'thalas. He is an admirable fighter, an excellent healer, but he does better when he is not around the undead.

"Well, from what I've heard and seen, the maldraxxi are what the Scourge were modeled after." He motions to Liila. "I thought they might know a thing or two about that curse that you and Zeri share."

Abruptly, his interest in staying makes sense.

He's talking about his wife, Zereesa, another of those tortured by Liila's tormentor. Liila's not surprised that the elf isn't here. Once their captor was defeated, Zereesa went back to Silvermoon and has barely set a foot out of it since.

Safe as she lives, it doesn't change the fact that she, too, has death runes carved into her, that should something strike her down, she too will get back up.

There are five of them in all. Five successful experiments who were not destroyed in fits of their tormentor's rage. None of their curses are exactly alike, but they all share two main effects. They are restored from any death—to some extent—and that if someone knows how, they can take control of the runes and likewise control of the person they are carved into.

Liila's is the worst, the most complicated. She was his first, though, and she's told that after she got away, his heart wasn't in it as much, that most of the others' curses are based more in practicality and utility than the excess carved into hers.

The runes that comprise the part that allowed for her to be controlled were the first to be tampered with, the first to be negated and destroyed. She bears their scars all down her left arm, and had thought them nothing but scars, until Denathrius had proved that he could awaken them if he so chose.

All that was done for her seems to have been for nothing.

At least the others aren't trapped this way.

For the first time in a long time, Liila wonders if perhaps something can be done for the other four.

She offered, when they were found, to share her notes, to help free them, but their scars and trauma were too fresh. They had not wanted anyone tinkering with those hateful runes, were content that their master was dead, that they could keep their curses secret and prevent anyone else from gaining control of them the way he had.

Liila made a couple copies of her notes, in case any changed their minds and reached out to her, but in the years since her tormentor's death, none of them ever have. They want what happened to stay in the past.

And considering they had all gone home, to places where they were not in constant danger, they hadn't felt the affects of their curses the same way she feels hers.

They won't, either, until old age brings about the inevitable. Until they outlive everyone they love and find that they can't bring an end to their cyclical resurrections without help.

Perhaps now that will never come to pass. Maybe Wren will find a solution to completely remove his wife's curse and will be able to share it with the other three, so that they will all be free to move on when their time comes. Theirs were not tinkered with, as Liila's was, so maybe there is still hope for them.

She tries not to think about what Arios told her, when they made their deal, about how her attempts to free herself did nothing but make everything worse. She had asked if it might be possible to remove if her curse was restored to its original state, painful as that would be. He had told her no, because it would not be built the same, the runes would be out of order and would never fall into place as they originally had.

There is no saving her, but maybe the others will have a kinder fate.

If anyone can find the way, she's sure Wren will.

Liila sees the other two to the flight master. Once they are on their way to Maldraxxus, she decides to head to the Maw. She's in a dismal mood already, and doesn't doubt she'll damper any celebrations about the restoration of the Temple of Courage.

She goes to the inn and changes into her Maw robes—she's noticed that they seem to be wearing out faster than any robes she's ever had before, despite wearing them infrequently.

It must be that place. The Maw is aptly named because it devours, slowly but surely.

As she dons them, inspects the fraying spots, she wonders what affect that place is having on her and her fellow mortals. What affect it's having on the others still trapped there.

From what she's heard, Jaina Proudmoore is not doing well. She will not talk about what happened to her in the Maw, and Liila understands completely. Admiral Proudmoore struggles with her recovery, mostly because she feels guilty that she is able to recover when Thrall and King Wrynn and those who went to rescue them are still down there, still suffering. Apparently Bolvar and Baine are having trouble keeping her convinced that her own wellbeing is just as important as theirs, that she must rest and leave the heroics up to others.

Liila sighs as she stares into the souls rushing past her, wonders if her muddling about the Maw really counts as 'heroics', if it counts when she comes back, empty handed.

Closing her eyes, she takes in a deep breath, and jumps.

Falling into the Maw is such a ritual for her now. Hold her breath, feel the pressure, count, and levitate. She thinks she's almost to the point where she could do the whole thing without counting.

Almost.

This time, however, does not go as all the others have. When she hits three something hits her. At least, she thinks so at first.

It only takes a second to realize that she was not actually hit, but grabbed. Something has her by the back of her robes.

She looks up, curses. The Mawsworn doesn't look down, instead keeping a firm grip, no matter how she twists. As she slips down in her robes, trying to just slip out of them altogether, the upper hem tightens around her throat, making it hard to breathe.

She remembers what Adrestes told her, about keeping souls away from the wings. She attempts to conjure shadows, aiming her spell for one of the wings, but the mawsworn shakes her just enough to interrupt her casting.

"You don't want me to drop you." The voice is low, just barely loud enough for her to hear over the wailing winds and souls around them.

Glancing down, she can see that the drop is a long one, but it's nothing she can't handle. Liila grips her collar, tries to pull it loose or just tear it so that she can breathe better.

She tries another spell and her captor shakes her again. He shifts his grip, tossing her from one hand to the other. This time, instead of her robes, he catches her by her neck. She tries to twist as he does so, but he's too experienced with this sort of thing. She reaches up, claws at his gauntlet.

He starts going higher and it only takes her a second to realize he is heading toward Torghast.

Shit.

Liila stills herself a moment, thinks. The mawsworn are kyrian and so they are used to carrying souls, used to gripping noncorporeal creatures. Perhaps the fact that she is still in her body can help. Liila tries to brace herself and then swings her lower half forward, bringing her leg up as hard and fast as she can in an attempt to kick her kidnapper in the face.

She misses.

When she tries again, he drops her.

She falls a few feet before another Mawsworn catches her, again by the back of the neck. It's hard enough that it nearly snaps her spine, and she's reminded of her earlier conversation with Adrestes. Of how her soulbinds can feel if she gets hurt too badly, if she dies.

Pain lances through her, but she ignores it, instead trying for another spell and another kick.

Chains hit her, wrap around and drag her down. She feels heavy, and her neck aches. Her arms and legs are pinned, and she can't see clearly to target wings or anything else with her spells. Liila tries to disperse into shadows, but the chains pulse and make her magic stall, like it's halfway cast and she can't finish it.

Like the wind has been knocked out of her lungs.

She struggles as best she can, but the chains will not budge.

It feels like an eternity before she's dropped again. This time the fall is short, onto a large platform. Her carriers land around her, one on each side and she hears a third mawsworn behind her. A hand jerks her up so that she is sitting on her knees, still chained.

"We meet again, Maw Walker."

Liila glares up, gaze cold.

Devos kneels in front of her. She is a sight to behold, tall and powerful, her wings dark, corrupted. Up close, those translucent feathers look more like they're rotted than just see through. Perhaps it is because they are bigger than most mawsworn feathers, but they are different, to be sure. She has abandoned her helm, though her hair is still drawn back in a tight bun. Her eyes glow dully as she inspects Liila.

"I'll take the chains off in a minute—"

Liila lets out a harsh laugh. When she speaks, her voice scratches against whatever magic is keeping her from using her own. "Spare me the monologue and kill me quick."

Devos is the one to laugh this time. "I think not. I've heard what happens when you die, Maw Walker. I know about your friend's…alterations to that wicked little curse. The ghoul strength."

Liila narrows her eyes. Devos is talking about the modifications Blood made to her curse, how he made it so that whatever injury that killed her would heal over while she was in between life and death. A side effect of that was that she gets a very short burst of strength, as though she were a real ghoul.

Aside from Blood and Haa'aji, she's fairly certain no one knows about that.

Anger boils up inside of her. "What have you done?"

"More than I suspect you will ever know," Devos says. There is regret in her tone, and that throws Liila. Devos pauses now, glances over her shoulder and motions for someone to come up. "I believe you two are acquainted."

Of all the creatures Liila might have expected to step into view from behind those great wings, the face who greets her is none of them.

Blood walks up, nods to Devos, then kneels next to Liila. He is a sorry sight. Most of his armor is gone, and there are gaping gashes across his dead flesh that Liila knows should not be there. The half of his face that usually sags is gone completely, with just a scratched-up skull in its place and an empty eye socket that glows with unholy light. The other side of his face bears a few new gashes.

"Hear her out, alright?"

Liila's gaze darts from one to the other. Blood nods to her, hand on her shoulder, encouraging. Liila appraises him, tries to feel for any sense that he is not real, that this is some trick, but she cannot tell. The chains around her dull her senses to the point that she can make her decisions on one thing alone.

Faith.

She looks back at him, into his eyes, and then gives him a small nod.

In a breath, the chains vanish. Liila falls forward, but Blood keeps her up.

The Mawsworn around her are armed, and the two she can see turn their spears toward her, a not-so-subtle hint that she is not trusted in the least.

She inspects Blood, dares a look at Devos. Then she heals some of the gashes on her friend. He winces against the touch of the Light, but makes no great show of the pain. When she's sure she's done what she can, she looks back at Devos, who is still kneeling in front of them, waiting.

"What is this?"

"A token of goodwill," Devos says. When Liila narrows her eyes again, she motions to her. "I need your help, Maw Walker."

"Is that so?"

"You've been on the wrong side of things yourself, just recently," she says. "Yet the Accuser gave you a second chance."

"And I'm to give you one?"

"Not me, per se," Devos replies. She motions to the Mawsworn around them. When Liila glances at them, she notices that their wings look more rotted than most, as well. That gives her pause. Devos, however, recaptures her attention easily. "The Archon's Path is flawed, but so is this one." When she looks back up, she holds Liila's gaze, resolute. "I cannot leave the Maw. I cannot warn the forsworn of what will happen if they come here to receive Helya's blessing, but you can. They must know not to come here."

"If you'd like, I can take you back to Oribos," Liila says, meeting her gaze evenly. "I was able to draw a maldraxxi baron out with me, so I know I can bring those from the Shadowlands through the waystone."

"I've made my bed, Maw Walker," Devos says plainly. "I will not leave the people I sent here to suffer this fate alone. But I need your help to make sure no one else comes through."

Liila stares at Devos, but her mind has gone back to Nikolon, to what he has said about how they are being forced into the Maw, about how many of them are only there at the Temple of Loyalty because they have nowhere else to go.

"I promise to hear you out, nothing more."

"I suppose that is more than I deserve." Devos nods to her, and then to her mawsworn, who reluctantly pull back their spears. "Now then, to business."


When Adrestes reaches Elysian Hold after parting ways with Thanikos at the Temple of Wisdom—the Hand is quite vocal about how depressed he is to still need to travel there, so frequently—he finds Eridia is waiting for him. She's near the entrance to the Archon's Rise, hovering and looking out over the commons.

It's the first time he's seen her outside of her temple since the attack.

She sees him coming and drops to the ground, tucking her wings back and offering him a small wave, as though to make certain he comes to her before checking on any parts of the hold.

He lands, offers her a nod. "Eridia, all is well, I hope." When she gives him a small nod, he motions to her. "I was going to come see you actually." She blinks, surprised. "I realize there is much to be done at Purity, but do you think you have any room for Liila—the Maw Walker to rest there from time to time? Any of the mortals, really."

Eridia nods, a little lost. "Of course, we can always make room for them."

"The Maw Walker has night terrors," Adrestes explains, and then abruptly wonders if she minds him telling others about what she has obviously been keeping private. Hopefully, she won't be displeased with him taking the initiative to help her.

"Oh," Eridia says, brow pinching with sympathy. She considers it a moment and then perks up a little. "I think I know the perfect place for her—and the others if they need somewhere soothing. I'd imagine all of them will, going to the Maw as they do."

Adrestes nods in agreement. "I'll let her know you have a place for her—for all of them." He almost turns to leave, mind already a whir with all the things that need to be done, but he remembers she was waiting for him, even as she reaches out to catch his arm before he can head off. "Did you need my assistance?"

She opens her mouth to say something and then stops, looks down. "I have a confession to make, and I hope you can forgive me, especially considering…"

Adrestes' mind immediately goes to Lysonia and the fact that she and Eridia were—possibly still are—soulbinds. Perhaps she is here about something she noticed before but dismissed? More than a few have come to him with stories of how they had noticed something was amiss with their soulbind, but had not put two and two together and are now riddled with guilt that they had never realized what was happening, right in front of them. "I'm listening."

She starts to speak, stops, closes her mouth. She looks at him, looks guilty. "Years ago, you were very close to one of the new souls that came to Bastion." This…is not where he was expecting this to go. He nods, frowning. "You…she was lost to us, and you couldn't handle it. You cleansed those memories."

Adrestes stares at her, frown deepening. "I am aware of this."

"Well, you stored those memories in a soul mirror, as we do," she is talking a little faster. "And I…" she winces. "I never took it to the Locus."

Adrestes' brow pinches together. He allows the silence to translate what it is she isn't saying. "You…kept my discarded memories."

Eridia's feathers fluff for a second, and she winces again. "It's not as creepy as it sounds! I never watched them. I just…" she looks away. "I didn't want what was lost to be forgotten by everyone."

Adrestes is speechless.

"Because there are so many memories, so many echoes of souls that end up in the Locus and then no one ever looks at them again because there's no need and Amaeria was so important to you and I just…" She flinches again. "Lysonia said I was foolish, but that there was no real harm in it. She never made me get rid of the mirror, so I kept it, to safeguard Amaeria's memory. To safeguard how you were, when you were in love." Even as Adrestes straightens up, indignant, she looks at him. "Because you were, Adrestes. You fell so hard and you were so happy." She wilts a little. "I teased you too much back then, and I shouldn't have. It was just exciting to see someone like you get all wrapped up in…in love."

For a moment, Adrestes doesn't know what to say. The fact that she's been keeping his memories for all these years is… unsettling to say the least. But he believes her when she says she hasn't watched them herself.

He considers it another moment, tries to look at what she is saying from her point of view. He fails, but still nods to her. "Well, it's…fine. Once the Locus has been secured, you can take it there with the rest of—"

"I don't have it anymore," Eridia says in a single exhale. "It was taken, during the attack on the temple, I think." She looks down, fidgets. "I kept it in a safe, out of the way place, and it wasn't until recently that I thought to look because the fighting never got to my private chambers, but it's not there. The soul mirror with your memories is gone."

Adrestes frowns, reaches up to rub at one of his temples and realizes he still hasn't gotten around to getting a new hood. He's meant to, but just hasn't found the time and no one's commented on his lack of one. No wonder Eridia is reacting to his silences like she is. She can see his full expressions. He sighs. "So you think the forsworn stole soul mirrors from your chambers—"

"A soul mirror," she corrects. "I don't think they were just grabbing whatever they could find," Eridia says quietly. "They were after your memories." She looks down again. "I had someone check on your memories in the Locus, and those are gone, too. So are mine, and all of the hands' and all of the paragons'."

Adrestes' brow pinches together. "You think they've taken our memories for a specific reason?"

"Lysonia…" Eridia says, stops. She takes in a shaky breath before steeling herself. "Lysonia had been saying, more and more, that maybe some memories shouldn't be abandoned. That maybe some could even be reclaimed, returned to the soul who gave them up." She looks down. "I thought she was being rhetorical at first. That she was just musing. I should have known better."

"How would that tie in to taking our memories?" Adrestes asks. He knows he's never wanted his back, even if he has gone to glance them over to figure out something bothering him.

"I don't…know," Eridia says. "But…I thought you should know. In case something comes of it."


When Adrestes resturns from his rounds around the hold, he feels that familiar tug pulling him back toward his main post. Since straightening things out with her, it doesn't stir any emptiness inside of him. Instead, there is something else, something he is a little wary of, but also can't bring himself to mind.

Affection.

He likes Liila, and the more honest he is with himself, the stronger that fondness seems to grow, like a flower, bursting to life inside of him. He's pleased that she's here, even if he did see her not too long ago, just before she went back to Oribos with her fellow mortals.

As he idly wonders if they might find somewhere quiet to talk, even if it's only for a little while, another sensation strikes him.

The sense of the Maw.

Surely, she has not been gone long enough to wander that place…

As he draws closer, he realizes that this sense, this feeling of wrongness is stronger than usual, stronger than what usually accompanies the mortals. It feels a little like when Liila first came to Bastion.

No, it is stronger than that.

Adrestes frowns as he looks to where he usually stands and sees two mortals are waiting for him. He alights in front of them, his expression hidden by the new hood he has finally donned. Liila has worn her darker 'Maw' robes all the way to Elysian Hold, but it is the one beside her who truly captures Adrestes' attention. The way the body looks like it's decomposing before his eyes, he can't help but wonder if the creature doesn't actually serve the Maw in some way.

"This is Blood," Liila says, motioning to him. "He's a good friend, and he needs to speak with the Archon."

Adrestes' gaze snaps down to her, frown firmly in place.

"He wants to swear allegiance to Bastion," Liila adds. "If you need to vet him, so be it, but he is good, and his message is important."

Adrestes would vet this stranger under normal circumstances, but he trusts Liila, and he trusts that if she will vouch for this creature, then Blood can be trusted as well. "Stay here."

The Archon is already meeting with Thenios and Visephone, but she bids them stay their concerns so that she may hear from the mortals, for she can feel them and the Maw essence tainting the very air around them, as well.

When Adrestes presents the mortals to them, Visephone looks upon Blood's visage with pity and compassion. Thenios' expression is hidden by his helm. The Archon is calm—she has been in better spirits since the restoration of the Temple of Courage.

"I have a message from Devos." Blood says once introductions are done. Even as Thenios, Visephone, and Adrestes tense, he produces a soul mirror. "It's for someone named Thenios, but Liila pointed out it will likely be better to just give it to you, Archon."

Thenios stands a little taller, despite himself.

The Archon narrows her eyes. "She is still trying to corrupt my people, even from the Maw itself?"

"I don't know about whatever corruption you're talking about, but she wants to prevent anyone else from going to it—the Maw, I mean," Blood says. "She saved me from a wicked fate, and all she asked was that I deliver this." He holds out the mirror, turns and looks up at Adrestes, offers it to him. "I would see my debt repaid."

The Archon gives Adrestes a small nod, and he takes the soul mirror. No sooner is it in hand, Blood holds up another. "There is another she seeks to give to the forsworn, something she hopes will deter them from going to the Maw."

"There will be no correspondence between the one who started this rebellion and her rebels," the Archon says.

Adrestes can feel her anger returning, seething beneath that neutral façade.

"My debt is repaid with that first mirror," Blood says. "But the second one, perhaps you should see it too. Perhaps it will help your cause if it reaches its intended audience."

The Archon makes a motion, and Adrestes holds out his hand for the second soul mirror as well. Blood hands it over without fuss. With both mirrors procured, the Archon turns her attention to Liila. "Maw Walker?"

"Yes?"

"Will you see to your companion? I imagine he will need rest after all his time in the Maw. Perhaps you can show him to the pools."

Liila curtseys, and quickly leads Blood away, pausing only to give Adrestes a fleeting, tired smile. Neither mortal seem interested in whatever may come next.

As soon as they are gone, the Archon bids Adrestes bring her the mirrors, and he does so quickly. They feel of the Maw, in a way that nothing else has, and he is glad to be rid of them. The second they touch the Archon's palm, he can feel the way her mere touch begins to purify them.

However, even as she takes them, the Archon pauses. "Thenios. If you would like to view—"

"I have no desire to hear anything she has to say," he replies, too quickly. There is pain in his voice, in the way he stands even taller, somehow.

The Archon nods and takes the mirrors.


The robes brought for Blood are small for a kyrian, though they hang awkwardly on him. He grins at Liila as he does a small turn, holding his arms out. "Never thought I'd be too small to wear something."

Even as Liila offers that she thinks he pulls the robes off quite well, loud footsteps sound down the hall and suddenly Kleia is there, gasping for breath. She barely gives herself time to recuperate before striding up to Liila, catching her by her shoulders, and inspecting her. "Are you alright? I—we felt when you were hurt!" Even as Liila gives her a confused look, Kleia turns her a little, moving her hair to the side. "Your neck…"

"Oh, that." Liila frowns. "Devos sent some mawsworn after me."

Kleia stills as she stares down at Liila, hands still gripping her shoulders. Then, even as she shakes her head and starts to say something else, she happens a glance to the side.

"By the Archon!" Kleia cries out before she can catch herself. Then she sucks in a breath, shaking her head back and forth as she looks at Blood. "You need medical assistance."

"It's fine. I'm already dead," Blood says, dismissing her concerns. Kleia finally releases Liila and steps over to Blood, inspecting him with care.

"I'm sure our healers could do something—"

"Liila took care of the worst of it," Blood assures her, and Liila can feel the dread curl inside of Kleia at the idea that his injuries were worse.

Before she can stop, more footsteps sound, from further away. Blood arches a brow, holds up two fingers and mouths 'round 2' with a quirk to his remaining eyebrow. Liila can't help but grin as she nods.

In a second, Pelagos is rounding the corner. He has a bag of tonics and bandages on hand, and he hits Liila with a quick heal before Kleia can tell him that she's okay. As he sees Blood, he casts another spell on him.

Blood lets out a bark of a laugh. "You know, if you try harder, you might regrow my eye."

Pelagos presses his lips together, stares at the undead orc, not sure what to say.

Liila considers that the worst undead her soulbinds have seen so far is Mitchell and he's mostly intact, so Blood is a bit of a shock.

Shaking his head, Blood looks at Liila. "I need to get a new helm."

Liila introduces them, and explains that Blood wants to join the covenant, that the Archon seems to have approved. With that simple explanation, the mood shifts and Pelagos and Kleia both seem to warm up to Blood instantly, asking him a few questions about what he knows of Bastion so far and the like.

Standing back, Liila listens quietly, occasionally giving reassuring nods to whoever looks her way. She has been given an aspirant's robe to wear while the stewards clean her Maw robe, and unlike Blood's, hers actually fits. She can't help but wonder when and who made her a kyrian robe and how long it's been lying around, unused and unloved. She wouldn't mind it, if it didn't expose her curse to the extent that it does.

As it is, her left arm is covered from shoulder to wrist with deactivated runes, black scars with a single, slowly fading white scar down their middle. There's another broken rune on one of her calves. At least the two on her back are covered. Though, there's other runes, ones that are simply dormant, ones Liila can't see but knows are there.

But she supposes that in that regard she doesn't look too different from Blood. He's also covered in death runes, some are scars, some are dormant and some glow with unholy light.

They're an odd contrast to the crisp white robes, and Liila feels like she's playing dress up and doing a poor job of it.

She's hesitant to leave the pools, but Blood asks, "So what's this about a tour?"

Though part of her wants to linger by the pools until someone returns her Maw robe to her, she considers that there should be no enemies here, no one to map out her curse to use against her. She should be safe here. Even if she doesn't quite feel it.

They wander the hold, with the three of them explaining things to Blood as he asks, introducing the few familiar faces, and showing him where to find everything. If the ascended take note of either of their scars and runes, they make no comment, and do not stare. Granted, there are a few who startle at the site of Blood's half exposed skull. One ascended's feathers fluff up dramatically before she can control herself, and she apologizes before doing her best to be as helpful as possible, as though to make up for her quick judgment.

It is as they are explaining soulbinds that Adrestes joins them, nodding to them and motioning for them to finish their conversation.

Blood looks up at Adrestes, drawing him into the conversation. "Does everyone have a soulbind?"

It's something Liila has never thought to ask. She's figured that it is a special thing, a sacred thing, but she has never until this moment even thought to ask herself if Adrestes has one.

An odd curl of jealousy stirs in her at the mere thought, though that hardly makes any sense. After all, she has her own soulbinds. Two of them. How could she fault him for having one of his own?

Adrestes shakes his head. "It is usually a bond forged between those who find themselves particularly close, be it romantically or platonically. In light of recent events, we are allowing mortals soulbinding, in hopes it can boost their—your resiliency and give you unique insights into our ways."

Soulguide Daelia joins the conversation, too. "I've had a lot of people coming by to bind, of late. Friends mostly, who want the extra edge to keep each other up." She glances down at Kleia and then Liila, smiling. "I even have a few asking about if it's really alright to bind to multiple souls."

Adrestes lets out a faint hmph, as though he does not quite approve, but rather than respond, he looks to Blood. "Once you have spent some time here, proven yourself, we will be happy to arrange a soulbind for you, assuming you do not find a volunteer on your own."

Blood cocks his head. "You won't be worried about someone seeing my memories of the Maw? Of the mawsworn and Devos?"

Soulguide Daelia's brow shoots up, and Liila notices the way another nearby ascended's interest seems piqued.

Adrestes expression—what can be seen of it—shows nothing more than usual. "I assure you, if we do not feel your soulbinding will be a good fit, it will not happen."

"Something happened with Devos in the Maw?" Pelagos asks, then.

Liila and Blood nod, though Liila is the one to answer. "According to her, 'the Archon's Path is flawed, but so is this one.'" She pauses. "She meant the one leading to the Maw."

"Perhaps some more time down there, and she'll realize the error of her ways," Soulguide Daelia murmurs. Her tone is frosty, and she quickly excuses herself to tend to other matters.

"She wants us to prevent anymore forsworn from going to the Maw," Blood says.

Pelagos perks up, and Liila is absolutely certain he's thinking about Nikolon.

Adrestes simply frowns. "I would ask you not to speak of the fallen paragon so openly, while you are here."

Blood salutes him. "As you say."

With a nod in return, Adrestes turns to Kleia and Pelagos. "Perhaps you can finish this tour? The Archon would like to speak with you," his gaze is on Liila as he finishes. He motions for her to leave with him.

She waves to the others before heading out into the commons with Adrestes.

When they reach the open area, Adrestes kneels and motions for her to come closer. "You'd rather I not pick you up by the neck, as I recall."

Liila feels a faint heat rise to her cheeks which she tries to fight, stepping up to him. She tugs her hair over her shoulder, quickly twisting it and then holding it so that it won't blow free the second they take off. He lifts her up easily, and then they are in the air.

This is the second time he has flown her anywhere, and just like the last time, there are butterflies in her chest. She keeps her face near his neck, turned away from the winds so that she can breathe easier—he is a fast flyer and it is easy for her to lose her breath.

She does peer out, at the world that rushes around them. They leave the hold behind and head up into the Spires, higher and higher. Liila has never been afraid of heights, but seeing the floating platforms flash by does make her stomach flip once, as she considers just how high they are, just how much of a fall it would be. Of course she would be able to catch herself with a spell, but still…

When they finally land, Adrestes sets her down gingerly, much as he did at Hero's Rest. This time, he doesn't head off immediately.

Instead, he kneels, makes certain that she is alright, and then motions for her to go ahead.

The walk is short, past a few sheer curtains that billow gently in an unending wind—it is cold up here, colder than any other part of Bastion, and Liila is abruptly reminded that she is dressed in a kyrian aspirant's robe rather than her usual attire. She again wishes she had changed earlier. At least then she would have had long sleeves…

It is just as she wonders if it is too late to go back and get something warmer—even a simple cloak would help— that she sees the Archon, hovering at the other end of the open area. She offers Liila a patient smile as she beckons her come forward with glowing fingers. As Liila walks up, she nods to Adrestes. "I will send her back to you when we are finished."

Adrestes bows deeply, turns and leaves Liila alone with the god.

"Come, Maw Walker." The Archon alights on the platform, and it glimmers from her touch, highlights of glowing anima illuminating near her feet. She turns and leads Liila through another set of sheer curtains, to a large ceilinged area. The glowing anima follows after her, fading slowly from the places she has stepped. The enclosed area has a few pillows arranged neatly near its center, the main one being something impressive enough to put Liila's recent gifts to the Runecarver to shame. The Archon goes to this one and settles onto it, allowing her large wings to tuck against her back, the longer feathers draping gently against the fabric. The pillow lights up as she touches it as well, and it is as though anima runs across its surface, spiraling into pretty patterns, lighting up symbols and runes.

Liila follows after her, having to move quickly to keep up, despite the Archon's slow pace.

When the Archon is settled in, she notices that Liila is still standing and motions to the other pillows. "Sit, rest."

Liila feels a little like a child, climbing onto the nearest pillow, the one directly across from the Archon. It's clearly meant for creatures like the paragons or Adrestes, not aspirants, and definitely not mortals.

Everything around them has a faint glimmer to it, a gentleness that seems to be born simply from the proximity of its maker.

"All of Bastion looked like this, before the drought," the Archon says when she notices the way Liila's gaze wanders. She smiles faintly when Liila's attention snaps back to her.

Liila tries to think of an appropriate response. She has never been good with gods, and it occurs to her now that she is all alone with this one, far above anyone she knows. Except for Adrestes. But then, he belongs to the Archon, doesn't he?

She's not sure why she feels torn by that.

The Archon is waiting.

"Kleia showed me a little of what was lost, when I first got here."

"Bastion will be restored, given time." When Liila nods, the Archon tilts her head. "I am curious, mortal, to know your opinion."

"Of what?"

"Bastion."

"It's beautiful," Liila says, earnestly. "I…when I first got here, I was certain it had to be some kind of trick. That anywhere could actually be this…" she fumbles for the word before finally whispering, "kind. Or gentle."

"Azeroth is a hard place."

"She has her moments," Liila agrees. "It's not her fault, though." When the Archon arches a brow, Liila motions vaguely, as though toward her world. "Azeroth has a titan's soul, so a lot of entities want her power. We—we, mortals, just get caught up in the chaos of it all." She motions to herself.

The Archon nods. "That must be exhausting."

Somehow, it feels like a betrayal to admit that the Archon is right. That it is exhausting.

"At least it leads to some interesting stories," Liila offers.

The Archon lets out a low hum. "I imagine so." She appraises Liila, lets the silence settle around them. Liila wonders if she should say more, perhaps regale the god with tales of Azeroth's many apocalypses. However, before she can try to muster a proper story, the Archon speaks. "What do you think of the Path?"

"Bastion's Path?" Liila asks. When the Archon nods, she blinks, a little thrown. "I think I don't really know enough of it to have a real opinion." The Archon's brow raises. Liila's gaze lowers as she thinks of what she has heard. "If I had to say something… I think it can be both kind and cruel."

The Archon beckons her to speak on, and so she does, honestly. She tells the Archon how she has debated the different aspects, how she cannot imagine some of the sacrifices that must be made. How lonely it feels to abandon oneself, even if it is for the greater good. She tells her of the fallen ascended she found in Maldraxxus, clutching a note to a love she should have forgotten.

"It seems so…sad. For the people here to have to forget everyone they've loved, everything they were." She looks down, at her hands that rest clasped in her lap. "There was an aspirant who was terrified of losing herself to the Path. She's one of the ones who fell, just before the attack on the Temple of Purity." Liila tells herself to stop talking, that the god before her probably did not expect her to actually be critical of what she has spent eons creating and perfecting. And yet, she can't help herself. "If I had to give up who I am, I would be lost, too."

The quiet that settles between them is a gentle one, and it is not until Liila finally dares to look up at the Archon that the god speaks.

"I do not think that you quite understand just what Bastion is, who comes here. The souls who come to me are good," the Archon says. Even as Liila nods, the Archon keeps speaking, "It is not their environment or the people around them who made them good. There is nothing wrong with those who are shaped thus, but those who come here—my souls, my ascended, are the kind of creature who would are good regardless. They would do the right thing no matter the circumstance, no matter their upbringing. It is woven into their very souls. Even if they have never been shown a day of kindness, they will choose the path that lets them help another."

"Inherently good," Liila murmurs.

The Archon's smile makes the skin around her eyes crinkle. "Yes. Take Adrestes," she motions to where he is waiting, far enough away that he cannot hear them. "It does not matter what memories are or are not in his head, he bears the same traits he would through any life or afterlife. He is loyal, devoted to his work and realm and friends, dependable. These traits are ingrained in him, in the core of his being. Bastion just allows them to flourish. It allows him to flourish. His soul is most content when it is allowed to exercise these traits. All of my souls are thus."

Liila can't help the small smile that comes when she thinks of him. She has wondered, idly, what he might have been like in life, who he might have been, but it is nice to think that at his core, he is the same, that the trappings and goals may change, but he is eternally himself.

"At least, they supposed to be," the Archon corrects, drawing Liila out of her thoughts.

Liila blinks. "You mean the forsworn?"

The Archon's perfectly sculpted brow arches. "Do you think they belong here?"

"I…" Liila considers it, considers what Nikolon has said, what Devos has said. "I think that even the best person can be led astray, that a good person can take up a bad cause if they truly believe they are doing what's right."

"Oh?"

Liila notes the warning in the Archon's voice, but she decides to keep going. "When I was in the Temple of Purity, before the attack, I saw five kyrian fall, four aspirants and one disciple. When he fell, the disciple, it was because he saw how much pain the Path was causing the aspirants and he felt too helpless to stop it. When he fell, he said he would find a way where the aspirants would not have to suffer so." She meets the Archon's gaze, determined. "I think many of them are not bad people at all. They just cannot abide the suffering that happens now, in light of the drought, and have no clear way forward, so they fall. And then once they have fallen there is nowhere that will accept them, but Loyalty." Liila hesitates at that, "And they promise that any who join them need not give up all they are, that they will find another path. They offer the words the fallen need to hear, to assure them that the cause is worthy, just."

"Do you think their cause is worthy and just?" The Archon's smile is gone, as is the gentle feeling that has pervaded the sitting room. Now, Liila is again acutely aware of how cold it is here.

"I think whatever it could have been, it fell to corruption the second they decided to take innocent lives," Liila replies. "Fighting, trying to overthrow you and your realm should never have become a goal." She thinks about it and then shakes her head. "I… I believe they are still good souls, just misled. They are walking a hard path because they think they must. A good soul always does what is right, yes? Even if it will be detrimental to themselves, even if it will cause pain to others, even if it means falling out of favor with a god."

The Archon inspects her. "Do you think the forsworn can be saved?"

"Absolutely," Liila says, again her mind goes to Nikolon.

"And what of Devos?" When Liila looks surprised, the Archon tilts her head. "Can she be saved?"

"I…don't know." Liila looks down. "But I do know she's beginning to realize that she was wrong."

The world seems to grow still, unnaturally quiet.

"You met with her. Not just your friend?"

"She had her people grab me," Liila says, she motions over her shoulder. "After she saved Blood. She was the one who reunited us."

The Archon's gaze narrows ever so slightly. "Show me."

It is not a request.

There is power in those words, like a bell tolling, and it is not something Liila can argue against. Before she can ask if she should get a soul mirror, the memories play out between them. Of Liila being thrown onto the platform where Devos was waiting, of her reunion with Blood, of Devos' requests.

It is a short memory. Devos was not interested in idly banter, after all. She had gotten straight to the point, that she needed Liila and Blood to save the forsworn from Helya, that surely two heroes could see the merit in that.

Then she had a mawsworn named Klotos take Liila and Blood to a gateway that led out of Torghast. It was surprising how quickly the whole encounter had ended, as it plays out. When Liila was there, it felt like an eternity.

As the memory snaps out, the world returning to the pleasant pastels and bright hues around them, Liila thinks of something else. "We escaped too easily."

"Devos was allowing it."

"But before," Liila says. "Every time." She looks up at the Archon, remembering the Runecarver's words. "I think the Jailer is letting us come and go, but I don't know why."

"The more creatures wandering the realms with the essence of the Maw clinging to them, the less likely an actually Maw beast will be recognized, should one actually make it out," the Archon says, almost dismissively. "Your friend certainly felt like something my brother would have made, when he first arrived." Even as Liila blinks, surprised, the Archon motions to her. "Were it not for his similarities to you, I might have had him tossed back in."

Instantly, Liila knows she is talking about the runes. "He's—"

"Another soul snared by the Scourge," the Archon finishes, much more succinctly than Liila would have managed. When she nods, the Archon seems to consider it. "I have already sent two scouting parties to your world. The first did not come back. The second returned in poor shape. That breach in the veil is the worst I have ever seen."

Liila grimaces. "Well, that's Azeroth for you. We always have to outdo everyone else."

The Archon allows herself a short, joyless chuckle. Then, she motions to Liila. "I wish for you to know that I have not forgotten our deal. You orchestrated the healing of my temple and so I will aid your world with its mawsworn resurrections." As Liila straightens up, the Archon's expression softens a little. "I will not tell you how, but we will take the mawsworns' favorite souls and keep them from their reach. Until they can be returned to their damnation. That should provide some relief to your people."

"Thank you, Archon," Liila says in a breath.

With a slight tilt of her head, the Archon appraises her with open curiosity now. "I realize our deal is concluded, but I do hope you will stay."

It surprises Liila, the idea that the Archon has thought she may leave, once their transaction is complete. It reminds her of what Adrestes asked her, not too long ago, though somehow, a god thinking she may wander off is far less offensive than when Adrestes did.

She tucks some of her hair back behind an ear, a little self-conscious. "I intend to stay. For now." She pauses. "There is still much to be done in the Shadowlands."

"So there is," the Archon says. Her smile is warmer this time. That chill has gone from the air. She rises from her seat and Liila follows suit, heading after her as she walks back the way they came. When they get to where they can see Adrestes, Liila can't help the bubble of joy that stirs in her when he turns to face them, salutes the Archon and then smiles at her.

The Archon nods to Liila, and she starts to head toward Adrestes, but stops when the Archon calls out, "High Priestess?"

Liila turns, surprised. "Yes, Archon?"

"When the dust settles, I would like to speak with you about the Scourge. Would you do me that honor?"

"Of course," the words come without thought.

The Archon's smile is a kind one as she nods. Then, she looks to Adrestes. "A word before you go, polemarch?"


Adrestes walks swiftly to the Archon, following her a small distance until the Archon seems content that Liila will not eavesdrop on their conversation. "I would know what you think of our Maw Walker," she says, her gaze flitting toward Liila and then back to Adrestes. Even as he opens his mouth to answer, she adds, "On a personal level."

"I profess to a certain…fondness of our Maw Walker," he says. He starts to glance back at her, but stops himself. He does not want Liila to know they are talking about her. "It will not interfere with my duties."

"You fear it might?"

"No—" Adrestes says, too quickly, and then hesitates. "Arios was concerned that any attachments would end poorly, so I tried to take his counsel to heart, but…" He trails off, not sure what to do, what to say. "I hope I have not shirked my duties—"

"Nothing of the sort," the Archon says, almost dismissively. She offers Adrestes a gentle smile. "A word of advice?"

"I would be most honored, my Archon."

"Do not spend all your time tangled in fears of what may or may not be, Adrestes. We will not see her lost to us again."

"Again?" Adrestes brow pinches as he replays what the Archon has just said in his mind. Usually, he can follow her orders or her guidance, but now… Now he feels like he is missing something. "Forgive me, my Archon, but I do not understand."

The Archon pauses, seems to consider it and then smiles at Adrestes again. "There is a certain type of magic in discovering things for oneself. I've taken up enough of your time, polemarch. Go in service."

As much as he wants to ask for clarification, he knows better. Instead, he bows deeply and then turns, moving quickly to where Liila waits.

She looks up at him as he approaches and he can't help but smile. She is dressed as an aspirant, and he thinks it is fitting. She has scars and runes, but there is something about her willingness to be vulnerable, to trust them with her secrets, that stirs something in his chest.

She's braided her hair this time, and is playing with it, trying to get it to stay up in a bun.

Adrestes' smile stretches a little as she smiles back. He's still puzzled by what the Archon said, but he considers perhaps she is referring to Liila's first death here, though it wasn't much of a loss.

Regardless, he feels lighter.

He kneels and lifts Liila again, careful to pick her up gently. He can swear that she shifts closer to him in his arms. He glances down at her, finds her peering up at him, curious. "You might want to hold on. I've found the wingless enjoy going down far less than coming up."

She loops an arm around his neck, and for a second, he can swear that her cheeks darken a touch. He lifts them into the air and then heads down. It's a faster trip down, with the earth below calling them back. She buries her face against his neck. He's tempted to go further, to use their trip as an excuse to keep her closer. However, that wouldn't be fair, and he can feel the way her hands grip at his shirt. There is tension there.

Instead, he takes her back to where he usually stands when he is in the hold.


When Adrestes sets her down, Liila lingers near him, not quite wanting to leave. She likes being near him, and she wishes she could think of something to say that might give her an excuse to talk, even if just for a moment.

"You've impressed the Archon," Adrestes says, drawing her out of her struggle. "That's not easy to do."

She blinks, looks up at him to see he is smiling still. She feels a little awkward as she scratches at her earlobe. "I hope I can prove worthy," she murmurs, not sure what else to say. When she looks at what she's done, she doesn't see that anyone else wouldn't have done the same, given the opportunity.

He shakes his head a little at that, then reaches out and takes her hand. "You've more than proven yourself, Maw Walker. Liila." He pauses a second. "It's an honor to—"

"Liila!" Pelagos calls, cheerfully. He is hurrying up the steps. "I brought your robes, if you want to change—" he nearly trips over his own feet as he tries to stop when he sees them there, with her hand in Adrestes'. He stands there, a little awkwardly, and then motions over his shoulder. "I'll be waiting for you, near the pools."

And with that, he is hurrying away as fast as he arrived.

Liila blinks, staring after him, and then looks back at Adrestes, who seems equally puzzled. Both their gazes drop to their hands at the same time, and Liila realizes that Pelagos has mistaken what is happening for something else.

She lets out a faint, awkward laugh, pulling her hand away.

However, as she does so, her bare fingers brush against Adrestes' and it is as though lightning strikes.

It is bold and brilliant and utterly perfect. It is like electricity jumping to every nerve in her body, from the tips of her fingers up her arm and on, a swelling of something unimaginable.

Unimaginable, but right.

For a moment, it's as though she's peering into something vast and deep and the truest thing she has ever witnessed.

A hand lands hard on her shoulder, and the force of it is just enough to pull hers away from Adrestes'. The second their skin breaks contact, she is back in Elysian Hold, staring up at him in utter shock as he looks down at her, his mouth slightly open, as though he too is speechless.

"Maw Walker? Are you…are you okay? Adrestes, what did you do?"

Liila blinks, looks to the side to see Thanikos standing beside her, hand still resting on her shoulder, as he gives Adrestes a look of mock suspicion. "I…what…" she looks back at Adrestes. His feathers ruffle for an instant before he regains his composure and crosses his arms, looking to the side. She looks back at Thanikos, who is kneeling beside her now.

"If you need me to throw him off a ledge, I will happily do so," the Hand offers, motioning to Adrestes.

Liila can't help the disbelieving laugh that comes at that. "No, I rather like him around," she says before she can stop herself. She feels the heat rising to her cheeks, wonders just what sort of hole she's digging for herself and if she should go ahead and jump in or not. "And I doubt tossing him anywhere would do much. He's got wings, too, you know."

Adrestes flexes them quickly as though to emphasize what she says. There's a faint upturn to his lips, though it disappears as Thanikos stands up. He tousles Liila's hair, as he's gotten into a habit of doing, and her braid falls down her back.

"Disappointing, but probably for the best," Thanikos says with a knowing nod. Then, he looks down at her again. "Xandria wants you to meet her in Maldraxxus." When she gives him a questioning look, he grins. "It's time for retribution."

"She's barely back from the Maw," Adrestes protests, annoyance clear in his tone.

Even as Thanikos pauses to inspect Liila, as though reconsidering the invitation to join in the fight for vengeance, Liila waves off their concern.

"I'll head out in just a minute."

She turns to Adrestes. She wants to know if he felt that, too. He had to have, surely. From the look on his face, it took him by surprise just as much as it did her, but she wants to ask if he knows what it was, why it happened.

Part of her thinks that maybe it was because they touched, but she almost immediately dismisses it because they have touched before.

Haven't they?

As she thinks back, it occurs to her that every time they have come in contact, there was always something between them. Robes, gloves, something. Or, in the event of an outstretched hand, something always interrupted them, drew them apart.

More than ever, she wants to reach out and take Adrestes' hand in hers. She wants to brush her fingers along his jaw and through his hair, to ask him if he feels it too. The draw.

The lightning.

Assuming the latter will happen again, and it was not some weird fluke.

A whisper inside her tells her it wasn't.

However, even as she looks to him, someone calls his name. He's in the air in a second, though he pauses, hovering there in front of her, and gives her a nod. "I'll see you when you get back. Stay safe, Liila."

When she nods, he takes off, ignoring as Thanikos calls after him that the Maldaxxi are the ones in danger now. He sighs, looks down at Liila. "I'll be waiting for you at the Theater of Pain, to take you over to the staging area for our attack."

And then he too is off, and Liila is left standing there, wanting nothing more than to chase after Adrestes with wings she doesn't have.

Instead, she realizes that he has all but promised to speak with her when she gets back, and in order for that to happen, first she has to go. There is an extra bounce in her step as she hurries to find Pelagos.