A hand comes down on Adrestes' head, and he jumps, whirling around to find Disciple Chyrus standing behind him. There is a hint of mischief in his eyes as he bows his head once in respect. "Aspirant."
Adrestes stands a little taller. "Do you need something, disciple?"
"No, but it would seem you do." Even as he speaks, Chyrus motions around them.
They stand in the middle of a field, with swaying grasses reaching out in every direction, the occasional tree breaking up the monotony of it all.
Adrestes glances toward the sky overhead, noting a few ascended in flight high above. If anyone is waiting for Chyrus to return to the skies, he can't see them. He hesitates. "My friend lost a scroll. We're trying to find it."
Chyrus brow shoots up. He glances around, curious. "Someone came all the way out here to read? There are plenty of quiet nooks on the temple grounds, you know."
"Trust me, I do," Adrestes says before he can stop himself. When he notices the way Chyrus arches his brow, he can't help but sigh. "I…it's a long story," Adrestes murmurs. "One I haven't heard in its entirety."
Adrestes and Nebi have been making their way through their rites at roughly the same pace. Nebi finished the Rite of Purity before Adrestes, but he caught up with her and finished his Rite of Courage fast enough that he made it to the Temple of Humility before her. She's been teasing him about how it's her turn to leapfrog ahead now, though they both have more than a little to learn about humility.
Adrestes figures that they will be here a while, and there's no point in making bets because those will just be acts of hubris, whether they bet on themselves or each other. Nebi has been pouting because of his unwillingness to participate.
Playful antics aside, they have been studying and working on bettering themselves, on following the path. It is not always so easy, of course. Adrestes has moments when he wakes up in a panic because he can't remember who he was, but they are becoming less and less frequent.
Nebi hasn't had that problem. Whoever she was, she was glad to let go.
He asked her about it once, curious, and she just laughed and told him she couldn't tell him what she didn't remember.
It's a fair point.
After his most recent nightmare where he woke mourning something that he can no longer remember, he threw himself back into his studies, thinking that the sooner he can push himself to ascension, the sooner these strange voids will cease to plague him. He just needs to push through.
But his mind wouldn't settle, that emptiness too eager to loom up, in the space around him, the space between the words penned so neatly to parchment. So he turned to meditation. As he practiced his breathing, focusing on the feel of it rather than the words he was struggling to read or that damned void that welled up inside of him when he thought about who he had been, he'd felt it.
A prickle on the back of his neck that said he was being watched.
When he opened his eyes, he found Nebi, sitting almost knee to knee with him, mouth a thin line.
He jumped, fell backwards.
She was unphased. "I need help."
And now here he is, in the middle of nowhere, trying to help Nebi find a scroll she dropped while being chased by a vulpin.
He'd told her to just ask the disciples for help, but Nebi is too embarrassed. She doesn't want to bother too many people because of her own missteps.
Just Adrestes.
Chyrus looks around again, squints as he sees Nebi in the distance, under a tree. "Is it just the two of you?"
"Yes."
"Good," Chyrus smiles, calling out to Nebi and waving her over. She comes, a sheepish look darkening her cheeks as she looks from Adrestes to Chyrus and back. Chyrus merely smiles at her. Adrestes likes Chyrus. Some of the ascended can get a little distant, a little full of themselves after getting their wings. But not Chyrus. He walks among the aspirants and acolytes as though he is still one of them, just as easily as he talks to the paragon herself, as though they are all equals. It's no wonder Mercia likes him so much. "What's the name of the scroll?"
Nebi hesitates, then stands a little straighter as she recites the title—it's a long one.
"Are you thinking of being a watcher?" Chyrus asks. When Nebi nods, he echoes the motion, smile stretching. "You're definitely on the right path then, with that one. It's got some of the trickier scenarios for deciding a soul's time."
"Oh, I know," Nebi's excitement bubbles up as she talks about the different ones she's read so far, how she stops just before the end of each example and tries to figure out whether they should be sent back or onward to the Arbiter. "I've gotten twenty-eight of forty so far, which isn't bad," she says. "And I think I'm getting better as I go."
Chyrus is patient with them, laughing and listening as Nebi regales him with more numbers and figures—she's good with those—and as Adrestes admits that he doesn't know that he'd make a good Watcher, that he thinks he'd like to find a place here in Bastion, instead, even if he hasn't found a great interest in any of the professions the Collectors offer.
They fan out after Chyrus gets the full story out of Nebi. She hadn't meant to wander so far, but then when she realized she had, she'd turned around to find a vulpin following her and blocking the way back. The more she tried to get around the creature, the more it had gotten in her way, and she'd gotten frightened and started running a bit haphazardly.
She dropped the scroll on the way back to the temple, but doesn't know where.
Adrestes mutters that she shouldn't have run like she did, but Chyrus assures her that it's better to be safe than to get hurt. And scrolls can always be replaced.
Nebi is properly horrified by that idea.
"It's just paper and ink," Chyrus promises her. "We can always replace that. You, on the other hand…" He pats her head and takes to the air, looking for any dips in the grasses that might signal to where the scroll has fallen.
They search for over an hour before a burst of anima sparks in front of Adrestes' face. He jerks back a step and then rubs his eyes. "Nebi, do you have to do that?"
"Sorry!" she calls out. When he looks her way, she is holding the scroll, triumphant.
"That's a curious spell," Chyrus says, landing beside her as Adrestes lopes over. The way the ascended is blinking rapidly, she used one of her anima bursts to get his attention, too. "Perhaps you can modify the brightness? It might cause trouble if you cast it on someone moving too quickly."
"You could've made Chyrus fly into a tree," Adrestes translates, tone flat.
"I'm sorry," Nebi whispers, wilting a little. "I will work on it."
"Nebi's world didn't have magic," Adrestes says, shaking his head. The spots in his vision are finally fading. "So she gets excited when she gets to use it."
"I—" Nebi frowns, brow pinched together. Then she straightens up. "That is not why I like magic."
"It is," Adrestes mutters. "Just because you don't remember it—"
He cuts himself off as Chyrus puts a hand on his shoulder, and turns to see that Nebi seems troubled. The way she looks… For the first time, it hits him that he is not the only one who thinks back to his past, to that yawning void, and finds something unsettling there. Even if Nebi did have an easier time letting go, the fact that it is gone is still…
"I'm sorry," Adrestes says.
Nebi's smile is faint as she nods to both of them. Before she can dismiss herself, Chyrus abruptly takes the scroll, tosses it to Adrestes, takes Nebi's hands and twirls her around. It only takes a second for her smile to bloom back, full force. Chyrus offers her a bow. "In life, I was quite the dancer," he says. "I don't remember it, either, but I find I don't need to. It's a part of who I am, and we don't forget that." He pauses a tic. "So whatever initial reason you may love magic, it doesn't matter. Because your love of magic is a part of you, and it won't be hampered by forgetting how it started."
By the time they get back to the temple grounds, Nebi is her usual bubbly self, explaining all the pointless spells she's created to Chyrus and how her favorite is still that little burst of anima, the one she uses to get people's attention.
Before she runs off, she promises she will work on making it dimmer.
Adrestes waits until she is out of earshot before saying, "The first time she was ever able to use magic, it was in a quiet little burst, like that." He motions after her. "She loved it so much, she decided she'd better make a use for it." His hand falls back to his side. "I suppose…I'll forget that eventually? It's not really mine to remember anyway."
With a laugh, Chyrus pats Adrestes on the head again. It doesn't feel condescending, though. "You may forget it, in time. Eternity is filled with so many little moments that we can't keep them all." When Adrestes looks up at him, Chyrus smiles. "But there's no harm in holding onto a few. It's a memory from here, and while it might have been tied into her past for her, it's not for you."
Adrestes considers it, nods. It is nice thinking that he does not have to abandon everything. Even as he thinks that, he realizes that in a way, he has thought that. That he must let go of everything. Because at one point, he did.
But now, with time marching forward, he is making new memories, ones he can keep, ones he can cherish. So much is asked of them here, but they do not have to give up everything after all.
When he glances at Chyrus, Adrestes wonders if there are any little loves of his that have stuck with him, like Nebi's love of magic, and Chyrus' love of dance. He supposes in time, he'll find out.
Or maybe someone will point it out to him.
If they do, he'll try not to mind.
"Thank you, disciple."
"Just Chyrus is fine."
"Thank you, Chyrus."
Adrestes is on patrol, soaring over the fields between Purity and Humility when a swirl of anima, bright and blue, bursts to life in front of his face. It is gone in an instant, before he can even fly into it, but he stops regardless, hand moving to the haft of his mace.
There is only one soul in all of Bastion who seeks his attention in this way.
He scans the world below and is about to turn his gaze above when he sees her.
Fallen Watcher Nebi.
She stands atop one of the larger anima gateways that direct the flow of anima throughout Bastion—when there is enough to be directed. Right now, the gateway hangs in the air, unused, with Nebi standing there, half hidden by the shade of the tree that was planted on top of it.
It takes him a moment to realize she is waving him to her.
Even as he does, another small burst of anima appears in front of his face. This time it trails toward her as it dissipates.
His grip on his mace tightens for a second before he considers that Nebi is an apt caster, and if she wanted to cause him harm, she already would have.
Reluctantly, he releases his weapon and flies over to her. She steps back a little when he is close enough, giving him room to land with her.
He does not.
"I heard about what happened at Purity," she says, and there is regret in her voice. "I'm so sorry. That never should have happened."
Adrestes' mouth is a thin line as he stares at her, trying not to feel cold. She was a friend for so many eons, even if now…
Her dark feathers bristle as she realizes he isn't going to answer her. "I suppose I should just…get down to business then."
Her voice is softer, sadder.
The fact that she has called him over like this, and the fact that she thinks there is business between them to be done…
Inspecting her, Adrestes frowns. "Do you wish to come back to the Path?"
"Someday, if it's possible. Once things are made right," she says. This time, he's the one bristling. She sighs.
"You're the one who abandoned your post," he snaps.
"Andromede told me how the souls are all going to the Maw. I had to see for myself," she says. "And when I saw it was true, I fell. And I vowed to help make things right." Even as his brow pinches—not that she can see—she goes through a small satchel on her hip and pulls out several scrolls and then holds them out to him. "This is for Thenios. It seems he's finally coming around."
It takes all his self-control not to smack them away. "You think I'm going to let you corrupt a second paragon with your—"
"It's just a list of the realms we've already spoken with, about housing souls," Nebi says, words tumbling out quickly. She offers it to Adrestes again. "He's starting to send people out to the realms and there was almost an incident between our—my people and his. Yours." She looks down. "Whatever is happening here, we all have a sacred responsibility. We should not put ferried souls at risk."
Adrestes is not sure what makes him take the proffered scrolls, but he does. He unrolls the first one and scans it quickly, frowning as he realizes just what she's given him. He looks back up at her, but she's already gone, shifted back through the veil to make her getaway.
He wonders if he should follow after her. This could well be a trick, after all.
But again, this is Nebi. She is about as gentle a soul as they come.
Or she was.
Of all those who have become forsworn, her fall from grace has cut the deepest, and he recognizes that that very wound colors his opinion.
Reluctantly, he rerolls the scroll and sticks it in his own satchel before checking the others quickly to make sure there are no curses or trap spells in them.
Of course there aren't.
He makes a beeline toward Humility, barely offering a wave when Voitha calls out a greeting. Instead, he goes straight to the active gateway, taking it to Wisdom.
It is wonderful to have those working again. It cuts his travels down substantially, and gives him more time to work on other things, like security measures.
He finds Arios first, but waits until Thenios has been called to join them before he pulls out the scrolls. "I have notes for you, about forsworn movement."
Arios is surprised, but Thenios simply takes the scrolls, scanning them with a swiftness only a paragon can muster. "This…" he pauses, curls his hand around the parchment and then nods to Adrestes. "Thank you. I'll take this to the Archon."
He's gone before Adrestes can reply.
Adrestes can feel Arios' gaze boring into him, and he looks over slowly to find he has the Hand's unwavering attention. "Am I to understand you're reaching out to realms about storing souls in them? Until the Arbiter awakens?"
Arios fluffs, surprised. "We only just started that days ago. How do you—"
"The forsworn have already been doing that," Adrestes says, voice a little flat. "Apparently, they've been redirecting souls themselves for some time."
"So far, two of the eight realms we've gone to have told us that they have already taken in those they can, that the ones who travel on black wings brought them," Arios says.
Adrestes motions to where Thenios was. "Well, now you know all of them."
It is more than that, in truth, though it is not until the Archon calls Adrestes to hear more of what has been given to Thenios that he can truly understand.
Nebi has been busy.
And she has entrusted Adrestes with three scrolls that could very well put all of her machinations in jeopardy. The first one is a list of realms in the Shadowlands, listing which ones have taken souls and if so, how many and who. There are notes on how many more can be brought. There's also notes next to eleven of the nearly one hundred fifty realms that says they have succumbed to drought and devourers. Others have notes as to whether they are struggling or not.
The scribbles here make one thing more than clear: the Shadowlands are truly on the verge of collapse.
The second scroll is a list that is constantly shifting and adding names. It is every soul that the forsworn have carried to another realm rather than allowing them to drop into the Maw.
There are hundreds, if not thousands. These efforts have been going on for a while, starting mere months after the Arbiter became inactive.
Because the forsworn would have known she would not be waking up because Devos would have known. Because she was working for the Jailer, who had caused the standstill to begin with…
Adrestes wants to punch something.
If Devos had told them earlier that the Arbiter would not awaken, then they would have known this was not some brief hiccup in the grand scheme of things. They could have made plans sooner… It hadn't needed to be a handful of fallen ascended doing this all on their own.
Though, handful is somewhat of an understatement.
The final scroll details changes to Watcher rotations. Almost a dozen living worlds have had their Watchers rearranged so that about half of them are free to bear souls and travel to the realms in the Shadowlands, searching for places to take the souls. The other half of the Watchers, those who remain on duty, are fielding the souls from double the usual areas.
Apparently Nebi has been in charge of all of this.
Her notes are meticulous, neat. They include the numbers and possible movements of dozens more living worlds, guesses at possible future realms to reach out for assistance. It echoes the notes that Adrestes has seen Thenios working on, scrapping for the impracticality of it.
And yet… if it is so impractical, how is it being done?
There is a final slip of paper, explaining that she has given this information in good faith, because she hopes that forsworn and ascended alike can work toward saving souls from damnation.
It is as close to a plea for mercy for the people working for her, with her, as she can write without outright begging.
Adrestes is privy to all of this because the Archon wants to know how he obtained these documents.
He is honest, and Thenios, Vesiphone, and Chyrus listen as the Archon asks him if he thinks Nebi can actually be trusted.
It is a question he has been wrestling with himself, ever since she flagged him down.
"I think she can," he finally says. "She… perhaps this will not feel genuine to you, but she was upset by the attack on the Temple of Purity, she said as much."
Vesiphone stiffens, but says nothing.
Chyrus considers what these documents mean. "She fell from the Path because of our inability to do what needed to be done."
"We have been working—"
"We have been speculating," Chyrus says, interrupting Thenios. "Nebi and those with her acted."
"Do you have a means to call to her?" the Archon asks, attention on Adrestes.
He starts to say no, but hesitates. "We could try writing on one of the scrolls, since they update when others add to other copies. We could ask her to come somewhere…somewhere neutral."
"Oribos, perhaps," Chyrus offers, and then smiles at Adrestes. "You will be heading that way for your Ember Court, won't you?"
Adrestes' feathers bristle slightly as he nods. He struggles to hide his annoyance, not wanting to be unprofessional in front of the Archon. "Once our people have returned from Maldraxxus, yes."
"Good," the Archon says. "Tell her that I wish to speak with her, that she will be allowed within Elysian Hold, so long as her intent is pure."
Adrestes bows quickly. "As you say, my Archon."
He is heading back toward his usual spot when Chyrus catches him. "I think there may be hope for the forsworn yet," he offers.
"Leave it to Nebi," Adrestes murmurs. He has wondered about her for so long, struggled to see how so true a soul could fall as she has, and now that he knows…
Now it feels like it is not such an insult that she has turned away, blasphemous as that is. It feels like maybe…
Maybe there is more to the forsworn than meets the eye, more to them than the rebels striking more and more frantically at places across the realm.
"I wonder how many of them are like her," Chyrus asks. He is kneeling beside Adrestes so that they may talk quieter.
Turning slowly to the paragon, Adrestes allows himself a small shrug. It's all he dares, lest his emotions get the better of him. "I have a feeling we'll find out."
"Why are you telling people I'm the high priestess?" Liila asks, glaring at Carroll as the lot of them stand a safe distance from the battered corpse of Margrave Gharmal.
Xandria is discussing something with Magrave Stradama, the maldraxxi are picking apart the fallen house for victory spoils, and the ascended are preparing to head back to Bastion.
That leaves the mortals. Millie has headed off to take a look at something with Baron Mograine, but Liila, Carroll, Inaar, Mitchell, and Wren stand to the side, waiting to see if there will be further orders.
In response to Liila's accusation, Carroll slowly lets his gaze roll toward her, frown prominent. "I'm not telling people shit about you."
"The Archon called me high priestess, so someone had to tell her," Liila insists.
It hadn't really sunk in when the Archon said it, hadn't been until she was on her way to Maldraxxus, restless in flight that she had time to think over her talk with the god. That moment at the end had caught up to her, and she has played it over and over in her mind, wondering just when and who could have told the Archon of her title.
Former title, really.
Carroll makes a point to sneer at her before looking away. "It's not like it's some big secret. If no one else, her spymaster probably told her. Anyone looking into you would have found that pretty easily, I'd imagine."
Mitchell arches his brow, half paying attention as he makes notes in his spellbook. He's been working on that a lot lately, and Liila isn't sure if she wants to know what it is he's up to. "Who would that even be? Bastion's spymaster?"
"Thenios?" Liila offers, though she can't really think to consider him a spy of any sort. If he was, it seems like he would have figured out Devos was falling from grace a lot faster than he did.
Though… Perhaps he'd simply been in denial.
"What about Thenios?"
They turn to find Thales walking up to them with Hipokos at his side, helping to guide him so that he doesn't walk into any of the scattered weapons and equipment on the ground. He's proved to be an apt healer in their assault on the House of Constructs. Liila rather enjoyed working with him again. Mitchell told her it gave her a chance to slip back into her shadows rather than heal the whole time, but somehow Liila hasn't minded healing as much lately, even if some of the stronger spells do make her curse ache. In the end, she and Thales worked together, healing one part of the assault while Wren and Millie were in the other. They are a good team, and even Thanikos noted it, something that made Thales stand a little taller with pride.
Liila can't help the pride she feels toward him, either. Each time she's come to Maldraxxus, she has made sure that she checks in on him. He is doing well, and considering what he's just recently been through, Liila doubts she could have bounced back as he has. He still stumbles, and needs a bit of guidance through areas he's unfamiliar with, but when he is healing in combat, one would not know he has any disadvantage at all.
He has, no doubt, been pushing himself hard to get to where he is, to the point where he will not feel like a burden to those around him. He spoke of that once, when they went for a walk during a lull in attacks on the Seat of the Primus. They'd linked arms and strolled as she'd caught him up with news from his realm, and he had confided in her that he fears he will be seen as useless, when he returns to Bastion. She assured him that he will not be.
She hopes he knows that even if he wasn't as spectacular a healer as he's proven to be, he wouldn't be useless. Even if he never gets his sight back, she's sure he can do plenty. She's told him about demon hunters and the like, those who can see without seeing, and he seems intrigued by the idea.
Without thinking, she reaches out and pats his arm. He nods to her, pats her hand before she lets it slip back to her side.
"Who's your realm's spymaster?" Mitchell asks.
"We don't have spies," Thales says, smiling a little at the idea. "Why?"
"Who would be in charge of your information network then? Of looking into your mortal allies' pasts?" Mitchell asks. "Surely you're not just letting anyone run around the realm."
Thales' brow shoots up enough that Liila can see the edges of a few scars from around his eyes—they were not removed cleanly when they were taken. Not for the first time, Liila wishes she could restore what is not there. Oblivious, he considers Mitchell's questions a second before shrugging. "Well, Thenios tends to deal more with overarching knowledge and training so…maybe his Hand?"
"Arios is in charge of vetting you lot," Thanikos says, landing beside them. "Why?"
Mitchell looks around, scowling. Liila almost hopes one more person joins the conversation, because Mitchell seems to be in a mood where he's getting tired of people inviting themselves over and when he gets frustrated, he tends to start conjuring fire.
He's such a mage.
"I was just wondering who told the Archon my old title."
Wren frowns, shakes his head. "It's not really an 'old' title—" Even as Liila starts to argue, Wren points toward where their fellow priest has gone. "Do you want me to get Millie involved?"
Liila's ears flatten a little as she glowers at Wren. Millie is one of the few who still greets Liila as High Priestess, regardless of how many times Liila has told her not to. "There's no order. You can't be in charge of something that doesn't exist."
"You're in charge of an order?" Thales asks, a smile in his voice. When she looks at him, he is curious, if not a little mischievous as well. His ears do, after all, work just fine. His mood is possibly the best she has ever seen, and she doesn't doubt that it is because Xandria and the others are there and that the promise of home is so close.
"No, because there is no order," Liila replies, tone matter-of-fact, feeling a little like she wants to start indiscriminately whacking people with her staff.
"You have to use past tense if you want her to acknowledge she was the high priestess," Mitchell says.
Liila darts forward and smacks his spellbook out of hand, ignoring how merely touching it zaps her fingers. It spins in the air and Mitchell fumbles for it, managing to catch it before it hits the meaty ground. As he swears at her, she notices that Thales is grinning and Thanikos is quirking a brow, a question almost to his lips. Standing a little taller, she shrugs lightly. "No one else wanted the job, so they shoved it off on me. The order didn't last a year under my leadership, so it's not something I go around bragging about."
"The order would have fallen apart under anyone, considering what happened," Wren says. When she shoots him a look that she hopes will make him drop the subject, he sighs. "I'm going to go see if Millie needs help."
"What happened?" Thales' smile has slipped.
"Their fearless warchief massacred an entire people, razing their home, murdering their children and innocents, and starting the fourth war," Carroll says dryly. The sneer on his face bleeds into his voice as he talks.
When neither Mitchell nor Liila take the bait and leap to defend Sylvanas—they can't, in good faith—Carroll rolls his eyes, not bothering to hide his disappointment.
During the fight with the Burning Legion, representatives from every single priesthood had come together to help form the Order. It was impressive, the most inclusive priesthood to ever grace Azeroth. After the Legion's defeat, they had kept things together, and they had been in talks about how to keep the peace. Theirs was not the only Order to discuss such things, and as High Priestess, Liila had been constantly taking their ideas to other class and faction leaders, with hopes that real change could be implemented.
With hopes that there could be a lasting peace, something that all of Azeroth so desperately needs.
And then Teldrassil had burned.
Teldrassil had burned, and everything had fallen to chaos. The Alliance priests had demanded justice, but the Order was not in a position to rein in Sylvanas' madness. Liila could not control Sylvanas any more than she could control any other leader. Despite her efforts to try to keep the peace within the Order hall itself, the Alliance had withdrawn to their respective people, unable to abide by an Order that did not offer retribution.
The Horde priests had followed suit shortly after. They had returned home to defend against retaliation, even if it was justified. If they had refused to go back, they would have been branded traitors—some were, truthfully, though their numbers were too few to keep the Order intact.
Liila had been unable to find a common ground to keep things going, and the order had disbanded back into the different priesthoods and sects across the world. She couldn't blame anyone who left because they did so mostly to return to the ones they loved, to keep them safe through whatever hell was about to break lose.
It just…hurt. Because they were so close to peace.
So fucking close.
And no matter who tells her or how many times they say that no one could have kept things together, she has not been able to shake the feelings of failure that plague her. Feelings that were made worse by N'zoth's whispers.
As much as she knows that, knows that the old god told her things that could not possibly be true to make her weak, she cannot change the fact that the echoes of those words are still there, still whispering.
There is a part of her that screams that if she had just been more then she could have saved the day somehow.
If she had just been…
If she had just been Amaeria Lightswill.
If she had just been who she was before she was battered and beaten down by the Scourge, then she could have done what was needed. Could have seen what was needed of her to keep everything from falling apart.
She tried to be. Amaeria, that is.
When she took up the mantle of High Priestess, she reclaimed her old name. Granted, it had started as a way to keep some semblance of privacy—she had been High Priestess Amaeria Lightswill to the public eye and Liila Dragonlily in private, when she wanted to do smaller tasks that didn't need the weight of the full Order behind them. Or when she just needed a break from the impossible nature of being in charge.
Things had gone according to plan for a little while, until her former fiancé had shown up to tear it all down.
To remind Liila that she's not that person anymore.
Liila Dragonlily and Amaeria LIghtswill might be one and the same, but at the same time, they aren't.
She hasn't been Amaeria for…as long as she can remember.
Literally.
It might not hurt as much if it weren't for the fact that, by the accounts of those who knew her then, she, Liila Dragonlily, falls short.
Every.
Single.
Time.
Truthfully, despite considering early on in Bastion that maybe her title might have bought her some needed clout to be heard, she has been glad that her old title and name have not followed her to the Shadowlands, because more than anything, she does not want to be held to the impossible standards of her past.
But if the Archon knows her title, then she must know her name, too…
Hopefully, it will not come up again.
Hopefully, Amaeria can rest in peace.
Carroll dismisses himself to see how things are going between the margrave and paragon. He has been working on a portal that will go directly to Elysian Hold, and has been told that it will be needed to transport their remaining kidnapped kyrian home. That spellwork is the main reason he hasn't been out and about, assisting the realm with more menial tasks, as Liila and Inaar have done.
As much as Liila doesn't care for him, she has to admit that he's good at what he does. He was elected archmage of his own order for a reason.
"Liila, may I talk to you for a moment?" Thales asks as a lull stretches in the conversation. Liila blinks, looks toward him. He has a hand held toward her as he motions with his head, "In private?"
"Sure," Liila says. She reaches out and takes his hand.
As they start to put some distance between themselves and the others, she hears Inaar's high pitched voice behind them. "Oh! Before I forget!" Liila glances back to see Inaar rummage through her bags and pull out a small scroll. "Mitchell, you're undead."
Mitchell looks down and gasps dramatically as though he's just realizing it.
Inaar giggles, but brushes it off. "I wanted to ask you about something that I think you might be able to help with, since you're forsaken."
Mitchell points toward Liila. "Happy to help, but you didn't need to go hunting me down. You know Liila counts as forsaken, too, right?"
"I did join the horde under their banner," Liila calls back, pointing to Mitchell as well. "We were a package deal."
"Well, having both of you here is even better!" Inaar exclaims, holding out the scroll and then unrolling it. "I'll catch you up when you get back, Ms. Dragonlily!"
"Do you need to stay?"
"I think we'll be fine for a few minutes," Liila says, rolling her eyes as she hears Inaar start to say something about her soulbind, Ikaros. When they're far enough away that they have some privacy, Liila lightly reaches out and puts her hand on Thales' arm.
He stops, tilting his head as he listens, to see that they really are alone. Then his smile is back. "I wanted to thank you. For, well, everything." He stands a little taller. "Before you came along, I thought I was done for, that I was going to die, surrounded—covered by the corpses of my friends." His head tilts down, and he is silent for a short spell. "You kept me going. Your willingness to not leave anyone behind, even someone who can't be of much use—"
"You know, I've gotten into fights with people who say that sort of mean thing about my friends," Liila says. "And I seem to recall you taking out one of my attackers with a well-timed leg sweep, so let's not pretend you were getting carried in any way."
He laughs. "I suppose I had a moment or two where I pulled my weight."
"More than that," Liila assures him. "And I've been hearing about all that you've done while you were here, the stories you don't tell me." She nudges him with her elbow. "The maldraxxi are going to miss you."
"You know, it feels strange saying it, but I'm going to miss them, too," he pauses, shakes his head. "Khaliiq especially. She's helped me get better at listening, at telling distance and direction in ways I wasn't as good at before. She showed me training exercises. She said that sometimes to get a full picture, one needs to look at what can't be seen, and…it's helped, to be sure."
"Maybe you can keep in touch? There's talk about a need for the realms to be more open with one another."
"I would like that," Thales says. He scratches at his ear. "Though I suppose that's another thing I'll have to work on. Writing without seeing."
"There are ways to keep records and send messages without it," Liila says. "I know some who managed messages that catch a voice and let it replay to the receiver. It's a little eerie, hearing disembodied voices, but—"
"All the voices I hear are disembodied, so I don't think I'd mind much."
"See? It can work."
Thales shifts his weight from one foot to the other and back. He stills a moment, listening, and then sighs. "I'm a little…apprehensive about going back to Bastion." He hesitates. "There are a lot of cliffs and sharp drops there."
"I suppose so," Liila murmurs. "Maybe someone can make a spell, to warn you if you're getting too close to an edge."
"Oh, I don't think I'll need all that," Thales says. "I can use a staff, I think, to feel ahead of me, and Hipokos has promised to stick around, but it's…" He's quiet again, thinking over what he wants to say. "I'm the only blind kyrian in existence."
"And you're going to kick all of their asses," Liila assures him. He laughs at that. She steps forward and wraps him in a hug, as best she can. "You'll be alright. And for as long as I'm around, I'll be happy to mercilessly harass anyone who makes you feel out of place, for even a second."
Thales hugs her back. "That sort of gets to what I wanted to talk to you about." He waits until she lets go of him, takes a step back to look up at his face. He looks nervous. "I was wondering if you would want to soulbind. With me. When we get back." He hesitates. "I know you have soulbinds, but I've talked with the maldraxxi about their customs with it and having many doesn't seem to be that big of a deal to most realms." He frowns. "But if it feels like it's too much—"
Inaar lets out a high-pitched squeal of glee that interrupts all of the conversations happening nearby, from Liila's to Xandria's. Gazes snap toward the vulpera, but she is too busy squeezing that scroll to her chest and dancing from foot to foot as Mitchell stares at her, perplexed. Thanikos now kneels beside her. He manages to get the scroll from her and inspects it with an odd look on his face, like his interest in it has just been kindled.
Or rekindled.
Liila arches a brow, but looks back to Thales. His head is turned in Inaar's direction. "What happened?"
"She's excited about…a paper?" Liilia shrugs, forgetting for a second that Thales can't see her. Thanikos reads something off the paper and Mitchell seems to consider it before answering. "They're getting information from Mitchell on whatever it is…" Her ear twitches, and she looks back at Thales. His attention is directed at her again. She smiles, takes his hand. "And if you don't mind that I already have two soulbinds, I'd be happy to bind with you." She hesitates, considers what he has been through, how what he went through felt so similar to some of the things she suffered herself, how she had had trouble staying grounded when she was first in Maldraxxus. She doesn't want her memories making his recovery worse. "I will warn you, though, some of my memories are a little…gory."
Thales motions to his face. "As are mine." He lets out a nervous laugh, "Here's to hoping we won't traumatize each other." His brow pinches together. "If you think it would be a bad idea…"
Liila hugs him again. "I think it'd be an honor, but I understand if you get tired of me quickly."
"I don't think that could happen," Thales says, laughing a little awkwardly. "You're like a sister to me, you know? A kindred spirit."
"As soon as we're back in Bastion, we can bind," Liila says, and she's sure he can hear the smile in her voice.
"Sounds like a plan." He's beaming, and slings an arm over her shoulders a little clumsily, hugging her to his side. He motions in the others' direction as Inaar lets out another gleeful cackle. "Shall we head back?"
Most of the tension in him is gone when he lets her go, and they loop arms as they head back to where Mitchell is regaling Inaar and Thanikos with some story, rather animatedly at that.
As Liila and Thales get close enough to hear the conversation, Inaar puffs up her chest with pride. "Ikaros is gonna be so happy! Let's see, what about Irene Ferris?"
"I hate her," Mitchell hisses. He rolls his eyes, glares at Liila, as though she knows what the topic is somehow. "You know her, too. She's one of those bleeding hearts that was always against everything the Royal Apothecary Society did. She got kicked out of Undercity for trying to free the test subjects."
While Liila's still not sure the topic, she does remember the woman Mitchell is talking about. She remembers seeing the woman dragged out of the city by guards when she was coming back from a few quests, hearing her screaming about how it was morally wrong to use anyone 'like that'. She hadn't known what was going on until she'd found Mitchell cursing the name Irene as he picked up his station in the labs. Apparently, Irene had gotten the test subjects free and then smashed everything she could to try to stop any current projects.
Mitchell had been beside himself with rage that his brilliance was being stilted. Liila had chosen not to tell him that it wasn't just Irene's doing, that there was a decent sized group that wanted to sabotage the Royal Apothecary Society's work, to stop it permanently. That Liila and Haa'aji may have had a teeny bit of involvement in freeing the test subjects themselves.
Mitchell's anger at the memory has subsided as he idly tries to remember the woman's fate. "I think she ended up joining the Argent Dawn to fight the Scourge, but who knows?" He sighs. "Until the day I got kicked out of the society, probably longer, we had warning signs with her likeness on them around the labs, to make sure she didn't sneak back in."
"They probably had them up until the city fell," Liila offers.
Mitchell considers it, nods. "If anyone can get down there, I bet they're still there."
"I don't understand," Thanikos says. "You talk about these people as though…I thought…Even if they weren't destroyed when they were dragged back to Azeroth, I thought it was the Scourge that drew them back."
"Oh, well, it probably was," Mitchell says. "It was probably before Lady Sylvanas broke free from the Lich King's will and founded the forsaken. She helped the rest of us free ourselves from his control—" He stops, looks down. "I guess that was before she decided to work for the Jailer."
Liila reaches out and pats Mitchell's head, knowing it's a hard subject for him. He simply sighs.
"She never did like my research," he murmurs. "But she was still…"
Hipokos toddles over to Mitchell's other side and pets his head.
With an awkward pat of the steward's arm, Mitchell straightens up. He can't cry, and Liila knows how much he hates to dry heave in front of others, so she straightens up too, pretends she can't feel the shaking in his hands as she holds one of his.
Sylvanas was a hero to both of them. They may have never been much to her—nuisances as best—but they had both held her in such high regard. Right up until the burning of Teldrassil. She and Mitchell had almost fallen out of favor with each other because of that, because Liila couldn't see that there was any excuse for what had been done, but Mitchell was adamant that there had to be good reasons, because Sylvanas was Sylvanas.
A hero.
When Sylvanas had abandoned the Horde, Liila had gone to see him, and he had told her to go ahead and gloat. Instead, they'd sat together in silence, quietly mourning a loss they didn't dare put to words.
"What about Chessin Dawnbloom?"
Mitchell and Liila both try to think back, to remember. Mitchell frowns. "That sounds like an elven name, so…"
"There was a Dark Ranger Duskbloom," Liila says, trying to remember the woman's first name and drawing a blank. "She was one of the first to defect from the banshee queen when she became erratic. She's still being hunted by loyalists." When Liila notices Thanikos' confusion, she motions vaguely to Mitchell. "Many forsaken altered their names after being raised."
Mitchell nods. "A lot of them felt a disconnect to their past, or they were used by the Lich King and he changed their name for them. After you've burned down villages and massacred innocents under someone else's will, it's hard to feel like the person you were." He shrugs. "So I'm told."
Inaar hops up and down, her large ears pricked up, tail swishing as she hugs the scroll. "We're four for four!"
Liila tilts her head, staring curiously at the scroll. From where she stands, she can't see any of what's written on it, but she did catch what Thanikos said earlier. Something about people going back to Azeroth? No, something about the Scourge. "What's this about, anyway?"
"Mortals," Xandria's voice booms over them before anyone can answer. She stands near them now—the margrave is gone. She motions toward Gharmal's corpse. "The maldraxxi have offered us Gharmal's heart as a…token of peace. Carroll can send you to Elysian Hold so that you do not need to fly with it."
Inaar looks to the heart and her ears flatten back a little as her fur bristles for just a second. She looks at Liila. "Would you mind taking it? I want to pick Mr. Ohara's brain some more."
Liila can't help but arch her brow, looking from Inaar to Mitchell, who is trying very hard not to look ridiculously pleased that someone finally referred to him as an adult, and back. "Of course."
"Do you think I could go, too?" Thales asks. Hipokos perks up beside him, curious.
"Better now than have to travel back to the Seat of the Primus," Xandria says, nodding to them. "You can let the polemarch know we'll be arriving shortly."
Thales and Hipokos salute as Liila heads over to where Carroll is waiting. He gives her a thin smile as he motions to an object next to him and Liila can't help the grimace as she finds herself staring a still-beating heart.
"Have fun," Carroll says, voice flat.
In the distance, Inaar resumes her queries. "Alexander Hawthorn?"
"He's in the dreadguard," Liila calls back when she hears Mitchell fumbling. She eyes the heart a moment before promising to buy herself a new pair of gloves as she rolls up her sleeves and picks it up. She continues calling back to Inaar as she waits for Carroll to conjure his portal, voice carrying easily. "Or he was. He nearly succumbed to the banshee queen's new plague when she used it on the Undercity because he was making sure that we hadn't left anyone behind during the evacuation."
"He's working in Orgrimmar's guard now, I believe," Mitchell's fist hits into his upturned palm. "Yeah, because I was trying to break into the shop—your shop," he calls pointedly to Liila, "and he wouldn't let me. I kept wailing his name as he dragged me away, hoping he'd be embarrassed enough to drop me."
"He wasn't." Liila guesses in time with Mitchell as he says it. He continues with his story, though her mind wanders elsewhere.
When she and Haa'aji were first taken in by the forsaken, they were terrors, and Dreadguard Hawthorn was constantly catching them before they could do anything too terrible and chastising them. He was a good sort, even if he was insanely bitter to have been raised. It was something he always refused to talk about, no matter who asked.
That in itself was not uncommon, and it hadn't stuck out.
Haa'aji kept track of him, and every time he was sent to a new assignment, Liila and Haa'aji would show up to cause a little bit of trouble for him and see how he was doing.
Once, they broke into the barracks at his newest station and found him waiting for them, asking what took them so long. He'd had a bottle of scotch waiting for them, though Haa'aji had downed the whole thing himself, leaving Liila and Hawthorn sober.
It was well enough. Hawthorn had admitted that he was a mean drunk and Liila had confessed that she was the same.
She still doesn't drink.
Liila shakes her head, noticing the way Inaar is again twirling, scroll in hand. The portal blinks to life in front of her, and she nods her chin toward Mitchell.
He waves her off. "I'll send her after you, if I don't know the last couple."
Liila nods and turns back to the portal. She can feel the slime or whatever it is coating the beating heart seeping into her gloves as she steps into the magic. It blurs and twists around her, same as any other portal, and then she is in Elysian Hold.
She takes a few steps forward to make sure she is not in the destination spot when Thales and Hipokos come through before she feels that familiar tug. Even as she looks up, she finds Adrestes landing in front of her. His greeting cuts short when he sees what she's holding, and she's sure she sees a grimace before his expression smooths out.
"What is that?"
"A gift from the maldraxxi," Liila replies. "I'm not entirely sure what I'm supposed to do with it."
"We, kyrian, are not ones for trophies," Adrestes says.
"Well, I've brought it on Xandria's orders."
Adrestes allows himself a low hum of disapproval, and Liila can't help but bite her lip to keep from asking if he's annoyed that he can't override a paragon's orders and have Liila take the heart back.
She can't help the small smile as she offers it to him. "Perhaps we could install it on that overlook, right above where you stand guard over the Archon's Rise. Then everyone could see it whenever they want."
Adrestes feathers bristle for just an instant before he collects himself. "I am…certain we can find a better place for it."
"Really?" Liila asks, lifting it a little. "You don't want the soft thumping of a heart just behind you, at all hours of eternity?"
At that, Adrestes coughs into his hand and glances away. "There's only one heart I'm interested in hearing 'at all hours'," he mutters, shaking his head and then turning to let his gaze sweep out over Elysian Hold. His gaze lingers in the direction of Archon's Rise, and Liila has a feeling he wants to go to the Archon with this rather than put any trophies where she's suggested.
Some slime drips from the heart, splatting on the pristine marble below.
They both grimace.
Standing there, wondering just what to do with the heart, Liila is disappointed. It's been a bit of a task, keeping her mind from Adrestes and that lightning that seemed to strike the moment that their skin touched. She's wanted to come back, to press her palm against his to see if it will happen again, to ask him about it and know for certain that he felt it, too.
She wants to lace her fingers with his, to touch him.
It's a bit hard to hold hands when hers are filled with the still-beating heart of their enemy, though.
Even as she wonders how upset people would be if she just set it down on a table somewhere, the sound of claws click-clacking quickly across the marble floor catchers her attention.
"What is that?"
Mikanikos nearly trips to a stop beside them, round eyes focused solely on the beating heart in Liila's hands. He inches closer, stretching up on his toes and then leaning over so that he can inspect it from new angles and all but pushing Adrestes back a step so that he can circle the organ.
"You find good thing."
Liila looks from the forgelite prime to the heart and back. "You…want this for the crest of ascension?"
"Yes. Maybe? Yes. I think. It has strong magic."
"It's the heart of the maldraxxi margrave who molded flesh for their house. Margrave Stradama said that it still holds some of their power, so it might prove useful to us," Thales says from behind Liila. She glances back to see he and Hipokos are standing with her. She wonders how long he's been there as Hipokos offers her a happy click of his beak.
"You! Why eyes covered? No, never mind. Not important. What you know of this?"
Thales straightens up a little, hesitating before saying, "That's…really all my paragon told me. She said maybe the Arch—"
"I use." Mikanikos interrupts.
"Well," Thales shifts his weight a little, brow pinching toward his blindfold as he stares sightlessly in Mikanikos general direction. "The Archon might have a better idea—"
"I am forgelite prime," Mikanikos snaps. "Archon knows I look for important things. Good things. This thing."
"You already have plans for something we didn't know we were getting?" Adrestes asks. His lips dip at the corners.
"I tell mortals," Mikanikos snaps, feathers puffing out for a second as though to make him seem bigger than he is. "You find good thing, you bring. I use to fix crest."
With a somber nod, Liila looks up at Adrestes. "He did say that."
Adrestes kneels, bringing himself down to both the heart and Mikanikos. He inspects the heart a moment and then looks at Mikanikos. "It's all yours."
"I already know that," Mikanikos mutters, offended at the implication that his decision could have been overridden. He motions to Liila and turns to head toward the crest. "You bring."
Liila nods and turns to go, pausing when she sees Thales and Hipokos are still standing where they were, behind her. It reminds her that Thales has a task of his own.
"Oh, Polemarch Adrestes," Liila says, making sure her voice is clear. Thales perks up at the name. When she looks at Adrestes, his head is tilted slightly, as though curious to why she's using his title when he has told her she needn't. "Aspirant Thales has a message for you."
Instantly, Thales salutes. Adrestes glances from her to Thales and back and gives her a small nod, realizing her comment was more to let Thales know he was there, before refocusing his attention on the aspirant. "I'm listening."
As Thales starts to offer a missive from Xandria, no doubt with details on who exactly will be coming through the portal the next time it's open, Mikanikos snaps, "Maw Walker. Use legs. We not have all eternity."
With a sigh, Liila trots after Mikanikos, noting that another steward has been inching closer to her, cleaning rags in hand as it eyes the heart, like they very much want to polish the disembodied organ itself. They settle for cleaning up the trail of slime dripping from it instead.
Liila follows Mikanikos to the crest, or rather his station near it. He has Bron acting as a bulletin board, holding different scrolls out for the forgelite prime to inspect and dismiss. Some of them do not seem to be directly related to the crest, and as Liila stops beside him, waiting patiently until she can pass the heart off, she realizes that a few of the blue prints seem to resemble limbs.
She doesn't get a good look at them, though, before Mikanikos is shuffling things around, ordering Bron to do better with his displays. Bron doesn't seem to mind. Patterns that sort of resemble the former crest are pinned up instead, and Mikanikos chatters away, mostly to himself, about focal points and amplifiers.
"The kyrian from Maldraxxus should be here within the hour," Adrestes interrupts. He waits as Mikanikos mutters about rudeness before asking, "Will you be able to set this aside for later?"
"I will have heart situated by then," Mikanikos replies, tone clipped. "I do this, then help returning kyrian."
Adrestes bows his head. "I've a few arrangements to make, but I'll speak with you soon." His voice is softer as he looks at Liila, and she can't help those damned butterflies in her stomach at the idea. She wants to balance the heart in one hand, tuck it under an arm, and reach out to him.
She doubts he'd want her getting slime on him, though.
So instead, she simply nods to him. After all, there is much to be done, and it wouldn't be right to steal away in the middle of everything just for a chance to trace her fingers along that well defined jaw…
Liila looks away from him a little quickly when she realizes where her mind is wandering. She flexes her fingers against the heart and instantly regrets it as the movement makes tiny squelching noises. The polemarch lingers a moment longer before she feels the gust from his wings as he takes back to the air. When she peeks back up at him, he pauses to give her a smile before taking off.
There is heat in her cheeks and her ears and she bites her lip again as she considers that he waited as he did, brief as it was.
"Mortal!" Mikanikos shouts. As Liila snaps out of her thoughts, more than a little embarrassed, she realizes that Mikanikos has gone to one side of the crest and is hurriedly motioning for her to come to him with the heart.
For all his rushing, when she reaches him, he simply has her stand there as he starts fiddling with the crest itself, calling up runes and tinkering with them, rearranging them with his talons, as though the crest itself is one massive spell and he's just bringing up parts to inspect and alter.
Liila's arms are starting to ache from holding the heart just far enough away that it can't drip on her robes, when she feels a soft tap on her arm. Looking to her side, she finds Hipokos, who holds out his hands the second he has her attention, clicking his beak. As soon as he has the heart, he motions with his head toward the inner chamber across the way, where the forge of bonds resides.
Leaning in next to him, Liila motions subtly toward Mikanikos and whispers, "I bet he doesn't even notice we swapped places." She gives Hipokos a wink as his eyes turn into upside-down crescents, laughing silently.
Liila glances around for Adrestes. He's up in the sky, speaking with a few other ascended, well out of range to hear or call out. Before she can even consider that he's obviously busy and she shouldn't be trying to pester him while he's giving orders or receiving reports or whatever he's up to at the moment, a taloned hand catches hers before she can reach to brush back some of her hair. The steward who has been trailing after her to clean up the mess Gharmal's heart is making offers a soft hoot and a warning and Liila realizes her gloves are very much ruined.
She thanks the steward for saving her from trailing slime in her hair, and they merely fluff, pleased to have helped. No sooner are her gloves off, the steward has taken them, offered her a pleasantly scented cloth to clean up with, taken that, and wandered off.
Liila stares after it in wonder a moment before shaking it off and heading to find Thales. He's sitting next to the forge of bonds, talking to Soulguide Daelia. As Liila draws closer, she can see that he looks a little wilted, like he is ready to topple over.
Soul Guide Daelia motions toward Liila at first and then realizes her folly. However, before she can say anything, Thales perks up a little and turns toward Liila, a smile in place. "I hope you don't mind, but we may need to hold off on soulbinding for now. Hipokos and I took the chance to soulbind, in Maldraxxus and apparently it matters which forge of bonds you use." He frowns, motions vaguely in the direction of the one in the center of the room. "It doesn't recognize me."
"You will be fine," Soul Guide Daelia assures him. Her smile is gentle, genuine, though there is a tinge of sorrow to it as she steps away. "Once you've had time to cleanse yourself, there should be no problem."
"I'm sorry," Thales says, to Liila, mouth a thin line. "I got a little ahead of myself."
Liila sits beside him, taps her fingers against his nearest hand. When he turns it over, she clasps it. "It's okay. It's not your fault."
"We might have to undo our binding," Thales whispers.
"Just because you used the Maldraxxi forge of souls?" When Thales nods, she frowns. "Is it really that different?"
"Anima comes together in different ways, depending on the realm," Thales says, voice a little hollow as he recites what he's been told. "So the structures are…off. Or something."
Liila glances at Soul Guide Daelia for confirmation, but she has moved over to assist an ascended with something. Liila rests her chin on Thales shoulder. "Okay. Worst case scenario, we sneak into Maldraxxus and soulbind there."
"Except you're soulbound to people here already."
"Then we'll go to Ardenweald and really confuse the anima."
Thales leans his head on hers. "I had hoped…coming home would be easy." He takes in a slow breath. "My own realm doesn't recognize me."
"That's because you're so much more of a badass than before," Liila says, squeezing his hand. "Bastion just needs to do a doubletake, and you'll be fine."
He lets out a faint hum before silence settles over them. Liila wants to think of something, anything to say that will make this better. She wants to beat the forge of bonds until it will accept Thales. She frowns.
How do they know it will reject him? If he hasn't even tried to bind… It is frustrating.
She drums her fingers against his hand, wracking her brain for something to change the subject to. Finally, she asks, "How'd you know it was me? When I walked up?"
"You have a very distinctive walk, Maw Walker."
"Do I?"
"Much quicker than most kyrian." He lifts his head, leans against his knees.
With a laugh, she starts to unroll her sleeves. "I suppose I have to be. You all have such long legs."
"Or you're just tiny," he teases.
She lightly hits his arm.
"I've missed the bells," he says then. His voice wavers a little.
Liila hesitates a moment before realizing that she's all but tuned out the gentle chimes that sound out around them, reaching their ears from high above. "Do you want to go somewhere where you can hear them better?"
His smile is faint. "I hear them perfectly, right here." He frowns. "Though if I'm in the way—"
"You're not," Liila says. "One good thing about Bastion is how much space there is."
"There are a million good things about Bastion," Thales objects.
"And that's one of them," Liila says, defending her comment. "But now that I think about it, if we head over to the inn, you might be able to get some more of those good things. Like fresh-baked bread. Or a purian or two."
"That sounds…wonderful," he breathes. Then he pauses. "Do you think we could go to Hero's Rest? I'd like to go somewhere I've been before, and I hear the temple is still…"
Liila doesn't need to be soulbound to know that he is thinking of the attack, of the last time he saw the temple, besieged and cast into utter chaos. "If you want, we could go by there. It's empty, but warded."
Thales shakes his head. "I'm not…ready to go back there. Not just yet." He lets out a faint laugh. "Too many memories."
"To Hero's Rest, then." Liila hops to her feet. When Thales rises, he offers her his elbow and she loops her arm with him. He's taller than she is—just a little taller than Pelagos—but not by nearly as much as most of the others here, so it's not awkward to hold onto him like this.
Soul Guide Daelia calls out a farewell to them as they head out, and they both echo goodbyes themselves before stepping out into the brilliant light of Bastion. Liila idly wonders if Thales can feel a difference between the shadow and the light. She can't.
In Azeroth, shadows are always cooler, but here… here she can't tell. Maybe a kyrian can, though.
Liila glances up again when they are out, gaze pulled in the direction of where Adrestes usually stands. She can't see his spot from where they are, but she knows that he's there.
She doesn't realize she's paused in their walk until Thales nudges her. "Should we check in before we go? Make sure you're not needed anywhere?"
Liila hesitates at that. From where they're standing, she can see Hipokos is still assisting Mikanikos. Bron is now holding the heart while Hipokos assists with some tools Liila has never seen before. Everyone else is going about their business as usual and no one is watching her or making a beeline toward her with dire news. "I think I'll be fine. Do you want to tell Hipokos?"
"He's having the time of his life," Thales says, letting out a laugh. "I can…feel it, pure joy. This is the happiest I've ever seen him." He pauses, laughs. "So to speak."
Liila laughs with him, and they pause when they get to the anima gateway. Thales seems to realize where they are, too, perhaps when he feels the ground beneath them shift from the regular marble to the raised platform.
"The transport network is back up?"
"It is," Liila says. She perks up when she realizes that he likely remembers it from before the drought. She was thinking to show him how it works, but the runes that light up in front of them as they stand on the platform certainly seem more of a visual aspect. She pauses, takes his hand. "Tell me if you can feel these…"
He quiets, lets her guide his hand up to the different runes.
"I can tell there's magic there, but it all feels the same."
Liila frowns, considers it. "Maybe you can memorize the pattern of the runes? Then you can use the anima network like you used to."
"I'm trying to remember. Does the pattern change from station to station?"
Liila tries to think back herself. She's so used to just looking at the runes that pop up in a vague pattern of the map of the realm and tapping the one she wants, she's never really paid too much attention. "I don't think so?"
"Whatever spot you're at will be missing from the layout," says a nearby ascended. Khamsius, if Liila remembers correctly. "If you can memorize the full layout, then you can always check which spot is missing and be sure of where you are."
"It might take a little while, but I bet I can get the hang of that," Thales offers, brow furrowed with determination. He and Liila take their time, going through the different spots. As his fingers touch a rune, Liila tells which temple or area it goes to. Thales pauses. "There should be a few more than this, shouldn't there?"
"The network's not fully working yet," Liila explains. "And I think some spots are deactivated because the forsworn control them. Or are at risk of being taken."
Thales frowns at the runes for a moment before lowering his hand slightly. It hovers just between two runes. "Well, for now, which of these two is Hero's Rest?"
Liila guides his hand to the rune and they tap it together, and then they are off. As usual, the feeling of traveling this way unsettles her.
Thales stands beside her, and when she looks up at him, she can see his head tilt and turn ever so slightly as he takes in the different sounds. "It's busy here."
"It is," Liila agrees, watching as a dozen stewards scurry around. She's never really thought much of it—they are easy to avoid when she's walking through, but now, standing with Thales, she can see how it might be a bit intimidating. She notes all the smaller dips and rises in the ground, the boxes and furniture, the people. "Is there any particular spot you wanted to go to?"
"What about that corner of yours you were telling me about?" He holds his hand out to Liila again, and she clasps it as he starts to take a step forward. They walk slower than they did through Elysian Hold. Even with the bustling there, so much of it is in the sky that it's never much trouble to wander around on foot.
They talk a little more about how Thales can cope with his blindness in the interim, because he's been assured by more than one person now that they will 'figure something out'. He doesn't seem to want to talk about that.
Just as Liila is changing the subject to something more light-hearted, she is hit with a wave of emotion that is not her own and she nearly stumbles from the surprise of it.
Thales is the one to catch her, arm around her shoulders as he turns toward her. "If anyone should be tripping, it should be me." His grin is lopsided. "Are you alright?"
"Kleia and Pelagos are…really excited about something." Liila can't help but touch her fingers to her chest, to that warm bubbling sensation that is churning and twisting over itself. It is infectious and she finds herself almost wanting to jump around like Inaar was back in Maldraxxus. She can't help her smile. "Something good must have happened."
"Any idea what it's about?" Thales asks as they resume their pace, heading toward the corner.
"Not a clue." She glances up at him. "We mortals don't have soulbind connections as clear as regular ones, from what I hear. So I don't know if I would have seen a memory or something just then if I were a kyrian."
"You know, Marileth and Mevix were talking about that the other day," Thales says. "How they've had so many soulbinds through the eons, but their binding to their mortal companions were muted. I know they wanted to see if they could get two mortals to bind to each other, to see if it was a mortal thing or because we're binding dead to living."
Before she can speculate, their conversation is interrupted as voices gleefully call her name.
Liila freezes for a breath, gaze snapping toward the corner. In a second, she is racing forward, only to stop just as two small figures fling themselves against her, arms wrapping around her and gripping her tightly.
"Auntie Elf!"
Liila's lips move soundlessly as she stares down at the two children clinging to her, her mind all but ground to a halt. She looks up, around, for whoever or however they could have gotten here, as though an explanation will be waiting readily.
Stanikos hops up from where he has been sitting, toddling over to join them with a few happy chirps. "No worries. I keep them safe. I help."
Liila looks back down, drops to her knees, missing when Thales asks what's going on. "How did you get here?"
Chi'rhi puffs up, proud of herself as she puts her hands on her hips where two small daggers rest. "We came to save you!"
Hezzak, on the other hand, merely bursts into tears.
Adrestes feels Thanikos' presence before he sees him. He is overseeing the return of their injured, along with Vesiphone, helping to make sure that they are moved smoothly to places where they may recover, back in the glorious light of Bastion. Some weep as they step foot through the portal. Some are carried, their injuries still such that, even after the weeks they have been gone, they are so frail that they cannot walk themselves.
Some are missing the limbs that would allow them to walk.
It is a brutal thing, but Mikanikos and Pelodis are already discussing ways to rectify what has been taken. They take measurements and inventory of what limbs will need replacing, and both are confident that most can be replaced with prosthetics.
In the event that the maldraxxi cannot be bargained with to restore the limbs all together.
Adrestes would have thought the necrolords would have jumped at the opportunity to do so, to make amends, but apparently they need the 'proper anima' or it will not go well for those getting the new limbs. Something about the limbs and restorations not being or feeling kyrian enough.
If nothing else, the prosthetics will be good temporary fixes.
"I have a question," Thanikos says, and Adrestes can feel his hood shift ever so slightly from the Hand's breath against it, which makes him frown.
"Yes?"
"It's about our dear Maw Walker. The first one."
At that, Adrestes slowly turns his head to look at Thanikos, mouth a thin line. He waits a tic before frowning again. "What is it?"
"It's a funny story, really. We were talking with one of the Maldraxxi mortals and the lost seven came up and—"
"Please get to the point," Adrestes says. He was hoping to get to speak with Liila when she returned from Maldraxxus, but thanks to the heart delivery and then her wandering off with that aspirant, he hasn't had a chance. Hopefully she will be back soon and they can have a proper conversation—one that won't happen if Thanikos is in the middle of giving him a play-by-play from Maldraxxus when she gets back.
Because he wants to know about that damned electricity that went between them. He can't get that mystified look of hers out of his head, the way her lips were parted ever so slightly, her eyes wide, seeing only him. Every time his mind wanders, it goes straight back to that moment and to her and something stirs inside of him. Something he hasn't felt in eons.
Not since his last real tryst.
No.
This is more than that, though it doesn't make sense. His last relationship had lasted almost a millennia before he'd had to tell himself that his heart just wasn't in it and let down his lover as gently as he could. She'd been a graceful sort, accepting the end of things quite well. They had parted friends—still were. She was a Watcher, like Nebi, though, and so their paths rarely cross these days.
Despite all they'd had, all their time together, it had never felt like this.
And he's barely even known Liila, barely even touched her.
It is something completely maddening to think about, and he wants dearly to know that she feels it, too.
Even if she is wandering arm in arm with an aspirant rather than seeking him out.
He tries not to let that curl of jealousy in him rise up, because it is ridiculous and there is no reason for it. They are barely friends, so he has no reason to be frowning after everyone she gets close to.
Still, he can't help but wonder whose arm she would choose to hold, if it came down to it.
"You want things short, hmm? Let's see…"
Thanikos slings an arm over Adrestes' shoulders, dragging him closer so that they can keep their voices low. Adrestes rolls his eyes slowly toward the Hand, not that he can see. He seems to know when he has Adrestes' attention, however, because he gives him a look that Adrestes can't quite read, but still wants to smack off his face.
"Have you ever felt an inexplicable…tug? Toward her? Liila?" As Adrestes stares at him, silent, Thanikos brow furrows. "Like you're just drawn toward her. Don't really know why?"
Adrestes tilts his head, appraising the Hand. That odd curl of jealousy in him rears its head again, tinges his voice when he asks, "You feel that, too?"
Instantly, Thanikos' mouth shifts into an almost perfect U. His eyes glitter with some mischief that Adrestes does not want to know, and his feathers fluff with unspoken glee. Hopping back a step, Thanikos looks Adrestes over for a moment, as though he is trying very hard to find a way to say something tactfully.
That has never been his strong suit.
"No, I don't feel that draw," he finally says, as though just realizing that it was asked. "But you do?"
Relief floods through Adrestes at the idea that this pull is unique.
It is short-lived, however, as it dawns on him that Thanikos may know what this is, and the fact that he hasn't just outright explained it means there is going to be a catch.
Adrestes looks back toward those coming through the portal. It seems the injured have all made it and it is just those who were guarding them coming through now. "I do."
"And she also feels this?"
"I don't know."
Thanikos sidles up beside Adrestes again, their shoulders bumping, wings brushing against one another as he temples his fingers, taps them together once. "And you never thought to ask her about this?"
"This happened before," Adrestes dismisses. Xandria comes through the portal, and then their mortals, Inaar and Carroll. Inaar races toward the anima gateway and disappears. As he steps through, the portal blinks out of existence. Xandria is offering Vesiphone a few words, even as they head toward the commons. Adrestes hears something about a heart and assumes it is that grotesque thing that Liila showed him earlier. The item that had Mikanikos practically dancing with glee.
"You remember that?" Thanikos gasps.
Adrestes turns slowly to face him. "I remember that it happened before. I remember that Vesiphone said it was not something to cause alarm."
"Do you remember who you were drawn to?"
"No."
"And you never got curious about that?" Thanikos asks, shoulders slouching, his expression one of disbelief.
Adrestes can't help the way his feathers ruffle as he snaps out, indignant, "There are more pressing matters in Bastion than meaningless draws." Thanikos stands a little straighter, looks down his nose at Adrestes, offended. With a sigh, Adrestes motions to him. "Why? What's brought all of this about?"
"You know, if it were anyone else, this would be some great revelation, but considering you're you…" Thanikos turns away and starts down the stairs.
Adrestes feels his annoyance rising, though he tries to push it down. "You're just leaving? After all that?"
"I'm going to go check to make sure all my disciples and acolytes are faring well," Thanikos announces, loud enough that it catches the attention of a few nearby ascended. "And then when I'm sure they're situated, I'm going to Eridia to tell on you."
True to his word, Thanikos says nothing more on the subject, not even when Adrestes follows him to check on the injured from Maldraxxus. They are talking about prosthetics when he shows up, with a few joking that perhaps their new limbs can be improvements on the ones they lost. Despite what they have been through, they are in good humor.
Adrestes talks to a few ascended who offer him in depth reports of what happened in Maldraxxus, of ideas for improvements to the security of the realm. He welcomes their diligence, discusses matters with them. One of the ascended is missing an entire arm, and keeps tugging on a drape he's put over his shoulder as though to hide the absence.
As though he does not want Adrestes to see what he has lost.
He is not sure if it is respect for that wish or something else that makes him ignore the constant motions, to focus completely on the reports.
Thanikos makes sure that they cannot get a moment alone, and eventually Adrestes pushes the subject from his mind. Whatever reason he had for wanting to discuss Adrestes' pull toward Liila is clearly not a pressing issue, or Thanikos would have caved and told him about it already.
As he reviews what can be done better to protect the realm with the returned ascended, a sentry comes to tell him the entourage he has arranged to accompany him to the Ember Court is waiting on him, and if he doesn't head out soon, they will be late.
As he flies out of the hold, he notes that Mikanikos has affixed the still-beating maldraxxi heart to the crest of ascension, and that he is working on two other conduit slots that will allow for more power.
Lovely.
Adrestes has three ascended with him who will be accompanying him to the Ember Court, and two who will be staying in Oribos, hopefully to meet with Nebi. She has not responded to his request to talk on the scroll—it was actually removed by someone using another copy—but he is hopeful, still.
If anyone deserves to come back to the Path, to be welcomed back into the fold, it is Nebi.
More than that, it makes him wonder if perhaps the forsworn should not be treated as a monolith. It would certainly make them a more manageable threat.
When Adrestes feels that familiar tug, flying over Hero's Rest, his heart sinks. He wants to tell the others to go on ahead, that he will catch up. As though if he landed now he would actually manage to get himself back on task.
Now that Thanikos has asked him, however, he wants to ask her if she's ever felt drawn to him.
"Polemarch!" Kalisthene calls out, darting up to meet his group. They stall in the air, waiting as she approaches. "You are heading toward Aspirant's Rest?"
"To Revendreth," he says.
Kalisthene perks up. "Oh! Even better." She motions down, toward Hero's Rest. "Would you be able to escort a few mortals back to Oribos on your way?" Even as he arches his brow, Kalisthene shakes her head. "Two mortal children came to the realm. I have larion ready to take them to the eternal city, but the Maw Walker is concerned about forsworn attacks." She pauses a moment and then adds, voice softer, "She's quite protective of them."
Adrestes frowns, glances at the three ascended with him. The nearest shrugs. "It is on the way, sir."
That's not quite true. Adrestes had intended to take a shortcut through the inbetween once they left the realm, cutting out going near Oribos altogether.
However, it's not as though they would need to defend against the forsworn after they are out of the realm, surely.
And anyway, it's a nice excuse to let himself follow that draw.
Kalisthene leads him and his entourage to the corner where Liila and her friends are usually found. When making his rounds, Adrestes always likes to glance down and see who is present, as it shifts so frequently, even if there are almost always at least one of those three main figures there to play host.
Today is no different, with Liila, two mortals, Aspirant Thales, and a steward sitting together, talking quietly while the steward keeps offering different treats to everyone, particularly the mortals Adrestes doesn't recognize.
When they land, Liila's attention is already on them. Or him rather. However, it is pulled away too soon, to the little ones who sit on either side of her. She strokes the hair of a little boy who sits to her right while holding hands with a little girl on her left. Both have small tusks, gold glowing eyes. The little boy leans into her side, arms looped around Liila's waist. The little girl seems more at ease, though she sits very close, and her gaze turns suspicious the moment she meets Adrestes'. The little boy will not look at him.
It reminds him of when he has to ferry children's souls across the veil. He's never been good with little ones.
"I hear we have some unexpected guests?" Adrestes says as the conversation quiets down. Aspirant Thales recognizes his voice, stands, and salutes quickly. Adrestes puts him at ease quickly, and looks back to Liila.
She leans down and presses a kiss to the boy's head and then loops her arm around the girl's shoulders. "Polemarch Adrestes, please meet my wayward children. Hezzak and Chi'rhi." Chi'rhi offers him a wave, completely unrepentant for her excursion into the realms of death.
Hezzak peeks up at him and whispers, "Hello."
"Greetings," he says.
"Who are they?" Chi'rhi points to the ascended with him.
They each introduce themselves, and she looks them over, greets each one. Then she looks back at Liila. "Why is everyone so tall?"
"So that they can carry souls," Liila says, "even the tall ones, like Zen'taki."
Chi'rhi considers it and then nods, accepting Kalisthene's explanation as fact. Hezzak looks a little suspicious. Chi'rhi tilts her head. "So does that mean even Liila will be tall someday?"
"Then she won't be Liila anymore," Hezzak whispers.
It is such a profound statement, to think that one may change through death and become someone new. It awes Adrestes to consider it that way.
Until Chi'rhi giggles and the boy smiles, too, like he's made some joke. Liila rolls her eyes, motions to herself, "Liila is just…when I was teaching my friend a new language, he had a very heavy accent when he called me Little."
Thales lets out a laugh. "That's…adorable."
"It's to lull you into security," Chi'rhi says solemnly. "Because she's very strong."
"We've noticed," Adrestes says, nodding with equal seriousness. Chi'rhi nods back, knowingly. He pauses a moment before looking back at Liila. She's smiling at him, and he can't help but echo the sentiment, even if he doesn't know why. "I hear you could use an escort."
With a blink, Liila straightens a little. "Oh. That would be…I don't want to put you out. We were going to wait to see if we could get a portal from Mitchell or Carroll…"
"We're heading that way," Adrestes says, deciding that a small detour won't take too long.
For a moment, Liila looks like she may argue the point, but then she seems to reconsider it. She hugs the two little ones. "Let's get you home, hmm?"
"You're coming, too, right?" Hezzak asks. Then, he sits up, a little defiant. "Because I'm not going home without you!"
"We're all going," Liila says, her smile slipping for just a second. "I'm going to have to talk to Haa'aji about keeping a better eye on you."
"He had to go out for the day," Chi'rhi says, almost dismissively. She stands up with Liila, as they start to head toward the flight master. Thales and the steward—Stanikos, come along too. Chi'rhi takes one of Stanikos' talons in her free hand and walks between him and Liila, swinging her arms slowly so that she swings theirs as well. Adrestes walks with them, though the pace is so painfully slow.
"If Liila is Little, then that's a nickname, isn't it?" Thales asks.
"It's a name-name!" Hezzak yells, loud enough to startle nearby stewards.
Liila squeezes his shoulders, assures him everything is okay. Chi'rhi notices Adrestes' head tilt and puffs up a little as she decides she is an authority on the matter and explains. "Anyone who uses Liila's other name is mean and can't be trusted."
The fact that Liila has another name… It reminds him of the gaps in her history that Arios was talking about. He's tempted to ask what her other name is, though from the sounds of it, the children will not approve. Perhaps once they are gone, he can sit down with her, ask her about it.
There are so many things he wants to ask her about.
He wants to know her.
While he wonders, Liila is interrogating the little ones. "Where did you hear that?"
"Papa Haa'aji," the children say in unison. "If they don't know to call you Liila, they can't come in the house," Hezzak adds. He's still clinging to her, hands gripping her robes as though if he lets go, she will disappear.
Liila frowns a little at that. "Well, that's not… I have some work associates—"
"You don't have work assoc—assocee—work people because you're retired," Chi'rhi interrupts, looks down. "Or you're supposed to be."
Liila presses her lips together, nods slowly. They have reached the flight master. Navarros already has two larion prepped. At the sight—and idea that one of them might be split up from Liila—both kids press closer to her. Chi'rhi's expression is one of betrayal, while Hezzak buries his face against Liila's side.
Without even slowing his pace, Stanikos goes to one of the larion and climbs up. He sits back in the saddle and then holds out his hand. "I help."
As Liila offers that they can probably all fit on one, Chi'rhi glances at Hezzak, pouts her lower lip, and then releases Liila's hand, hurrying over and climbing up with Stanikos. Liila has to coerce Hezzak to get on the other beast, as he seems a little wary of the thing. She pauses when he's in the saddle, looking back at Thales. "I'm sorry to just leave like this—"
"They need to go home," Thales interrupts, waves her off. "You are fine, Little Liila." He's smiling as she lets out a groan. "I think I could use some rest, anyway."
Adrestes glances to Kalisthene and she gives him a subtle nod before moving over to the aspirant and lightly touching his shoulder. "Where do you want to go? I'll see that you get there."
"Back to the corner would be fine," Thales says. He offers a wave to the mortals before turning and allowing himself to be guided off.
Liila swings up into the saddle, and they are off.
The larion seem a little wary to be surrounded by ascended at first, but they brush it off quick enough, once they realize they are still going to be allowed to go their standard route. Adrestes flies overhead, while his ascended flank the larion and one takes up the rear. There shouldn't be any forsworn attacks, especially not through this area, but he imagines Liila is simply being cautious.
And there is the fact that she was attacked once while in flight.
He has not considered before that she might not feel particularly safe while flying, and adds that to the growing list of topics he will sit with her and go over. He will make sure that she knows that he is working to assure it will not happen again.
Not to her or anyone else.
They have barely left Hero's Rest when an anima wyrm flies past them going the other way. He idly recognizes the mortal as one of Liila's friends, the one who irritated Arios.
Pity they're just missing each other.
He glances over to where Liila sits on her mount, arms curled around Hezzak as she whispers something to him. The child clings to her arms desperately. There is such terror in the little one that Adrestes is surprised he managed to make it out here at all. The little girl seems much braver, and he figures it must have been her idea to come get Liila. Curious that she could get the boy to come along.
Adrestes and his ascended see the larion all the way to Oribos, and he lands with them.
Chi'rhi is off her mount first, and she runs up to him and motions for him to come closer. Adrestes kneels, lowers his head to draw closer to the little one. "Yes?"
"Thank you for looking after Auntie Liila," she says. She seems to debate what else to do and then just hugs him.
He pats her head, a little awkwardly, hoping that the motion will suffice.
As she hops back, Hezzak comes up and shyly hugs him as well. Adrestes pats him on the head, too.
Liila stands beside him, and there is a gentleness in her eyes that he has not seen before as she tells the two to stay exactly where they are, and then turns to him. "Thank you, Adrestes."
"Of course."
He catches a movement overhead and looks up to see his ascended are waiting for him.
If he postpones his attendance at the Ember Court any longer, he really will be late, and he will not disrespect Prince Renathal that way, even if he does think the whole idea of having parties in the middle of an apocalypse is foolish.
He turns his head back to tell Liila he will see her when she returns—hopefully for more than a few minutes at a time—and as he does so, her lips brush against his.
That lightning is back, making every nerve in his body react, making everything else fall away.
It is gone too quickly as Liila drops back to her heels.
Liila's face is as red as her hair as she stammers, "Y-your cheek. I meant…"
"We have to go!" Hezzak yells. Adrestes doesn't even glance at him, not until he tugs Liila's hand hard enough to make her stumble to the side.
"Hezzak!" Liila gasps, gaze finally snapping away from Adrestes. She flounders a moment as the little boy glares up at her in defiance, and then looks back at Adrestes. "I'm…sorry. I have to…" She is still bright red as she turns and ushers the children to the teleporter leading down.
Adrestes stares after them until they disappear. Then, finally, he shakes himself from what has happened, schools the feathers he hadn't noticed fluff up, and curses himself silently for not reacting at all.
But what could he have done?
Kissed her back? She clearly hadn't meant to…
He should have at least told her it was fine.
It was, wasn't it?
When he reaches his ascended, their attention is very conspicuously elsewhere. He feels a flush rising to his own cheeks as he realizes that they've all seen the whole thing. He coughs into his hand, and tries to swallow down the emotions that are stirring inside of him.
"To Revendreth."
He doesn't wait to see who follows him, instead turning and letting himself move as quickly as he can. He tells himself it's because he doesn't want to be late.
"Liila!"
"Dammit," Chi'rhi hisses, then looks a little guiltily up at Liila. "Sorry."
Liila has to say she can't fault Chi'rhi too much. Their journey back to the land of the living is proving to be anything but a smooth trip. They are finally there, in front of the portals. In a few steps, they will be back in Orgrimmar and then Liila can get these two home and tear Haa'aji a new one for not keeping better track of them.
Assuming she can get her mind off the fact that she unwittingly kissed Adrestes for a long enough stretch.
Just thinking about it makes the heat in her cheeks double.
She closes her eyes, wills herself to focus. Liila squeezes both their hands. "Just a minute." Hezzak frowns, Chi'rhi crosses her arms. As Liila turns around, Kleia lands in front of them, smile bright despite looking like she's just run a marathon.
She leans forward hands on her knees. "I'm so glad I caught up to you! We need you to come back to Hero's Rest!" She steadies herself, wings a little fluffed. "We—Pelagos and I—well we were talking to—where do I even start—" She cuts herself off when she sees Hezzak and Chi'rhi. Then, she looks, seems to realize that Liila is right at the portal. Her wings visibly droop for a second before she can gather herself. "You're…leaving?"
"I have to get these two home."
Kleia looks like she wants to say a million things as she pauses, smiles to the two who do not smile back, and then finally looks back at Liila. "Will you be gone long?"
"Forever!" Hezzak snaps.
Chi'rhi hugs Liila defiantly. "She's ours."
Liila frowns, "Don't be rude." Even as both of them look up at her with open despair that she will not simply agree with them, she motions to Kleia. "I just need to talk to her for a moment. She's a very good friend."
"Don't kiss this one," Hezzak mutters. Chi'rhi nods in agreement.
And just like that, the embarrassment that Liila has been fighting down rushes back. She can feel the heat in the tips of her ears as she looks back at Kleia, who is giving her a questioning look. Liila squeezes her eyes shut again, willing herself to calm down. She feels a reassurance from Kleia—and Pelagos, too, wherever he is—that has no need for words. Opening her eyes, she meets Kleia's warm gaze, motions to her. "I can spare a few minutes, but these two need to go home."
Kleia appraises her a quiet moment and then nods, smiling. There is a warmth in Liila's chest, mixed in with that excitement from earlier that has never quite left her. "It…it can wait. I thought you were heading off on some new quests or…" Her feathers fluff a little more and she shakes her head. "And really Pelagos will want to give you the details, I imagine, since it started with his idea."
"Is this about all that excitement earlier?" Liila asks.
Kleia is beaming. "It is! Oh, of course you would have known something has happened!" Kleia looks like she might forget about waiting and just let Liila in on whatever news there is to be shared. "I…oh, you will be back soon, won't you?"
"I'll be gone…maybe a day or—"
Before Liila can explain that she's just going back to make sure Hezzak and Chi'rhi make it home safely and don't use the portals to go to any other dangerous areas, something collides with Liila.
Hard.
Her eyes widen in time with Kleia's. Kleia reaches out, wings spreading like she might dive after Liila as she is flung backwards, into magic.
Into the portal.
Her back thuds against the ground, knocking the wind out of her lungs, and Liila stares up at the wooden rafters overhead in a room that feels impossibly dark. Torches light the room, offering dim lighting, compared to the expanse outside of Oribos.
Mitchell leans into her vision. "I need you to know it's not my fault this time."
"Where are Chi'rhi and Hezzak?" Liila asks, voice raising a little as she jerks upright.
"We're here," Chi'rhi says, even as Hezzak materializes beside her.
Liila inspects them a moment, making certain they haven't somehow sustained injuries in the last few seconds and then turns on Mitchell, eyes flickering black a moment as she fights back the urge to just skewer him with shadows. "What is wrong with you?!"
"I know you'll be angry, but I need you to know it wasn't my fault. I thought it was, but it wasn't! It was already out and I just…sped things up a little."
"What in the Void are you talking about?" Liila snaps, whirling on him, ignoring the curious glances she gets from guards and other travelers.
"Everyone in Bastion knows that you're Amaeria Lightswill," Mitchell says in a single exhale. He holds his hand up, one finger extended upward toward the ceiling. "But that is not my fault. That big, scary, sexy lady may have gotten the information out of me, but it doesn't matter what I said because Blood told them first, so everyone would have found out soon, anyway."
Liila shakes her head, scowls. She casts a heal on herself to make the dull ache in her lower back ebb. "So? You had to tackle me through a fuc—" she remembers the kids are there and barely manages to catch herself. "You tackled me through a portal because of that? It's not like it's some secret!"
Even as she realizes she's echoing Carroll's words, of all people, Mitchell shakes his head, eyes impossibly wide.
"It matters because you're theirs!" He points as though he's pointing back to Bastion somehow. "And now they know it! And you know that will change things! People get weird when they get possessive! I wanted to warn you! So you wouldn't be caught off guard."
Even as she tries to follow what he's saying, because it doesn't make sense, Mitchel points at her. "The list…the names that Inaar was asking about. Irene and Alex and—" When Liila shakes her head, his eyes widen. "You don't…" He looks down, thinking back. "You missed the explanation…" He runs his hands down his face, tugging on the skin on his cheeks, staring at her over the tips of his fingers.
What he says next makes her stiffen, makes her forget Kleia and Pelagos' excitement, makes her forget kissing Adrestes. Instead, all that looms up is that which she has been avoiding all this time.
"When you died—the first time—" There is a stone in her gut, "you were sent to Bastion." The memories are stirring, like an escalating wind is pulling at them, "That's your afterlife." Everything is rattled, it wants to be known, to be remembered. "You're meant to be ky—"
"Stop it."
The words run together as she hisses them. Anything to shut him up. Because she doesn't want to hear him say it.
Because if no one says it, she can pretend she doesn't know. She can keep going, keep being herself, so long as it stays gone.
"You…" Mitchell won't get the hint. "What I'm saying is you're kyrian."
"Stop it."
"Not because of the covenant affiliation—"
"I know!" She cries out.
Mitchell's stills. Chi'rhi sucks in a sharp breath.
"What? You…" Mitchell deflates a little. "You know? How the hell do you know? Since when?" He scowls. "If you know, why doesn't anyone else? It was news to literally—"
Liila stands up, turns, takes Hezzak's and Chi'rhi's hands. Hezzak looks like he's about to cry again, and Chi'rhi just looks lost. "Let's go home, hmm?" She says. She tries to make her voice sound relaxed, but it's a few notes too high. Liila glances around the room to find the portal to Zuldazar.
Mitchell trails after her, through the portal. "You…Liila!"
"Stop making a scene."
"Not until you answer me!"
They are barely into the familiar streets of Zuldazar when Liila finally whirls on Mitchell, anger flickering through her as she interrupts his pestering. "When did I know?" For a moment she doesn't know how to answer it, but then it sinks in, it hits her. The truth that she has been fighting against all this fucking time. "I knew the minute I set foot there, alright?" On some level, it's true. She wouldn't have deflected when Pelagos asked her about being familiar, avoided Olympic Village as she has, if she hadn't been so scared of that very truth. If she hadn't known that it was the truth. "I've…always known."
"Then why didn't you tell anyone?" Mitchell asks, baffled. "Even if you didn't want the kyrian to know, what about the rest of u—"
"Because it doesn't matter," Liila snaps. "Because I'm never going to stay there. I'm cursed, remember? And it wasn't even me back then. It was Amaeria. Amaeria fucking Lightswill. She earned that place, not me! I'm Liila now and I don't get an afterlife. I get to stay here and watch everyone I know die one—"
She realizes, very abruptly, that both Chi'rhi and Hezzak are still there with her, because of course they are. They are both rigid, expressions twisted with fear—whether it is from what she's saying or the fact that they have never seen her upset before doesn't matter.
What matters is that she has frightened them.
Her expression twists, her chest tightens as grief and anger and a million other emotions she has suppressed for too long bubble up, fight to recognized, to be free.
The shadows are pulled toward her, ready to be used, ready to lash out at whatever she wants.
This can't happen here.
She can't lose control.
Standing a little straighter, she glares at Mitchell where he still stands, silent and already wrapped in an arcane bubble to protect himself.
He has good reason, she supposes. He knows how unstable she can be. How broken she is. After all, he is the one she strangled while coming out of a night terror.
Liila turns away from Mitchell, takes in a few unsteady breaths until she is sure that she will not lash out. Then she takes the children's hands again, carefully, gently. She struggles for something to say to make that terror in their eyes fade. Nothing comes to mind.
"Let's go have dinner." Mitchell starts to say something, but she cuts him off. "You're not invited."
