Bastion's skies are a sight to behold, bright and brilliant, and occasionally filled with what looks like a glittery rain. Except those glimmering flecks of anima never cause damage like a heavy pour might.

Nothing causes damage here, at least not that she's seen.

This place is so undeniably…gentle.

As she stares up into the clear sky overhead, she wonders idly if that brilliant halo of light is coming from a sun. She has wondered about that before, though she always forgets to ask when she has the chance.

Now, as she tells herself to remember, she sees movement in her peripheral vision and when she turns her head, she finds that Adrestes is there, laying with her, so that their heads are close, as their bodies sprawl in different directions.

He notices her attention and turns his head toward her, a small smile in place as she admits that she didn't even hear him come up. The ascended can be so quiet…

It's something that wouldn't mean much, except…

She sits up, looks at him, confused.

Adrestes watches her, curious, lying on his back, wings half splayed, taking up all the grass around them. His arms are up, so that his hands rest behind his head, his hood pulled back.

"What are you—"

"I wanted to see what you stare at so often," he says.

She leans toward him. She wants to run her fingers through his hair, along his jaw. It's so…tempting.

After all, even if she can't interact with most of the realm, she can still touch him.

It's not quite what it should be, though. When he takes her hand, there is this feeling like something is about to burst to life, something that is beyond the words of any language she has ever learned. Something impossibly old and new, something begging to be made manifest.

But for whatever reason, she cannot.

And if she thinks on it too long, she wonders if she should try anyway.

Because sometimes, when he looks at her, she thinks that he is going to say something that she knows will change things between them, something that will take away the breath she no longer has.

But then she thinks of how quickly she fell for Gryst'lyn and wonders if perhaps she just falls in love too easily. She wants to throw herself headlong into whatever it is that tugs at her heart when she looks at this beautiful creature beside her, but she's afraid to see it all crumble.

And she's already lost so much…

What if this…

What if this is just her wanting to get something back? What if she's using him?

If she wanted, she could reach out right now, but it would be so…

Selfish.

She has already let her selfishness do enough damage for one lifetime.

He is so close with her now, and yet it feels like he might as well be in a different afterlife entirely.

She lays back in the grass, a little closer to him than they were originally, as close as she dares get, and points up at that halo of light. "What is that?"


Soft, warm light dances across Liila's skin, calling her back into the waking world as chimes and bells sound around her, each note a hopeful ring rolling out and over her. She feels refreshed in a way that she's not quite sure she's ever felt. In the least, not since before N'zoth's mind games.

Her dreams have been better, too, abandoning the Scourge and Maldraxxus and instead including memories from her time with Chromie, playing out and showing the good that she brought to her world. The fact that even if she didn't have a set place there, she has undeniably done good, and when she leaves the world, it will be at least as good a place as when she came into it.

Truly, her dreams have been better.

Well, up until the end.

And even that hadn't been…bad, per se, but…

But what had that been?

When Liila reaches up to rub her eyes, she finds tears on her cheeks. That longing, that feeling that what she wanted was so selfish had been so poignant.

Was that a memory? Some echo of Amaeria bubbling back up?

Or was it just a dream?

A little bit of both?

Liila breathes in deeply and sighs. Whatever it was, its echo is fading quickly. She doesn't feel that pain, that longing, when she thinks of Adrestes. Instead, she just feels…warm.

Like when they've touched before, like that lightning is all around her even now, thrumming softly through her, an assurance that all is well and right. That that dream, whatever it was, is a worry that can be discarded.

She is here, in the Temple of Purity, safe and whole.

Chyrus really did know what he was talking about. She'll have to thank him.

She snuggles back down, not wanting to wake up just yet. When she does, there will no doubt be a million things to do, and she's not ready for this feeling of contentment to fade.

She has never been one to fall back to sleep once she's woken, however, and her senses are coming back to her, even as she tries to keep them at bay.

A pleasant scent greets her, like fresh linens and—

And as she opens her eyes, she sees blue. For a second, as her sleep-heavy consciousness slowly pieces itself back together, she thinks she is looking at the sky. The color is off, however, from any sky tone she's used to. Bastion's are far lighter, and it is a shade too dark for a clear day in Azeroth.

And the blue is not some blanket stretched out far overhead, but close. She narrows her eyes, her senses coming back to her a bit quicker now.

Contours run through that beautiful blue, shaping a rather handsome throat that leads down to an exposed collarbone and a V that dips a bit lower before being cut off by crisp white robes.

A melancholic sigh sounds as she sits up. Something slips from her hair and that thrum of energy fades.

She is lying next to Adrestes, or was. As she pulls away, his brow pinches. He murmurs something in his sleep that she can't quite catch.

Her memories of when she last saw him flicker through her mind, but they don't take hold like they have in the past day—is that all it's been? It feels like it's been so much longer. Regardless, she is able to push aside those wretched images of him held down by chains and of his bewildered demeanor when they got him free.

Now, he just looks…peaceful.

Peaceful and curled around her.

Liila feels like she should be embarrassed to wake up like this. At the same time, however, she can't bring herself to mind. What was it she'd worried about in her dream?

Falling in love too quickly?

Is that what this is?

Love?

She knows something stirs in her when she looks at him, when she gets to be near him, when she knows he doesn't mind her being so close.

However, she's not quite sure she wants to go so far as love, just yet.

Infatuated, sure.

She looks him over now, at the way he lays there beside her.

Where did he even come from?

Liila's brow pinches as she remembers Chyrus saying Adrestes wanted to see her. She remembers that she didn't go back to Elysian Hold, back to him. Rather, she had gone to try to get some sleep—that was a resounding success.

Without thinking, Liila reaches out and lightly runs her fingertips along that jaw she's been dying to touch. There is that lightning, strong and true. It sends a shiver through her, and she almost forgets that she is trying to figure out how she got here, with him.

She remembers Disciple Kosmas offering to remove a memory and leading her to the pools. He led her through a ritual that was similar to the one Kleia took her through when she first got to Bastion, her first cleansing. She idly wonders if that would count for her, if she actually makes it here someday, somehow.

She and Disciple Kosmas had not been alone. There had been a few others called over to help in case the memories proved hostile, which they had. They had taken the form of her tormentor, but when he had opened his mouth it hadn't been words that had come out, but… rather…

She can't remember.

It was something that had frightened her, she knows that. Something that had turned her stomach and filled her veins with ice. Something awful.

But it is gone.

She's surprised how relieved she is that she can't think of it, can't even remember anything about it except that it had been a sound. It was unpleasant and wicked and now it is forgotten. It feels like an invisible chain that had held her tight is broken, like perhaps she has found a way that she can finally, truly be free from the monster that tormented her for so long.

For now, however, she's certain that if she thinks too hard about her tormentor, other memories will come up, just as miserable as the one that is gone, so she tries to push the entire ordeal aside, instead looking down at Adrestes.

He wasn't there for her cleansing, was he?

The first time, with Kleia, Liila had almost passed out, and Kleia had helped her to a mat in another chamber to rest, though Liila hadn't laid there but a few minutes before insisting she was ready to press on. Kleia had been concerned, but agreed that if she could walk out of the place on her own, she wouldn't fight her on the matter.

And Liila had.

This time…

Liila remembers the memories falling to nothing in the waters and then arms catching her as she fell into the water herself.

It hadn't been Adrestes who caught her. She's sure of that. She would have felt this lightning.

Her fingers have moved up into his hair, and she runs them gently through it, letting her nails trail against his skin, down, brushing along his ear.

No, Adrestes wasn't there when she cleansed her memory. He must have come later.

She tries to think back and does remember vaguely feeling that lightning and chasing it, sleepily, because even as invigorating as it feels, somehow it didn't hinder that draw of sleep. And when she'd been curled up, with that brilliant sensation thrumming through her, she had simply fallen into her dreams.

She's tempted to lay back down, to curl up the way she was and just snuggle forever. Or until he wakes up.

As her fingers trail from his hair, down his neck, his hand comes up and catches hers before she can let it fall into her lap.

"Don't stop," he murmurs. Sleep clings heavily to his tone.

Liila can't help but smile as she moves her hand back up and into his hair. He lets out a soft hum of approval.

"Did I wake you?"

"No."

She has a feeling that's a lie, but doesn't call him on it. "Have you been here long?"

"I'm…not sure." He finally opens his eyes, turns his head so that he can look up at her. "You were already asleep."

Liila traces her fingers along his hairline. "I thought you were supposed to be in Elysian Hold, resting."

Adrestes frowns. "I came to cleanse some memories."

Liila pauses at that, Chyrus' words coming back to her again, about how the forsworn tried to return his past to him. Her hand pauses. "Did it go well?"

"Eridia wouldn't let me," Adrestes says, his typical frown shifting to a full scowl for a second. As Liila starts to pull her hand back, he catches it again, holds it against his cheek. His own hand engulfs hers so entirely. "I wanted to talk to you," he says, a little awkwardly, as though he is both trying to change the subject and make sure she doesn't run off.

"Well, I suppose now's a good time. Before someone comes running over to tell one of us we're needed desperately elsewhere." She smiles when his frown deepens ever-so-slightly. His brow furrows, as though he's thinking of something, debating whether or not to say it. That makes Liila hesitate herself.

A silence settles over them.

And then he seems to realize it. He abruptly lets go of her hand and pushes himself up to sit with her, waving her off when she offers to help him—not that she could do much other than be a pillow if he falls back onto her. When he adjusts his wings, she can see that it looks like a few feathers are missing on the right one.

Even as she wonders if that means he can't fly, at least for now, he clears his throat. Having moved as he has, there's a bit of space between them, and as much as Liila wants to follow after him, she feels like this wouldn't be the time for such things. And anyway, he's still frowning, still looking most serious, as he has that internal debate. When he notices she's watching him, he schools his expression into something neutral. "I hope things are going well for you."

"Well as can be," Liila offers, choosing not to regal him with her meltdown. That silence threatens to loom back over them. She meets his gaze, holds it. "I didn't mean to be gone so long. It wasn't even twenty-four hours in Azeroth."

He nods, reaches up and scratches his hair. There is an awkwardness between them that doesn't feel like it should be there. Not now.

"Well, be that as it may, your timing was impeccable."

"It wasn't mine, really," Liila says, brushing some of her hair back behind her ear. "Stanikos told me you were missing, so—" When she notices how surprised he looks, she sits a little straighter as she realizes rather abruptly that Stanikos had wandered out of his reality and into hers. Likely without permission. Would that be needed? "I hope he won't get in trouble for that. I wouldn't have known what had happened if he hadn't come to get me… I was going to come back in the morning, after saying goodbye to the kids, but then he showed up and told me that you had gone missing—it had only been two days when he came to get me and…" she trails off, winces.

Adrestes seems more confused than anything. "Why would he—"

"Because he knew I'd be able to find you," Liila says, a little self-conscious suddenly. She looks down at her hands in her lap. "Because I can always find you. I can feel you, like you're a part of me, an extension or…" She frowns. "That sounds weird… what I mean is…" The words to make this sound less like she's already claimed him as her own will not come. She groans inwardly, covers her face with her hands. While she's at it, why doesn't she just tell him he's her soulmate? That'll go about as well as what she's saying now, she's sure.

She is botching this spectacularly.

Fingers brush against her arm and that lightning is back. It makes her gasp, despite herself, and drop her hands to look up and meet his gaze. He glides his fingers up her arm and takes her hand in his. He is leaning toward her, thumb stroking the back of her hand twice with such gentleness before he squeezes her hand softly.

"You tried to ask me about this, didn't you?" He hesitates as though he is unsure. "When we were by the water. When you asked about soulmates."

The thing that neither of them believe in.

After all, she doesn't… does she?

"Yes," she says, voice faint. "You feel it, too?"

"I do." Even as he answers, he winces a little and has to settle back where he's seated. As he draws away, Liila moves after him, sitting close enough that he can reach her without having to stretch.

And he does.

He holds his hand out to her, palm out, fingers toward the sky. She places her palm against his, marvels quietly at the way it sends a rush through her at so simple a touch.

"What is this?" She's certain she's never felt anything like this before.

He swallows a little hard. "I'm not…sure. If you ask Eridia, she'll be absolutely obnoxious, but Vesiphone did say that some souls are just…drawn to each other."

"Soulmates?" Liila can't help but tease, despite herself.

Adrestes' brow pinches together a little, and Liila finds that she absolutely adores the little crevice that forms between his eyebrows. It is well worn from an eternity of solemn looks, something that he hides behind that damned hood of his.

Adrestes' gaze moves from their hands to her face, and he pauses. "What is it?"

"What?"

"You're smiling."

Heat rushes through her, and Liila looks away, embarrassed. "I…it's nothing really. I just…" she remembers one of their earlier conversations and can't help a faint laugh as she says, "I don't dislike you, polemarch."

He echoes her laugh, his fingers curling down. His hand is so much larger than hers, and encompasses hers easily. "I don't dislike you, either."

They sit together, holding hands, and it occurs to Liila that this is exactly what she has wanted to do since she first met the man. She wishes he wasn't quite so much taller than her. She might try to steal another kiss.

Though the first one wasn't intentional, was it?

Adrestes frowns again, and that pulls her out of her thoughts the way that expression of his always does. She leans toward him. "What's wrong?"

"I've wanted a moment to talk to you about…" he shakes his head. "So many things." He offers her a small smile that makes her heart melt. He does not smile nearly enough. Would it be arrogant to want to fix that? "Yet here I am with the chance, and I can't think of any of them. My mind just…blanked."

Liila gives him a knowing nod. "I have that effect on people."

"Oh?"

"It's usually followed by a lot of swearing."

Adrestes laughs again. "I've never been fond of that."

"You're breaking my tradition."

"You'll have to forgive me," he says. He shifts so that he can lean against his knee, watching her.

"I think I can manage that." Thinking now, Liila can't imagine anything she wouldn't forgive him for.

He seems so different here, stripped of his armor. His body is well-toned—not quite as much as Thanikos or Kleia—and his wings seem all the bigger, somehow. Perhaps because his shoulders look smaller without the pauldrons he always wears. She has to fight the urge to reach up and run her fingers across them. She wants to feel his skin against hers, to pull him closer…

That pinch in his brow is back. As Liila tilts her head, he shifts, straightens up, coughs into his hand. "I was wondering if I could ask about your name."

That makes something clench inside of her. She remembers the way he looked at her when they found him, what he called her. She arches her brow as she looks down, no longer sure if she can meet his stare. "I suppose there's nothing to stop you."

"Will it upset you?"

"What do you want to know?"

When she looks back at him, he is studying her, as though she is some great puzzle.

To be fair, she has made it a life's goal to be hard to read, hard to figure out.

"What do you want to know?" She asks again, gentler. She reaches her free hand out to him, brushing her fingers against his arm, assuring him that he can ask, if he wants.

"You said that Liila is just…Little?"

She blinks, a little thrown. She had thought he would ask about Amaeria, not…her. She thought she would have to explain why she is not Amaeria, not why she is Liila.

Somehow, that tiny distinction means all the world.

"Yes." She feels a smile tug at her lips as she thinks back. "I… Do you want to know how I became Liila?"

He looks relieved as he tilts his head, nods.

She shifts a little closer to him, turning so that she faces him fully as she considers where best to start. If she just goes to when she got her name, there will be so many holes in the story that it will be a mess trying to straighten it out.

Better that she starts at the beginning.

Her beginning.

"I was a captive of the Scourge," she says. "My captor was…I don't remember why he hated me so much, what I did to start it, but he decided he wanted to break me, to bend my will to his. I think he wanted to be his own little Lich King." She lets out a dry laugh. "He was pathetic that way."

Adrestes squeezes her hand gently.

"Well, he was working on his curse—on my curse when this great beast of a death knight walked in. Guests weren't incredibly uncommon. The Scourge was—still is vast. His colleagues usually wanted to join in, help out. He never let them." She frowns. Even now, she can see that bastard's smile, hear him sneer at the others that she belonged to him. "This time was different, though. This great, terrifying creature, all covered in skulls and spikes, with horns of his own—though one was broken—stood there, behind my tormentor, like he didn't even know the man was there. And he just fixed me with this look." Liila tilts her head, trying to mimic it. She's never been able to do it justice. "And all of a sudden, he lifts his mace. And my tormentor looks over his shoulder just in time for it to collide with his face."

Liila brings her hand up, fingers splayed, toward her own face.

Adrestes' brow shoots up, but he still doesn't say anything. There is a notable shift in the way he's watching her, though, like he's trying not to grimace or… Something. She's not sure what, but now that she's started the story, she doesn't want to stop, even if this part is uncomfortable. It's like this tale has a life of its own and desperately wants to live it.

"And this giant creature lumbers up to me, and he's saying this slur of words I can't make out because it's a language I didn't know at the time. But he's making these wretched noises, and I realize that he's trying to cry, but he can't. The undead can't form tears, you see. But he picks me up and takes me out of that miserable room without a door. And it's the first time I can remember being outside, and it's cold and the only sounds are ghouls howling and shuffling, but overhead, through the dead branches are all these little lights and…" She reaches up with her free hand, like she can conjure them with so simple a motion. "I suppose I had seen stars before, but I couldn't remember it. For me, that was the first time I'd ever seen them and they were these little bright bits that made no sense, just like the words the creature carrying me kept saying, over and over and over." She says them herself, twice in Taur-ahe before translating, "I'm sorry."

She drifts, remembering that night so vividly. It's the first time she's thought back to it in a long time. "And then something shifted in him. In my monster turned savior." She looks down, at their hands. "He was losing himself to his master. Whatever inside of him that had broken free was being strangled, subdued. So he set me down, there in the middle of the woods, said more to me that I couldn't understand and stumbled off."

She pauses then, smiling despite herself. "I met him again, years later. When the death knights joined the Horde. His name is Shadow."

She doesn't say that he's still in the Maw.

"I don't know how long I laid there, just staring up at the stars, waiting for the ghouls to find me. I didn't have the strength to get up, and I knew it didn't matter if I could. My tormentor would be along to collect me in time. Even if the ghouls did get a few pieces in the meantime."

Adrestes' hand shifts around hers, and he is stroking his thumb against her skin again. He looks ready to protest the story, to stop it.

"Eventually, I heard something coming my way, and I just closed my eyes and waited." She closes her eyes now. "Something bumped into my side and then there was something heavy sprawled over me." She can still feel that weight, when she thinks back. "And then I hear, 'Hey, mon? You okay?' And before I know it, I'm being carried off by this creature. A troll. I don't know how I knew that, but I did. Don't know how I could understand him and not the other." She looks up at Adrestes, smiles. "That was my friend Haa'aji. He carried me all the way to the coast, found us food. He was so…" She shakes her head slowly. "So determined to talk. He would not stop. He'd talk about the dead things we were hiding from and how he was looking forward to an end of it. He'd ask me what I thought we'd find. He just would not…give up." She's smiling broadly now. "I don't think he's ever given up on anything ever. But at the time, back then… I didn't think he was real. I didn't think there could be something so…good."

"I didn't think we'd actually get very far, but every day, I'd wake up, and he'd greet me with some variation of 'Hey Little Thing'. He only spoke Amani, but wanted to be able to talk to anyone we came across, and since they were likely to be humans, he wanted to know Common. And I knew that." Liila's brow pinches a little. "Another thing I knew without knowing how. But I taught him. And he took to calling me Liila Ting as he learned." She nods. "It wasn't until we finally found people in Brill, a small town run by the forsaken, when I was asked my name."

She shrugs. "But I didn't have one. I had been nothing more than a…glorified doll for so long and I…" She trails off a moment, shaking her head. "So I just told them what Haa'aji called me. Little Thing. He was there, and would have absolutely none of it. He told me I couldn't call myself Little Thing, but I liked Liila. He and another came up with Dragonlily." She laughs. "Something pretty that's nigh indestructible was the idea behind that."

A hush falls over them for a second.

She looks up at Adrestes. "And I've been Liila ever since. For fifteen years."

"It suits you, Liila Dragonlily," Adrestes says, smiling back at her. "You are little." He pauses, smile widening when she rolls her eyes at him. "Nigh indestructible and pretty, too."

"Flirt," Liila teases.

His laugh is awkward. He reaches back, scratches at his hair above his ear quickly, his cheeks a slightly darker shade of blue. "Would it bother you if I did?"

"What?"

"Flirt."

It's her turn to blush. She looks down, pauses, then glances back up at him, shyly. "I wouldn't mind."

"Now's probably when I should tell you that you're not alone," comes a voice from their side. Liila turns to find Thanikos standing in the doorway. He offers her a quick wave before ducking out of the way as a pillow sails past him. He holds his hands up in surrender. "I didn't hear much, a bit about your escape from the Scourge. I didn't want to interrupt, but if he's gonna start making moves on you, I thought—" He ducks as another pillow flies at him. It bounces off the top of his wing, back into the room.

"Leave!" Adrestes snaps.

"I can't," Thanikos says. He holds up his hands again, gives Liila an apologetic look. "Your soulmate is very belligerent right now, so he needs a babysitter—"

The pillow hits him in the shoulder this time.

As it slides down, Thanikos gives Adrestes a pointed look. "I let you have that one."

Liila glances back at Adrestes, who is currently looking for another pillow close enough to throw. She can't help but bite her lip, trying not to laugh. "So we are soulmates, are we?"

"If you believe in that sort of nonsense," Adrestes mutters, reaching for another pillow. It's just out of reach, and he has to stretch for it, which makes him wince, though he does manage to come back with his target. The second he recovers he turns and throws it as hard as he can.

Thanikos dodges out of the way in time for the pillow to sail past where he's standing and hit Eridia square in the face.

"Archon preserve me," Eridia scowls, pillow in hand as she stomps up to the doorway. "Are you a polemarch or a toddler? Because you can go stay with the other toddlers if you're going to act like—" She stops in the doorway when she notices that Liila is awake. There is an awkward pause before she schools her expression to something calmer and more befitting her station. "Maw Walker, I'm glad to see you're up. We were starting to worry."

Liila's tries not to look as amused as she is. "How long was I out?"

"Two days," Thanikos says in time with Eridia, coming back into view from his hiding spot. As Eridia turns her scowl on him for letting her take the hit, he pretends not to notice, instead looking at Liila. "So you know, your maldraxxi friend was looking for you. Mitchell, I think he's called?"

Liila perks up. She knows she needs to apologize to him for letting into him like she did. He had been trying to help her, after all, even if he had just given her a sore back and a break down. "Did he say what about?"

"No, and Xandria wasn't here this time to make him talk," Thanikos says. "He's a squirrely one."

Liila simply nods.

Before she can respond to say she'll go find Mitchell shortly, movement beside her catches her eye. Adrestes starts to rise to his feet, but before he can, a pillow hits him square in the side of the head and throws his balance off.

Liila darts forward as though she could possibly catch him. He's kneeling now, and shakes his head before glaring toward the doorway.

Thanikos has his hand on the pillow in Eridia's grasp, though she won't relinquish it to him. She fixes him with a look that could kill. He does not let go of the pillow. "At least move out of the way. The other two are still in the room."

"There will be no more throwing. Of anything," Eridia snaps. Her feathers fluff a little as she holds up a hand, index finger pointed heavenward. "This is a place of rest and peace, and I am not going to let two idiots who shouldn't even be here ruin that."

"The only reason I'm here is so that you can go about your duties without having to stand around making sure he's not making a mad dash for the nearest pools," Thanikos says, crossing his arms. "You should be grateful."

Liila tunes the Hands out as Eridia warns Thanikos that she will throw him out of her temple, to which he says something about 'no throwing' that has Eridia barely containing a screech. Liila runs her fingers over Adrestes' head. "Are you okay?"

"I'm not so fragile that a mere cushion is going to…" He seems to realize who he's talking to as he speaks, because as he looks at her, his expression gets softer. "I'm fine."

Liila can't help but smile. "Why do you need a babysitter exactly?"

"Because he wants to do things he can't do right now," Eridia replies. She's come over to join them. Liila takes a step back to give her room so that she can inspect Adrestes herself. She conjures anima and casts it over him. "In a few more days, we can start on your cleansings."

"I don't need days," Adrestes snaps. "I need my armor, and to get these things out of my head." He taps the side of his head, hard, and rises to his feet. His stance is defiant, as if he is daring either Hand to tell him he is too weak.

Liila can see the weariness in his eyes, though, and it is something she is intimately familiar with. She knows that drive to outrun memories that haunt, regardless the cost.

She knows how much damage it can do.

She reaches out and catches his hand. "I'm still a little tired, myself. Maybe you could sit with me for a while longer? We could talk some more."

It's such an obvious ploy, one that's almost cringeworthy. If it were her, she'd likely ignore it altogether.

However, when she looks up at Adrestes, he is watching her with a muted expression, and she can see that internal debate is back. After a moment, he shakes it off.

"Who is acting polemarch, now?" Adrestes asks, turning to Eridia.

"Kalisthene," Eridia says. "She will be able to handle things a few more days." Eridia pauses and then eyes him. "If you'd like, I can have her come by and give you updates. So long as you Stay. Put."

He stands there a moment, scowling at both Eridia and Thanikos, and then drops back down, flapping his wings out partially to adjust them, with enough force that it stirs a small breeze and makes Liila's hair flutter.

Eridia's expression is hard to read, but Thanikos is doing a poor job to hide his grin.

"Is privacy too much to ask for?" Adrestes says, looking from one to the other, and settling on Eridia. "I won't go anywhere until I've had a chance to speak with Kalisthene."

"We have your word?"

"You know how I feel about lying."

Eridia abruptly sighs and nods. "Very well. I'll see to it that Kalisthene comes by when she can," Liila doesn't doubt that means she'll tell the ascended to take her time getting here, "and we'll leave you two to talk."

As she exits, Liila can hear Thanikos quietly asking if he should stay, out of sight, but Eridia tells him it's fine and that Xandria is likely missing him.

"If you need to go, I understand," Adrestes says, drawing her attention back to him. "I will stay put, as I promised, with or without you here to keep an eye on me."

Liila blinks, surprised. "I told you—" When he gives her a look that says he knows an excuse when he hears one, she sighs and sits back down with him. "Mitchell will come back by, if it's urgent."

Adrestes looks like he wants to say more, but instead, he tilts his head, appraising her carefully. "Were you able to finish your business in the mortal world?"

"Chi'rhi and Hezzak are safely home," Liila pauses, then smiles quietly. "Hezzak had a dream that I was going to die fighting Denathrius. That's why they came to get me. To keep me from the raid." When his brow shoots up, she nods. "I've sent a couple letters to see about getting him some proper training."

"Did they tell you how they got out here?"

Liila can't help but roll her eyes. "That. I could kill a few people." She shakes her head. "They pretended to sleep in and snuck out of the house with no one the wiser. There is a permanent portal from Zuldazar to Orgrimmar, so they took that. Then, there's a portal room in Orgrimmar. They knew better than to ask someone to open the way to the Shadowlands, so they sat there and waited, hidden behind some crates, for two hours until someone asked to go through. When the portal was summoned, Chi'rhi created a distraction and the two ran through before it blinked out." She sighs. "In Oribos, they told everyone they were goblins, and the attendants didn't know they were lying. Luckily, someone here realized they were children or who knows what they might have gotten into."

She reaches back and draws her braid over her shoulder. It's messy from sleep. She undoes it, runs her fingers through her hair to try to untangle a few places.

Adrestes reaches out and runs his fingers over her hair, gently. Liila's breath catches for just a second, and then she feels her cheeks flush as he offers her a half smile.

"Chyrus said you had a whole list of things you wanted to talk about?" Liila asks. She pauses as she considers he's told her that, too.

"You spoke with him?"

"I did," Liila nods. "He's a good sort."

Adrestes' smile widens, ever-so-slightly. There is a sparkle in his eye for a moment. "He is."

That quiet returns. It is already not as awkward as it was before.

Liila watches him, head tilting. "Were you in Olympic Village, the first night I came here?" When he looks confused, she hesitates. They did say he had old memories, of Amaeria, didn't they? Perhaps she needs to be more specific "When I first came here alive? From the Maw?"

"Yes," Adrestes says. "I wasn't sure what to make of you. To feel drawn to a creature who had emerged from the Maw itself…"

"Felt like a trap?"

"A little," he admits. He looks ashamed for a second. "I shouldn't have…"

"You're responsible for protecting your realm," Liila says, reaching out and letting her fingertips trail over the top of his hand. He catches hers, holds it in his, lets that lightning spark and thrum. "I would've probably been far less kind than you lot were." When he arches his brow, she smiles, winks. "More confrontational."

"What about you?" Adrestes asks. "I saw…" he pauses, winces a little as he closes his eyes. He breathes slowly, then opens them again. "You almost looked at me, once."

"But then Stanikos showed up," Liila says.

He nods, seems relieved.

It occurs to her then that if he has memories of Amaeria, perhaps he is getting the past and present confused. Perhaps this was a bad idea.

"Would you rather I go?"

"No!" His feathers bristle and then he winces, reaching back and rubbing as best he can at his right wing. When he's settled, he shakes his head. "No. I…I enjoy your company, and I'd like to know you better."

"What do you want to know?"

"Everything," he says, and his cheeks flush a darker blue. "Everything you're willing to tell me."

She can't help but smile at that. "One condition." When he tilts his head, she smiles. "I want to know you better, too. Everything."

"You'll be here a while."

"Eridia will be thrilled."

He scowls, though she can see from the mirth in his eyes that it's pretend. She shifts a little closer so that she can lean against his leg. As she does, he abruptly stretches his wings out, curling the left one over her. The wing is heavy, but the feathers are impossibly soft.

She can see that there is a bare spot on his right wing, a place where she can actually see the skin. It is marred with dark scars that remind her of the ones on her arm.

When she looks back up at him, he's staring at the bare spot, expression hard to read.

She reaches out runs her fingers gently over his feathers nearest her. He shivers, notably, and she pulls her hand away.

"Sorry."

"Don't apologize," he murmurs, attention drawn to her. "Wings are…sensitive."

"Oh? Kind of like ears, then. Elf ears, at least." Liila feels a little awkward. He looks a little lost too. She's about to comment that it's considered rude to touch another's ears unless you're intimately familiar with them when a thought strikes her about his wings. "Is this kyrian flirting?"

"One form of it," he breathes. "I'm not…terribly good with this sort of thing."

"Neither am I," Liila admits.

"It's been a few eons," Adrestes says. "And I don't know much about mortal—about elven courtship."

"You're in luck, neither do I," Liila teases.

He is quiet.

"I mean, I've learned a bit," Liila says, feeling that awkwardness bubbling back up. She's used to being able to joke about her lack of memories. She's joked with others that she's not an elf at all, that she's a troll or a tauren or a murloc—whatever strikes her fancy at the moment or depending on who will back her up and try to help her convince her target that yes, she is definitely one of theirs. Whisper was always a good fall back, insisting that Liila was one hundred percent tauren, but just had her growth stunted due to a terrible polymorphing accident.

It's one thing to joke with people she doesn't mind leaving confused or annoyed.

Now though… now she is still getting a feel for her companion. For Adrestes.

Her soulmate.

If such nonsense is to be believed.


Adrestes feels like this must be some kind of dream, to be sitting here with Liila, to have her curl up against him so readily—even if she is too small to really wrap his arms around. She is in a cleansing robe still, and her hair is down, her braid forgotten after he played with her hair. He's tempted to run his fingers through it again. He wants to kiss her hair, kiss her hands, kiss her.

He wants to do so much, but it is…impractical.

That is a bit frustrating.

That is why he thought to drape his wing around her. It is a little thing, but something he can do regardless of size. She starts to reach out to brush her fingers over his wing again, and pauses, looks up at him. "Is it okay to touch your wings?"

He offers her a small nod.

She reaches out then, runs her fingers over his smallest feathers. Her touch is gentle, tentative, and the sensation that her ministrations conjure is like nothing he has ever felt before. He closes his eyes, wishes he could pull her flush to him and…

And there is no sense dwelling on what cannot be. Not when he has so much more than he expected, right here, right now.

He opens his eyes, looks back down at her. He reaches out and catches some of her hair, lets it run over his fingers. That dark brilliant red slips over his fingers far too quickly.

"I've wondered… your memories don't go back to before the Scourge, correct?"

"No," Liila says and then frowns at herself. He is about to offer that that will help her when it comes to her eventual Rite of Purity when she starts talking again. "Well, there's… well before I came to Bastion there were two memories I had. I remembered that I was loved, wholly and completely."

"Gryst'lyn?"

Liila lets out a sharp laugh at that. There is bitterness in her tone that catches him off guard. Then she quiets. "Honestly, I don't know. Lover, parent, friend. I don't know who it was that I remember loving me, just that I was." She shrugs. "Maybe it was Stanikos."

He reaches out and runs his fingers gently over her hair again. She leans into his touch. He wishes she'd suggest it was him, but he doesn't want to cross that line himself. He doesn't want to insert himself into memories that aren't about him. Doesn't want to take that away, even if…

Even if she'll have to give that up, eventually.

He frowns as he considers that kyrian give up all of their mortal memories. For her, that would include the ones they're making right now, wouldn't it?

Though, he's not sure how that would work. So many in the realm know her. Would they all be expected to forget her? Forget the mortal who came to the realms of death to save their world and all reality?

He wants to ask the Archon. He can't fly at the moment, but he can walk. It would be a short trip to the anima gateway and then to the Archon's Rise.

Though he did promise Eridia he'd stay here until he can talk with Kalisthene. Perhaps after that… He can come back to have his memories cleansed.

As he looks down at her, he decides that if she must give up these memories, he will too. They've met and fallen for each other—or at least, he has fallen for her twice now, so a third time won't hurt.

Maybe next time will go smoother.

Though he hopes it doesn't come down to that. Perhaps with Liila, an exception can be made. After all, even if she went back to the world of the living, she was already technically an aspiring soul of the kyrian. And the kyrian don't have to forget their memories after their death—the death that sends them here. Not unless they want to.

Though, that would mean keeping her mortal ties…

He will ask the Archon.

"You said before Bastion," he says, thinking back. "Do you have memories of being here?"

"Kind of," Liila says. He feels her tense beneath his touch. "It's…complicated."

Adrestes leans down and kisses the top of her head. "I understand."

"During the attack on the temple here, I looked in the sky and saw you," Liila says, fingers running through his feathers in a way that catches his breath. "And then for just a second, I saw…you. Hood back, hair a little roughed up, with the most beautiful smile."

At that, she looks up at him. She shifts up onto her knees, reaches up for his face and runs her fingers along his jaw. He leans his head down, until he can lightly touch his forehead against hers. The back of her knuckles brush over his cheek. "I've wanted to do that since that day."

He can't help but smile. "I'm happy to let you, whenever you like."

"Be careful, polemarch," Liila says, a teasing note in her voice. "I will show up at the most inopportune moments."

"Any moment you're at my side could never be inopportune."

"Is that a challenge?"

"Perhaps I want to see if you can actually cause trouble for me," he says, leaning back enough to look at her.

There is mischief dancing in her eyes as she says, "Oh, I promise you that I can."

"Liila Dragonlily," he murmurs, catching her chin with a crooked finger and staring down at her. "I'm very fond of you."

Her eyes sparkle.

He leans down then and dares the lightest kiss. Her lips are barely a feather's touch against his. He cannot take her, mold her lips to his like he would like, but for now, this is enough.

After all, the Archon will not let her be lost to them again.

She will be kyrian one day.

For her, he can be patient.


"So Thanikos tells me that if I can get the shield to ricochet to hit each target dummy, then—" Adrestes' voice cuts off as he looks to the side, toward the doorway. "Kalisthene."

She stands in the doorway, taking in the scene before her, as though she is not certain if she should come in or come back later.

Liila is sitting on Adrestes' knee, with one of his arms curled slightly around her as he uses the other to animatedly tell her his latest tale, about the only time he made a mistake of making a bet with Thanikos.

They have been talking for hours, taking turns telling stories, answering questions. Adrestes has told her of his promotion to polemarch, of attending both Xandria's and Chyrus' appointments to paragon, and even the tale of how he got his wings. A few times, he's gotten confused in his stories, his brow pinching as he pauses and tries to remember and then says that something's not sitting right. Liila is patient with him through those, even when he mutters that his mind won't be right until he can get his memories back in order.

She's told him about her travels around Azeroth, of how she met Blood and Mitchell, of Haa'aji. She's told him about how she once convinced Mitchell to make her spells look like they were fire spells instead of holy and how he'd made his look like holy instead of arcane, and they had run around Desolace convincing their enemies that she was the mage and he was the healer. She's even told him a few of the flashes of memory she's had here in Bastion. He listens to those intently, as though he's mentally checking to see if he remembers them too.

His stories tend to be more about conquering chaos and creating order, and hers are the opposite. Even so, there is a certain delight in his eyes whenever her stories take an unexpected turn. It makes her feel warm and fuzzy inside.

And through it all, is that blissful thrum of energy, that feeling that they are exactly where they are meant to be.

It's heady, and Liila's more than happy to get lost in it, to just exist with him.

Kalisthene can see that, no doubt.

"You're looking well, polemarch," she offers. "Maw Walker."

She nods to each of them.

"What news have you of the forsworn?" Adrestes asks. His tone shifts, away from the beautiful cadence he uses when he tells his stories, to that serious, detached voice that he issues orders with.

He is hers no longer and the polemarch again.

"They have been busy," Kalisthene says, grim. "There was an attempted attack on Humility, but the wards held. We repelled them at the edges of the temple. Everything else has been skirmishes and…" she trails off, gaze flickering to Liila.

This is something the ascended does not want to speak openly about in front of just anyone.

And it's probably awkward reporting to her boss when he's got someone sitting in his lap.

Liila rises to her feet. There is a moment where Adrestes holds her hand in his, and there is a look in his eyes that is almost begging her to stay. If he asks, she knows she will.

He does not.

Instead, he schools his expression. "I'll see you soon, Liila."

She squeezes his hand as best she can before slipping out of his grip. She has feared that once she lets go of him, once their contact is broken that thrum of lightning will cease and leave her cold and empty. There is a shift, but it is not the great emptiness she worried about, just a quiet longing that she knows will be banished with a simple touch. The assurance that it will be there is comforting.

She moves over to where her things are laid out neatly, all but forgotten. She'll find somewhere else to change back into her usual robes, considering she doesn't want the two to have to wait on her.

As she turns to go, pausing once to smile at Adrestes, Kalisthene catches her attention. "Maw Walker?" When she stops, the ascended kneels beside her. "I am sorry that I did not recognize you when you first arrived. I should have."

"It's alright," Liila assures her, a little quickly.

"It is not. You were my charge." Kalisthene's gaze lowers.

Liila hesitates at that. "Well, I don't imagine you expect most former charges showing up wrapped in the essence of the Maw, with a heartbeat and a body, so I think you can give yourself a break there." When Kalisthene gives her a gentle smile, Liila winks. "And anyway, Amaeria was a blonde."

She walks out before they can ask any questions about that. It's definitely a tale for another day. Before she is out of earshot, she hears Kalisthene begin her report. Her voice falls into a soft hum before it is drowned out by the vespers overhead.

Liila finds an empty building to change and then heads for the anima gateway. She'll need to talk to Mitchell, of course, but first she wants to find Pelagos. He was so worried when she disappeared like she did and even if Chyrus told him that she was alright, she should still check on him, apologize for being the dramatic little mortal that she is.

It feels a little nosy, but she feels for him, with that soulbind connection. She thinks she can feel traces of anxiety from both him and Kleia, but it is nothing substantial. They are always there, she realizes, their feelings and presence like the brush of a breeze, but it is easy to not pay attention to them, to not get caught up in their feelings, unless they are overwhelmed by one.

She wishes she could be more like them, for their sake and her own.

At least she's calmed down. At least N'zoth's hold on her has been loosened. She wonders, not for the first time, how deeply the old god got into others' heads. Into Haa'aji's. She wonders if he would have told her not to come back to the Shadowlands if N'zoth had never toyed with him.

She should write him a letter.

There is much to be done, most likely more than she knows.

She is almost to Purity's gateway when she hears someone call out her title and turns in time to see Disciple Kosmas land beside her. He smiles brightly. "I'm glad to see you up and about. Eridia told me you'd woken earlier. We were a little worried with how long you were asleep."

"How long should I have been out?"

"Normally, people sleep a few hours at most," Disciple Kosmas pauses, crossing his arms and then lifting one hand to his chin. "I wonder if it's because you're still mortal…"

"I think I was just very sleep deprived," Liila admits.

His smile is back. "Do not wait so long, Maw Walker. If you have something like that that troubles you, come back to us."

Liila curtsies. "Thank you, Disciple."

He nods to her, hesitates a second, and then offers her a small letter. "I hope you don't mind my asking, but would you deliver this to Kleia? I imagine you will see her before I will."

"Of course," Liila replies, taking it and carefully tucking it into one of her bags.

He nods to her, hops into the air. "Send my regards. To Kleia and Pelagos both, of course."

Liila promises she will, and he takes to the air, wishing her safe travels.

Everyone here is so damned nice.

It makes her feel warm and fuzzy, and it's not unwelcome, but it is…weird. Despite everything, it still feels a little like a trap, like all this good will prove to be a ruse in the end. That something bad will be waiting for her, waiting to strike when fully embraces this place, waiting to take it all away.

Perhaps that's a condemnation of her that she thinks thus.

She pushes it from her mind.

Liila barely minds using the anima gateway to Hero's Rest this time. It is as unpleasant as usual, but she can't quite be bothered by it.

Pelagos and Kleia are at their corner when Liila comes up, and she offers a small wave when Pelagos looks up and sees her. His smile is wide as he hops to his feet and rushes over, wrapping her tightly in a hug that lifts her from the ground before pulling back and looking her over. "How are you feeling?"

"Much better," Liila says, feeling a little guilty that she worried him so much. She really should have left Purity sooner to check in. "I'm sorry—"

"There's no need for that," Pelagos assures her. "I was just…all that shadow magic was…"

"Blood told us that you're usually a shadow priest," Kleia says. She's come over to stand with them, and catches them each under an arm, hugging them to her sides before letting them go. "We were surprised, seeing as you never seem to use shadow spells here."

"Well, the night fae were likewise surprised, when we were there to see the Winter Queen, because Liila was using holy magic, but I just thought they were playing tricks," Pelagos says, looking a little embarrassed.

Liila lets a few shadows swirl around her hand for a second before banishing them. "I play with both."

As they walk over to their corner, Kleia tilts her head. "Mitchell said you prefer shadow. That you hate healing people."

"I hate healing assholes," Liila corrects. Both soulbinds let out abrupt laughs, caught off guard. "Carroll, for example, will plant himself in one spot, and it doesn't matter what happens, ground spikes, magic lashes, fire raining down, he will stand there and keep casting. And then get mad when something happens to him." She rolls her eyes, going to her designated seat and settling in. "Mitchell's almost as bad. He runs into stuff because he's not watching where he's going."

"He was looking for you," Pelagos says, sitting back on his own chaise, nearer to her. "A lot of people were."

Liila narrows her eyes at that. "Did they…say why?"

"Most were just swinging by to say hello," Kleia says. "I think Mitchell was worried about something, though."

Even as Liila nods, wondering just what it is he's concerned about, Pelagos changes the subject.

"We have new mortals joining the covenant!" Pelagos says, perking up. "There's just over a dozen of you now. It seems that now that the dead aren't returning in your world, that's freed up many of your heroes to come out here and set things right."

Liila perks up. "Any news on the remaining few from Torghast?"

"Do you know a Kisses?" Kleia asks. When Liila nods, she perks up. "Well, she made it out of the Maw on her own. Just popped up in Oribos, ready to fight everyone."

"It was quite a scene, apparently," Pelagos says, "there were some ascended talking about it in the hold. They said they weren't sure about her. That she was the most 'Maw'-feeling mortal to date."

"Apparently, they nearly threw her back into the Maw, because they thought she was some sort of Maw creature," Kleia adds. "But then the other knights calmed things down."

Liila nods slowly. Kisses is one of the death knights that never really seemed all that repentant once she got her free will back. Liila's heard that she was banned from Stormwind, too, because of an incident where she got bored and started raising bodies in the royal cemetery. "Did she come here?"

"No," Kleia and Pelagos say in unison.

"Maldraxxus?"

They nod.

Liila nods back. That sounds about right.

"There are a lot of mortals joining all of the covenants now," Pelagos says.

"From what we hear, most are going to Ardenweald," Kleia adds. "Or Revendreth, to help with reconstruction."

The duo give her a few updates on what she's missed the last two days, of the bustle of people coming in and getting situated. There is talk of another Ascension ceremony on the horizon, to initiate those who passed their Rite, but were prevented from ascending because of the damaged crest. The Archon is pleased with the new one. There's talk of retaking Loyalty, too, and that chatter is getting louder.

At that, Pelagos gets a little quiet. Then, abruptly, he shifts from where he's been sitting so that he's beside Liila on her chaise. "Nikolon and a bunch of other forsworn are at the Temple of Courage."

Liila's brow arches. "Xandria's alright with that?"

"Well," Kleia says, having moved over to Liila's other side so that she can whisper, too. "Pelagos and Nikolon sort of snuck into the temple."

"And then since no one is there—"

"Isn't Xandria almost always there, though?" Liila asks. "Doesn't she operate the whole other-side-of-the-veil patrols from Courage?"

Pelagos starts to say something, one hand held up, but he stops. She can see the wheels turning in his head. "I thought they operated out of the hold."

Kleia's head is in her hands. "You're so lucky you didn't get skewered."

"Well, we thought we were being sneaky," Pelagos says, a little deflated. "But Thanikos let us know that he knows, which means Xandria knows."

"Which means the Archon knows," Kleia says, voice small. She perks up a little. "And if the Archon knows, that's a good thing, yes? Because that she's allowed it to continue means that she doesn't disapprove."

"So what's the plan now?" Liila asks.

Pelagos sighs. "Well, I want to make sure Nikolon and Achillon are on the same page as us. Nikolon is back at Loyalty, gathering more who want to leave. When he gets back, I figure we'll explain things and see if we can set up a meeting between them and Xandria." He hesitates and then adds, "You'll come, won't you?"

"Of course," Liila says. She notices the way he relaxes, nods. "I don't know that I can really help with facilitating any dialogue—"

"Xandria likes you, so just being there will help," Pelagos explains.

Liila's not sure how true that is, but she reaches out and gives Pelagos' hand a squeeze. "Well, I'll be glad to help however I can."

"I'm going to go check and see if Nikolon is back later today, if you want to go ahead and come with us."

Liila agrees, though as soon as she's said that, she wonders if she has time to hunt Mitchell down. While what she told Adrestes was true enough about him finding her if it's that important, the fact that he seemed anxious is…

It's been years since he's been outright anxious, but there used to be a time when that was his natural state. Despite being dead, he had been terrified of dying. Liila wonders if perhaps thinking he might be going to Revendreth is something that's eating him.

"Do you think I have time to—"

"There you are!"

Blood's bellow reaches them and Liila looks up, a greeting already on her lips. However, as she looks at him, she sees that he is not alone. Inaar and an aspirant are with him and as soon as she sees the aspirant, she is swept back.


She hugs herself as she walks along the pristine path, past groups who are lounging about, wistfully discussing worlds she has never heard of. They don't call out to her. They've learned not to. The few times she's joined groups, she hasn't been able to focus, hasn't been able to listen.

She knows it's rude, but she just can't help herself. She's stuck. Stuck remembering how perfect everything was, how everything was lining up, coming together. Her future had been so clear, and now…

Now not only will it never come to be, but she's supposed to just…forget it. All of it.

"Great day for a walk," comes a voice from beside her, and she glances up to see an aspirant has joined her. He's one of the ones who has called her over to talk before.

She gives him a polite smile, a nod.

"People are predicting an anima storm sometime soon," the aspirant says, peering up at the sky.

"Should I go inside?" Even as she says that, the fact that there aren't that many roofs on the buildings makes her wonder what they do here when it rains.

Does it rain?

"No, there's no need for that," he says. "But it's very pretty. The anima falls in little glimmer wisps," he conjures some of his own, makes it twist and bend in a way that glitters gold.

"Does it puddle?" she asks.

"No," the aspirant says, shaking his head. "I admit, that's the one downside." He pauses, looks at her. "I miss splashing through puddles. Just jumping from one to the next."

"Getting your feet absolutely soaked," she says.

"Getting yelled at to come in and stop being ridiculous," he grins. "And then turning around and hopping through a dozen more regardless."

She can't help the small smile at that. "We could make puddles." Then she pauses, looks down at herself and frowns. She can see the walkway beneath her, through her. She's there, but at the same time, she's…not. "Well, I suppose you could."

"I'll wait for you to get your form, how's that?" When she starts to protest, he shrugs, "Not that I expect you to rush. It'll probably take a century or two to convince the stewards to let us do it anyway. Otherwise, they'll be cleaning up the puddles as we make them."

She can't help but smile at that. This time it's more genuine. "Maybe if they splash through a few, they'll realize how fun it is."

He points at her. "An excellent idea. And if we can get a few key stewards on board, the others will join in. Sika's the main one here," he says, looking around. "We'll need a good pitch, though. Maybe you can help me with that."

"'It'll be fun' won't be enough?" she asks.

"In theory, it would," he says, leaning toward her conspiratorially, "but once we start pouring the water everywhere, I doubt their enthusiasm will last."

"You could toss one in the water, see if they like that."

"Toss a steward? Never!" He shakes his head. "I can see their look of betrayal now. I'm not strong enough to handle something like that."

She arches her brow, offers him a small nod.

As he grins, she can't help but flinch, remembering another smile that looked so similar. Another smile that may not even exist anymore. There are so many who don't know what's coming.

And she can't warn them. She's stuck here, stuck being told that what happens to them is no longer her concern.

How can they say that? How can they…?

"We could do an obstacle course," he says, drawing her from her thoughts.

It doesn't reach her like earlier. It's just a distraction.

People are dying, and they're talking about puddles.

She sees the look he is giving her. How his enthusiasm stalls. Then his expression grows softer, sadder. "You're from Azeroth, right?"

She nods. "Are you?"

"No," he shakes his head. He says a name of a world she's never heard. "We…we were losing to the Burning Legion when I…" his smile disappears, his gaze staring at something long gone. "I don't remember much anymore, but we were struggling. A large group decided to turn our tactics from survival to just taking out as many of them as we could before…" He shakes his head. "That was a long time ago. I don't imagine my world is still there."

"I'm sorry."

"Me too," he says. "For my world and yours. I heard it was pretty bad."

"It was just starting," she says. "They don't know what's coming. There's no way to warn them."

"Word is getting out," the aspirant says. He stops on the walkway and she does, too, a little mystified that he can say that. He looks around and then motions toward a figure sitting a ways off, under a tree. "He's from Azeroth, too. He fell to the monsters, too. The Scourge, they're calling them."

The soul in question is a human man. He has a beard and a melancholy air about him that she recognizes so painfully well.

"His name is Uther, I believe."

She stares at him, looks down, wonders if it would help either of them if she went over and talked to him, or if they would just make each other more miserable. She hesitates and then looks up at the aspirant, who is still standing there with her, watching Uther. "What's your name?"

"What?" he breaks out of his thoughts and looks down at her. "Me?" He stands a little taller and then gives her a sweeping bow.


"Ikaros," Liila whispers, before she realizes it. Those fears that have quieted down stir, just like they do whenever a memory comes up. She doesn't want to be known. Not as who she was. She doesn't want to go through this again. Not after what happened last time…

"I hear you go by Liila now," he says, smiling brightly as he holds out a hand.

She knows what is coming. The hurt, the disappointment…

Liila stiffens, stares at his outstretched hand until he slowly pulls back, lets his hand drop awkwardly to his side. His expression wavers a second, and for just that instant, he looks wounded. He covers it with another smile, though it's not as bright as the first. "Apologies, I… I heard you don't remember, but you were my friend once, and I just… I'm really glad that you still exist."

She swallows.

Her fears are poised, ready to spiral out of control, and yet they don't.

There is a difference here, this time, that makes her panic stall.

Gryst'lyn, her fiancé, had been a dog after a bone. He had followed her after she told him she didn't know him, He had insisted she could remember, that he could make her remember.

He wouldn't stop.

She was already so strung out, so tangled in grief and disbelief and feeling utterly lost, and he wouldn't stop.

Ikaros, on the other hand, simply accepts that she does not know him.

He does not assault her with a barrage of memories made that she should know, insist that she is not trying hard enough to remember, that she just needs to focus. That maybe the touch of a hand or the brush of lips will bring her back to what she was like some magical fairytale.

The aspirant bobs his head, offering a word to Pelagos and Kleia as he dismisses himself. Inaar appears utterly devastated, looking from Liila to Ikaros as he turns away before trotting after him, like she might drag him back.

Those fears are whispering in her head, telling her it is good that he goes, good that he leaves her alone.

And yet, there is another voice in her head that argues.

It whispers that Ikaros is not Gryst'lyn.

"Your puddles," Liila calls out. Ikaros freezes, and then turns to look at her, expression impossible to read. "I don't remember…much, but… did you ever get your puddles?"

Ikaros fights a smile, a hope. It makes her a little uneasy. "No."

"Sika never came around?"

"She did," he says. He turns back, walks the few steps back to their group. "She even offered to help me set them up, but…" he shrugs a little, tries to hide a flinch. "After what happened… No one else was really interested in it, anyway."

"I'm in," Inaar declares, startling the lot of them. Her expression is dead serious. "We can do it now."

"And what exactly is 'it' that we're doing?" Blood asks, helm turning slowly as he glances from face to face.

"Making puddles," Liila says, a tentative smile slipping across her lips, despite herself. Inaar's excitement is too contagious.

Ikaros laughs a little awkwardly, but smiles when Liila motions for him to join them. He sweeps over, sits where Pelagos normally is, with Inaar hopping up next to him. Blood takes the spare seat as the aspirant asks, "Did you ever jump in puddles after a heavy rain?"

"Yes," Inaar breathes, large ears perking, tail wagging once. "It doesn't rain often in Vol'dun, but when it does it's torrential. When it finally lets up, we would always go running around, adventuring in the 'new world' that the water would leave, with all its little islands. My brother and I pretended we were adventurers, exploring new island chains."

Blood lets out a chuckle. "Nice. It was the same for me, to an extent. Rain was fairly rare in the camp I was in as a boy. When the heavens cracked open, we'd play along the gutters, running through the little waterfalls it made. It was one of the only times we had any real fun. The puddles always went away too quick, but they were…" he shakes his head, there is fondness in his voice that the undertones that come with his undead stature cannot hide. "They were fun. In Orgrimmar, we get even less rain. I taught my boys how to jump through them for maximum splashing. My mate would always scowl at me because of all the muddy footprints through the hut." He leans heavily on his knees, and his shoulders droop ever so slightly. "I wasn't there for my last one, but I heard her older brothers taught her to love those puddles, too."

"Did something happen to them?" Inaar asks, ears drooping a little.

"The only thing that happened was to me," Blood says. He motions to himself. "I've… I go see them sometimes, but I've never been lucky enough to be around right after a rain." He sighs. "It doesn't help that their mother doesn't want me around too often. Being what I am."

"Dead?" Ikaros asks, softly.

"A death knight," he replies. A hush falls over the group. Then he slaps his knees. "Look at that. I'm killing the mood. That's pretty on point. We always have to be killing something," he mutters. "But I digress. We were talking about jumping in puddles."

Liila can't help a faint smile, knowing how it would wound Blood to actually be the one kill the conversation. "The last storm we had in Zuldazar, all the kids were taking turns running through some really big puddles just down the street. They weren't letting Hezzak have a turn, so he got mad, ran into the middle of the biggest puddle and sat down. Wouldn't move for anyone, so Haa'aji and I sat with him until he felt better." She shakes her head, smiling at the memory, remembering how they had all ended up completely soaked. "And then we made sure the kids gave him a turn every now and then."

There is a faint, wistful sadness from Pelagos for just a second before he says, "I don't remember if I did things like that."

Liila looks at him, and then slings an arm over his shoulder. "We'll just have to fix that." When he arches his brow, she grins at him, and then points at Ikaros. "We should do it. Get a bunch of people involved. Thales would be for it, I bet."

Kleia perks up. "Yes! It does sound fun."

It already is.

It is fun to see how readily everyone launches into figuring out the logistics of what one would need to do to manufacture rain puddles in Bastion. Blood offers to freeze the water to make it easier to transport, Ikaros explains that they will have to okay things with the stewards first. Inaar suggests they use the Temple of Courage grounds, as they won't be in the way if they're somewhere empty. Pelagos stiffens a little at that, but Liila loops arms with him, and then suggests the pavilion she's seen to the southeast of Olympic Village.

"You've been all the way out there?" Ikaros asks.

"I gather herbs," Liila says.

"Oh! Before I forget!" Blood abruptly turns and rummages through his bags. As he does so, it reminds Liila and she reaches into her own, pulling out Disciple Kosmas' letter and offering it to Kleia. As she takes it, curious, Blood comes back with a few small badges. He holds them up. "Here." He tosses one to Pelagos and one to Kleia. She is distracted by the letter and it thuds against her arm, startling her. "Sorry."

"Oh, it's…" She looks down at the letter, a blush settles on her cheeks, and then she quickly tucks it into her armor. "It's okay." She moves around, finds that Liila has already retrieved the trinket. "What's this?"

"The maldraxxi use them in combat," Blood explains. "It prevents the wearer from feeling the injuries inflicted on their soulbinds." He pauses, motions vaguely off as though toward the other realm. "They try to soulbind with as many people as they can, because it makes them stronger, harder to take down. But it's no good if you're feeling all those others getting knocked around in battle. And if someone dies, you still sense it, apparently, but you don't feel it. So with these, you don't have to suffer the constant pains."

Inaar's ears are perked again, she's practically bouncing in her seat. "That sounds really useful. I get hurt all the time."

"Well, here," Blood fishes out a third one. "If you go to Grandmaster Vole, he can get you more if you want, but…" He tosses it to Inaar, who promptly offers it to Ikaros. He hesitates a moment before taking it. "I still don't have a soulbind yet, so I can get another one."

Pelagos turns the badge in his hands slowly, inspecting it. It looks painfully simple. "It just blocks the feel of injuries?"

"According to Vole," Blood says.

Kleia nods, thoughtful, and then looks at Liila and then Blood. "What about Liila? Shouldn't we get her one, too?"

"I have a very high pain tolerance," Liila says.

"And you suck at staying alive," Blood adds. "I thought I'd spare them from the pain of when you choke on a peanut."

With an eye roll, Liila shrugs. "I'm not gonna choke on a peanut."

"Your luck is shit. It's only a matter of time," Blood says, nodding sagely.

Ikaros' brow pinches. "You've died more than once?"

"The Dragonlily is renowned for dying a lot," Inaar says. "She can't stay dead, though."

Liila holds her hands out, does a mock bow where she sits. "My legacy."

"That's horrible," Ikaros says, concern plain on his features. "How many times have you died?"

Blood snorts, then checks himself when Ikaros glares his way.

"I don't know," Liila says. When Ikaros tries to insist, she sighs, shakes her head. "I really, truly do not know. My memories don't go back that far, and some of them blur together at this point, so…?" She shrugs.

"I'm sorry," Ikaros says, bowing his head. "I shouldn't have…"

"It's fine," Liila says, waving off his concerns.

"We used to have a bet going about what her fiftieth death would be," Blood says. He is ready to say more when he registers the mortified looks on the kyrian faces around him. Inaar is morbidly curious.

"Deathwing did a flyby," Liila says, shaking her head. "I was picking herbs and suddenly everything was fire." Her mouth forms a thin line as she shakes her head again. "He ruined over a dozen of my gathering routes."

"The real crimes of the aspect of earth," Blood jokes.

"Not a fun way to go," Inaar whispers, but then perks up a bit. "He came by Vol'dun, once, too. We hid." She pauses, tilts her head. "Got some pretty glass trinkets out of it. Some of the nicest ones were too big to move, though."

Blood and Liila nod with understanding.

Pelagos is frowning. "If you don't know how many times you died, how do you know that was your fiftieth death?"

"Oh, that count started after I escaped the Scourge," Liila says.

"That is awful," Ikaros says. He isn't even trying to hide how horrified he is. Inaar is looking up at him with concern—no doubt she can feel his horror.

Liila feels a little guilty for making jokes about it, now.

"You can get rid of those memories," Pelagos offers.

Liila glances at him. "Most of them aren't…terrible. I mean, a lot of them the only real feeling I have remembering them is embarrassment, like when I died here."

"You already died in Bastion?" Blood asks.

"Yeah, forsworn spear between the shoulder blades," Liila says, motioning over her shoulder.

"Oh, I was there for that," Inaar says. "You turned into a kyrian." When Ikaros cocks his head, Inaar looks up at him, "Wings and all!"

"Fastest ascension ever?" Blood asks, and grins when Liila throws one of her bags at him.

"You got your wings before I got mine," Kleia says, a weak attempt at a joke. Her smile is tentative, like she's trying to play along with the morbid topic, but can't quite bring herself to go all in.

"At least you got to keep yours. Mine were like advanced practice wings."

Kleia's smile widens a little at that.

Pelagos snorts. He shakes his head. "I'm glad you haven't died again. Maybe that will be the…well, I suppose it can't be the last time, but maybe it will be the second to last time." He straightens a little, "and the last time won't be for a long time."

Ikaros nods, "I will toast to that…give me a second." He hops to his feet and sets off to find a steward.

As he wanders away, a lull falls over the group. Kleia gets up and goes over to her regular seat and Liila moves to give Pelagos more room on her chaise. Liila glances over at Blood. "I heard Mitchell was looking for me?"

"Oh, yeah." Blood takes in a slow breath, shakes his head. "He decided to be spectacularly stupid, and wanted you to clean up his mess. I handled it."

All eyes are on Blood as Liila quirks her brow. "Do I want to know?"

"Well, bearing in mind how the venthyr are unable to withstand the Light, Mitchell and a few friends got to wondering if Bastion's light counted as the Light," he motions around, even as Kleia and Pelagos both say it isn't. Ikaros comes back with Stanikos, who is happily chirping. They are both carrying trays. "They wondered what would happen if they summoned a bad person into Bastion. If they would just combust."

Liila frowns. "Who did they summon?"

"Enlyhn."

Liila takes in a deep breath through her nose, mouth a thin line.

Enlyhn Bloodfist is another former guildmate. She had always assumed that he was one of the people Howl had found when he came to help make the guild. Apparently, everyone else had assumed that Enlyhn was 'one of hers', as most of the more morally questionable guild members seemed to be friends of hers. None of them are actually sure how Enlyhn found out about their guild, but he was one of the first to join after its formation.

Enlyhn is a skilled warlock, and as such, is more or less a sociopath, as warlocks tend to be. On top of that, he's a bit of a hound, chasing damn near anyone who walks past him. He is the reason there had been so many rules about where and when not to have sex around and in the guild hall.

Liila had been the conflict resolution officer in their guild and when she wasn't telling Haa'aji to stop doing whatever he was doing to cause problems, she was usually telling Enlyhn to put it back in his robes.

If he is here…

"He's…they inflicted Enlyhn on Bastion?"

"It's fine, I handled it," Blood assures her, waving his hand. "I told him Thrall's mother is in Maldraxxus. He's their problem now."

"My gods, she'll castrate him," Liila murmurs.

"That's the hope," Blood replies, taking a glass as Ikaros offers it to him. "I have to admit, I almost want to switch covenants, just to see that. Because the likelihood we'll have the luck to see him get his ass handed to him otherwise is so miniscule."

Pelagos swishes his own drink around, frowning. "So…wait. They summoned him here because they thought being here would just…instantly kill him?"

"Yep," Blood replies. "Then, apparently, they tried to convince him that this was the Maw." Blood lets out a low laugh. "Supposedly, he believed them until he met a few locals. His words were, 'No hellhole is going to have as'—" Blood seems to notice his company and then simply coughs into his hand. "Well, he didn't feel the ladies would look so nice if this were a bad place."

Stanikos blinks, hopping up to sit on Liila's free side and holding out a drink to her. "Ladies here very nice in all ways."

Liila thanks him for the drink, and nods. "They are."

"You lady here, too," Stanikos says, chirping happily. "You nice, too."

"Thank you," she says, bumping shoulders with him. He lets out a happy trill.

Ikaros is smiling when she looks his way. "You know, Stanikos came to me not long after you first passed through from the Maw, said you were alright, safe and sound. I didn't realize then…" He shakes his head, holds up his drink. "May our mortal friends live long and healthy lives."

"May our kyrian friends do the same," announces Inaar.

Glasses clink to a round of cheers, and conversation turns to lighter subjects as Inaar regales them with the last training session that Ikaros led, bouncing happily and hopping up twice to show off the moves that he did. Before the hour is out, they have rearranged the furniture to allow for a small staging area where Ikaros and Inaar play out a few duels, and draw in others, including Taerlina and Inkiep, to help show off finishing moves and other combat tricks that gather a bit of an audience.

And for possibly the first time since entering the Shadowlands, Liila doesn't fight the feeling when it bubbles up that she is finally home.


"Try to relax," Vesiphone says.

Adrestes does his best to settle his nerves, to undo the tension in his jaw and his shoulders. The paragon reaches out, fingertips brushing against his forehead. His life flashes before his eyes in a blur too fast for him to keep up with. He cringes against the sweep of memories, despite his efforts not to.

When Vesiphone pulls away, it takes a moment for the world to settle. Adrestes blinks a few times and looks up at her. "Please say I can get rid of them now."

"We can start now," Vesiphone says, and Adrestes has to fight the urge to hug her. "The memories that haven't settled well will be the easiest to remove, though I'm not certain we will be able to preserve them."

"I don't care. I don't need them," Adrestes says. "Most of my memories were smashed already, so…" he trails off when he sees the sorrow that flits across Vesiphone's face for the briefest instant.

"We keep those memories to honor the one who carried them, to honor who you were and what bore you to this realm, to us."

Adrestes looks down, tries to feel guilty for just wanting these memories out of his head. "I don't recognize them. It's like…thoughts that aren't my own. I don't want them."

Vesiphone nods. "I can see which ones require cleansing. I'll start with the oldest, as they aren't sitting well at all. The way they've settled—or tried to…I imagine you're having headaches? Getting a little lost?" When he nods, she mirrors the action. "Come. I imagine you'll be able to focus better once we fix this."

They are already up at one of the highest pools. Vesiphone had to carry him up here, much to his chagrin. He feels useless, helpless.

Eridia stands at the ready to assist, and she gives him a reassuring smile when he glances her way.

Kalisthene's reports had taken a couple hours at most, and from there, he had been left wishing very much that he could call Liila back, or go to wherever she is. However, Eridia had been adamant that he was not to go wandering off on his own, and that if he went anywhere, it would be back to Elysian Hold. He had been arguing with her when Vesiphone had come to check on him. She had gently teased him for being so contrary to her poor Hand, and he had pleaded with her to remove his memories or at least do something so that they wouldn't interrupt his thoughts as they kept doing.

He told her how he was having trouble concentrating because they would simply bubble up, try to merge with others.

That had caught her attention.

If only he'd thought to explain it that way earlier…

However, it is better late than never, especially now that it means he can start moving forward.

Vesiphone begins the ritual, and the bells ring out. Each note pulls at his unwanted memories.

He is ready for them. While his own mace is somewhere in Elysian Hold with his armor, they have provided him another to use. He is ready to meet whatever hostility may come with his might, to break them apart, lay waste to the unwanted intruders in his head.

He is ready to be free.

Even if he has to strike down an army.

When the memories form, however, they coalesce into a single figure.

A little creature that stares up at him, scared and alone, hugging itself because there is no one else who will.

This…this is not what he expected at all.

He has built up the unwanted things in his head into beasts, monsters that require slaying, something he has plenty of practice with.

A child, however…

Adrestes swallows hard, stares down at the little thing.

It would be so easy to crush it with his mace, to be rid of the damned thing.

But somehow, that seems far too cruel. There is already so much cruelty in existence, and he can't bear the thought of perpetuating it further.

It reminds him of the little souls he hates to bear because they do not understand. Because they have lived so short a time and he is taking them from all that they know, sending them into an unknown he cannot even explain to them.

It reminds him of the pleas to go back to their parents' loving arms, to nestle in strong limbs that will keep them safe.

It reminds him of a time he sat by the water and listened to Amaeria talk about the people she loved and how she could be okay, knowing that they were out there, somewhere, safe and happy.

That is all anyone wants to know, in the end, isn't it? That they and the ones they love will be safe and happy?

That they are loved?

He kneels, looks the memory in its piercing eyes, starts to reach for it.

"Adrestes," Vesiphone calls out, concern plain in her voice.

He doesn't look up at her, instead focusing on the mirror of the child he was. He strokes its cheek, in the way that he felt comfort earlier, when Liila reached up to cup his face. "You have to go now."

For a moment, the child shrinks away, like they may try to run or—knowing himself—try to lash out. They act just like so many of the little ones he has borne through the veil before.

He thinks of the way he carried the ones when he knew Amaeria, of how he was gentler with them, more patient.

Of how something so simple made all the difference.

His memory looks so terrified, but he gives it a firm nod. He motions out, toward the edge of the realm and beyond. "Somewhere in these sprawling realms, someone remembers you and always will. And they love you very much. You don't have to be afraid. You aren't alone. And you'll never be gone for them."

It stares up at him for a long, quiet moment. He nods again. "You're going to their care now, because you can't be here anymore."

Abruptly, the memory darts forward, wraps its arms around his neck. Eridia starts to come forward, but Vesiphone holds her hand out to stop her.

The little memory lets go, looks up at Adrestes.

And then it simply isn't there anymore.

Adrestes blinks.

His mind is clearer, calmer. He does not feel like there is too much, or like something has been shoved in that does not belong, something that is wandering, trying to find its place. He thinks back, to certain memories that had felt unclear before, pleased to find that he can call them at will again. The memory of the man begging to be taken back to the Arbiter bubbles up, but even that one does not feel so foreign.

It fits, after all.

His brow pinches as he tries to remember what he wanted to forget. However, it is gone.

He knows he was facing something that was his, that it was not a traditional cleansing. He did not have to fight it.

Whatever the memory was, however, is gone along with the cleansing of it. He cannot even remember its shape.

Adrestes rises from the waters, feeling worn, like he could sleep for a year. He glances around, pauses when he sees that Eridia is watching him, so still, expression impossible to read.

He frowns. "Did something go wrong?"

"No," Vesiphone says, her voice a soothing balm. "No, that went quite well."

"What about the others?" Adrestes asks.

"Polemarch Adrestes, do you not feel that wear in your soul and your mind?" Vesiphone asks, tilting her head ever-so-slightly to the side. When he concedes that he does, she gives him a reassuring look. The skin crinkles around the corners of her eyes when she smiles. "We will remove what was forced on you, but it will take time. I think the worst of it is gone, though. Come, let me check."

He walks to her, finds that his limbs are a bit stiff, as though he has been kneeling for hours instead of minutes.

Like before, his memories flash in a blur that is too hard to keep up with when she touches his forehead. She draws her hand back, nods. "Much better. Those memories didn't know where they went, so they were trying to squeeze in to any space, settle anywhere, regardless of whether it made sense or not."

"But they're gone now," he says, even though he knows they are.

"Yes," she says. "Do you think you can bear the others a few days? I'd like to make sure nothing shifts around in that head of yours, that the damage can mend properly now."

Adrestes frowns, considers it. He is still not sure that he can keep his memories of Amaeria and Liila completely apart, but at least he feels…sharper. And the memories of ferrying souls from the Scourge do not nettle him so much. They just break his heart. He will need those cleansed before his next bearing assignment, to be sure, but for now… "I think I can manage."

"Good," Vesiphone says, her smile radiant. "Now, you are welcome to rest here, or to return to Elysian Hold. In a few days, I imagine you will be ready to return to your duties."

Adrestes can't contain his irritated groan.

"You behave," Eridia warns.

Even as Adrestes gives her a look, Vesiphone lets out a faint laugh. "Adrestes is allowed to be disgruntled, Eridia." Her tone is light.

She has not spoken like this since the attack on her temple, and Adrestes can't help but feel a small bubble of relief that she is allowing herself to relax, even a little.

He offers her a salute. "Thank you, Vesiphone."

She leans down, offering to pick him up and take him from the cleansing chamber. Eridia is already picking up and putting things away.

He wants to tell her he'll fly himself, but even as he takes a step, he finds that the cleansing has taken more out of him than he's realized. His shoulders slump slightly before he accepts the paragon's offer for help.

He drifts to sleep before they reach the ground.


It is another two days before Pelagos is able to get ahold of Nikolon, and in that time, Liila finds herself spending most of hers at Purity, sitting with Adrestes and the few who come to visit them. He no longer needs a keeper, and so they find themselves able to spend much of their time just talking and sharing stories, getting to know one another.

It is so…nice.

Liila can't help but feel that if eternity could be like this, she'd like that very much.

However, eternity can hardly bring anything if current events are not addressed, and when Pelagos comes to get her to meet with Nikolon, she reluctantly excuses herself.

It turns out that her soulbind has already discussed things with his soulmate—something he is giddy to tell her about, though he does comment over and over that he knows she 'doesn't believe, but'. Nikolon is willing to meet with Xandria, willing to trust that Pelagos will not lead him into a trap.

So now, all there is to do is talk the paragon into a meeting.

Liila has just checked the Archon's Rise for Xandria, only to find it completely empty—the absence of all the paragons and Archon leaves her uneasy, but the guard she talks to admits that before she arrived, the Rise sometimes went a century or more without anyone there. He tells her the surest way to find Xandria is to go to the Temple of Courage or to find Thanikos.

Liila only considers it for a moment, before deciding when she gets to the anima gateway that she will just go to Courage and look around for the paragon herself. If she's not there, then she'll hunt down Thanikos and rope him into helping find his boss.

When Liila arrives, it is so…different than the rest of the realm. There are two, maybe three bells tolling out, slowly, leaving long stretches of silence. Going north will take her to the forsworn, but she doesn't want to meet with them again just yet. Not until she can bring them news, either of a meeting or that they need to vacate the temple before Xandria's fury comes down on them.

Liila wanders the temple, and she can remember the fighting there, the invaders, the people being taken.

There was once a great bridge that led to the floating parts of the temple, but it was destroyed in the attack, trapping so many aspirants further in the temple grounds. Making them easy prey.

She wonders where Thales was when everything happened, if she could have saved him from getting taken from the realm. Saved him from losing his eyes.

Even as Liila stands at the edge, looking across the expanse and wondering how she might get out there, a voice comes from beside her. "It is hard to reconcile what is with what was."

She turns, finds Xandria is sitting beside her.

Her helm is off, and her hair is pulled back into a short, messy ponytail. She has a few carpentry tools hooked to her belt, and Liila realizes, rather abruptly, that the paragon has begun to fix her temple herself.

The paragon notices her attention, and offers her a half smile. "I can't toss spears all the time. And I made a few of the old bells anyway, so replacing them myself won't ruin the tune." She pauses, cracks her knuckles. "Though I am sorry to see some of Agthia's vespers may not be repairable."

There is a pain in her voice as she says that, one she does not try to hide. Liila looks up at her, unsure what to say.

Xandria sits there quietly another second, staring at the damage across the way before abruptly looking back at Liila. "I assume you're here about your soulbinds' friends."

"I am."

Xandria merely nods. "When do they want to meet?"

"At your earliest convenience." She pauses when she notes the hesitation as the paragon rises to her feet. "Maybe they can help you with the temple."

"They already are," Xandria replies, flashing a smile before taking to the air. "I'll meet them here, in an hour. Will that suffice?"

By the time Liila has risen from her curtsey, Xandria is gone again.

The hour goes quick enough. Kleia and Pelagos have already gone to find Nikolon and Achillon while Liila searched for Xandria. Achillon is more than a little uneasy at the notion that the paragon has been watching them the entire time, but Nikolon doesn't seem surprised. It makes Liila wonder if he knew this would happen when he first came here. If that is why he wanted to enter the temple alone, as Pelagos has told her.

Xandria is waiting at the meeting spot, alone.

Though, considering how easily the kyrian cross through the veil and back, Liila can't help but wonder if there is an escort just out of sight.

"Paragon," Nikolon greets her, salutes. Achillon echoes his movements.

Xandria is in her usual armor, minus her helm, and her hair is considerably neater than when Liila saw her last, falling about halfway down her neck and tucked behind her ears. She bows her head to them, and then she takes a seat. "You have been in my temple for some time." Nikolon nods. "I would have welcomed you earlier, but I had a feeling you would not be thrilled to have my attention." Neither respond to that. "So then, what is it you wish to discuss?"

"We would like to create a haven for those who do not want to follow Lysonia's path," Nikolon says. There is care with how he picks his words.

"The entire realm is a haven for that," Xandria replies, and then adds, "well, all the places Lysonia can't reach are. And her reach would be considerably shorter if she had fewer willing to follow her."

"Our charges have no place on the Path," Achillon says, standing a little taller when he has the paragon's full attention. "We want to make a place for them where they will not be slain on sight."

Xandria listens to him, drums her fingers against one knee. "In times past, your charges would have been taken back to the Arbiter. Now the only way is to the Maw, so we kept them here. Even if they are not meant for Bastion, we did not think they were meant for the Maw, either." She tilts her head. "I suppose that is a type of judgment, though, isn't it?"

At that, Achillon takes a step forward. "There are many things wrong in Bastion." Nikolon lets out a low hiss and starts to tell him to be quiet, but Achillon ignores him. "The forsworn are just bring problems that have always existed to light."

"Is that so?"

"How can anyone in good conscience send good souls to the Maw?" Achillon presses. "And why is the Archon so sure that having memories of our pasts will damn the souls we bear?"

"Because it has happened. In the past," Xandria replies. "Everything that Bastion has been built into has been a result of trial and error from the past." She pauses, considers it. "Save for souls going to the Maw. I agree with you there." She appraises him. "I can tell you that we have begun to put methods in place to mitigate it."

"And how many have been damned in the meantime?" Achillon asks.

Xandria holds up her hand. "I cannot undo the past, but we are not here about them. We are here about you." She points at the forsworn. "Do not forget you come to my temple for refuge. And the only reason it is empty enough to be a refuge is because forsworn opened the way for the maldraxxi to come here."

"There are many forsworn who are appalled by what has been done to the temples, but they do not have the power to change the forsworn's course. Those who try to stop Lysonia are taken away to the Maw," Nikolon replies. "Dissenters are not strong enough to make a stand at Loyalty, and they feel they cannot go anywhere else. It leaves them trapped."

"To the— Did Devos' message not reach the forsworn?" Xandria asks.

Liila has all but forgotten that message, the one that Blood brought with him when he was saved. From the way the Archon had responded to its existence, she had rather assumed it was destroyed.

Nikolon looks confused, but Achillon speaks up again, slowly, after glancing to Nikolon to see if he knew more. "I heard that Thenios attempted to trick Lysonia with a fake soul mirror from Devos, if that's what you're talking about."

Xandria lets out a bark of a laugh. "It would figure. Devos tries to do right, and all the fledglings she's led astray won't listen."

Both Nikolon and Achillon bristle at that.

She speaks more to them, about how many they think they could bring to her temple, about how willing they might be to 'mingle' with any ascended she has on hand. Nikolon is concerned that this will become a prison. Achillon wants to address the wrongs of the realm. Xandria wants numbers. Pelagos wants assurances that the forsworn who are here will not be harmed.

The only voices quiet during the whole debate are Kleia and Liila.

Liila is mulling over the fact that the soul mirror was not well received.

Of course it wouldn't be. They would have known it passed through a paragon's hands or even the Archon's herself, and the forsworn do not trust her because she is the one who has put everything they stand against into place.

Another soul mirror will just be met with the same mistrust, even if it could be delivered straight from the Maw to their hands.

Kleia slips up next to Liila, and she can tell that her soulbind wants to ask her something, but doesn't dare interrupt the dialogue that has opened between the paragon and forsworn.

It is a stilted thing. Xandria is not the best paragon for negotiations, and it shows. She has to check her displeasure twice. Achillon is passionate, mostly about the fate of the souls the kyrian bear. He asks her if she has taken any to fall into the Maw, if she has done the unthinkable, or if she just sends others to do it. Nikolon stresses that he wants a haven for those who feel trapped within Bastion's golden fields.

Rather abruptly, Liila realizes that this will not be much of a solution, because the forsworn here are representing but two of the facets that comprise them. An important two, but there are, no doubt, sides being left out.

"Would you be willing," Xandria says, words deliberately slow, as though she is internally keeping herself from snapping, "to speak with the Archon about these issues?"

"That is a death wish! She will not listen!" Achillon cries.

"There was a time when that was true," Xandria admits, and that makes both Nikolon and Achillon pause. "However, times are changing." She lets out a dry laugh. "We have a still-beating heart on display in Elysian Hold."

Achillon's feathers bristle, like he thinks they are being made fun of. However, Nikolon seems more moved by the notion. "You think she would hear us? That we won't end up like Devos?"

"I think…" Xandria grows quiet for an immeasurable moment before her feathers bristle and smooth. "I think that you will be heard, unlike Devos, when she voiced her own concerns. I can promise you that, and that no harm will come to you, so long as you intend no harm to Bastion or any of its denizens."

The two glance at each other. Nikolon is the one to speak. "I will discuss this with the others. I will not make decisions behind their backs." Both he and Achillon take to the sky then, though the latter stops, looking back at Xandria. "The heart on display," he says, and hesitates, as though he is loathe to ask whatever is on his mind.

"What of it?"

"Is it Devos'?"

At that, Xandria blinks, genuine surprise taking her. "Of course not." And then something else seems to strike her and she tilts her head, looking at Nikolon. "You… the forsworn think Devos is dead?"

They both seem equally surprised. "Isn't she?"


"Should you be so far from the temple?"

Adrestes is annoyed, despite himself, as he looks over his shoulder and sees Liila walking up. For a moment, he is taken back. Instead of flesh and bone, it is an incorporeal form walking toward him, with purpose.

With a blink, he is back in the present, as Liila settles down next to him, by their pond.

"I assure you, if there was danger to this, Eridia would not have let me wander out here."

"I was wondering if she knew where you were," Liila says, that mischief in her eyes.

Adrestes lets out a low grumble. And then, carefully, he extends his wing, lets it curve around her, nudge her. She lets out a laugh that is music in his ears, and moves closer to him, until she is leaning against his leg. He settles his wing around her, watches the way she snuggles against the feathers.

"I would not set the temple into a panic," Adrestes says, closing his eyes. "She walked me out here." He smiles faintly. "And then warned me that if I'm not here when she gets back, she will pluck out my flight feathers."

"They aren't all flight feathers?" When he looks back down at her, she's inspecting his wing. She notices his attention and meets his gaze. "I'm trying to visualize just how much plucking she has to do."

"None, because I'm still here," he replies dryly. Then, he lifts his free wing a little awkwardly, and points out the different feathers, the different purposes. Liila is utterly enraptured by what he says, and once again, he is taken back.

He remembers explaining his hood to Amaeria. Of holding it out, showing her just how he sees with it on, and the way she was so engrossed in his words, like there was nothing else in the world but his voice.

In a blink, he is sitting with Amaeria again.

No.

Liila.

He is sitting with Liila.

His brow pinches, and he closes his eyes.

"Are you alright?"

"I will be," he murmurs. "The worst of what was done has been undone."

"I noticed you've seemed more…present," she says, then pauses. "Perhaps that's not the best word, but—"

"It is accurate enough," Adrestes says. He reaches out and brushes his finger tips against her cheek, noting the way her ears perk up at the sensation before she leans into him. A small part of him wonders if this is alright, to be so close to her, to enjoy the sensation that sparks inside of him when he touches her, when he can barely keep her apart from her past self.

Another part wonders if it really matters.

And another is sad that she does not remember what he does.

Again, he tells himself that doesn't matter. He will forget again, soon enough. They will be on even ground.

Though…she does seem to remember some things. What if more of her memories come back and then he doesn't have his? If she is left feeling that same sting of loneliness that snakes through him now.

He wonders, if it would hurt…

"This was our meeting spot," he says quietly. When she looks up at him, surprised, he motions to the water. "We would meet here, talk." He chooses his next words carefully. "Amaeria was always so disappointed that she couldn't touch the water."

Liila stiffens for just a second, and then looks away, out over the water. "It is pretty."

Her heart is not in the words.

He has messed up.

"I'm sorry."

"You don't need to apologize," she says. It is mechanical. Like something she has had to say before. Assurances she has had to give to others.

He thinks of the bitter laugh when he mentioned Gryst'lyn. Of all the things she had told him of her fiancé, he had never exactly liked the man, but he hadn't ever imagined that she would look at him with anything other than quiet affection and sorrow for what had been lost. That she could have turned bitter toward someone she had held so dear…

Silence settles over them, and he fights back the terror that she will leave at any second, has to bite his tongue when she shifts a little against him. She rests her head against his knee.

"I've always had a hard time with Amaeria," Liila whispers. "Accepting her, loving her." Her fingers trail gently against his feathers, and he fights a shiver as he tries to pay attention. "I know it wasn't her fault, but she left me. Worse, she took everything from me when she went. Who I was, my dreams, my loved ones, my memories. I try not to, but it feels like it's her fault that it's all gone. Like she let it happen, and there was nothing to replace what was lost. Nothing left for me to hold on to. Just an empty void. And I hated her for that. I hated myself because I let myself lose everything. I let myself give up to the point that I didn't know there had ever been any other option. And then people come to me and tell me they loved her and how great she was. She wasn't great to me. She gave up on me. I gave up on me. I don't want to be someone who can be so…weak. So cruel."

Without thinking, Adrestes reaches down and picks her up, pulling her to him, cradling her gently in his arms. "You're not."

She nestles herself against him, her head pressed against the crook of his neck, and he can feel her tears as they fall, dampening his skin. He holds her as tightly as he dares.

He wants to tell her it's not her fault that she forgot, that she can't blame herself for what happened to her. That even if she had her memories, the cruelty done to her would have been just as bad. Maybe it would have been worse.

But then he considers that that might not be something she would want to hear. It might sound too much like excusing the one she blames most.

Herself.

"I used to wonder if maybe she forgot on purpose," Liila says. The words are barely a whisper. "He liked to dangle hopes and loved ones and all that. He liked to play mind games on people. I heard others whisper about hallucinations, where loved ones came and saved them, only to snap out of it to find themselves hugging him instead of their mother or lover or whoever. Sometimes I wondered if she forgot to take that power away from him. One less game he could play." She is quiet. "I told Haa'aji about it once. He said I had to be wrong, because how does one forget one's whole life on purpose?"

The memory of her final moments comes to mind, and Adrestes winces against it. The idea that she had to go back to that…that she had to endure months of what he could barely watch for even an hour…

She doesn't have to say the name of her tormentor for him to know who she's talking about, either. Her voice changes, becomes more detached. Her expression shifts, blanks. The few times she's even referenced him, it has been like the life drains out of her. Like she reverts, for just those seconds, to the 'doll' she called herself in the story of how she became Liila.

"You should have never gone back," he says, before he can stop himself. "You didn't deserve any of that."

Liila lets out a laugh. "That's the rub of it, though, isn't it? If I didn't go back, if I didn't get hurt, I wouldn't be me. Or at least this version of me." She trails off. "I wouldn't know Haa'aji or Mitchell or Blood. I wouldn't be the Dragonlily." She takes in a slow breath and then another as her tears dry. "I like a lot of what happened, after I got away from the Scourge. The friendships I've made, the adventures I've had. And I like knowing Pelagos and Kleia and Thanikos…and I like knowing you." She pauses. "I suppose I would have known you regardless. Maybe I'd already have wings."

"I don't know about that," he says softly. "It takes eons to get those."

She is quiet a moment, considering it.

"How many eons did it take you?"

"I can't even remember," Adrestes says. He feels awkward changing the subject so abruptly, but he doesn't want to circle back to the things she was just saying. How she hates herself, blames herself. How she separated her past from her present so that she'd have someone other than herself to blame, when in reality there is already someone who bears all of that fault. Her tormentor.

He does not know how he can heal these wounds that run so deep. He has never been a mender, but he does know words will not do the trick. Whatever can help is far beyond his repertoire. He tries to focus instead on what she's asked him. About the Path to getting his wings. "I remember a few times that it felt like eternity would end before I got them. That I would be ground-bound forever."

"Which temple gave you the most trouble?"

"Wisdom," he replies. "I am not the most…patient of ascended. And though I am loathe to admit it, it can lead to rash, unwise decisions, if I am not careful."

"You're so meticulous, though," Liila says. "Planning and organizing everything…Patrols and guard schedules, defenses in general, meetings with the Archon…"

"It depends on the matter at hand," Adrestes says. She shifts a little in his arms, and he reluctantly sets her down. She sits in his lap, looking up at him with an expression that says he could talk for hours, go into every individual detail that might make him slip up, and she would be completely enthralled. "When people aren't professional, when there are unexpected delays or issues. Changes to set routines." He pauses. "When people pester me incessantly."

Mischief sparks in her eyes. "Really?"

"I beg you, do not make me regret telling you that." He takes one of her hands, brushes a kiss to it.

She's trying not to smile. "I…promise not to be too terrible."

"I appreciate that," he says.

The silence this time is companionable. She slides along his leg so that she can lean against his body, and he rests his arm against her, wishing dearly that she had even a few more inches to her.

He's idly wondering how much taller she'll be as an aspirant, when she says, "Xandria met with some of the forsworn in her temple today."

"She's going to work with them, then?"

"You knew about them?"

"I did," Adrestes says. He pauses, considering whether this is something to be talked about so openly. After all, it is easy to eavesdrop from the other side of the veil, if one knows to pay attention. With the wards, there would be no forsworn here, but even a well-meaning soul can botch things by whispering a secret to the wrong person.

Vesiphone might not appreciate what Xandria has been doing, for example. And there is no need for more fighting among the paragons. Losing Devos was bad enough.

"The forsworn think Devos is dead," Liila says.

"Perhaps because they cannot fathom that she would leave them any other way," Adrestes dismisses. He does not want to speak of Devos, not when Liila is here alone with him. If he cannot work, let him rest completely.

"Do you think they'd listen to her, if she was?"

Adrestes frowns. "I imagine we'll never know. She can't very well escape the Maw."

That silence returns. After a moment, Liila says, "Do you wish I was—" She cuts herself off. Before he can respond—he can guess what she was going to say—she is suddenly talking about the water. How it glimmers and shines. She asks if it's just the latent anima in the water, and he can't help but smile as he answers her questions.

They settle into more relaxed conversation as they go on, stories shared freely once again, and he feels like they have always been like this.

When Eridia finally shows up, Adrestes can feel himself nodding off. Liila is curled up at his side, already asleep.

Eridia's smile is gentle as she alights a few yards away and walks the last distance. She speaks in hushed tones. "I came by earlier, but you two seemed like you were having such a good time, I couldn't bear to interrupt." She sits quietly with him. "You really should come back in the temple to rest. I'd hate to find that a forsworn had a good throwing arm and managed to reach you."

Adrestes nods, looks down. Liila is sleeping peacefully, no doubt thanks in part to the bells tolling around them. He considers trying to pick her up, but even as he moves to carefully slide his arm underneath her, her ear twitches, and she sits up sleepily.

"I'm sorry—"

"Nonsense," he murmurs, instead offering her his hand. "Shall we go back into the temple?"

She doesn't even hesitate, taking his hand and letting him help her up.

Eridia walks them back, but even so, Adrestes can't say he minds her company.

Not even when she tells Liila about the time she caught Adrestes and a few other aspirants skinny dipping in one of the reserve cleansing pools.


Liila walks into the forsworn encampment with Pelagos and Kleia, and notes the way those present watch them warily. Some of them look hopeful, like the fact that the trio are sauntering in without a concern in the world is a good tiding. Most of them, however, are tense, as though they expect a trap.

Nikolon flies down and lands before them, striding forward the last few paces to wrap Pelagos in a tight embrace.

Liila can feel the absolute adoration rolling off of the two of them, and imagines she would be able to, even without her soulbinding to Pelagos. They are utterly adorable, the way Nikolon cups Pelagos' face and how Pelagos brushes back Nikolon's hair.

It takes effort on both their parts, but they manage to untangle themselves from one another just as Achillon and two others hurry over.

"So it's the four of you?" Liila asks.

Nikolon's expression grows grim. "Yes. We think we can adequately express the desires of those here, if we are each given a chance to speak."

"Assuming they don't just smite us," one of the others whispers. She doesn't meet Nikolon's gaze when he turns and gives her a stern look.

"If there is to be a way forward, we must be willing to take that step," Nikolon says. "The forsworn must have a seat at the table."

The fallen aspirant nods, still not looking up. "I know."

"You will be safe," Kleia assures her.

Nikolon looks the other three over, making certain that everyone has their notes for their talking points and that no one is trying to sneak a weapon into Elysian Hold. Every move he makes is tense, as much as he tries to look confident.

Liila feels for him. Just looking at him, she can tell he is not a natural leader, but he is here, trying, because he cares for those he has taken under his wing. She wants to promise them that they will be alright. That if things turn south, she will personally see to it that they make it out of the hold, out of Bastion.

Before she can think of a tamer way to offer such assurances, a voice calls out.

"We need help!"

Damn near everyone's face falls as the aspirant races up to them, gray skin looking almost ashen.

"What's going on?" Achillon asks, and his hands move as though to the spear he has left behind. He curses quietly.

"An aspirant from Loyalty showed up. She's hurt! She says there were more of them, but they were attacked on the way here."

In a breath, Nikolon is in the air, making a beeline in the direction the messenger has pointed. Kleia and Achillon join him as the rest of them run after on foot.

By the time Liila is close enough to hear, Nikolon is healing an injured aspirant, and she is telling him that it was forsworn who attacked them during their escape, not ascended. She says it happened not too far from the temple itself, well after they had assumed they would be safe from anyone noticing they had gone missing.

It is a small relief that the Archon has not started picking them off now, just before peace talks can begin.

If that's what these talks can even be called.

"How many of you were there?" Nikolon asks.

"Half a dozen," she says.

In a breath, Nikolon is in flight again, even as Pelagos races to his side, calls out for him to wait.

Liila has a sinking feeling. If the forsworn attacked near the temple, does that mean they know about this group? Does that mean they intend to do something about them?

She heads after Nikolon with Pelagos.

He does not get far before the wards go off. Liila looks back to see if it is the injured forsworn who has triggered them, but she simply cringes into those tending to her, terrified.

So she wasn't an intentional part of the trap, it seems.

Because that's what this has to be.

Liila turns forward, calling out to Nikolon to stop.

He is already turning, looking back at them, when it happens.

A figure comes from seemingly nowhere and slams into him, sending him plummeting.

However, before he can hit the ground, chains wrap around him, binding his wings to him as well as his arms and legs. Nikolon's body jerks as the chains snap at the end of their length.

Liila expects to see Mawsworn at the other end, but it is, as far as she can tell, forsworn who hold his tethers. Kleia and Achillon shoot past them overhead, trying to intercept the abductors as Liila calls forth tendrils of light and attempts to pull Nikolon to her.

Something hits her however, and her spell disperses before it can fully form.

More of those damned chains, like the ones Devos' people wrapped her in.

They reach through the wards as it sounds off, like a frantic heartbeat.

They grip Kleia and Achillon. The chains snake through the wards, catch anyone too close to the edge, and more than a few of the forsworn led to safety have strayed too close, in an effort to help.

Pelagos is doing his best to dodge those hateful chains, to chase after Nikolon.

One finally catches his foot and the one holding them jerks him away, up into the air.

Liila fights to free herself, to do something to save the people being dragged away—because despite being chained herself, their attackers seem content to leave her behind.

Just as she manages to break part of her binding, there is a blinding crack of light, and Pelagos is falling.

Kynthia catches him before he can hit the ground.

More cracks of light snap like whips, breaking the bindings on forsworn and kyrian alike. Artemede breaks Liila's chains, pulls her away from the edge of the wards, to where the would be captors cannot reach.

Thanikos and Apolon strike swiftly at their enemies, downing a few and sending the others retreating. They do stray beyond the wards themselves.

Only Xandria does that.

She is a fearsome sight to behold, her wrath almost as terrifying as the Archon's.

The tides turn quickly in their favor. The ascended—who Liila doesn't doubt have been watching over this little camp for quite some time—are quick to defend, to gather the forsworn and draw them back to safety. Kleia assists one aspirant when she is freed herself.

The attack only takes a few minutes, from start to finish, but it feels so much longer.

At the end, Xandria lands before the terrified forsworn, looking them over with a stern expression. "Is everyone safe?"

Achillon starts a headcount, but before he can say anything, Liila feels it.

Absolute terror that is not her own.

She turns, sees Kynthia is fighting to keep Pelagos from leaving the safety of the wards. He's trying to free himself of her, fighting against her grip. "I can't feel him anymore!"

And just like that, Liila knows.

A quick scan confirms it.

Nikolon is nowhere to be seen. She curses under her breath, looking around, daring to head toward the edge of the wards, only for Thanikos to land in front of her, blocking her path. He gives her a firm frown and shakes his head.

"Go in fours," Xandria is calling to her ascended, who nod and disappear through the veil. She looks back at Achillon. "Is anyone else missing?"

He appears shaken, but shakes his head. "No. We…we have everyone else."

Xandria's nods, though her frustration is plain. Her triton creaks under her tightened grip. She speaks to her people, as well as Achillon and the few other fallen ascended here.

However, that is not what concerns Liila.

What concerns her is that Pelagos says he can't feel Nikolon anymore. If he has a bond to Nikolon the way Liila has to Adrestes, then that means that Nikolon has to be very far away already—considering that the more she gets to know Adrestes, the better she can feel him, from wherever she is in Bastion—and that… that makes no sense unless he is out of the realm.

And there is only one place the forsworn go that is beyond Bastion's edges.

Liila hurries over to where Pelagos is. Kleia has taken over for Kynthia, and is holding him tightly, assuring him that all will be well, even as he tells her they can't just stand around doing nothing.

"We'll get him back," Liila says. "I'll get Blood and we'll head out. Now."

There is a moment where Pelagos seems unsure, but then he nods to Liila. "I'm coming with you."

"What?" Kleia gasps.

"I can sense him, I can lead them to him!" Pelagos says, and there is a determination in his eyes that Liila has never seen before.

The anxiousness that Kleia tries to hide tells Liila that she has seen this before.

However, instead of arguing, she nods to him. "We go together."

"You're leaving us?"

It is the fallen aspirant who would not meet Nikolon's gaze who speaks now, absolutely terrified.

Pelagos' face twists with pain. "We know where they had to have taken him. The longer he's gone…" he trails off a moment, the pain in him flickering, like daggers caught in a windstorm. "We will see you to the Archon's Rise, but beyond that…"

"I won't let anything happen to you," Xandria says. She kneels before the aspirant. "I spoke harshly to Achillon and Nikolon before. I said it was the forsworn who let the maldraxxi into my temple, but that is not completely true. It was Lysonia and Devos who bear that betrayal. No one else. You and yours have done nothing to harm me, and I'll be damned if I let anyone harm any kyrian in my care, aspirant or ascended, on the Path or not. Not again."

The aspirant looks terrified to be so close to the paragon, but she looks up at her, meets her gaze, and then she nods.

When the forsworn worries are quelled, at least for now, Xandria turns to Liila and her soulbinds. "If you see Devos while you're down there, tell her she needs to send more than a mirror if we're to minimize the bloodshed here."


"How exactly do we get to the Maw?" Pelagos asks, and then pales when he sees Liila point to the swirling torrent of souls.

Kleia balks at the idea. "We just…jump?"

Blood nods, and then leads by example, taking a small running jump. As soon as he has left the ledge, the current catches him and down he goes, picking up speed unnaturally.

"I'd offer to hold your hand, but it's probably not a good idea," Liila says.

Liila knows a couple who held hands going into the Maw and as soon as they hit the edges of the realm, it forcefully flung them apart, as though it could sense that they took comfort in so simple a touch, and it wanted to remove any sense of safety the second it was there.

No one is sure that what happened to the couple will happen again, but seeing as one ended up impaled on rocks, no one has been willing to test the theory.

Before she can explain what happened and what the working theory is, Pelagos jumps in, after Blood.

Liila and Kleia follow suit, not wanting to give him too much of a head start. As her feet leave the floor and she arcs into the air, she hears someone call her name.

Mitchell.

It is too late, however, to stop her freefall now.

They plummet.

Ever since her abduction by Devos' people, Liila has been sure to open her eyes when she comes into the Maw. It's unpleasant, to watch the terrified souls rush around her before she falls out of the main stream, worse to not be able to tell them something, anything that will ease their terror.

She can't, really.

Even if she does want to find and save every one of them, there are simply too many.

When she lands, Blood is holding Pelagos by the shoulder, insisting he wait.

"Our bond is fading," Pelagos pleads. He points off in one direction, past the forges, to an area Liila only goes to on rare occasions.

Perdition Hold.

Kleia rushes near them, mace in hand, shoulders tight, feathers sleek as though she may take to the sky any second. As though she wants very much to run. Pelagos is pale, too, but that determination has yet to waver, even with the shrieking, wailing souls all around, even with the sounds of torture that echo throughout the realm and reach every nook and hiding place, a promise that no matter where you hide, you will be found and you will be caught.

As Liila joins them, she hears Kleia whisper, "No wonder the little ones are so…"

She trails off as Pelagos motions to her and Liila. "We're all here. We need to move."

"I heard Mitchell—" Liila cuts herself off when Pelagos gives her a look that is more desperate than angry. With a nod, she motions for him to point the way and they begin their trek through the Maw.

Mitchell will have to wait a little longer, it seems.

She's written to him, at least.

Him and Haa'aji. She got Haa'aji's letter in the mail the evening after she met Ikaros. Mitchell's was the next day, when she found that she didn't want to go traipsing through the other realms just yet. Not when Adrestes is flightless and mending. It's selfish, but she wants the chance to be near him, to hold his hand and cuddle against his side.

She's been considering the different size alterations that exist in Azeroth, wondering if it would be too…much if she showed up under the effects of elixirs or world shrinkers or whatever else she might get her hands on.

Though, looking through her alchemy notes, she's annoyed to see that the Elixir of Giant's Growth only makes one about ten percent larger, and she'll need considerably more height on her than that if she's to be able to cuddle or do anything else with Adrestes.

And she does want to do something else. Something more.

She wants to get tangled with him, arms wrapped around each other, bodies flush, breath hitching with thrusting hips…

The Maw is hardly the place for such thoughts.

They fight through mawsworn and sentient stygia as they make their way to the hold. They are making good time, when the residents of Perdition Hold take notice of them.

It's probably the white robes and wings that catch their attention, because Liila has slipped in and out of this place a handful of times without drawing this much ire so quickly.

And white does stick out here, like a sore thumb.

They fend off the first wave of attackers, head for cover. Before they can make it, a second and third wave converge upon them.

Liila curses as she and Pelagos fall back to back, letting Blood and Kleia defend their position. It is harder to heal here, something she usually abandons all together. Pelagos, however, tries to heal more with each spell the Maw mutes, as though he can compensate for the way the realm saps one's strength.

"Pace yourself," Liila says to him. "The longer we're here, the harder it gets."

He barely offers her a nod before he is casting protective spells on everyone again. Their attackers break through them too fast for them to be worth the anima it takes to cast. Liila is focused on thinning the numbers attacking Blood, when the winged mawsworn show up.

One crashes into where she and Pelagos stand, sending them flying in opposite directions. She is reminded of the ambush in Bastion, and does her best to get to something she can put her back to. She does not want to die here, of all places.

She doesn't want to die in front of anything that will be able to manipulate her curse.

Kleia falls to one knee for a breath before she manages to pull herself back up, still swinging. Pelagos is struggling to cast. Blood's swings of his axe are getting more hectic. Liila's own spells are starting to stall and pull. Her mana is not regenerating the way it should.

It's this place.

This miserable, wicked place.

And the fact that they're on wave four without a chance to recuperate.

Wave five hits.

And then wave six.

They have made it so that their backs are to one of the jagged cliffs, a stone's throw from the entrance to the hold, but they are pinned down, and this is not going to end well.

Pelagos leans heavily against the cliff behind them, panting. Kleia's footwork is slowing down, growing clumsy. Blood is lashing out haphazardly. Liila switches to heals, despite the pain it stirs inside of her.

She doesn't have enough mana to make much of a difference, but she does see some of the resolve return to Kleia's stance, and Pelagos seems more at ease to have someone healing with him.

Just as another guard comes up, swinging, more mawsworn drop from the sky.

Liila wants to scream out in frustration.

Until these new mawsworn turn their blades on the ones already there. They cut through the enemies that have pinned Liila's group in place, and give Kleia and Blood a chance to fall back to where Liila and Pelagos are.

The last body has barely hit the ground when one of the mawsworn turns, attention focusing on Blood.

Kleia adjusts the grip on her mace. Pelagos and Liila cast more protective spells.

Blood lets out a laugh and steps forward, offering the mawsworn a hand. They catch his and shake.

"Interesting choice for armor," the mawsworn says. Liila recognizes the voice. This is the mawsworn who told her that she did not want him to drop her, one of the three who took her to Devos.

Blood scowls. He's wearing the armor Howl made him, though he has wrapped some dark cloth over it, to help make him less of a target here. About half of his wrappings have been cut away during the fighting. "I may actually have to commission some armor from someone other than Howl. He made this monstrosity." He motions to the feathers on his spaulders. "Disgusting."

The Mawsworn laughs and shakes his head. "I'd offer to trade, but I don't think my armor would fit you, mortal."

With a laugh of his own, Blood just shakes his head. "I appreciate the thought…" He looks over to the rest of them. Pelagos and Kleia look utter lost. "This is Astronos. He's one of Devos' people."

Neither kyrian seem sure how to take that news.

The mawsworn's humor slips. "It's bad enough the forsworn are sending people here, but now you're bringing them, too?"

"We're here to save Nikolon!" Pelagos says, straightening up and forgetting his weariness. He steps away from the cliff, toward the Mawsworn, only to stop when Kleia puts an arm out to block him. The look she gives him is one that is more desperate than anything, begging him not to be too trusting, especially here of all places.

Astronos turns to face the two fully, though it's impossible to tell what he's thinking behind his helm. He cracks his knuckles slowly, one at a time, on one hand and then the other. Then he holds up his hand and motions up. The rest of the mawsworn take to the air immediately, but hover, awaiting orders. "We can nettle their forces, provide a distraction. If you'll make an effort to free everyone inside. There's about two dozen, give or take."

"Two dozen forsworn?" Kleia clarifies.

Astronos nods. His wings unfurl, and he pulls himself into the air. They are rotten, worse than the last time Liila was here. It's something of a miracle that he can even fly with them, in all honesty. "New arrivals come here. Those who don't want to accept Helya's gifts are kept here until they can be brought to Desmotaeron." He pauses, looks over the four of them. "You'll need a stronger party to get in there."

"Nikolon is here," Pelagos says, voice almost a whisper. "I think."

"I hope for all your sakes, you're right," Astronos says. "It seems most of Helya's people who are usually here are currently away, so your timing is perfect for a raid." He motions and the others fly up. "We'll cover you for as long as we can."

As he starts to ascend himself, Liila steps forward. "Wait! Where's Devos?" He does not answer her, but does linger. "The forsworn think that Devos is dead, so—"

Astronos doesn't wait for her to finish. Instead, he shoots higher into the air, meeting a new assailant head to head.

"We need to get moving," Blood murmurs.


"Your mind is faring well, polemarch," Vesiphone says, lowering her hand as she looks him over. She pauses, turning him gently so that she can see his wing. "As are the rest of your injuries."

Adrestes frowns, despite himself. His feathers are coming in nicely according to everyone else, but his skin itches like mad and he wishes they would just grow out. Perhaps if he poured enough anima into them…

Then he would be exhausted and too tired to use his wings anyway.

At least… he thinks if it came down to it, he could fly, though it might be a little stilted. The feathers will be back in place in another day or so.

He wishes it wouldn't take so long.

Though…the longer it takes, the longer he has an excuse to rest and spend time with Liila. It is selfish, but he has enjoyed this past week with her.

Eridia stands with them, waiting patiently to see what may be asked of her, though she is smiling faintly. She's probably just happy that Adrestes has settled down.

Thanikos said he was, the last time they spoke.

"We will miss having you here," Vesiphone says, and her smile widens a little when Eridia lets out a soft hmph. "Though I'm sure Elysian Hold will be relieved to see you return."

Adrestes nods to her. "I am grateful for your hosp—"

"Paragon! Polemarch!" Hermestes' voice calls out, a frantic edge lacing his words.

Adrestes turns to see the courier swooping down toward them on swift wings. Any sense of irritation at being interrupted so rudely quickly dies when he sees the way Hermestes is trying to look anything other than terrified.

Hermestes snaps a quick salute as he stops, hovering before the two of them, looking from Adrestes to Vesiphone. "You are both needed in Elysian Hold. Immediately!"

"What has happened?" Vesiphone asks, rising from where she knelt.

"The Maw can be breached."

All of that earlier good humor is gone, replaced with dismay on the paragon's soft features. She gathers her wits quickly, however, turning to Eridia. "I will send word shortly. Be ready."

Eridia salutes.

Vesiphone turns then to Adrestes and holds her arms out to him. "Come."

Before he can protest that he can fly, she hoists him up and pulls him close. Anima surges around them, and when it fades, they are standing on the Archon's Rise. It is one of the few spells that the paragons and Archon alone have. The ability to come and go from temple to hold and back.

Vesiphone sets Adrestes down. He looks around.

They are the last to arrive. The other paragons are already present, as well as the Archon, Kalisthene, and a mortal.

A mortal who should not be in Elysian Hold, by all accounts.

"Speak," the Archon bids him.

Mitchell looks annoyed, but he obeys. "The Jailer had one of his people in Maldraxxus, corrupting the House of Rituals. His name is Kel'thuzad, and he's figured out a way to summon creatures from the Maw into other realms."

Vesiphone takes in a sharp breath.

"Before we could kill him, he was taken to the Maw, to his master," Mitchell explains. "We thought you should know, since no one has any idea where he'll strike first, and you know, he's definitely going to. Strike. He brought a stygian giant into Maldraxxus and that was just his first attempt, so. It's gonna suck."

"But he was taken to the Maw?" Chyrus asks, daring to look hopeful despite the news. "If he is in there, then he cannot summon—"

"Look, I don't know what your specialty is," Mitchell interrupts, annoyed. He waves his hand toward Chyrus as though he is both sizing him up and dismissing him in the same motion. "And I don't have the patience or energy or interest to explain it all to you, but if you can summon someone through, you can send someone through, okay? A summons spell and a portal are not so different."

"It boils down to knowing where the destination is, once you know how to make paths through whatever is in the way," Thenios says. "And with the ascended mawsworn at his side, I'd wager the Jailer will have a map of Bastion at his disposal."

"I mean, maybe he won't come here," Mitchell offers. "There's Ardenweald and—"

"He will come," the Archon says, even as Mitchell tries to tell them that their realm is nice, but that doesn't necessarily mean it'll be a direct target for the Jailer himself.

When Adrestes looks up at the Archon, she is troubled. Her gaze moves as though inspecting something no one else can see and then she straightens up and calls out, clearly. "Call in the patrols. Split them up to be on hand at the temples and hold."

"They won't be able to warn us if they see—"

"We will know when the Maw breaches Bastions," The Archon says, interrupting Xandria's protest. She pauses. "I doubt he will waste his time anywhere else, but have Hero's Rest evacuated and see if you can spare any guards for Olympic Village. Move everyone guarding Courage to the spires."

"What about us?" comes a small, unfamiliar voice.

When Adrestes looks, he sees three forsworn standing near Xandria. The speaker is an aspirant, and she does not hide how terrified she is.

Chyrus motions to himself. "I can find room in Humility—"

"They can come to Purity," Vesiphone says. All eyes turn to her. She is standing, rather than hovering as she usually does, and her expression is hard as she looks across the way at the forsworn. "We have plenty of space for them." Her words fall flat. Perhaps she realizes on her own how she sounds, or perhaps it is the way the forsworn aspirant flinches and moves back, as though to hide behind the fallen ascended with her, but Vesiphone blinks, as though she is waking up. She shakes her head and then looks at the Archon. "Most of the western pools are empty, as are the buildings that are used to house resting aspirants. There is plenty of room for them there, and if any who were present during the attack wish to make amends, there is more than enough work to get them started on…perhaps not the Path, but a path away from where Loyalty has misled them."

"Perhaps it would be better if I sent my people to you," Xandria suggests. "From Humility or Wisdom. Then the forsworn could go—"

"If you think I seek some private retribution against them, then you are wrong," Vesiphone replies. She wears her sorrow openly as she speaks. "What was done to my temple, my charges, was abhorrent, but there is nothing that can undo that." She looks down. "The fault for what happened at Purity lies at the feet of Devos, Lysonia, and Uther." She sets her jaw. "That does no absolve the others of what was done, but I would not see it damn them, either."

"Most of the forsworn were not involved in the attack," the fallen ascended says, but his mouth clicks shut when Vesiphone looks directly at him, as though he realizes that this is not the time to try to absolve himself or anyone else of responsibility for what happened.

Mitchell waves, motions to himself, asks if he can go.

No one seems to even hear him.

The Archon is considering Vesiphone's words. "I will leave it to you, paragons, to decide where the forsworn will go while we prepare." She looks at the three. "We will resume talks once we are fortified properly." As the paragons and forsworn bow, Xandria rises faster than the others. "My Archon, perhaps it is nothing, but the Maw Walker and her soulbinds are in the Maw now. They went to retrieve the forsworn who was taken. They—"

"What?" Vesiphone interrupts, horrified. "Her soulbinds? Both of them? You let an aspirant go into the Maw? Ascended do not even go there. We do not even—"

"Nikolon is his soulmate, so they'll—"

"Nikolon?" Vesiphone flinches at the name, grows so still. "He is in the Maw?"

"He is. Nikolon is the one who helped us escape Loyalty," says one of the forsworn aspirants. "He's looked after us, kept us safe… He was trying to protect people when they took him."

For a moment, Vesiphone's grief is palpable. She closes her eyes and then turns to the Archon. "I will go to—"

"You can't go to the Maw," Xandria cries out. "If you think the Jailer's forces won't hone in on you the second you're there, that they won't—"

"I will go to Oribos to warn our bearers of what may come. I would not have them caught unaware." She straightens, looks away from Xandria. "And if I am there to offer aid when the Maw Walker and my disciple return, then so be it."

She does not wait for the Archon to give her permission before she is gone.

Xandria swears under her breath. Then she looks at Chyrus. "I'll bring the forsworn to you. Send my people to Purity. I won't surprise Purity's disciples with newcomers when their paragon is not there to oversee things."

Chyrus nods, and disappears. Xandria turns to speak to the forsworn with her, giving them directions and motioning for Kalisthene to come over and be their escort back to the anima gateway.

Mitchell points over his shoulder as though again asking if he can go now. He has already started shuffling backwards, away from the meeting.

"Adrestes." His attention snaps back to the Archon as she calls to him. She pauses when she realizes that he is not in his armor. With a flick of her wrist, anima spins around him and infuses him. It is like dipping into that ancient river again, so ready to overwhelm. He steels himself against it, feels the way it washes through him, into his wing. For a second, it is too much, it drains him to have his body mended so quickly. However, even as he feels faint, that anima shifts and catches inside of him. It swells, filling him with energy, with power.

When the anima has faded, he is better. His mind feels solid, his wing no longer itches. The weariness that has plagued him is barely a memory itself. The Archon nods to him. "Dress yourself, polemarch, and see to what must be done. I must tend to some preparations myself."


For all its defenses, Perdition hold does not have a roof over the bulk of its inner areas, and that makes it easy for Astronos and his people to stay true to their word, and keep most of the mawsworn distracted. Liila's group moves as fast as they can, hugging walls and slipping into the towers that line the outer reaches of the hold. That is where they find most of the forsworn captives. The first to be freed seems to be in disbelief that kyrian and maw walkers have come to their aid, but they pick up the nearest weapon and pledge a temporary truce none-the-less.

The third mawsworn they find pauses when she sees Liila, even as she rubs her wrists, trying to get the pains from her chains to ease. "You…you are the Maw Walker?" When Liila nods, the woman tilts her head. "I know you from somewhere, don't I? I can't quite place it, but…" Liila can only shrug, the feeling that this is another soul who knew Amaeria coming to mind, even as she tries to push it away. The forsworn offers her hand to Liila. "I'm Nebi. My wings and my spells are yours, Maw Walker."

Liila takes her hand, shakes it.

"What's the plan then?" Nebi asks.

"Fairly simple, really. Free everyone and go to the waystone," Liila says. "I'm not sure how many people I can take out of here at a time, but we'll find out. And Blood can bring people with him, too."

And the rest can hide in Ve'nari's hideout for however long it takes Blood and Liila to come back, assuming they'll need to. She doesn't say that part. No need to out Ve'nari just yet.

Relatively unencumbered as they are, with the mawsworn still fighting overhead, their work is swift.

They split into groups when they have enough people. Blood and Nebi lead a handful of forsworn in one direction, while Pelagos and Liila go in the other. Kleia leads a few others out into the open, daring to get to a few forsworn there who are being prepared for the move to Desmotaeron.

With each forsworn that they find who is not Nikolon, Pelagos' grows a little tenser. At one point, he looks at Liila, whispers, "I can't feel him anymore."

Liila isn't sure what to say to that, at first. There is no way that Nikolon has gone to any other realm. Finally, she takes his hands, squeezes them. "You can't trust what you feel in the Maw, okay? We'll find him."

Pelagos looks like he may cry, but simply nods.

As they make it to the next tower, they are beset from above. Liila looks up and sees that there are still a few skirmishes happening in the air, but they are few, and the numbers are far from even. She cannot pick out Astronos from the others, but she can tell that if he is still there, still giving them cover, it will not be for much longer. His people are far too outnumbered.

It feels like Maldraxxus all over again.

Like the Broken Shore all over again.

They fight, they free who they can, and some of those just freed fall to the unrelenting onslaught.

It is not fair.

No one should shed their chains just to be cut down seconds later.

No one should be here to begin with.

Liila abandons her shadows, focuses on healing with Pelagos and one of the forsworn. She strives to keep everyone up, to pull back the ones who are snared and taken.

There are too many enemies.

There are no longer pockets of fighting in the skies.

She thinks of something Ve'nari told her before.

The bigger the group in the Maw, the lower the chances for survival. There are eight people with her. Five or seven with Kleia, from what Liila can see, when she dares to look out toward them. They are trying to make it to Liila and Pelagos' location, but they are pinned, out in the open.

She's not sure where Blood's group is, if they're still even standing.

When one of the forsworn falls, something inside Liila breaks.

She has been told over and over that there is nothing after the Shadowlands. The venthyr speak of 'true deaths'.

But she cannot just stand by while all this madness plays out.

She calls to the Light, in a way she has not since her early days escaped from the Scourge, back when she was so desperate for it to come back to her, for it not to hurt when she cast the simplest of heals. Back before she gave up and found that there were voices in the Void, so pretty and sweet. Voices that lamented with her about how the Light had left her, but the Void…it had been an embrace, an assurance that there didn't need to be things like histories and memories for her to be complete.

Now though, the void cannot help.

And fickle as the Light can be, she cannot help but think that maybe, just maybe…

Her runes ache. Her curse stirs.

And Light pours down around them.

It is fleeting, and gone too quickly, leaving her half blinded as the darkness of the Maw sweeps back in.

But as she blinks past the splotches in her vision, she can see the first of the fallen push himself back up.

And then another.

The three they have lost here rise back to their feet, a little shaky, a little bewildered, but here.

Liila wants to laugh.

Apparently there's no such thing as a true death.

Not that that matters right now.

Not when her Light has caught the attention of everything in the vicinity.

Her stomach lurches as she considers that she may have brought these three back just to be slaughtered again.

A new wave descends upon them in time with groups just returning to the hold on foot. She cannot get a headcount of how many they face.

Blood slams into one of the charging attackers, leading a handful of forsworn with him.

Kleia's group moves to convene with theirs. Nikolon is with her, battered, but standing.

And then something falls from the sky and slams into the ground with enough force that the very towers of Perdition Hold tremble. Energy billows out like a nova from the source, sweeping through the forces attacking and defending alike.

Everyone is knocked back.

As Liila struggles to her feet, she finds Devos has joined the fray.

The paragon is a sight to behold. She moves with purpose, each strike bringing down the enemies who have all but forgotten Liila and the others, and now swarm against her, desperate to bring down the giantess.

There is a shift in those around her, in the forsworn. A confidence that spurs them to fight on, fight harder than they have before. It is no longer about making it out of the hold, making it out of the Maw, but something more.

It is about loyalty.

Loyalty to the one who has come back for them, despite everything that has happened.

Liila's not sure how well that will end, if the forsworn see Devos as a savior, but now is hardly the time to worry about that.

They fight.

Nikolon makes his way across the battlefield to Pelagos, daring a moment to sweep him in his arms and kiss him. "You absolute fool," he whispers, forehead pressed to his lover's.

Pelagos leans against him, for only a breath. "You can yell at me when we're home."

He pulls away then, anima already swirling around his fingertips as he wraps Nikolon in a protective spell. The fallen ascended cannot help his smile before he turns away and catches a blade with one he has taken for himself.

The fighting ends abruptly, and a hush falls across the hold.

Despite it all, despite the odds, they have won.

This…

This is going to get the Jailer's attention.

"You must make haste to the waystone," Devos calls out, stirring everyone from the silence. "We'll hold them back as long as we can, but you need to move."

Weary as they are, the forsworn take to the air, those with wings lifting those without. Nikolon picks up Pelagos, Nebi takes hold of Blood, and Kleia carefully picks up Liila.

Devos' mawsworn take the outer edges of their group, a few occasionally breaking off to fight as the Jailer's forces try to intercept them.

The flight is a fast one, however, and it awes Liila just how quickly they can cover the Maw on wings.

Liila's gaze is mostly downward. There are forces amassing, trying to get a bearing on them, moving to intercept wherever they are going to land, knowing that eventually they will have to. Worse, when Liila dares to look up, she sees the sky is alive with movement in the east. Hundreds of small dots growing closer with every second, coming to put a stop to their little jailbreak.

As they land, they find a handful of other mortals already at the waystone, being held in place by more mawsworn, though these ones back down when Devos calls to them.

Shawn is among the group, and he calls for them to hold any attacaks, points out Liila and Kleia among the incoming forces.

"We need to get the forsworn to Oribos," Liila calls out. "Take as many as you can through!"

There are a few grumbles, plenty of disbelief, but Shawn's grin is lopsided as he motions for the nearest ones to come to him. He does not ask questions, instead simply drawing them through the waystone with him.

The other mortals are more reluctant.

"Aren't the forsworn…bad?" A pandaren whispers to the worgen next to him.

"There are peace talks with the Archon, as we speak," Pelagos blurts. "We can't leave them here."

The mortals look at Pelagos, take in his white robes and blue skin. They look at Liila and Kleia. At Blood.

At Devos.

Liila points at Devos. "She will skewer you in a thousand different ways if you waste our fucking time. There are hundreds of mawsworn about to converge on this location, and if you don't help, I'll make sure you're here for that little welcome party."

Two of the mortals have taken more forsworn out of the Maw in the time it takes Liila to finish her threat.

Blood lets out a low laugh as he motions for the few forsworn who are still left to come with him. Nikolon drags Pelagos with him, though the aspirant doesn't seem to realize he is leaving before Kleia and Liila until Blood touches the stone. Pelagos has just opened his mouth to say something when he disappears.

"Fall back," Devos orders her mawsworn. "We don't want to be here when the others arrive."

"You could come, too," Kleia says. The remaining two mortals look nervous, exchanging a glance as they look at the remaining forces. Those left are clearly mawsworn, save for Kleia and Nebi.

For a moment, Devos looks at her mawsworn, like she might send them through, but it is Astronos who speaks up. "We bear the taint of the Maw. If we show up with the others, what chance do they have?"

"You have to come," Liila says, even as Devos lifts herself into the air on decaying wings.

"We cannot—"

"The forsworn in Bastion won't listen to anyone else!" Liila says, motioning to Devos. "Lysonia will not listen to anyone else. They are going to be slaughtered if they are not told to stand down!"

"The soulmirror—"

"They think it was fake," Kleia says, standing firm with Liila. "They think Thenios made it to trick them. They believe you are dead."

"Helya told us the Archon smote you and tossed your corpse into the Maw," Nebi says. "She leads the forsworn through Lysonia from what I gathered before I was dragged here, and she is so harsh. If anyone speaks against what is going on, if anyone tries to suggest that the forsworn are spiraling out of control, then they are brought here, against their will. I was brought here, against my will."

Devos lets out a hissed breath. She looks to the encroaching enemies and then back at Nebi and Liila and Kleia. Her face twists with guilt. "I cannot leave the people I have sent here—"

"If it stops more from coming, you must," Astronos says. "No one deserves this place. If you can stop them from coming here, from being corrupted as we've been…"

Devos frowns, looks down. "I doubt I will be able to return," she says quietly. "You will be on your own."

Astronos stands taller. "And we will be a thorn in Helya's side until our last breaths. And beyond for some of us," he pauses, helm turning slightly to look at Liila before he addresses Devos again. "You are needed elsewhere, my paragon."

Devos kneels before him, reaches out and touches the side of his helm. "I wish the fates could have been kinder to you, Astronos."

"My own choices brought me here, my paragon."

He salutes.

The rest of the mawsworn present follow suit.

"This is no time for ceremony. Get out of here!" Devos demands, rising back to her feet. "You can't be a thorn in anyone's side if you get caught in this mess."

Liila looks to the east, feels her heart sink. Those dots in the distance have taken very distinctive shapes, and they are a swarm, filling the dark sky. Already some are beginning to descend.

Liila can't help but wonder if the waystone will still stand, once all of this is over.

She nods to the last mortal, who despite her fear, has stood by, ready to help ferry others out of the Maw, if that is what is needed. The forsaken puts her hand on the stone and disappears. Liila motions the last three to come with her. She feels their hands on her shoulders, and reaches out to touch the stone.

Before her sight has adjusted to the light of Oribos, she hears the gasps, the calls to arms.

The warnings die a little too quickly.

When she looks up, already calling out for people to hold off on any attacks, she finds Vesiphone in front of them, great white wings flapping to keep her aloft as the looks down at them.

Her expression is impossible to read.

"We need Devos," Liila starts. "The forsworn won't listen unless—"

Vesiphone holds up a hand to silence her, and turns her attention to Nebi. Nikolon and Pelagos stand near the paragon's feet. "You are our wayward watcher turned manager of the forsworn bearers, are you not?" When Nebi allows herself a small nod, Vesiphone motions to her. "The Archon requires your presence."

There is a pause. Nebi glances to Liila and starts to look back, up at Devos.

"The Archon requires your presence," Vesiphone repeats, gaze still down, on Nebi, "Or am I to focus my attention elsewhere and see someone else more deserving of an immediate audience?"

There is a bite to the last two words.

"I am coming, paragon," Nebi replies, taking to the air and moving to meet Vesiphone's outstretched hand with her own. In a flash of anima, they are gone.

Nikolon seems stunned, still staring at where Vesiphone was, but Pelagos smiles widely, moving toward Liila and Kleia. Before he can reach them, however, his expression falters. It is the only hint of what is about to happen that Liila gets. Before she can even follow his gaze to see what is happening, an arm scoops Liila up, and she is in the air. Devos cradles her close to her body and with a great flap of their wings, Kleia and Pelagos' calls are already lost to the wind.

The paragon moves impossibly fast, far quicker than any ascended or mount Liila has ever known.

"I don't know that I'll be much help convincing the forsworn," Liila calls out, as best she can against the wind.

Devos lets out a dry laugh. "You will be useless in that regard," she replies. "I'm keeping you close to make sure Xandria's pets think twice before attacking." She glances down at Liila. "I will have to get past them to get back into the realm, and I doubt they'll let me through if I ask nicely."

Liila considers arguing that adding kidnapping to Devos' laundry list of crimes likely isn't going to end well in the long run, but considering the rest of what she's done, this little antic probably won't even come up when the Archon gets ahold of her.

"You know, maybe if—"

"We are not friends, and there is nothing you could say to me that would mean anything, so save your breath."

Liila considers her options and decides to go with the paragon's suggestion. After all, it is hard to talk against the wind, especially when they're going so fast.

It is strange to come into Bastion from a direction other than the gateway. One second, the In Between stretches out around them, amorphous and shifting. The next, the brilliant light of Bastion is all around them, clouds stretching out in every direction as though the realm actually goes on beyond where it must.

Devos' narrows her eyes as they fly, head turning slightly as she scans their surroundings. She seems uneasy.

And Liila feels that unease just the same.

It is too much to imagine that the ascended are simply allowing Devos to come speak with the forsworn, and yet no one even attempts to block her path. And while Liila does not quite recognize this area of Bastion, she still feels like she should be able to see patrols in the distance. There are always patrols.

Except now, no matter which way she looks, the skies are empty.

"Something's happened," Liila murmurs. "There should be patrols everywhere."

Devos doesn't respond.

They have barely started to descend, when Devos stops abruptly. She drops Liila rather unceremoniously and Liila catches herself with a levitate, only to find that she is almost to a platform anyway. Liila looks around. She's not familiar with this place and even as it dawns on her that she knows exactly where they must be, a dark blur rises up from the edge of the platform they stand upon.

"My paragon!" Lysonia's voice is laced with relief and awe. She flings herself into Devos' arms, like a child welcoming home a parent who has been away too long. Devos wraps her in a tight embrace, and for just a moment, Liila can see the woman as she must have once been, without the anger and the bitterness, without the schemes and mistrust. She was a protector. A guardian.

Perhaps some part of her still is.

Lysonia pulls away, and Devos eases her grip on her. Lysonia flits back, catching herself with her wings so that she can hover before her paragon at eye level. Her face twists with worry and frustration. "I have not made the progress we hoped for. I have tried, but they beat us at every turn. Everything is…" Even as she struggles to find the words, her gaze happens toward Liila and she stops.

"Pay no mind to the Maw Walker. I would have her leave unscathed," Devos says. When she notices Liila's surprise, she frowns at her. "Consider it repayment for my return."

Lysonia is bewildered. "She helped you?" She shakes her head, motions to Liila. "She is the polemarch's soulmate. Why would she—"

Devos' brow arches for just a second as she looks back down at Liila, appraising her anew. "Our interests aligned, for now."

Though she seems more than a little confused, Lysonia nods. "I will see to it that she is escorted out safely."

As she speaks, others come up to greet their paragon, relief and joy stalling as they see both Liila and the condition Devos is in. Lysonia alone seems oblivious to the rotting wings, and the way the Maw's essence is so entangled around her mentor.

"Atticus," Lysonia says, turning away from Devos and motioning to Liila almost flippantly. "Will you take the Maw Walker to the temple entrance. She returned our paragon to us, so she is to be permitted to leave, just this once."

One of the forsworn salutes.

"No," Devos interrupts. "I will take her to the Archon myself, when I am done here."

The confusion that overtakes the forsworn now feels dangerous. Liila is tempted to try to slip away herself, but she doubts she'll make it far. From the looks of things, they're pretty high up in the temple, and that would make for a tricky escape, even if she wasn't in her enemy's stronghold.

"I have much to tell you," Devos says quietly, "and none of it will be easy to hear. However, first I must say that you must stop sending our people to the Maw. It is a trap." She motions to herself. "They become as I am now." She lifts herself back into the air so that her wings are unfurled to their fullest, their decay on full display. "It drives them mad. Those who go to the Maw lose themselves completely. The Path may take their past, but the Maw takes everything."

Lysonia shakes her head. "But Helya—"

"Helya is a liar," Devos says softly. "And I am so sorry that it took me too long to see the truth."

One of the other forsworn shakes his head. "But the Path—"

"It is wrong," Devos says, words sharp, strong. "The Path is a twisted thing that should have been questioned long ago, but this new way I have forged is worse." She reaches out, takes the forsworn's hand. "Uther, you should not have to forget, and I wish I had a clearer path forward for you, but I am afraid that this cannot be it."

"It's not a total loss. We found a way to return memories," another forsworn says. "They can be restored, to some extent."

Devos notices Lysonia's attention on Liila, and glances down to see her scowl.

"You should ask them how they figured that out," Liila says, brittlely. She openly sneers at the forsworn who looks at her.

"Do not test my people, Maw Walker," Devos warns. "I would have you leave here unharmed, but if you insist on being contrary, I may just settle for having you leave alive."

Liila considers pointing out that her threats are meaningless, considering that the worst they can do is lock her away somewhere. Because even if they do that, she'll get out. Eventually.

However, instead she merely flashes an insincere smile. "You know, just set me on the ground, and I'll leave on my own. No need for an escort."

"Don't tell me you've already forgotten why I brought you with me," Devos replies. "Now do I need to chain you up for your brief stay, or can you behave yourself?"

Liila offers a sarcastic curtsey, smile thin.

As much as she wants to nettle the lot of them for all the stupidity they've incited, all the damage, all for nothing, she knows better than to take on her enemy's elite by herself. And here she is painfully alone.

She wonders if Adrestes can sense that she is here. She wonders if he's worried. Kleia and Pelagos certainly are.

Liila tries to send them a sense that she is alright, that things will be fine, though, as always, she is not sure if it works.

She looks back up at the giants around her. Perhaps she should be a little more worried. After all, if they decide they don't like what Devos is saying, who's to say Devos' assurances of her safety will mean a damned thing?

Devos begins again. She explains to her followers the process that Helya has set up, how she twists the kyrian who come to her into the mawsworn with her blessing. How the blessing itself is a curse in its own right. She tells them how many mawsworn she saw slip, how they began to lose themselves and how, when she tried to remind them of who they were, they grew agitated, violent. Helya's blessing eats away at the mind and turns them into little more than puppets, weapons for Helya—and by extension the Jailer—to play with. And if the blessing is rejected, it instead devours the body, a punishment that can be undone, if the person suffering submits.

When she has made it clear that their way forward cannot be to go to the Maw, Lysonia is the one to ask. "Then what do we do? We cannot stay here. Xandria's chokehold on the temple grows stronger every day. We cannot claim more of the realm no matter how hard we fight. Our numbers are dwindling and doubt runs rampant among our people."

"The Archon was hosting several forsworn in Elysian Hold," Liila says. When the forsworn turn to glare at her, she motions south. "The forsworn at Courage sought an audience and she was giving them one. Even with your people attacking them and taking Nikolon to the Maw. The others still went."

Lysonia winces. "We cannot go back—"

"We may have to," Devos says. The others are aghast. "Perhaps we have done enough that we can be heard. If the Archon is really willing to listen—"

"We can't go back!" one of the other forsworn snaps. "I'd rather throw my lot in with Helya than go back to the Path! You admit it is wrong, yet you would have us limp back, tails between our legs? Begging them for mercy? After what we have done?"

"I will do what I can," Devos begins.

"Perhaps you're just as mad as those you warn us against! How do we know you're not lying?"

At that, Lysonia turns on the speaker, drawing her blade and holding it to their throat. "You will watch your tone when you speak to our paragon."

"Lysonia!" Devos cries out. "This is not—"

She cuts herself off as she looks down at her Hand, as the woman looks up at her, lost.

Devos' brow pinches together, she struggles to find the words.

The forsworn are fragmented, and this is the first that she has seen just how far the rift goes. She shakes her head. "I am not saying return to lose your memories or return to the Path. I am saying that perhaps we can negotiate to keep this temple." Liila can see the way her mind is working, struggling to find an answer.

"You have nothing for us," the forsworn says.

The one beside him, Atticus, readies his own blade. "I stand by my paragon. If you want to go to the Maw so much, perhaps you had better."

The others present turn, as well, physically making a wall between the outspoken member of their group and their paragon.

Liila is surprised how many stay true to Devos, even when she says what she is saying now. She rather expected them to turn on her, to depose her then and there.

Perhaps that is the reason she was made the paragon of loyalty so long ago? For the loyalty she instills in others?

"You said we would have to make the hard decisions!" the forsworn insists, looking at his brethren, attempting to sway them. "It is a hard path, but we cannot just give up!"

"The hardest decision I have ever had to make is to acknowledge that I was wrong," Devos says. "I cannot change the past. I cannot save most of those who have gone to the Maw. But we can save those here. We can find a better path for them, even if it means working with the other paragons, with the Ar—"

A loud, unearthly crack resounds through the air. Before the shouts reach them, the wrongness does. That sense that the realm has been breached, much like when the maldraxxi attacked Courage.

However, this time, it is so much worse.

Liila shivers. Forgetting herself, she darts to the edge of the platform and looks down. And pales as she sees the runes flickering through the air, dark and bold, with crackling energy around it. The tear in the realm is smaller than the one that let the maldraxxi in, but the essence that seeps out of it is undeniably that of the Maw.

The magic wails as it twists in on itself, churning over and over as it takes its form. Liila can't see it well from this angle, but she can guess what shape it's taking.

A perfect circle.

A portal.

It is down, far below, and Devos dives toward it, polearm brandished. The others follow after her, forgetting Liila.

Even with the distance between her and that hellish portal, Liila can see when the winged creature comes through it, and she can hear clear as if the woman were standing behind her, when the mawsworn calls out, "Hear me, forsworn! Your paragon returns to deceive you! Your way lays forward as it always has. Come with us! Come to the Maw."

The last word is barely uttered before Devos crashes into the ground, sending the Mawsworn darting for cover.

There are gasps, both from the attack itself and the fact that their paragon is truly there among them.

"Do you see how quickly she tries to silence me? She would have you cower before the Archon! She would have you a slave to the Path! We will not let that happen! We—"

The voice catches as Devos' polearm finds its home through the mawsworn's breastplate.

Even as Devos shoves the body away, opens her mouth to speak, chains burst forth and grip her. She bats the first few away. Lysonia and two others join her, trying to swat them back, but they seem to gain strength with every deflection until, abruptly, they take hold and all four are all forced to kneel, wings tugged down and splayed, chains wrapped around their necks to force their heads to bow.

"You preached that there should be a choice!" comes another voice. More mawsworn have come through the portal. "So let them make it!" He addresses those who are gathering in the courtyard. "Forsworn! Will you bend to the Archon's will? Or will you forge your own path?"

"Enough!" Devos cries out, pulling herself up despite the way the chains tug at her. With a battle cry, she flexes her wings and the chains splinter. "I will not let you take another soul from this temple!"

The chains grip her again, tug her back a second too late, as she skewers the next mawsworn.

Another starts to speak. "You deserve to be free! Not tethered as she will leave you!"

"Do you not hear how they sound the same?" Devos shouts, straining against the chains. "Do you not hear how one picks up exactly where the last left off? It is not even them speaking to you. There is nothing left of who they were in those husks! They are nothing but playthings."

Liila's blood runs cold.

"Will no one come?"

Several forsworn move to help break the chains, to free their paragon and the others, fighting back more chains as they expand and try to ensnare others. Still more stand between the mawsworn and those who are chained.

Devos strikes down the third and a fourth begins to speak. "Not one of you is brave enough to find your own destiny?"

"They do not even acknowledge as their brethren fall!" Devos yells to those who still stand back, unsure. The chains are wearing on her. She is moving slower. "Do not…fall for their lies…"

"No one?" says a fifth after Uther strikes down the fourth.

When the fifth falls, the half dozen mawsowrn present all speak in unison.

"Pity."

Gathering her strength, Devos breaks from her chains again. This time, rather than go for any of the mawsworn, she goes after the portal itself, swiping her weapon through the runes that hold it in place. They shiver, stall.

The portal wavers.

Before it can blink out, however, another crack in the fabric of the realm resounds and then another.

They are like distorted, tolling bells.

The others move to close the portals, but they are popping up into existence too quickly.

With low curse, Liila realizes that she really has been forgotten up here. She leaps from the ledge, catching herself with another levitate as she drops. More of the fallen ascended have taken to the sky to fend off the portals as they appear.

Liila hears a crack resound almost directly behind her and turns in time to come face to face with a stygian giant as it charges through. It slams into her and they both fly forward. She hits the ground and bounces, narrowly jerking her arm out of the way as the giant's foot hits the ground beside her and propels itself forward with a roar.

There is screaming now. More roars.

Absolute chaos.

Liila forces herself up, casts a heal on herself and then uses leap of faith to draw a fallen aspirant to her before the nearest giant can smash them into pieces. They stare at her, baffled. She casts a heal on them and then pulls their hand, dragging them out of direct sight of the nearest creature.

Liila motions for them to stay put, and peers over the anima barrels. Lysonia has engaged the giant, and for now, the chains seem to have dissipated. Devos is calling out orders, even as she struggles to stay on her feet.

What's most impressive is how readily so many listen.

Still.

With another curse, Liila checks her surroundings again and then makes a run for it. As soon as she is in range, she conjures as much Light as she can and casts it on Devos. The paragon winces against it, even as it mends her. She locates Liila in the chaos, charges.

She meets another giant just as it is upon Liila and flings it back. It recovers too quickly, crashes into Devos. "Go, Maw Walker!" She breaks free from the creature's grip and kicks it square in the chest. Another forsworn brings down their axe on the thing's head and it slumps down.

Liila stares up at her, and then she pulls out a small flask from her hip. The anima pours out and take the form of a small sphere. Liila tosses it up and the flare shoots high overhead and bursts into brilliant light. It flickers and holds, clear and true.

Adrestes, Kalisthene, whoever is in charge right now—they will see it. They will know to come.

"I said—"

"You're not my boss," Liila replies, and casts another heal.

"I almost hope you get crushed," Devos mutters.

The fight is just like in the Maw. Exhausting and seemingly endless.

However, just as Liila is starting to feel like she may have to retreat just to catch her breath, someone crashes down into the giant that is lumbering her way.

Thenios stands up, shrugs his wings once to smooth his feathers and turns to look at Devos. He appraises her, blade in hand. "Your wards are down."

Devos shifts her stance, whirls to cut down a mawsworn who tries to fly up behind her. "I've noticed."

"If your people can keep their weapons trained on the mawsworn, so can mine."

"Forsworn!" Devos bellows. "If we hope to push this back, we must stand with the ascended! If you attack them, I'll assume you're with the mawsworn!"

Thenios doesn't return the nod that Devos gives him, instead, turning his back to her, and facing the portals. "Ascended! Push them back!"

And suddenly there are white wings everywhere.

Anima swirls around Liila, and she feels some of her energy return. When she glances to the side, Arios nods to her.

With the forsworn and ascended working together, the tide turns. The portals grow fewer as the one trying to form to replace the dismantled ones are interrupted before they can fully manifest.

Then, very abruptly, it is over.

A hush falls over the temple, as all those present catch their breath.

Thenios surveys the damage to the temple before looking at Devos. "The Archon will negotiate with the forsworn, but not with you."

Devos tries to catch her breath, chest heaving as she forces herself to stand tall. "I did not expect she would."

"You will not be returning to the Maw, either."

"I did not expect I would," Devos replies. She holds her chin high. "Let me talk to them and then I will turn myself over to your custody. We can spare some of the bloodshed."

Thenios cannot help incredulous scowl that overtakes him, before he can catch himself. He shakes his head, his expression clearly asking her how she has any right to speak thus.

"You had better make it quick," comes a harsh voice.

Liila looks back to see that Xandria stands behind them. As Liila glances around, she realizes that there are more white wings present than black. Thanikos gives her a wink from where he stands, right behind her.

Devos takes in a breath, turns to scan their surroundings. "Forsworn! Hear me—"

The crack that interrupts her is like a dozen of the previous ones at once. It is so loud that Liila cannot hear as Thanikos speaks to her, pulling her back and behind him.

The portal that flickers into existence is larger than any of the others and even as Devos calls for them to dismantle it, flies forward to do so herself, a massive hand shoots through it, catching her like she is nothing and flinging her to the ground.

She does not get back up.

Thenios darts forward despite himself, getting a grip on the fallen paragon and dragging her back, even as another hand grips the other side of the portal, as though its edges are a physical thing to be held.

The hands braces on either side of the swirling magic and then a massive body begins to come through.

Liila's heart nearly stops.

"That's the fucking Tarragrue," Liila hisses.

"You've fought it before?" Thanikos' voice comes to her, just barely over the ringing in her ears.

"You don't fight it," Liila says, tensing and casting shields on everyone in reach. "You run."

Xandria charges past them. Her sword has barely cut into the creature's arm before its other hand catches her by a wing and flicks her away. She catches herself before she can crash into nearest cliff face, but when she advances again, it is on foot, one of her wings resting awkwardly against her back, with feathers ruffed.

As the Tarragrue pulls itself fully through the portal, the magic collapses behind it.

And suddenly a dozen new portals are swirling to life.

Thenios sends up another flare for help as their enemies come crashing down.


Adrestes' slams into a mawsworn, swinging his mace down on them hard and sending them plummeting from the air. As he joins the fray, he calls out to those who are with him, "We only attack those who feel of the Maw!"

He doesn't look back to see if they acknowledge his order. He doesn't need to. His people will honor any agreement, and there is clearly an accord here.

There are also clearly bigger problems than the forsworn.

The mawsworn fill the air, more breaking into the realm with each new portal made.

As he flies over the edges of the temple, close enough to finally see into the courtyard, he nearly falls out of the air. The creature there is like nothing he has ever seen, and it is huge.

Xandria is trying to keep its attention, weaving ahead of it, just out of reach, as others attempt to bring it down from behind.

The temple looks worse than Purity did when it was attacked. The damage, the bodies…

His gaze is quickly drawn to a spot to the side, where he sees a flash of brilliant red hair and burst after burst of light. The mawsworn are circling Liila, trying to get to her, as others defend her and try to bring them down. Thanikos is sticking close to her, switching between attacking the giant creature and defending her.

Vesiphone shoots past him, into the fighting, conjuring her own healing spells, rejuvenating ascended and forsworn alike.

Adrestes flies into a larger group of mawsworn and swings and kicks his way through them until they have all fallen to the earth below. As he turns to see whose aid he has come to, he cannot hide his scowl.

Uther gives him a simple nod before flitting off to help fend off others.

As much as he wants to go fight beside Liila, it is clear that there is more need to keep the stream of mawsworn tearing into the realm at bay. He does his best to help clear the air, to help put a stop to the portals. The anima weavers are working on restoring the wards for Loyalty back at the hold, and so it is merely a matter of holding back the attack until the temple's defenses are put back in place.

Though, what is to stop the portals from simply shifting to the unwarded areas? What is to stop the mawsworn from filling Bastion's golden fields with these wicked creatures?

And once they have enough of an army amassed, what would stop them from tearing through the wards and into the temples themselves?

This must end here.

Each time he clears his enemies, he dares a glance toward the ground, to see where Liila is and how the fight goes below. The giant—some are calling it the Tarragrue—seems to have slowed down, at least a little. However, it is still going, still smashing anything and -one who gets too close.

At least Vesiphone is keeping most of those involved healed, including most of Xandria's injuries, from the looks of it. Xandria moves easier as she outpaces the giant, occasionally flitting into the air for short bursts to keep her distance from its swiping hands.

A forsworn gets too close to the beast, and it turns its attention to them, snatching them from the air and crushing them in its fist. Their broken body falls limp from its hand as it turns and roars, stomping slowly after the nearest person. Despite the anima that surges around the fallen body, they do not get back up.

Xandria hits the monster with anima, again and again. She darts forward, triton ready, trying to recapture its attention as it heads after a group of aspirants who are cornered between several fallen bells and a cliff.

It catches Xandria when she least expects it, and raises her off the ground as it tightens its grip.

Adrestes descends to help free the paragon, but Thanikos gets there first. He flits in the creature's face, slices with his axes even as Xandria chokes out that he should fall back.

In a breath, the creature bats him away as though he is nothing.

Adrestes swings down with more care, slamming his mace into the monster's knuckles on the hand gripping Xandria, and darts back when it reaches for him.

Magic swirls around Xandria, encases her, even as she gasps for breath. Adrestes throws his mace this time, as hard as he can. It hits the creature's knuckle and there is a loud crack.

With a roar, it drops Xandria. She manages to roll out of the way before it can stomp on her, ducking back to let someone else catch the beast's attention. Adrestes is sure it will come for him, and darts away, realizing too late that the creature is interested in someone else.

He follows its gaze and feels his a pit open in his chest.

Thanikos is crumpled on the ground, wings limp, unmoving.

And Liila is next to him, with Kleia. They are trying to pull Thanikos to safety, though he is far too big for either of them to lift.

Even as Adrestes swoops down to catch the Tarragrue's attention, it raises its hand and slams it down, claws digging deep into the earth. It just narrowly misses Kleia as purple energy grips her and jerks her backwards, out of the way.

There is a pulse, a mixture of living magic and death.

And then there is light.

Brilliant and bold exploding from under the creature's hand, forcing it back. It lets out a roar as it stumbles backwards, and then another as Xandria's triton finds its home in the back of its neck. The creature staggers and then drops to the side, sending aspirants, mortals, and ground-bound ascended scattering.

Adrestes dodges the mawsworn that comes after him, striking them down with a single blow before he swoops down. He lands beside Liila and Thanikos.

The Hand is back on his feet, axes in hand as he nods to his healer and charges back into the fray, and Liila…

She casts a heal on Adrestes as he comes up to her. Her wings stir the air around her gently, her gaze stopping on him just long enough to see he is fine. Her teal hair is a wild around her instead of in that loose twist, no doubt mussed from repelling her attacker.

Her killer.

"Kleia, do you have your trinket?" Even as she looks at her soulbind, Kleia is there beside her, pulling a folded cloth from her bags. Liila pauses, looks down at it, and arches her brow. "Really?"

"I thought you might want to wear something more…well, something," Kleia says, a little sheepishly.

"I won't be like this long enough to change," Liila mutters. She pauses to glance at Adrestes when she sees he's still there. She gives him a questioning look, as though she does not understand why he can't stop staring at her.

"Stop running around naked," Blood yells as he lopes over, taking advantage in the lull of earthbound enemies. He turns to Kleia. "Sorry about grabbing you like that."

Kleia shakes her head. "There's no need for apologies." She says and then looks at Liila, tunic still held out.

"Tell you what," Liila says, "If we can get a proper lull here," she waves up at the fighting overhead and casts a heal over the nearest forsworn, "and I'm still this blue, I'll change. Okay?"

"We're not going to get a lull so long as those damned portals keep opening," Blood hisses. "Do you think they go both ways?" When they look at him, he motions over his shoulder. "Roberts is an engineer. If we toss something through, maybe we can mess up whatever they have going on the other side. We can close them for good."

Wings flap hard near them even as Liila seems pleasantly surprised to hear that this Roberts is here in Bastion, and Adrestes glances around, looking up, ready to fight with his bare hands if he has to. Part of him wishes he hadn't thrown his mace. However, there are no mawsworn nearby, nor anyone else. He scans the air overhead another moment before deciding it was just someone flying low, and shakes his head.

"Take the idea to Thenios, see if it holds merit," Adrestes orders. Kleia salutes and takes off, leaving the tunic draped over one of Liila's arms.

"I'd offer to be your pocket healer, but even if I can fly, I'll just fall out of the air when the curse kicks back in," Liila offers, giving him a smile and a wink. There's a sparkle in her eyes as she meets his gaze. "It's embarrassing enough wearing a bedsheet. Imagine if I had to be a damsel in distress, too."

Even as Adrestes glances down to see that she is still indeed wrapped very loosely in a thin cloth, Blood asks, "Shouldn't you already be back?"

"It lasted a couple minutes last time," Liila murmurs, looking over at him. "I figure I'll heal until I can't. Can you get me somewhere safe when I come back? I don't think this will have a normal recovery time. Last time I was pretty drained and I was only like this," she motions to herself, "a couple minutes."

"Sure," Blood nods. "It's not like I can reach most of those feathered bastards, anyway." He glances at Adrestes. "No offense."

"None taken," Adrestes says. He pauses, looks back at Liila.

She makes a shooing motion. "Blood's got my back. And Pelagos isn't too far from here, either."

"Mitchell's around here, too," Blood says, looking around. "He's one of the few mortals not sworn to our covenant that made it to the fight. Was already here, I guess."

What she's saying makes sense. Adrestes is most certainly needed elsewhere—the sounds of combat overhead are proof of that—and yet…

He can't just leave her like this. Not when he just watched her die.

He reaches out, runs his fingers against her cheek. She closes her eyes and leans into his touch, leans into that electricity that ignites the second their skin makes contact.

Swallowing hard, Adrestes pulls her to him, cupping her face in his hands and kissing her hard, kissing her with all the desire he has kept pent up, with all the longing he has done his best to smother.

She meets him with the same passion, her hands gripping his tunic and holding him to her.

That electricity goes wild, coursing through his veins.

And then, abruptly, she shoves him away. "Get going, you. There will be time for that later."

He nods to her, despite the truth that they both know.

There won't be.

By the time he gets back, she will be mortal again.

He brushes some of her hair back and then kisses it as it slides from his fingers. "Be safe." He looks at Blood. "Don't leave her side."

The mortal salutes.

Adrestes turns away quickly, before he can lose himself again. The draw is so strong, especially with her right there, close enough to touch.

He forces his mind elsewhere. To the sky overhead. With the Tarragrue downed, the mawsworn forces are being beaten back. The portals are still coming, but they are being dismantled quick enough that the mawsworn have lost their edge.

His mace is lost to him, but Adrestes picks up another's fallen weapon and takes back to the air. He searches the skies for Kleia and Thenios. Thenios is not in the air at all, instead guarding a small group of injured kyrian, ascended and forsworn alike. Kleia…he looks around, sees that she is caught in a fight with some of the remaining mawsworn. There are others near her, however, so Adrestes decides to take Blood's idea to Thenios himself.

As Adrestes goes toward him, Lysonia cuts him off, holding a barrel of anima in her arms, though why she would choose that over an actual weapon is beyond him. He can't say he cares overly, though he almost wishes she would attack him, give him a reason to cut her down. She meets his gaze, holds it.

"I have no right to ask anything of you."

"No, you don't."

She nods. "But look after Eridia, will you? I know she drives you crazy sometimes, but she has a good heart. Even after everything, she…just look after her."

Even as Adrestes frowns, Lysonia turns and makes toward the portals.

"Atticus! Andromede! Selena! To me!"

The other three rise up, each carrying a barrel of Loyalty's anima.

It is then that Adrestes remembers the flapping of wings right after Blood's proposal. His eyes widen, and despite himself, he calls out to her.

"Lysonia!"

She doesn't look back, doesn't even hesitate. Instead, she flies straight into the nearest portal followed by the other three.

For a moment, it seems as though it was for nothing.

Several more mawsworn emerge from other portals, the battle presses on.

And then, abruptly, all of the portals blink out.

The remaining mawsworn are cut down.

Even so, everyone seems to hold their breath, to wait to see if more of the portals will open.

It is not until they can feel the wards come up that anyone dares relax.

There are a few weak cheers, but nothing sticks.

After all, too many have been lost.

Again.

Bodies litter the ground, and even if they are mawsworn, they were still kyrian once. Every corpse here was once one of their own.

As Adrestes lands near Xandria—she is being patched up by Chyrus—he finds that Mitchell is standing before her. His usual prickly demeanor is smoothed over. "I'll take a few others into the Maw, see if I can find out what happened. If the portals will stay closed."

"Thank you, mortal," Xandria says. "We owe you for your assistance. I know this is not the realm you pledged yourself to."

Adrestes can swear that the mortal stands up a little straighter at the praise. He glances at Adrestes as he starts to cast his own teleportation spell and then stops himself. He rummages through his bags and pulls out a letter. "Will you give this to Liila? I've been trying to get her attention for days, but she just has to be all cuddling with you." He holds the bundle of paper up, gives Adrestes a suspicious once over. "You'll remember right? You won't get distracted trying to figure out how to make that size difference work, will you?"

"I think I'll manage," Adrestes assures him, tone flat.

As soon as the papers are in his hand, Mitchell teleports away.

Adrestes turns his attention to the paragons, and pauses when he sees both of them are watching him with the look he usually only sees on one face.

Eridia's.

Xandria looks up at Chryus. "The polemarch knows how to cuddle?"

"I hear it's a new development," Chyrus whispers conspiratorially, giving Adrestes a wink even as Xandria allows herself a slight grin.

"If there is nothing you need," Adrestes says, not bothering to hide the bluntness in his tone.

Xandria's smile slips then. "I have Thanikos assessing our forces. He should be able to tell you what can be moved and to where in the hour."

"I sent Voitha to Elysian Hold to activate the anima gateway here," Chyrus adds. "Once she has that done, she's to return to Humility to prepare for the incoming injured." He pauses when Adrestes nods and turns to go. "I heard Liila died."

"She…yes." Adrestes says, turning back to the paragons, a little stiff.

"Go, check on your lady." Xandria motions. "It will take time to gather the reports for the Archon. I'll send someone with a quick update in the meantime."

"I can't just shirk my duties—"

"I never shirked mine, either," Xandria says, leveling him with a somber look. "I never got to say goodbye because of it." She shoos him again. "Don't be like me, Adrestes. Make time to catch your tender moments."

For a breath, Adrestes wants to argue that Liila may be dead, but she isn't gone.

Not like Agthia.

But that somehow feels like it would be rude, dismissive even to try to argue. Instead, he salutes the paragons and heads to where he last saw Liila. He figures he will check in on her, and then do a round around the temple. Something to please the paragons and keep his own nerves settled.


"How long is this supposed to last?" Blood calls out from the other side of the little enclave Kleia has led Liila into.

"Thirty-five seconds," Liila calls back before looking at Kleia. She is helping Liila slip into a tunic like what most of the kyrian wear, easing it over wings that should not be. "I really feel like this is a wasted effort. I'll be shifting back any second now, and who knows if I'll even keep this through to the next time I die?"

"Well, I'll keep another on hand in case it doesn't," Kleia says. "Where does the…cloth come from?"

"I always thought it was just part of the glamour," Liila replies, glancing over at the long strip of fabric that is now neatly folded beside her. "I didn't think it was actual cloth." Kleia lets out a low hum. Maybe it's my bags."

"It has been more than thirty-five seconds," Blood calls.

"Last time it lasted a couple minutes," Liila replies.

"It has been more than a couple minutes," Blood calls back. There are noises outside and then Blood says, "She's changing. Give her a minute."

"Are you alright?" Pelagos calls out.

"Fine," Liila replies. Kleia steps in front of her, smooths out a few wrinkles in the straps of her tunic.

"I feel like you would wear one of the shoulder covers, too, but I didn't really have room to carry around a full ensemble…"

"The fact that you carried around anything for me to wear is…" Liila trails off a moment as Kleia meets her gaze. She can't bring herself to bully her soulbind. "It's really sweet, actually."

"I just remember you said you were embarrassed. I thought you would want to cover up a bit if it happened again."

"That's even sweeter." When Kleia tilts her head, Liila puts her hands over her heart. "You said 'if' instead of 'when'."

"None of that," Kleia insists, giving her an attempt at a stern look before motioning toward the exit of their little hideaway. "I suppose we should get going." It's Liila's turn to tilt her head, and Kleia gives her a critical look. "You're going to need to go to the menders, I imagine. When that curse kicks in. It hurt you last time, too."

"If anyone heals my while it's activating, it just makes things so much worse," Liila says, grimacing at the memory of Pelagos trying to help last time. "Once it starts, I'll find some rock to crawl under until it's over."

As they come back out into the open, Pelagos greets her with a smile. "You look very nice."

Nikolon stares. Hard. "Maw Walker."

"Yep."

"You have wings."

"They're going to go away."

Nikolon walks around her slowly, inspecting her. "Are you sure?"

At that, Pelagos perks up. "Maybe the curse is broken!"

"It's not," Blood and Liila reply in unison.

Liila can feel the itch, just beneath her skin. None of the runes have activated yet, though. Last time, when it drew out like this, it hurt more than usual to come back.

Considering how long it's been this time, she's absolutely dreading whatever is to come. A small part of her wonders if she'll actually survive it. If perhaps the curse will simply tear her apart. Liila turns back to Kleia. "You still have your trinket, right?"

"I do," Kleia assures her, flashing the little badge on the inside of her tunic. "I didn't feel when you died, and I won't feel when you come back."

Liila looks at Pelagos and he flashes her his badge as well. He is concerned now, and it makes her self-conscious. She points at him, and then at Nikolon. "He keeps that on until I've got a heartbeat again, you hear? Any fun you want to have requires clothes on until I am alive again."

Pelagos flushes a deep blue. Nikolon gives Liila a look that says he would rather she stay out of their private affairs.

Blood laughs. "Like that's even a restriction. There's plenty to do with clothes on. Thrall's balls, it can be more fun that way."

With a small groan, Pelagos hides his face against Nikolon's shoulder. From his ears to his neck is all that darker blue. Kleia is trying not to laugh.

Liila points at her. "That goes for you, too."

"You don't need to worry about me—"

"This is the sort of fighting that gets people sweeping each other off their feet. Blood is pumping, the realization that you're still alive—well, still here. It's intoxicating," Blood argues. When Kleia's cheeks get a darker dusting on them, Blood nods sagely.

Now that both of her soulbinds are properly embarrassed and not focusing on how terrible what's coming is going to be, Liila holds up her fist and Blood knocks the back of his against the back of hers.

"Liila?"

She perks up. That draw has been there, ever present in the back of her mind, and yet somehow it did not tell her that Adrestes was nearer. He alights with them, stills as he looks at her, his brow pinching together. "You died again?"

Blood snorts.

"No," Liila says in time with Kleia.

Adrestes frown deepens. "How are you still…?"

"It's coming," Liila says, voice a little softer. "I can feel the tension that comes before the snapping starts." She shifts a little. The stone floor is cool beneath her bare feet. "It's just…moving a little slower than usual."

He reaches out, fingers brushing against her cheeks before he wraps his arms around her and tugs her close. Her head presses against his chest as he holds her to him, fingers in her hair and his other arm wrapped around her shoulders. She slips her arms around his waist, pleased that she can hold him. He is still over a head taller than her, but it is so much better like this.

For the briefest second, she wishes that her curse would just stall indefinitely, that she could be like this forever.

The sound of a wall collapsing not far off catches all of their attention.

"Let's get you somewhere safer," Adrestes murmurs, easing his grip on her far too soon.

"I was actually going to go help with the mending," Liila says. "Until the revival part starts." When that frown returns tenfold, she motions to herself. "I have trouble casting healing spells after the curse has been active, so I'll be useless once I resurrect. I might as well help out while I—"

"You don't need to run yourself ragged," Adrestes interrupts. "There are plenty of menders here. Vesiphone, Chyrus, Pelagos…"

Pelagos perks up, looks absolutely startled to have been listed in the same breath as paragons. Adrestes seems to consider something for a second and then he hops into the air, wings unfurling. "Come with me."

"I don't know how to fly," Liila protests. "And if the curse starts—"

"I'll catch you," Adrestes says, and there is such tenderness in his voice that Liila can't argue.

She thinks to what the ascended always do. Their little hops and unfurling wings. She mimics it, and clumsily takes to the air. Adrestes takes her hands, arms extended at an angle so that she is staggered just enough that her wings do not collide with his. He pulls her up into the air, higher and higher, until they are above the plateaus that surround Loyalty. He lets her hands go then, and moves backwards from her, beckoning her to follow him. She does, feeling a little like she's on some kind of carnival ride that is going to fall apart at any minute.

He lands on top of one of the plateaus and holds his hands out.

Liila goes to him, a little too fast, and collides with him, though he merely wraps his arms around her again as she tucks her wings against her back.

It's odd.

Liila never cared much about the idea of flying. She's participated once or twice in some of the practice sessions with Pelagos, but even then, there was no longing in her, no stirring that this was something she wanted.

And yet, now, high above the temple grounds, wrapped in Adrestes' arms, she wishes she could keep her wings.

One of the runes snaps.

It hits harder than it usually does, and she winces, clinging a little tighter to Adrestes. "There it goes," she murmurs. "It won't be long now."

Adrestes holds her to him and then catches her chin with a crooked finger. He lifts her face toward his and kisses her. His lips are warm against hers, that thrum of lightning filling her. She stretches up on her toes, wraps her arms around his neck. Their lips move against each other's, mold together, and it is so utterly perfect. As though they were always meant to be just like this.

He pulls away from her and kisses the tip of her nose, her forehead, her cheeks. He kisses her neck and her ear, her shoulder.

She runs her fingers through his short hair—she has no idea where his hood has gone, nor does she care. She tugs at his tunic. Just as she wonders how easy it would be to slip him out of his clothes, another rune snaps.

Pain lances through her. She bites back the cry that tries to escape her, tries to pretend that she has not felt it. She is good at ignoring pain, and she doesn't want this to stop. Not when it's just started.

Not when there's no telling when their next chance like this will be.

If it will be.

However, he can sense the runes activating, too, and he pulls away. For a moment, she is terrified that he is going to let go, but he grips her shoulders, looks her over instead. His face twists.

"I…I can't stop it."

She offers him a small shrug. "It's okay."

"It's not."

Something about the absolute broken way he says that makes something inside of her break as well. She shakes her head. "It's not."

"The Archon can fix this," Adrestes says, as he tugs her to him again. He's holding her tighter this time, like if he lets go she might simply fade into nothing.

Another rune snaps to life. Another follows shortly after.

Liila's body shudders. Her fingers curl into his clothes, bunching the fabric. Her wings are starting to hurt. That's where the pains started last time, too.

"Where is the Archon?"

"What?"

"She…she didn't show up," Liila murmurs, her mind going over the fighting. The whole time she'd been there, she had expected to look up and see that divine fury at any second, like she had at Courage.

And instead…

"She was working on fortifications for the realm," Adrestes says, dismissively.

"So everyone in the realm came to Loyalty, but her?"

She can feel the way he grows agitated at her questions, the way he tenses in her grip. "She's protecting the Spires, in case the attack here proved to be a distraction."

It feels a little like a lie.

No.

Adrestes isn't lying.

If he's saying this, it's what he believes. But even so…

Another rune snaps and Liila shudders again. She can't help the gasp that comes unbidden. This is much worse than last time. It's worse than any time before.

And there are dozens of runes to go.

Her breathing hitches at the mere thought.

At least Pelagos and Kleia won't feel it.

"You don't have to stay for this," Liila says softly. "I know you're needed elsewhere."

"Funny you should say that," he replies, giving her a gentle smile. "Because it just so happens that I'm not." He brushes his thumbs over her cheeks, meeting her gaze with one of utter adoration, laced with sorrow. "I'm right were I need to be."

Her lower lip trembles. "You'll stay."

"Until I can hear that pretty drum in your chest again."

"Flirt," she whispers.

"Am I any good at it?"

"I'd say so."

"Good."

Adrestes drops to the ground in front of her, settling and then offering her his hands. She welcomes his touch, lets him pull her down into his lap. Her wings are awkward, with one's feathers getting bunched as she slides against him, dragging the longer feathers across the ground after her.

He helps her arrange them so that they don't pull, drapes his wings around them.

As his brush against hers, it sends a shiver through her. She snuggles closer to him, breathes in his scent. He smells like sweat this time, though she can't bring herself to mind. She's probably not the freshest, either after such long fights. Courage, the Maw, here.

It has been a long day.

The runes come faster, though there is still too much time between them. With each new one activating, she cringes more and more against him. He holds her a little tighter each time, pressing kisses into the crown of her head and her forehead. The pain spreads, through her, to every inch, as though her form is somehow fighting against the curse, trying to stay when it cannot.

It hurts too much to look up at him and she buries her face against his chest instead.

At the same time, just having him here, with her, makes all of this more bearable.

She curls into him as the runes come faster, as they begin to chase after one another to activate.

She feels her wings break down, the feathers fall loose, the muscles detach, the bones crumble. She can't help the strangled cry that comes.

"This won't happen again," Adrestes promises. "I won't let this happen again."

There is such conviction in his voice that she can almost believe he actually has the power to keep that promise.

And so, at least for now, she lets herself buy into it. She nods against his chest when he promises her that he will keep her safe, that he will be there for her when she returns to Bastion after a long and happy life lived. He promises that he will be waiting for her.

He is still holding her, still telling her about the what awaits her in the next life that she will never reach when the pain finally becomes too much, and she blacks out.