A/N: There is smut in this chapter, in scene 6.
"That will be all," Liila says, and the other priests around her stand up and offer her various bows. She wants to roll her eyes at them, especially considering that this new title of hers is bullshit at best.
They had all agreed that there should be a head to the Order, someone to speak on their behalf, to work with the other leaders of different class organizations. It had been decided that eleven of them would meet and choose who would be that leader. Each of them was to have several prospects in mind to nominate for the role, and Liila had spent the night before reviewing almost a dozen different priests, looking at their achievements and their charisma, considering how well they worked with others within and without of the Order.
It had been a grueling task, but she had narrowed her list of potential high priests to four who she felt would be fit for the task. She had been ready to listen to who else might be offered up, had expected there to be hours of debate to come. This was important, after all.
Then she had walked into the meeting room, a small chamber off to the side of the main hall, dossiers tucked under an arm. The second she had stepped into the room, Tizzle had yelled, at the top of his lungs, "Last one to touch their nose is High Priest!"
Perhaps if she had gotten decent sleep the night before, what he had said would have registered faster, but as it was, she had stared owlishly around the room, at the other ten priests, all lightly pressing their index fingers to the tips of their noses, and then it had sunk in what they had done.
Liila still wants to kill them.
A human priest, and one of the priests she had been ready to suggest for the role, Topher Barnett, had assured her later that they'd actually all come in with only one suggestion each, that they had all thought it over individually and every one of them had felt she really was the most qualified for the job. He'd sworn to her that Tizzle's joke about the nose thing was just some humor in dark times and not their real deciding factor for Liila's unexpected promotion.
She isn't sure she trusts that, but there is little she can do. After all, turning the position down meant word would get out that she didn't want to lead and then there would be questions as to why and if it was because the Order was corrupted or infiltrated or if she was corrupted or…
It was better for everyone if she just grudgingly accepted her role.
And so she had, on the stipulation that she be called High Priestess Lightswill. She needs to be able to step away from this mantle, if only to check in on Haa'aji and the like. If only to keep her sanity.
They had agreed.
It makes her wonder why they couldn't have chosen someone else, when her past self, Amaeria Lightswell, was known by so few. It would make more sense to pick one of the others, but…
But that is neither here nor there, and she is stuck.
Liila gathers her things and heads into Dalaran. She has meetings with a few other class leaders—at least she knows most of them—and then she and a few others are going to do a sweep or two through various locations to see about keep morale up in the fight against the Legion.
She arrives before the others—since her promotion, she's made a point to arrive early for meetings instead of on time, if only to assure herself she doesn't get promoted to 'Champion of Azeroth' or some such ridiculous title. As she sorts through the missives and proposals she's brought with her, a voice comes from behind her.
"High Priestess Lightswill."
She recognizes the voice, vaguely, though it is not any of the people she is expecting. Granted, she supposes she's still not overly familiar with the human running the paladin order…
She turns to see who has called to her—she hopes that it is not one of the nobles she's been warned about who want blessings on their houses and to take precious time away from strategizing against the Legion to wallow in their own personal problems—and finds a familiar face that she has very much hoped to never see again.
Gryst'lyn Emberdawn.
He stands tall and proud like any elf, his hair pulled back in a low ponytail, his goatee well-trimmed, his armor polished.
She might have tried to greet him with a smile, except for the look he sports.
Utter contempt.
She straightens up, idly hoping that Howl hasn't sent Gryst'lyn on behalf of the warriors. Surely, he would know better. "May I help—"
"You have some nerve." He shakes his head slowly, paces toward her with careful, measured steps. "It's bad enough that you wear my Amaeria's corpse like a poorly fitting glove…and now you want to take her name, too?"
Liila frowns.
She had rather thought that their paths had crossed for the last time...well, last time. The way they left things, years ago, was miserable, and she knows that she has done this man wrong, hurt him in ways he did not deserve. She has considered, over the years, sending him an apology for her cruel words, but then, she does not know how to do so without opening the door for hope that whatever he had—whatever they had might be rekindled.
And so she let things go and assumed that he would find peace on his own.
Apparently, he has not.
Or perhaps hearing that the fiancé he has lost is now leading the priesthood has stirred something up, opened poorly healed scars.
Even as she tries to think of how to deescalate this, he is standing almost toe to toe with her. His face twists as his voice rises. "You think I'll stand for it? You're nothing! An imposter! A husk!"
Liila is frozen as he hurls his accusations.
There is such vitriol behind his words. They are meant to hurt, and they do.
They take her back, years ago, to sitting in a dark room. To staring blankly at her lap, arms limp at her side. To hearing voices, desperate and terrified just outside of her little room. Frantic footsteps stop in front of her doorway, and she hears someone call out, "Miss? Miss can you—"
"Don't bother with that one," interrupts another voice. "She can't hear you."
"But if we're making a run for it. We said we wouldn't leave anyone—"
"That thing isn't even a person anymore," a shaky voice insists. "I've seen him with her. He cuts her open, breaks her bones, and she doesn't even flinch, doesn't even feel it. The body's there, but there's nothing left inside. It's just an empty shell. A husk."
"But—"
"We don't have time for this," the second voice snaps.
A part of her wants to look up, to tell them she's still here, that it does hurt when he hurts her, but that not reacting is the only way she has left to defy him. She has tried to tell others before, to warn them how to minimize the damage he does, but they never listen.
And the second speaker is right. They don't have time for this. If she shows them she is still here, if they take her with them, then he will hunt them down, if only to reclaim her. She doesn't know how she knows this, but she is certain it has happened before. That giving herself up had given the others a chance.
And it is the only way she can give these poor bastards a chance, too.
The best way she can help them, is to be what they think. A doll, a husk. Empty and forgettable.
The first voice protests once more before an agreement is reached. They hurry away, and she is left behind.
Even as they go, she wants to call out to them, to beg them to take her with them, but there is no point. She cannot escape, but maybe they can.
When her tormentor comes home, he is not even upset that he has lost his new toys. How can he be, when the tears on her cheeks show him what she has tried to hide?
That there is still something hiding inside his broken husk.
A husk.
A husk, a husk, a husk.
It has been a long time since she thought of herself thus.
For a moment, she is not sure if she is still playing her part or if…
Steel being drawn sounds over the hateful hurling of words and then, even as she realizes she is not in that little room, but standing in Dalaran's brilliance, even as she realizes that she needs to move…
Gryst'lyn glimmers, and abruptly Liila is staring into empty space.
She hears an angry bleat and looks down to find a sheep chewing deliberately on her new robes.
Carroll lifts the sheep, irate, and tosses it to another mage, who disappears with it tucked under an arm, bleating and kicking for freedom. Carroll shakes his head. "Really? The world's ending from real dangers, and you're going to stand there and let some random dipshit skewer you?"
Liila shudders, her wits returned. For a moment, Carroll looks genuinely concerned, like he is willing to set aside the problems they have had in the past and actually care about Liila's little episode. "What did he say that upset you so—"
"Fuck off, Carroll."
His usual scowl returns, and he rolls his eyes. "After we've got the next assault planned, gladly."
Liila's aches are like nothing she's ever experienced before. They run so much deeper than usual, into depths she didn't know she even had. They are a hateful chorus, singing off key through all that she is, flesh and bone and deeper still. It takes her a moment to gather herself enough that she can push the pain down, ignore it like all the aches and breaks she had to pretend not to notice when her tormentor had her in his grisp.
She opens her eyes and cannot help but glare at whatever is in her immediate vision.
Nikolon frowns back. "She's actually up this time."
Liila quirks her brow, sitting up when he moves back to give her some space. "'This time'?"
"You came in and out a few times," Pelagos says as he trots over and sits beside her. He's already inspecting her, fingers lightly feeling her pulse in her wrist and then giving her a once over as though he expects something to happen. A side effect or…
She's not sure what he's looking for, but he doesn't find whatever it is and that pleases him.
"Mostly, you told people to 'fuck off' and then passed out again," Nikolon says. The word 'fuck' sounds odd on his lips, and Liila is tempted to tease him about the fact that she's never heard a kyrian curse before.
Pelagos seems to feel her interest in mischief, however, as he quickly catches her shoulder and gives her a stern look. "You need to rest, so no shenanigans."
Despite that pit in her stomach that has been there since Devos called the mawsworn husks, Liila gives him a mischievous grin and then plays innocent quickly. "Let me guess, I was out for a week."
"Only a day," Pelagos interrupts. He offers her water. "You haven't missed much, at least. The injured have been moved from Loyalty, and they're telling us to stay in place until things calm down a little."
Nikolon nods. "They don't want us using the anima gateways unless it's on official business."
Liila holds up a hand and inspects it just long enough to see that she is pale pink again instead of blue. Her heart thumps out a dull beat in her chest, and she sighs. She attempts a healing spell to reach some of those miserable aches—surely they can't all be too deep—but her curse throbs a warning that it will not tolerate such gentle magic.
However, even though it hurts, she can't help but note that the Light comes more readily to her call than usual.
Just as she conjures some light to dance around her fingertips, surprised to find that again, the Light is coming to her easier, concern floods her senses, and Pelagos grips her hands, "Don't you push yourself too hard."
Liila blinks at him slowly and then looks down, inspecting herself with more care, half expecting to see missing limbs or…something. Perhaps what he was searching for earlier. It feels like something dire must have happened for him to be so worried.
Everything is where it should be.
Though, Liila is a little surprised that she's alive again. Not that it should be a surprise. After all, this is what the curse does. It brings her back.
She's almost…disappointed, silly as that is. She should be glad to be alive. After all, that means she can go home. Back to Haa'aji and her little ones.
A little part of her whispers that she is already home, and she can practically see Haa'aji's expression if she were to tell him thus.
As she brushes it aside, she glances around. She is on one of Bastion's many floating platforms, and one of the higher up ones, if the relatively clear sky overhead is any indication. "Where—"
"Wisdom," Pelagos says. "Adrestes wanted to take you to Purity in case you had nightmares, but there's a lot of movement going on right now, so they're trying to get those of us who don't need to travel to stay put. And I don't know if you remember, but you got grumpy and said you'd be fine wherever."
Liila does not, in fact, remember that.
But she is well acquainted with the terror she can be when she is in pain, and she hates when people fret over her. Despite everything, she still feels such terror when people know that she is injured, know that she is weak.
"Polemarch Adrestes will be by later," Pelagos continues, conjuring anima and weaving it over her. Her curse only protests a little as a few other aches die down.
"He wanted to stay," Nikolon says. He has given the two their space and now rests against a table off to one side of the platform, arms crossed as he watches her and Pelagos.
Pelagos looks lovingly toward his soulmate and then back at her and nods. "Yes, he's been by to check on you twice already. He wanted to stay and wait for you to wake up, but he does have a lot on his plate. And he knows you're safe with us."
At that, Liila's brow pinches. "You said I was only out a day, didn't you?"
"The man watched his soulmate rot away in his arms," Nikolon replies, and she can hear his frown before she even looks over to see it. "To say he's concerned is an understatement."
Ah.
So that's what this unnecessary fretting is about.
In the past, it always happened so quickly that it was over before people—including Liila—could really register just what was happening. One second, she'd be in her spirit healer form and then, before she could fully feel the curse sweeping through her, she would be back to life.
And when she died in shadow form, well, there was no rotting at all. In shadow form, she'd die, her wounds would mend a little over about ten seconds, and then her heart would start back up.
Perhaps she should switch back to her shadow spells. It will certainly hurt less, and if she doesn't have the spell to turn her into a spirit healer active, will she even become kyrian when she dies?
"Well, I'm up now. I imagine I should check in with Adrestes, let him know I'm fine and see what needs to be—" When she tries to rise to her feet, she finds that Pelagos' grip on her shoulder is surprisingly firm.
As she eyes his hand and wonders how upset he'll be with her if she shifts into shadows and slips free from him, Nikolon finally comes over. "The polemarch left something for you." He offers her a bundle of papers.
"It's from Mitchell," Pelagos says. "Considering how he was trying to get in touch with you before the Maw and Loyalty, I imagine it must be important."
While it is a painfully obvious distraction to keep her still, Liila humors them.
And when she does…well, it is a good distraction. Liila knows what the papers are at a glance, and can't help but smile down at it.
A guild charter.
She opens the bundle and finds a note on the top.
We only need five signatures these days, so I thought maybe you'd like to be one. – Mitch
P.S. Ask Blood if he'll go ahead and sign, so we can get this filed and official. Him or Inaar. Somebody. Horde, obviously.
Liila lifts the note. Mitchell's signature is first and foremost, with Lash's and Wren's names below. There are a few pages after, paperwork to explain the guild's intentions and if they can be called readily in times of war. There is a page for rules, and it looks like it was simply saved from Impervious' old charter, based on the wrinkles and smudges. She's fairly certain one of them is her own fingerprint after an ink spill when they were brainstorming what they should make official versus unspoken. There are other things, too. Applications for bank space and a building permit for a guild hall back in Orgrimmar.
If Liila remembers right, their old guild hall was taken over by…
By Lash's guild that he and his mate, Kiaga, founded together. Liila flips back to the front page, to make sure it's Lash's signature and that she didn't somehow mistake someone else's…
Gorelash 'Lash' Bloodeye
It is indeed his.
She wonders if that means there's trouble in paradise between him and his mate. Liila has wondered what made Lash actually come out to the Shadowlands when she asked for his help, considering he has a little one now.
She hopes things are alright between him and his family, that she has not put him in a bad position.
With a sigh, she reminds herself that it was his choice to answer her call, not something she made him do.
"A new guild, huh?"
Liila blinks as Nikolon lets out a startled noise and turns to find a forsaken sitting next to her clad in simple, dark leathers. His reveal has startled Pelagos, too, though she feels his concern fade almost as soon as her own enthusiasm bubbles up.
"Roberts!" Liila exclaims and throws her arms around his neck. He lets out a rasping laugh as she tugs him off balance, closer to her. A few of his exposed joints creak and click. He doesn't mind, though the noises definitely unsettle their audience. "Blood said you were here!" She sits back, letting him go as she looks him over. "How've you been?"
He drags in an awkward, long breath to get the wind for his vocal cords. Even as he speaks, his voice scratches and sounds like it is scuddling over sharp pebbles. "Slaying the Plaguebringer and a few of his friends daily." He has never been much of a talker, and Liila rather expects that this will be all that she gets from him, but is pleased when he keeps talking instead, content to rattle on. "Now that they aren't coming back, I figured I'd come see what there is to do out here."
"Always on to the next battlefield," Liila murmurs, lightly hitting him in the arm. He is one of the few members of the guild who she'd known wouldn't be retiring. He didn't see the point in letting his old bones fall inactive.
"Hawthorn came out with me. He's around. First thing he said was, 'It's brighter than I remember'."
Liila perks up a little. Another of Bastion's seven has made it back to the realm, then. She has wondered if she should reach out to them or not, wondered if they would even remember this place. If they would want to know they came here. Half the time she doesn't know if she wants to know she came here.
Liila motions toward Roberts. "Are you both sticking with Bastion, then?"
"For now," Roberts reaches up to rub at his throat. "Mitchell is displeased."
"Should I expect trouble?"
"I'd say yes," Roberts says, considering it slowly, "but he's enthralled with your warrior giantess, so I don't know that he'd try to poach anyone just yet." He pauses before adding, "I hear he already confirmed potential soulbinds for you, though, should you tire of the Light. He was grumbling that you've stuck with it a bit too long as it is. Before long you'll be a proper healer."
Liila shakes her head, even as Pelagos assures Roberts with pride that she already is. She's been worried that Mitchell would be angry with her for how she told him off the last time they had a chance to talk, and instead he's been making contingency plans for her.
She's a little amused that he thinks she'd go to Maldraxxus if she did leave Bastion for any reason—she can't think of anything that would make her leave Adrestes or Pelagos and Kleia now. Though…with Denathrius taken out, Maldraxxus does seem like the next realm to be in the most dire straits.
Still.
Liila would probably head to Ardenweald first.
They talk for a little while, with Nikolon interjecting but once to ask how Roberts got up to the platform they're on. He is not satisfied with the noncommittal grin that the rogue gives him. Liila updates him on the goings on of the Shadowlands, with Pelagos filling in details occasionally. He tells her that Kleia and Blood are still in Loyalty, assisting with some of the clean up for the temple.
Liila works her limbs as they talk and tests which aches are warnings of something greater and which she can actually reach to heal herself. The Light comes so much easier now…
It is strange.
Until she realizes that she is not quite using the Light.
She has been incorporating anima into her spells since she first started healing in the Shadowlands and learned that her spells aren't as effective on the denizens of the realms of death. She's been trying to adjust her spells to incorporate nearby anima into them to boost her healing of the locals, and it seems that that is what is answering her call more readily, not the ever-fickle Light.
It is curious.
Roberts is content to listen quietly, occasionally offering a soft grunt or noise to encourage elaboration, and even offering a word or two himself. However, of them, it is Nikolon who is the quietest. He is constantly letting his attention leave their conversation, frowning when ascended fly overhead, either patrolling past or just going to the few higher platforms.
When he notices Liila's curiosity, he says, "I would rather be elsewhere, but I have been told to stay here for the time being."
"Humility is where the Courage forsworn are," Pelagos explains. "Apparently they abandoned the temple to fortify the others."
Liila's brow pinches. She remembers when she and Devos returned from the Maw, how the realm had seemed so empty. "They expected an attack?"
"While we were rescuing Nikolon and the others," Pelagos explains, "word came that the Jailer's forces can breach the Maw. All of the temples—all of Bastion, really, is on lockdown. Other realms, too, I imagine." He shrugs. "The forsworn returning from the Maw are mostly in Purity, but Nikolon and I managed to slip to the anima gateway and head to Wisdom and then Loyalty, figuring that if Devos took you anywhere, it would be there. We were just trying to figure out how to get into the temple and find you—"
"I was telling you to wait at Steward's Rest and you were demanding to come with me," Nikolon corrects.
Pelagos gives him a look before continuing, "We were nearby when the fighting started."
Nikolon merely frowns.
It reminds her a little of Adrestes, and she finds she can't mind his fickle mood.
However, she soon echoes his displeasure as she considers all she's been told. If the temples are on lock down, how hard is it going to be to leave? After all, there is still so much to be done, and while she's sure that there are things she can lend a hand with around Wisdom, she has business in other realms, including the Maw. Her soulkeeper will be recharged by now and ready for more souls.
"I don't suppose we could at least relocate to Hero's Rest?"
"They evacuated it and disabled the gateways leading there," Pelagos says. "To make sure there is no need to defend it."
Liila stares at him, unblinking, for a long moment. "I…so what are we supposed to do? Hide in the temples forever?"
"It seems," Roberts interjects, "that another attack on Bastion is fully expected, and the Archon wants to be prepared."
"Well, how do we know he won't head to the other realms in the meantime? Make us exhaust our resources from hiding away and then when we're forced to come out to gather more anima or food or whatever, strike then?"
Pelagos simply shrugs. "I'm an aspirant who hasn't even finished my first rite. I am not kept up-to-date with what's going on."
Nikolon's frown is deeper.
No doubt, he's not being kept in the loop, either, considering he is forsworn.
Liila turns to Roberts. "Know anything?"
"I've heard a bit," he rasps. "There's talk—and fear—of a key being stolen."
"A key?"
Roberts shrugs. "It's a priority above everything else. They think the Spires of Ascension will be the main target of the next attack, but they feel they can't rule out a temple being attacked to draw out the Archon and make the Spires vulnerable."
Liila tilts her head. She thinks back to the fight at Loyalty. "I wonder if that's why she never came. If she was staying back to protect that key or whatever it is."
When Roberts mirrors her head tilt, yellow eyes glowing brightly, she shrugs. "When Courage was attacked, the Archon came to protect her people. She was one of the most terrifying Gods I've ever seen. They way she defended her people, I expected her to show up in Loyalty, but…she never came. I would have thought she would have, to close the portals or…" She shrugs again. "I don't know. I remember thinking it was strange. Adrestes didn't seem worried about it, though."
"He was probably more worried about you," Nikolon points out.
"Maybe the Archon was worried her presence would panic the forsworn and make things even more chaotic than they were?" Pelagos says. Even as Nikolon snorts, he looks back at his soulmate. "You have to admit that if she had shown up, most of the forsworn would not have taken it well. It could have turned into a three way battle or—"
"You've made your point," Nikolon mutters. His arms are crossed, and he seems to be reconsidering something.
Liila imagines that it can't be easy being in the position he's in. To have fallen from the Path and be stuck, relatively alone, in a temple that is filled with people who he does not see eye to eye with.
As they fall into speculation as to what the key Roberts heard about might be—with Pelagos curious as to where he even heard of such a thing—a figure comes up to the edge of the platform. Apolon pauses just long enough to set two people down and then offer a wave before flitting off.
Hipokos waves excitedly, clicking his beak happily before turning to Thales, who stands beside him, a little unsure as the wind tugs at his hair and clothes. No doubt he can feel the emptiness stretching out around them. Even as Hipokos taps his arm and then takes his hand, Thales calls out. "Liila?"
"I'm here," she replies, starting to get up, and then frowning when Pelagos catches her and keeps her in place. Even as she gives him a pleading look, Thales and Hipokos plod over.
"You sound tired," he says, slowing to a stop when Hipokos squeezes his hand and then carefully settling down next to Pelagos, who calls out a gentle hello. As Liila confesses she is a little worn out, he offers a faint smile. "That's better than dead, I suppose."
"It is," Liila admits. She pauses. "You heard about my recent failure to outrun the tarragrue?"
"The whole realm has heard," Thales says, offering her a hand and then squeezing hers when she takes it. "I've heard a few bits of what happened, but nothing concrete. I got permission to help bring some bandages and the like from Humility to Wisdom so that I could come say hi. I've never seen the realm this tense." He pauses and offers her a grin. "Well, so to speak."
Liila frowns, again wondering just how that's going to affect her—once she can escape Pelagos' well-meaning grip, of course.
"So what happened?" Thales asks, brow pinching above his blindfold.
"Thanikos was injured, so I was trying to drag him to safety—" Thales snorts at that, knowing quite well how much larger the Hand is than himself, let alone Liila. She rolls her eyes and lightly hits his arm. He gives her a crooked grin. "Kleia was helping. We couldn't really move him, though, and I got squished like a bug," Liila explains. She takes his hand as she speaks, turning it palm up and then smacking her own against his. Despite her attempt at humor, she still finds herself shuddering as it brings back the memory of looking up to see that massive palm heading down to crash over her. "Luckily, Thanikos was more resilient than I was."
"I'm not so sure about that," Thales murmurs. He hesitates and then leans toward her, dropping his voice. "I wasn't supposed to hear, but people think that because I'm blind, my other senses are dulled too—or perhaps it's my mind they think has dulled—because I hear a lot of secrets these days."
"What happened?"
"Thanikos was talking to Voitha," Thales says. "He was telling her that you brought him back from the dead."
"You have a penchant for that," Nikolon murmurs. He pauses when Liila gives him a questioning look, his brow shooting up. "You…don't know? Really?"
"I was gone," Thanikos whispers. He is standing, arms extended forward, resting over each of Adrestes' shoulders as he looks him in the eyes, Adrestes' hood in one hand. "I know it. It wasn't like passing out. I was genuinely gone." He looks down at himself. "I don't remember where I went, if I went anywhere. I imagine if I did that, whatever that place's version of ascended are, they are as annoyed as we get that I was called back." He pauses, looking back up to meet Adrestes' wary gaze. "I keep wondering if I'm real. What if I'm just…a vestige now? What if I'm like that Mercia echo?"
"The echo of Mercia knows she's an echo," Adrestes says, willing himself to be patient through his friend's existential crisis. This is the first time they've had a chance to talk since everything went on lock down, and he is trying not to be aggravated by how Thanikos is so distracted. When Adrestes asked him if there was anything to report, he'd rather expected potential troop movements, not…
This.
He reaches up and carefully extricates himself from the Hand's clutches.
"Yeah, but she was a paragon," Thanikos objects. "There's…more to them than a regular soul like you or me."
"You're a Hand."
"I'm not a paragon." He pauses. "Aella is a Hand. I don't think she knows that she's…you know. Dead-dead. Gone."
"You are very physical and solid for a vestige," Adrestes replies, growing increasingly annoyed.
"True enough." Thanikos says, looking down at himself as though he is reconsidering his fears. At length, he still shudders. "I need to be more careful. I'm on borrowed time at this point."
Adrestes arches his brow.
"You're real, Than," Voitha says from where she stands near them, casually listening in. "Though I do agree you're on borrowed time and can most certainly stand to be more careful."
"What makes you so sure?" Thanikos asks, though he does seem reassured by her words. Perhaps because her assurances aren't as impatient as Adrestes'.
"You're not the only one she brought back," Voitha offers. She has a visual manifestation of her temple's wards up in front of her, and she is inspecting them to make certain they are as secure as possible. "Eridia says about a dozen forsworn say she restored them in the Maw."
"I've heard about what happened down there," Adrestes says. "Blood says he was brought back, as well as his entire group."
"Well, he's not as surprising as…" Thanikos motions to himself and then crosses his arms. He still has Adrestes' hood in hand. His own helm is hooked to his belt. "I didn't think mortals could restore souls. Restore us."
"Does she even count as mortal?" Voitha asks, still mostly focused on her wards.
Adrestes frowns at that. "She's not immortal."
"She's going to be an incredible anima weaver," Thanikos says. At least he seems to be moving past his terror at having fallen in battle. "She's not even dead yet, and she's beating out most of them." He glances at Adrestes. "You must be proud."
Adrestes doesn't feel proud. He wants to, but the memories of her decaying in his arms are too fresh, and too worrisome. Especially considering how Arios acted when he came across them, and how now, if Adrestes brings up the subject of Liila's wellbeing, Arios defaults to saying that Thenios is on it.
He's been too vague for Adrestes to really understand what 'it' is. Her curse, likely.
Before Adrestes can let himself fall into his musings, he is being called from his thoughts. Disciple Helene lands before him, brow pinched and face taunt with worry. She does not wait for him to dismiss her salute before she is speaking. "You're needed in Purity, polemarch."
He looks down at her and nods. "I'll be there in a—"
"It's an emergency," Disciple Helene says, glancing over her shoulder as though she can look back and see whatever it is that has her so spooked. She leans toward him. "There's a mawsworn—"
Adrestes doesn't need to hear the rest. He makes haste to the gateway, Disciple Helene and Thanikos in tow as Voitha calls out that she'll have forces ready to send to protect Purity if need be.
Fortunately, there is no attack on the temple when he arrives. There are no portals punching into the realm—he would have felt it if there had been, anyway. Even in Elysian Hold, he had been able to feel when the assault started on Loyalty, and had finally understood why the Archon had not been concerned with keeping patrols out to watch for an attack.
That wrongness tearing into their realm had been so much worse than the attack by the maldraxxi.
Speaking of, despite there not having been any portals into the realm, he can sense that same wrongness that comes with creatures who have been to the Maw. It assaults his senses as he draws closer, in ways that the Maw essence lingering on the mortals never has.
The mawsworn feel like the Maw itself. It was one of the most offsetting things about fighting them, especially in the rare instances a helm fell away and revealed the kyrian beneath, if they could even still be called that. Their eyes were dead, their expressions blank, and yet they had fought on as though some great puppet master was pulling strings, making their empty shells move on.
Even dead, the mawsworn felt like corruption. It has made what to do with their corpses somewhat of a debate. Some want to throw them back into the Maw, but others want to purify their bodies and lay them to rest as the kyrian they once were. Others don't want their anima corrupting the realm around them and still others are simply worried about that very anima returning to the Jailer's reach.
Though…the Jailer can reach just about anywhere, these days.
Or at least it feels like he can.
Adrestes feels cold as he descends and lands beside Eridia and Vesiphone. They face the mawsworn in question, with Kalisthene and several other ascended flanking him, all of their weapons drawn, all pointed toward him.
If the mawsworn is bothered by this show of force, this readiness to cut him down, he does not show it.
Adrestes recognizes the man as someone he once called a friend, someone he once fought alongside with when the Void encroached. Someone he ferried souls with.
Astronos stands before him, hands bound in silver links that look out of place against his rot-mottled skin. His hair hangs limp against his scalp and one of his cheeks has rotted away so that his teeth can be seen through the hole in his flesh, behind a few strands of muscle that are still taunt. His clothes are simple. He wears an undertunic and trousers, his armor and weapons discarded.
When Adrestes asks what has become of his armor—he does not want the taint of the Maw leeching into other parts of the realm—Kalisthene informs him that Astronos showed up exactly as he is, sans the restraints.
She found him near Olympic Village, heading further into the realm, following the path of the main road, almost like he wanted to be caught.
"I did," Astronos says calmly, and there is the hint of a smirk there that makes Adrestes scowl, something that deepens all the more when he realizes Thanikos still has his hood. He hates when people can read him easily.
"Was he alone?" Adrestes asks.
"It's just me," Astronos replies on Kalisthene's behalf, even as she nods to Adrestes and Vesiphone.
Were it not for Kalisthene's assurance that he speaks the truth, Adrestes would send scouts out to search for more of them. He's tempted to do so anyway, though…
That would go against the Archon's wishes to keep everyone at the temples.
Kalisthene explains what little she knows, dutifully. Astronos did not breach the realm as their attackers did, but rather entered through the gateway, as though he came from Oribos.
"Polemarch," Astronos says, and his voice is garbled, twisted. "I have a warning or two that might benefit your maw walkers."
Adrestes appraises him carefully, debating what to do with this new intruder. He is not sure if he wants to dare bringing someone so twisted into Elysian Hold. It's bad enough that Devos is there now, along with two mawsworn they were able to capture. The two had been knocked unconscious and assumed dead initially, until someone had gone to gather their bodies only to realize they have not shuffled off this immortal coil just yet.
He has recognized both of those faces, too, and yet he cannot even pretend that the creatures he looks at are them. It is like their puppeteer's strings are cut. They do not have the awareness they should, do not seem to have the minds they should. They do not even struggle against their chains or confinement, but instead sit, eerily still, as though they are waiting.
He baulks at the idea of what.
Astronos, however, is more like Devos. He still has his mind, even as his body falls away to decay.
Just like Liila's did.
Adrestes has to force himself not to wonder if there might be some connection there. Now is not the time.
"Speak your piece," Vesiphone orders.
"You're not the one who needs to hear me," Astronos says. He frowns when Adrestes and the others make no move to gather the mortals, and then settles his attention on Adrestes. "But I suppose you'll do."
It is a turn of phrase they have teased each other with in the past, a friendly jibe.
A callback to better times.
Adrestes does not smile.
There is a moment where Astronos looks ready to ask him something, but then he simply shakes his head. "The waystone—the mortals' means for getting out of the Maw—was damaged badly. Retaliation against the daring escape from Perdition Hold. I don't know that it will ever work again."
"Convenient for you," Adrestes replies.
"Not really," Astronos says, frowning in turn. "The mortal Mitchell—or one of his friends who went back to the Maw with him—will be along to confirm that later, but for now, you should hold off on sending anyone down. The likelihood that you'll get them back is miniscule. Especially if you let the Maw Walker go. The Dragonlily. She's made it to Zova—"
"Do not speak that name here."
The Archon's voice booms out over them, reverberating through Astronos and making him shudder.
The mawsworn looks up to see as the Archon descends to them, great wings casting a shadow over him as though to deny him the warmth of Bastion's light.
"I do not expect mercy, Archon," Astronos says, plainly, though he remains shaken and does not seem able to quite gather himself now that the god he has turned his back on is before him. "But I would offer my warnings before you unmake me."
"The Maw has made you arrogant," the Archon replies, "to speak to me thus."
"I am simply trying to return a favor," Astronos says.
"Then I suggest you speak quickly."
"The Jailer," Astronos says, pointedly, "wants the Dragonlily's head. Among other things." He stands a little taller. "Normally, he hunts the mortals who become too aggravating to the well-oiled machine that is his Maw. Normally, if they lay low, make themselves scarce for a time, he will forget them. So long as they tow that line between being useless and even remotely detrimental, they can save their pittance of souls and swat away a few mawsworn here and there." He looks at Adrestes now, rather than the Archon. "Your Maw Walker has earned his permanent disdain."
"When she broke the forsworn free," Eridia murmurs.
Astronos laughs at that. The sound is twisted, like the rest of him. "When she called down the Light like a beacon through the whole Maw and brought back the dead." He makes an awkward bow, "Myself included." Astronos seems more amused by the reactions around him than anything else. "Speak with the forsworn who came from the Maw. At least half of them died there. We should have lost at Perdition Hold well before Devos could reach us. Devos should have descended into a massacre and been able to do little more than put those few of us remaining out of our misery." He pauses, as though for affect. "But that is not what happened. Even the furthest reaches of the Maw saw that brilliant burst of light that defied the realm of hopelessness. Souls that were ready to fall to pieces are standing taller, willing to fight a little longer. They are not succumbing to their dooms as readily as they should. And the mawsworn are shaken, uncertain. It is the second time the Light has reached the Maw. And this time, its wielder is still free." Astronos shakes his head. "The Jailer is furious, and he will not allow her free reign of his domain any longer. That's why he broke the waystone, so that when she comes back—when any of them come back, they will be his. And he intends to teach them the folly it is to defy a god."
The Archon hovers there, watching Astronos with an unreadable expression, though her eyes are narrowed.
"You escaped the Maw," Adrestes points out.
"Likely the first and last time anyone on my side will be able to," Astronos admits. "When the mortals came to check on whether the Helsworn can still send people through, they were trapped because the waystone is broken. We did our best to reach them, protect them, but the trouble was the rest of the mortals will come through after them, eventually, and we'd have more and more to keep…well, you can't keep anything safe in the Maw, but we would have tried—"
"You did not come straight to Bastion," the Archon says.
"No, we stole some of the undamaged reagents for portals from the Helsworn and made a portal to the In Between," Astronos says. "We figured anywhere else and the denizens would just fight to close the portals back as you did at Loyalty, and we didn't have enough anima to try more than once."
"How do you know about that?" Adrestes snaps. When Astronos looks confused, "About how we were closing the portals."
Has another realm been attacked already? More than one?
Astronos laughs again. "Lysonia told me."
"She's alive?"
It is Eridia who asks, her voice little more than a tremor. Adrestes notes the way she tries to hide the relief that floods through her when he nods. It seems to be short-lived on its own.
Adrestes imagines it must be hard, to have loved someone for as long as Eridia has loved Lysonia, to not care. Even with all that Lysonia has done.
"There were five mortals who came through. Two died before we could help them. We were going to have some of our worse off take them out, to get them out of the Maw, as well, when we were attacked by the Helsworn. The mortals and their bearers were taken out of the sky. The portal was closing, so I grabbed them and flew through. I took them to Oribos and then came here to surrender myself and deliver the warnings. I'm sure a more trusted mortal will be by soon enough, to confirm all this, but I figured I'd be hunted regardless, so I might as well put my time to good use. And hopefully get the word out before any more mortals make their way to the Maw."
Adrestes eyes him. "Do you know how well Lysonia disrupted their ability to make portals?"
"I know you'll have a little bit of a reprieve. I cannot say how long. We will—Lysonia and the others will do what they can, while they can, to hinder things."
A hush falls over those gathered as Adrestes and the others take the time to process all that Astronos has told them. Adrestes is not certain they can truly trust what the mawsworn is telling them, but at the same time, he does not want to dismiss the warning, especially if it means that Liila heading to the Maw will result in her never coming back.
With her soul already in such a precarious position, he does not want to tempt fate any further.
Astronos abruptly straightens up, as though he has just remembered something. "There may be another way out of the Maw. Soon, anyway. Zov—the Jailer has made a new acquisition. Or at least he was trying to, when I came through. I don't imagine it will take him much longer."
The Archon's eyes narrow further. "What is it?"
"Another realm," Astronos replies. "I am not exactly one of the people he or Helya confide in these days, but I heard a few rumors, a few names—"
"Tell me." There is weight behind her words. Power. Adrestes is not sure Astronos could keep the answer from her if he wanted.
He does not fight her command, however, instead listing the names of realms that he has heard.
He is halfway through the third name when the Archon holds up her hand, focusing on the previous one. "Korthia?" For a moment, Adrestes thinks the Archon will fly off right there. Instead, she looks back at Astronos. When she speaks, it is to Adrestes. "Take him to the Spires. We'll keep him there, for now. Send Hermestes and a few others to check on Korthia."
Thales pats Liila's hand as he chatters amicably, making a point of catching her up on idle happenings around the Temple of Humility as they walk it, off to the quieter parts where he may weave his tales for her without interruption.
For they have been, twice, already.
Both times, Thales has laughed and told Liila rather loudly that neither of them will be getting any rest so long as she is the Maw Walker. Both times, it has worked to make the people seeking them—seeking her back off.
In the few hours that Liila has been awake since recovering from her latest death, she has been coming up with a plan, and—as her newest soulbind—Thales is determined to help however he can.
It started innocent enough. He has wanted to soulbind with her ever since they fought their way out of the House of Constructs, ever since he found her crying over a fallen ascended, her heart broken for someone she had never known because of a letter she found them holding.
He has heard the stories that came through Maldraxxus and that circulate here in Bastion, about how she is relentless and dedicated, how she is dutiful. But he has seen beyond that, even if he doesn't have eyes. He knows she is so much more fragile than the stories let on, and he has wanted to keep her safe, just as she kept him safe.
He has waited for word that he can soulbind, has tried to be patient.
And then word reached him that Liila fell in battle.
Even if she did get back up, he…
Well.
In Maldraxxus, Thales had plenty of time to sit around and talk to the locals. When he wasn't mending his brethren, he would wander the Seat of the Primus, usually accompanied by Hipokos or Secutor Mevix. He and the latter had taken to walking the Bleak Redoubt and fending off smaller waves of enemies, and of finding quiet time to speak.
They had traded stories, and Thales had been fascinated to learn that Mevix has twenty-three soulbinds. Well, he'd had that many, before the House of the Chosen was attacked. He is down to ten now.
Thales had been surprised by how many people he was so close with, and Mevix had laughed and asked if the kyrian did not want to strengthen themselves as well. When Thales had explained how it was usually something reserved for a single person one held a deep, personal connection with in Bastion, it had made both of them curious, and they had started asking the mortals who had gone to other covenants about their cultures, too.
Mevix had, at one point, admitted that he had considered asking Thales to soulbind to him. Thales had laughed and told him it was a good thing they'd talked about the differences in their cultures first, or he might have thought it almost a proposal of sorts. Mevix had merely shuffled awkwardly where he stood nearby, not saying anything to that.
He had, however, said that Thales ought to get a few soulbinds, to help strengthen him, especially while in Maldraxxus.
That was actually what had encouraged him to bind himself to Hipokos.
Mevix had seemed oddly perplexed by Thales' choice in partners, though he had just grunted and changed the subject when Thales tried to ask him what was wrong.
Regardless, it was because of his talks with Mevix that Thales knew just how beneficial soulbinding could be for battles.
And it was because of that that he had been doubly horrified when news had reached him of Liila's death.
He felt like it was, in a way, his fault.
If he had pressed to have their binding done sooner, instead of waiting to hear that the realm had decided to accept him now, then perhaps…
Well, considering Liila was squished, he's not sure he would have been able to save her from that, but if he can help prevent her next death, then it will be worth it.
That is the main reason he went to Wisdom. To gather her and bind their souls. To make her stronger, more durable.
He and Hipokos had even had a plan to distract Soulguide Daelia so that they could bind without her permission, if need be.
However, that had proved unnecessary. She had readily allowed for them to bind, and Thales had been so…relieved.
Now, though, he's troubled. Liila's soul feels thinner than Hipokos', and there is an ache that echoes from her to him, something deep and wicked. She needs more help than he initially realized.
More help that he thinks he may be able to give.
Her life had whirred through his mind, the first things he'd seen in months, and then it was gone, far too quickly. It took longer for his own memories to blur through her mind, and as he sat with her, waiting for her to come back to the present, he poked and prodded, curious to see if he could get to the bottom of her aches.
He had heard of her curse, but it was an echoing word that swept him up into memories.
Husk.
The memories were out of order, but he was able to gather the gist of it by the time Liila began to fidget, returning to the present.
Liila worries that the mawsworn are trapped as she once was, that their wills have been stolen, and they are toys to a power outside of themselves. She wants to act, to do something, but she cannot because those who care about her are keeping her on a tight leash.
He hadn't seen those memories, but rather heard it, sensed it while visiting with her in Wisdom. Pelagos had been reluctant to even let her go to Elysian Hold to bind with Thales. He had been so concerned…and understandably so, considering he can surely feel Liila's ailments, as well.
Those guarding the anima gateway had been concerned, too, and it hadn't been until Thales had pointed out binding to her would make her more resilient that they had been allowed to even go to the hold.
Nevertheless, Thales feels that perhaps, if nothing else, he can take her somewhere quiet and help her figure out just what it is she wants to do.
That is why, after their binding, he suggested they come to Humility instead of going back to Wisdom. After all, the ascended in the Spires and the Hold are trying to minimize the number of the wingless around. They are preparing for an attack, and do not want to have people flung or dropped. They need to be able to fight, not babysit.
He understands the sentiment, and it works for them, anyway.
Hipokos clicks his beak from where he walks on Thales' other side, and he hears the faint shift of feathers as the steward moves his arm. He is in charge of finding them somewhere nice and private, where they can talk unencumbered by others.
Liila's boots scuff on the walkway as she nearly stops in her tracks before letting out a faint laugh. "I've been here before."
"Oh?"
"Briefly," she says. "I…I spoke with Chyrus here. He's a good sort."
"You don't get to being paragon by being anything else," Thales offers, smiling. "I don't sense him or anyone else nearby, though. I think we have this place to ourselves."
"You're getting really good at sensing souls, aren't you?"
Thales nods. "Hipokos found me some notes from a demon hunter about sensing magic and it's not quite the same as sensing anima, but the parallels are close enough." He pauses. "That was back in Maldraxxus. Mevix read most of it to me." He smiles wistfully. "When Khaliiq wasn't training me, it seemed like Mevix was. They're a good sort, too."
"You must miss them."
"I really do," Thales says, though, if he's honest, it's Mevix he really misses. Khaliiq was a good friend, but there was just something about Mevix. The way he seemed to go out of his way to help Thales, to make time to help him. Because he was busy, too, defending his own realm. "Hipokos helped me write a letter, but I'm not sure what to do when we get one back. Hipokos can read it, but translating it to me will be a bit…difficult."
"I can read it for you," Liila says. Even as Thales perks up, happy that she would so willingly offer, she nudges his arm. "That is, so long as you don't mind prying eyes."
"Liila, I didn't take you for a gossip," Thales teases.
"Oh, I'm worse than a gossip. I learn things and I keep them. To be brought up at the worst of times."
He laughs.
They have still been walking, and he feels as they step under the trees. The temperature of the air drops, ever so slightly, and he knows that they are hidden from any curious eyes overhead.
Again, he feels for any impression that someone might be coming close, but the world is quiet, still. The anima around them is subtle, the realm in its natural state.
They settle down.
There is a brief lull in their conversation as they do so, and Thales takes advantage of that. "How can I help you do what you want to do?"
"What?"
"You want to do something. You're restless, and you keep thinking of Devos."
"You…can tell that?"
Thales cocks his head at that. Liila already has soulbinds, so why would him being able to read her be such a surprise? After all, her thoughts on this subject are rather…loud. "Yes?"
She hesitates. "What exactly do you know?"
"I know you are worried about the mawsworn. That you think they're being puppeteered, used." He does not want to use the word that is still echoing in her thoughts, agitating her own memories.
Husk.
"Devos said that they've lost more than their free will, that they've lost their very person, but…I lost my free will once." She falls silent. Thales hears fabric shifting and then feels her hand on his. He lets her guide his fingers to her exposed arm, to feel the scars that run its length. "My tormentor made it so that I had to comply to his demands. If he commanded me to heal, I would try not to, but he would activate these runes, and I would. If these were active, no matter how much I fought, in the end I would do his will, to some extent. I managed to do the minimum, most of the time, to make myself as useless to him as I could be, but…"
There are so many memories that flicker and try to take form, try to bare themselves before him. She shudders, pushing them away herself.
But one slips through.
For a second, he sees the world as though he is her. He is laying in a dark, wooded area, not looking directly at the creature that looms over him, but at a dull, dark sky instead. The creature that stands over her holds his sword, appraising her with a muted patience that Thales would despise even if the feeling wasn't curling in him as an echo of Liila's own hatred.
The sword starts to come down slowly, and Thales braces for it. The pain is sharp. The blade comes up, the air rushes into the open wound.
It hurts.
Heal yourself.
The words are spoken twice more before his arm feels like there is fire in it and then magic comes to his fingertips, called even as he wishes it away.
With a shudder, the memory leaves him.
He takes in a shaky breath. It reminds him of his own unfortunate fate, of being on that table as that skeletal creature leaned over him, of the creatures holding him down as he tried to fight for his freedom, as the scalpel came down, sliding so carefully under his eyelid. Great effort was made to keep the eyes intact during their removal.
He banishes the thoughts, willing himself not to go back there.
Both he and Liila have been through bad times, but that does not mean they will make things worse for each other. He won't let that happen. And he knows she won't, either.
Liila has been talking, and he has missed most of what she said, but as he listens, he picks up what he has missed. "You want to talk to Devos."
"I want to know what she knows," Liila says. "I want details, to know the process, how long it takes for them to succumb, if it's instant or if there's…time."
"Have you considered asking the Archon?" Thales asks.
"I…I don't know that she would want me pursuing this." He can hear her tucking her arm back into her robes. "The mawsworn were forsworn first, and they have done so much damage to Bastion. I don't know if anyone would want to…help them."
"I do," Thales says. "I… they have done terrible things, but…"
He is not sure how to put his feelings toward the forsworn into words. He knows that, by Lysonia's own admission, it was her fault that the maldraxxi were able to reach Courage, were able to reach him. It was her fault and yet…he cannot hate her for it.
That is not to say he forgives her. He most certainly does not.
But he can't help but think of the times she came to check on them, of the way she tried to help him, even when she told him they would not longer be able to have their talks.
He wants them to pay for what they have done, but at the same time…
At the same time, he doesn't want them to be lost forever. If there is still some good in them, if there is still something of whatever it was that had them sent to Bastion to begin with, he does not want to see it snuffed out.
There has already been enough of that.
Liila squeezes his hand.
"I hope you don't mind, but I…well I feel you."
"Why would I mind?" Thales asks, puzzled.
There is an awkwardness in Liila, a curl of uncertainty.
And abruptly Thales understands.
He understands that she does not. She has had soulbinding explained to her on an elementary level, but not in a way that would really make it all make sense. Because of course she hasn't. None of the mortals have. He has noted that with Mevix countless times as the various mortals mull over the strange emotions they face or the memories they try not to share.
"You're supposed to feel me," Thales says gently. He abruptly tugs her over and clumsily catches her in a headlock. He tousles her hair before he lets her go. "I won't betray your trust. Neither will Pelagos or Kleia."
There is an awkward laugh.
"I've…tried to give them their space," Liila says. "Pelagos, especially. He didn't really have a choice when it came to soulbinding, and I didn't want to treat Kleia differently than I did him, so…"
"And I imagine they are trying their best to respect your boundaries," Thales says, considering it. Then he shrugs. "Well, I have none. Not with you or Hipokos. I am an open book and wehther you read me or not, I leave up to you. Know that I will welcome if you do. It makes it easier than having to put a voice to emotions that can't be easily surmised. Like just now."
Liila is quiet as she considers what he's said.
"Can you form a soulbinding without the forge?" Liila asks.
"You can," Thales says, perking up. "It takes eons, but you can." Even as he is about to ask her why, an image of a large, tusked creature comes to mind, and he laughs. "You think you have a mortal one?"
"Haa'aji and I are good at speaking without words," she murmurs. "There's no memory sharing, but…"
"I would love to meet him sometime."
"He would torment your relentlessly," Liila assures him.
He can't help but laugh. She echoes him, and for a moment, Thales is content to sit with his two soulbinds, at ease despite all that is going wrong in the realms. When the silence has stretched, he says, "But I imagine I am hardly alone. In regards to how I feel about the forsworn."
"Pelagos is in love with one. A fallen ascended named Nikolon," Liila says. She pauses just a second before asking, "Do you believe in soulmates?"
"I do." He cocks his head. "I didn't now that anyone didn't."
"Some don't, but that's neither here nor there." He can hear the faintest sound of nails drumming against boots. "Well, Nikolon is Pelagos' soulmate," Liila explains. "And we've been helping some of the forsworn get away from Loyalty."
"The ones who came here spoke about hiding in Courage."
"Right," Liila says. "Well, the forsworn haven't been subjugated the way the mawsworn have. They still have their free will. The mawsworn, though…it's awful."
She tells him then about the time she was captured in the Maw by Devos' people. Of the way their wings were rotted. She tells him of the attack on Loyalty and how the mawsworn spoke as one, how they seem emotionless in the Maw itself. Save for rage.
Fleeting images echo in his mind as an accompaniment to her stories, and they paint a grim picture indeed.
"Speaking to Devos would help," Liila says. "I suppose I can ask Adrestes—"
Hipokos clicks his beak a few times, concerned. Even as Liila asks what's wrong, Thales reaches through the unknown space between him and Hipokos and pats the steward's arm.
"I doubt anyone will let you go see her as you are," Thales says.
"Not you, too," Liila pleads. "I'm fine, really."
While Thales has his doubts, he also knows what it is like to be more capable than people are willing to treat him. Painfully so.
"Well, I can vouch for you, but I don't know that that would make anyone listen."
"Honestly?" Liila asks. "I think I have a plan, but I could use an opinion on how stupid it is."
Thales quirks a single brow. The emotion curling inside of his new soulbind is not fear or anxiousness, but rather…anticipation. Excitement for a possibility that makes him think perhaps it is a possibility that should not be.
That this is the possibility for mischief.
Thales can't help but smile a little at that. "What's the plan?"
"I have a friend," Liila says, dropping her voice a little, even though they are alone. "I'd bet damn near anything he can get me to Devos. But if he is seen, he will not be well-received. At all."
Thales cocks his head. "A friend."
Hipokos clicks his beak, curious.
Liila reaches out and takes Thales' hands, carefully guiding his fingers until his hands are together, fingers curled into two arches and his thumbs brought down to form a point. Thales knows this shape, remembers seeing others make it in jest during conversations that seem like they took place eons ago.
A heart?
"This is friendshaped, okay?"
Thales tilts his head forward, as though he can look at his hands. "Friendshaped?"
There is a pause before Hipokos lets out a soft click. Liila shifts and then tells him that the handshape he must be making is right.
"Yes. He…well, we speak with sign-language mostly. We've been making it up as we go, since he doesn't have the vocal cords for this sort of language, and I don't for his. I've tried a few clicks, but he always ends up laughing at me. I don't know what I'm actually saying, but it's definitely not what I want to."
"Liila," Thales says slowly. "What is your friend?"
"He's a devourer."
Hipokos' clicks quickly in dismay. Thales' smile slips.
"He—" Liila sighs, shifts where she's sitting as she contemplates how to go on. Again, hazy memories flit up to go with her words. "His name is Nibbles, okay? I was doing some minor tasks in Revendreth some time ago, and I found this little baby devourer. He was so tiny and scared and—"
"By the Archon," Thales whispers, brow arched.
"I fed him because he was too little to take care of himself, and all the bigger devourers wouldn't let him eat, and it wasn't like such a tiny little thing could do that much damage." She pauses, but Thales does not respond. He's not sure how to, if he's honest. He was rather expecting her to talk about a mortal friend or a broker or… almost anything else. Liila starts talking again. "Every time I went by Revendreth, he would be there, a little bigger each time." She pauses. "He actually got really big, really fast."
"And he is friendshaped?"
"Yes!" Liila says. "And I can call him. I'm not completely sure how it works, but he knows when I want him around, and I don't usually call him anywhere with lots of people because, you know, there have been issues with devours in most realms in the past—"
"Like how they ate the first paragon of humility?" Thales asks.
Liila grows so incredibly still, her usual fidgets and movements silenced as what he's told her sinks in. For the first time, he feels her budding determination waver, as though she is genuinely reconsidering her plan.
He should probably encourage that.
And yet…
He worries if he dismisses her now, when she's forming this plan, that she may find a way to attempt it alone.
Alone on a path he started her on in his attempts to help.
No, it will be better if he can help her figure out an alternative. Even if it's begging Adrestes.
"So you were thinking to have him, a devourer, take you to Devos?" Thales asks, tilting his head. "How…will that even work? Would he know how to get to Devos? Does he know who she is or how to look for her?"
"No, but…" Liila frowns, considers it. "He knows what the Maw essence is! I'll ask him to take me to anything Maw-ish."
"You want a devourer to take us to the fallen paragon," Thales says slowly.
Hipokos clicks his beak, concerned by Thales' choice of words. He grips Thales hand, as though so simple a motion will keep him in place.
"You don't have to come."
Thales ignores her comment. "Well, can…Nibbles even get in Elysian Hold? Won't the wards—"
"Oh, he's been there before, once. I hadn't swung by to see him in over a week and so he came looking for me. I shooed him away before anyone saw him, and the wards didn't trip because he didn't want to hurt anyone. I think." Thales feels a curl of pride from Liila as she adds, "He knows not to hurt any of Bastion's denizens. That's why he is friendshaped."
"So you feel like he can get in and out of Elysian Hold without being seen, and take us to anything corrupted." Thales considers it. It's not…the worst plan he's ever heard. Unfortunately. There has to be a way to throw a kink in this. If she is following his own shifting concerns, he cannot sense it. "What about the guards? I imagine there must be many. Even if we can just show up, won't we be showing up right in front of guards?"
Liila lets out a low hum. "I think it's still worth trying. Nibbles is pretty good at getting past guards." Thales worries about how she knows that. He hears her shift closer to him. "You don't need to do something that makes you anxious." So she has felt his concern, but is misinterpreting it. Whether that is willfully or not, he cannot say. "Do you think you could say I'm here if anyone asks? Not exactly lie, per se, but just…make up an excuse or something so that I can try anyway?"
"No."
His voice is firm. As much as he wants to help her, he is certain that this will not end well. Even if the devourer doesn't eat them when it drags them out of the realm to reenter elsewhere.
He hears her slump back in on herself, feels her disappointment.
He feels a little guilty for having brought this up.
"Do you really need to talk to Devos, though?"
"I want to help them—"
"So couldn't you start by helping Devos herself?" Thales offers. Instantly, he regrets it. Helping Devos still means going to see her, doesn't it? When Liila doesn't immediately respond, he motions to her, trying to salvage things. At least this would mean she wouldn't need to sneak to her to ask questions. He can figure out another deterrent for any additional ideas he's helping form later. "If the mawsworn are afflicted with something that makes them puppets, isn't Devos also afflicted by it? She went to the Maw."
Liila's silence draws on, her emotions a whir that is hard for him to follow. Being bound to her is so different from being bound to Hipokos, who seems so steadfast in his emotions by comparison. Abruptly, it is like something clicks. "She told Lysonia and the others a bit about it when we first got to Loyalty. If they fight it, their bodies rot. You're right. Devos is afflicted with the same thing. If I can cleanse it from her, I can cleanse it from the others. If we take the boon away, maybe we'll be able to see if they wanted it or not."
"And if they did, they were enemies we've weakened," Thales suggests. "And if not, we've saved them."
Her hands catch his. She squeezes them. "Thales, you beautiful genius!"
He can't help but laugh as he tugs her in for a hug that she happily reciprocates. "You know you're not helping me learn humility with compliments like that, right?"
Liila sits back. There is a smile in her voice. "I think you have a pretty good grasp on being humble already. You wouldn't want things to be too easy, would you?"
As Thales lets his hand trace up her shoulder and then tousles her hair, she bats him away playfully.
Even as he smiles, a bit relieved that they seem to be straying from the idea of breaking into Elysian Hold, Hipokos lets out a startled click and his feathered shoulder bumps into Thales arm, like he is jerking away from something.
Thales turns instinctively toward whatever Hipokos is scared of—he can feel his soulbind's fear, though it is uncertain, like the steward is not sure if he should be afraid, but cannot quite help the terror that coils in him regardless.
There is a spot in front of him that feels…empty. Like the anima of the realm is simply not there. Like there is a hole in the realm itself. A void.
A rather large and looming void.
Something makes a series of clicks and snaps from inside that emptiness.
"Did you hear me talking about you?"
Thales takes in a slow breath as the clicks and a chittering noise fill air around them. Liila reaches out and takes his hands, forming them into that heart again.
"Friendshaped."
"How bad is it?"
Adrestes did not mean to open their conversation with this topic, but he cannot help himself when he comes up to Thenios and finds familiar runes floating in the air near a few other scrolls. He knows them from the times Liila has worn an aspirant's robe. He recognizes them from when they lit up on her as they claimed her for the living.
Thenios is looking at a copy of Liila's curse.
Adrestes has come by to check on Liila for the third time since she died, only to find that this time, instead of lying there, too still, she is gone, off to spend some time with her third soulbind. He is glad to know that she is up and about again, that the curse has not worn her down so badly that she can barely function.
Because he is worried that it will get to that point, that perhaps it is already at that point. What happened this time was so much worse than before, and he is terrified to see the curse progress any further.
Pelagos seemed more than a little concerned himself, but Nikolon has offered that it couldn't hurt to let her wander around. It wasn't as though anyone would be letting her out of the realm.
That is…well, it's true now. Adrestes has made sure to spread word to any and all on guard that Liila is not to leave the realm. Not until they can warn her about the Maw.
No, it's more than that. Before he knew there was a problem with the waystone, before he knew Liila had caught the Jailer's attention, he hadn't wanted her to leave.
Not until she has recovered.
And if he's honest with himself, he's not sure she can recover.
The first time he saw her die, he can remember the way she curled in on herself, the few minutes it took her to come back to life. He can remember the way it took almost a minute to even out her breathing, her heart beating erratically at first as if it couldn't remember the proper rhythm.
This time, though…
Archon help her. This time it took thirty-eight minutes from the time the first rune chimed to when the resurrection was finished. He's asked around, and the estimate for how long she was in her kyrian form before that is right around forty minutes, too.
A spell that should only last thirty-five seconds lasted twice as many minutes.
Adrestes held her the entire time it took for the curse to work its dark magic, and then he had held her until her heartbeat steadied. That had taken longer too.
He fears her mortal form cannot take much more of this.
Even when she was breathing steady, the crease in her brow smoothing as her pain slowly ebbed, he had not been ready to let go of her.
Not until Thenios had stepped in. He had called Adrestes back to the present, reminded him gently of his duties. Thenios had taken Liila from him, promised that she would be looked after.
And he has kept that promise.
Adrestes had done as he always does, though this time as he had collected information to bring to the Archon, he had felt as though there was ice seeping into the core of his being. He thinks perhaps what is happening is worse because he already knows what it will be like to lose her. Because he still remembers how he lost her before. How time stretched out before him, endless and empty.
He was tempted to go to Eridia and see if she can't banish the memories of their time before, but he cannot afford himself something so time consuming when there is an imminent threat to the realm, and he has decided it is better to distract himself with his work and check in on her whenever he can.
When he came by the first time and the second, he had expected her to be up, awake. Perhaps sore, but…
But not lying there, breathing faint.
This curse is putting too much strain on her.
Thenios has not yet answered his question.
"Her body is healed," Adrestes says, mechanically, as though pointing out something good will prompt the assurances he seeks.
Thenios looks up at the scrolls and notes that hover before him and then quietly sits so that he may be closer to Adrestes' height. "A soul is not meant to suffer death but once, Adrestes."
"I know that."
"Each time one dies, a little piece is lost, usually it is something insignificant. Usually, it is whatever it is that originally tethers the soul to the body." Thenios gaze is downcast as he speaks, choosing his words carefully. "She lost that tether long ago. What binds her now snaps off pieces that should not be lost, most of which were never meant to be lost."
The cold sensation that has been pooling in his gut sweeps out now, as ice in Adrestes' veins. He tries to find good in what he's been told, his mind trying to twist the words around into something he can hold onto. Something he can hold out for.
"Do you think that's what happened to her memories?" Adrestes asks. "She lost them to her resurrections and deaths?"
"You would have to ask Vesiphone about that," Thenios admits. "But I think there's a good chance that some of it may be a result of this, yes."
"Will she forget—"
Me?
He can't finish his question. It is a selfish thing to ask about, anyway. After all, he forgot her once.
"I imagine if she forgets anything this time around, it will be something without strong ties to anything she cares for. Something she has a weak hold on, as it is," Thenios says, his hand resting on Adrestes' shoulder for an instant. "But whatever is holding her together is growing thin." When Adrestes looks up at him, terrified, Thenios gives him a reassuring smile. "She will be alright this time. And we have some ideas to help mitigate where this is headed. But I think it is time she lays down her weapons. She cannot go through much more of this."
"I thought having soulbinds was supposed to make her stronger?"
"I think they kept her from falling apart this time," Thenios says quietly. "But I think part of the problem is Bastion itself. As we discussed after her first death here, Bastion recognizes its own. It wants her home, and it's adding stress to what has already become too much."
"Is there a way to reverse the damage?" Adrestes asks.
"You mean restore the pieces lost? Her memories? No," Thenios shakes his head. "But I do have an idea for altering what the curse consumes when it activates. It… is something I have been discussing with the Archon and Vesiphone."
"What would it do?"
"I would rather not speculate just yet," Thenios says, frowning. "I would not want you to…" He trails off, looking away. "I would like to know more first."
For the first time in a long time, Adrestes really looks at Thenios. He seems so much older, so much more worn. The lines around his mouth and eyes are stark and cold and lonely. Like he has not laughed in eons, even though it has not been nearly so long.
After all, Devos used to always make him laugh. She had stirred a life in him that seems absent now. Adrestes had often noted the quiet looks they shared during meetings, when others were talking, the pride and adoration they'd held in their eyes as they looked to one another, the love that made it so they never seemed able to keep a frown in place, if the other was around.
"In theory, what we've come up with could help tremendously," Thenios says, carefully. "But it…I do not know that the Maw Walker would want to go that route. I had hoped to have a more sound theory before she died again."
The idea that he has been working on this since before her latest death is…oddly comforting. Adrestes' brow pinches as he looks back at Liila's curse. "Why wouldn't she want to remove her curse?"
"Because it—" Thenios cuts himself off, struggling with his internal debate. "At this point any speculation is meaningless. I need more information." Thenios' smile is forced when he looks at Adrestes, though something seems to click in his mind. A little spark of something in his eyes. "It is a work in progress, but perhaps there is something that can be done in the meantime to offer comfort to the both of you." When Adrestes looks at him, puzzled, his smile becomes a touch genuine. "Come, I've something to teach you."
Liila is a little frustrated.
Despite her enthusiasm to try to figure out a way to undo Helya's blessing/curse—and what is proving to be a growing interest in it from those around her—Liila is unable to keep her momentum going. Her latest death has had more of an affect on her, and that combined with soulbinding to Thales has left her spent.
It is with guilt that she hands over her spellbook with a few key pages marked for Pelagos to examine and try to figure out where they should go, what they should build off. He is pleased, at least, that she has come back to Wisdom, though he is idly curious about how it was she was able to get from Humility to Wisdom when she's supposed to be staying in place.
For now, Pelagos has seemingly set aside his curiosity in that, after she recruited him and Nikolon to her cause.
Liila would tell Pelagos about Nibbles in a heartbeat, but she's not so sure about Nikolon. And she knows that when she tells Pelagos, Nikolon will know very shortly after. They don't seem the type to keep secrets from one another.
Thales had been worried about her traveling with the creature himself, but she had done her best to send him a sense of calm when she arrived back in Wisdom, and his worries seem to have died down.
He and Hipokos are scouring Humility for dispels and dispersals that might be a good starting point while she goes to Wisdom. They are the two temples with most of the moved items from the Locus, as well, as the most extensive libraries.
Pelagos has promised to get a message to Kleia about assisting when she gets the chance. Perhaps she can look through the records there, if they are intact enough. The fighting apparently did almost as much damage in Loyalty as was done to Purity.
However, even as they made plans to scour the libraries here, Liila had felt herself fading, ever so slightly, and while she was certain she could push through it, Pelagos had been adamant that she not push herself too hard.
So adamant that she had finally had to promise to take it easy for a while.
Liila tells herself that she will rest, as Pelagos insists, for just a moment before gathering herself to push on and help with the search of Wisdom. She finds herself a small, secluded corner outside of one of the smaller libraries inset into the cliffs around the temple, and tucks herself away behind hanging vines. The spot in cool and about as dark as it gets in Bastion, which isn't to say very much. She kicks off her shoes and then places them neatly beside her, along with her bags, the cool stone a welcome touch against the soles of her feet.
She tells herself she will rest for just a moment, and yet, when she closes her eyes, darkness sweeps up readily.
Her dreams begin with flickers of fighting, her enemies shifting from mawsworn to maldraxxi to Scourge and back and forth and back and forth.
It mingles and mixes with other memories, of fleeing prisoners and former fiancés and her tormentor calling her a husk, jeering the word.
However, at some point, there is a prickle of something wanted that flows through her, and while it does not banish her nightmares, it does push them back, mercifully enough.
When Liila wakes up, she feels that familiar thrill of lightning coursing through her, and sighs softly at the touch of fingers running through her hair. Her head rests on against a well-shaped thigh, and she cannot help but feel better.
The fingers running through her hair are an excellent distraction.
With a pleased hum, she snuggles closer to Adrestes, hand coming up to rest beside her head on the thigh.
Even as sleep rises up to claim her again, she realizes rather abruptly that this lap, as well as the fingers in her hair, are too small to be Adrestes'.
Whoever she is cuddling up against cannot be her polemarch, even if she's feeling that lightning coursing through her.
She sits up. As her brow pinches, she turns bleary eyes toward where she was just resting and recognizes an aspirant's robes on the legs stretched out in front of her, where her head just rested.
Confusion overtakes her and her gaze snaps up to the aspirant's face, bewildered and wanting to know who it is that can feel just like Adrestes.
In a breath, she is looking into a pair of familiar eyes.
Adrestes offers her a faint smile, his fingers slowly slipping from her hair, hand moving to caress her cheek. "Did you sleep well?"
She barely hears the question, instead sitting back enough to look him over.
It is definitely Adrestes. His hair is cropped short as usual, and she can trace his features that she knows so well, that well define jaw, his shapely nose, small yet handsome ears. There is no doubt that it is him.
And yet, he is the size of an aspirant, and wingless.
She thinks of Chyrus.
And then she thinks of the last time she died, when she was almost his height for those few glorious minutes before things began to spiral. She thinks of how she has resigned herself to the fact that not much can be done for the yearning that is curling inside of her whenever she thinks about him, whenever he is near enough to touch.
She wants him, and for the first time, he is not some giant towering over her, impossibly out of reach, even if she can touch him.
Adrestes tugs a little awkwardly on his robe, frowning down at it, that beloved crease forming between his brows. "It's been a long time since I wore this style of robe. I'd forgotten how…"
His voice trails off as Liila leans forward, tracing her fingers along his jaw. He reaches up and catches her hand, turning into it to kiss her palm even as he holds her gaze.
He is here, and this is real, somehow.
He leans his cheek against her hand, still holding her gaze as he watches her, a rare smile towing up the corners of his mouth. "Well, what do you—"
His words cut off as Liila catches his lips with hers, throwing her arms around his neck, fingers in his short hair. That lightning thrums through her as her lips mold to his.
He recovers from his surprise quickly, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her closer so that she sits in his lap.
He lets out a surprised laugh when she rocks herself against him, as though he was not expecting quite the reaction he's getting. From the way his hands wander over her, she assumes he's enjoying it nonetheless.
Her hands wander over him, up his bare arms, pushing the fabric back on his shoulders and slipping inside of his robe to rest against his chest. She's surprised at how quickly he undoes her own robes, pulling them loose. His hands seek skin, and she shrugs out of her robes and then kicks them away, eager to give him all that he wants. A calloused hand rests on her bare lower back, holding her closer to him.
When they break for breath, she gasps, revels in how he rests his forehead against hers.
"I'm sorry."
"What," he begins, one of his hands coming up and gently gripping her hair, just enough that he can tilt her head back and trail kisses down her neck, "could you possibly need to apologize for?"
"You were saying something," her breath hitches as he runs the tip of his nose against her skin, moving back up to kiss her ear. She shivers, whimpers.
"Was I?" He offers her a sly grin as he eases his grip on her hair and holds her gaze. There is a barely contained hunger in his eyes as he watches her. "I can't remember."
His smile spreads as she shifts so that she is straddling his lap. She pushes his robe down from his shoulders, kissing his exposed skin and running her fingers across his toned body. "Something about…something."
"Such specifics," he replies. His hands rest on her waist, just above the hem of her trousers, and they slide slowly up her body. The sensation is like nothing she has felt before. It is more than physical contact, it is that lightning, that thrum, that rightness, setting every nerve he touches ablaze.
When he reaches her breast strap, he pauses, fingers trailing along the back of it as he kisses her. There is a moment's pause before she feels a frown against her lips. He pulls away a little, flustered. Liila gives him a quick, chaste kiss as she reaches back and catches his wrists. She pulls them forward to the ties in the front.
"A bit different from what you're used to?"
His fingers are nimble and quick with the laces. "It all is," he murmurs. His knuckles brush gently against her skin, over her breasts until he can reach up and cup her face. He draws her too him, her bare chest against his as he kisses her ever few words. "No wings, you have a heartbeat…"
She can't help but laugh faintly at that. She slips her arms around his body and then lets her fingers trail up his bare back to his shoulder blades. He shudders. "So how does this work?"
"Hmm?"
"Your wings," Liila says, tilting her head back into his hand as he begins to kiss down her throat again. "Where have they gone?"
"It's…" Adrestes pauses, lips pressed against her collarbone. She can feel his frown again. "I don't quite know how it works."
"But you can get them back."
"Along with about six feet in height," he murmurs. His fingers curl in her hair, holding her head back as his lips trail lower, to more sensitive skin.
"Is there a time limit on this?"
"I would be moving considerably faster if there was."
"And there's no…accidentally breaking this…is it a spell?"
"It's controlled by will," Adrestes says. He settles back, appraising her. "You're not worried, are you?"
"Just wanted to know if there's anything I shouldn't do," Liila says.
"I doubt it," Adrestes replies and then arches his brow. "Just what did you have in mind?"
Liila leans into him again, gently nipping his lip and then lightly presses her nails into the skin on his shoulder blades. He sucks in a sharp breath when she drags them down slowly. Not enough to break the skin, but enough to elicit a moan from him.
He abruptly tugs her closer, his lips crushing against hers as he turns them, lays her on her back. The rock is cool against her skin, just like he is.
He trails kisses down her body, between her breasts and to her stomach.
It is just below her navel when he hesitates.
"I…" He sits up a little, looking up at her. His cheeks are flushed a touch darker than usual. "I won't take more than you're willing to give."
Liila sits up, brushing her fingertips across his temple and into his hair. "How much are you willing to give?"
"Everything."
She kisses him, soft and slow, coaxing his lips to move with hers. When she pulls back, she meets his gaze, hopes he can see the absolute adoration in her that feels like it may make her heart burst. "I'll gladly match you."
He surges against her, pushing her back and pressing his body against hers. She can feel his cock through what little they still have on. She runs her fingers down his chest, over the muscles below and to the edges of his smallclothes. She skirts her nails against the hem before letting them trace over the fabric, to run his length.
With a shaky gasp, he shifts himself enough so that he can reach down and free himself. Liila takes the moment to do the same.
He pauses then, gaze moving slowly over her as he takes in her naked form. His fingers brush over a few scars near her hip. Another rune that was negated with something sharp. Before the thought that he will be appalled by what he sees can fully form, he turns his attention higher, gently kissing her breast.
"You're so beautiful." He speaks so softly, with such reverence.
An echo of his words die on her tongue as, before she can tell him he is the most beautiful creature she's ever seen, his finger slides inside of her. She lets out a gasp and then whimpers as he moves his it slowly, gently. Her breathing hitches with his attentions, and she finds herself moving her hips, rocking them up.
His rests his head against the crook of her neck, as he works her up, adding a second finger as he goes.
Reaching out to him, she catches his chin, lightly pulls him up to kiss her. "Please…Adrestes. Make me yours."
He slides his fingers out of her, moving back over her. "I think you already are, my love."
She can't help but smile at that. "I think you're right."
With a hand, he angles himself and enters her gently. He pauses inside of her, and she cannot help but revel in the feeling of it.
Of him.
He props himself up on one arm and with the other, he reaches out and lightly catches her hand in his, lacing their fingers as he clasps hers. And then he begins to move inside of her, slowly at first, his strokes gentle but firm. She moves with him, rocking her hips up to meet his, wrapping a leg over his hip to pull him closer.
That thrumming of energy between them, ignited at first by so simple a touch, builds with every quickening thrust, every gasp, every moan. It mingles and pools with the heat and pleasure building in her core, and when it finally explodes into brilliant white light behind her eyelids, it is with his name upon her lips.
He finishes just as she is finally coming down, and he slumps against her when he is spent. He lays there, soft inside of her, still holding her hand as their breathing calms.
Liila turns her head to his, still catching her breath, and finds that he is watching her, affection shining in his eyes.
She takes in another breath and then brushes his nose with hers. "Not to ruin the mood, my darling polemarch, but you're a bit heavy."
His eyes widen as he realizes he is laying on top of her still, and he lifts himself up and moves to rest on his side.
And falls onto his back.
He frowns up toward the rocks that jut out above them.
She tries not to laugh as she sits up to peer down at him. "Were you expecting a wing to catch you there?"
Adrestes does not seem quite as amused. "It has been eons since I could just…roll onto my back like this."
"I suppose I'll have to make it worth it, won't I?" Liila moves after him, tucking herself against his side and resting her head on his shoulder.
His arm curls around her. "You already have."
Still, it seems to take him a moment before he lets himself relax, laying on his back as he is.
Her fingers trace abstract patterns across his chest. His skin shines with sweat, a handsome blue against her pale fingers. His free hand rests on his stomach as his other's fingers drum softly against her. He presses a kiss to the crown of her head.
She's not sure how long they lay there, merely enjoying one another's presence. He hums a soft tune, and she is fairly certain there has never been a time in her life as perfect as this one.
If only it could last forever.
The fact that of course it can't hits her rather abruptly, though she fights back against the notion, willing that earlier bliss to return.
"So how is it that you're pocket sized?" Liila asks. When she looks up at him, she can't help but smile at the face he makes.
"Whose pocket do I fit in, exactly?"
"A paragon's, perhaps?" Liila teases. "Maybe the Archon's."
"If I'm pocket size, what does that make you? You're even smaller than I am." He brings his free hand up to catch her chin and kisses her, long and slow. She leans into it, sighing contentedly when he pulls away. She nestles her head against his shoulder again. "The paragons can take on various forms, when they need to, as can the Archon," he says, thumb stroking against her arm absentmindedly. "They can be aspirant or ascended. I heard once that the Archon can take the form of a spirit, too, so that she can check on those who have just arrived. I've never seen her do that, though, so it might just be a rumor."
"You're neither a paragon nor Archon," Liila points out. "Unless things are about to get really confusing."
He laughs at that. It is a rich sound. "Thenios showed me the spell, said I was strong enough that I could do it. Arios knows how to become an aspirant, apparently, as does Eridia. I don't believe they use it often." He squeezes her a little tighter. "Thenios said that, with everything going on, someone should be able to hold the one they love."
"I'll have to thank him," Liila murmurs.
"I don't know if he expected this to happen," Adrestes says, and she peeks up to see he is looking to find where their clothes have gotten to. "I don't think I quite expected this to happen."
"Should I have bought you dinner first?"
Adrestes looks back down at her, completely enamored. He shifts, moving so that he leans over her and she rolls onto her back again. He kisses her, tenderly, like he his memorizing her taste, the feel of her lips against his. "You'll have to do that some other time," he teases, and then considers it. "Or maybe I can drag you with me to the next Ember Court."
Liila blinks, "You've been invited?"
"Not yet, but it's coming, no doubt," Adrestes says, annoyance creeping into his tone and pinching his brow. "Why your fellow maw walkers would even think of me is beyond reason, but…" He pauses when he sees her bite her lip. He stills. "Please tell me this isn't your doing."
She covers her face with her hands as an awkward laugh escapes her. After a second, she parts her fingers and peeks up at him, to see he looks incredibly torn, something between fondness and irritation.
"It was before we'd even really talked, back when I thought you didn't like me."
"So this was vengeance?"
"No!" Liila cries out, sitting up a little. He doesn't lean back, instead letting their noses almost brush. She lets herself fall back. "I just…Lash was asking for people who could go and my mind went to you, like it always does and…" She shrugs a little. "You seemed like a rather good person to represent the realm."
With a groan, he playfully collapses on top of her, though he props himself up just enough that he's not weighing down on her like before. His face presses against her skin. "You wicked woman."
"Maybe you'll like it more next time around?" He lifts his head enough to give her a pointed look, and she can't help but laugh. "Maybe you can keep General Draven company? You could talk about defenses and strategies and things like that."
He leans down then, pressing a chaste kiss between her breasts. "I won't be going anywhere until we are sure the Jailer cannot and his minions will not have a run of Bastion."
Liila reaches up and runs her fingers through his hair, drawing her nails over his scalp. "Maybe we can figure out a way to sneak back into the Maw and take out Kel'thuzad and his notes. Maybe—"
"Maybe others can do that," Adrestes says. He shifts so that he is resting on his side beside her, and tugs her closer to him. When she rolls her eyes, he catches her chin and turns her head so that she is looking directly at him. "You have done enough, Liila Dragonlily." He kisses her nose. "You have saved worlds beyond counting, including your own a dozen times. Give someone else a chance for glory."
"It's not about glory," Liila says, growing serious as she meets his gaze with a serious one. "It's about helping others, keeping the ones I love safe." She pauses, shrugs. "And the fact that I live on Azeroth, too. Where am I to go if she's gone?"
"You're already here."
She can't help but smile at that. "I'll keep that in mind."
"Liila, please," he says, catching one of her hands and holding it tight. "I… I have told you that I don't dislike you, but it is so much more than that. I lo—" he looks at her, a vulnerability in his eyes as he says, "I love you. Let me keep you safe."
Liila's heart skips a beat. She reaches up, cups Adrestes' face in her hands and then kisses him, gently and deliberately. When she pulls away, she nudges his nose with hers. "I love you, too, Adrestes."
His smile is brilliant, and it is with repeated words of love that he takes her again.
"Have you seen her take the form of an aspirant or ascended?" Liila's voice drifts a little, even as she speaks. She is tired. Adrestes has told himself that he will stay with her until she falls back to sleep, and it seems as if she knows that somehow, as if she is clinging to consciousness to draw out their time together. She is tracing abstract patterns against Adrestes' bare chest as she clarifies, "The Archon, I mean."
It is a little awkward to think of the Archon now, when he is lying naked with his lover. He does not want to think of anything but Liila, the feel of her body next to his, that electricity that runs rampant through his veins, the heady feel of just getting to be near her.
After all, he will have to resume his mantle of polemarch soon enough as it is. For now, he wants to savor this moment, this feeling, this sense that he is exactly as he should be, where he should be.
However, he will also not deny her anything, including answers.
No matter what the subject.
"She does not always look the same," he admits, "but I have come across her a few times. It is always awkward. I recognize her essence, but I am not to spoil things for her."
"She doesn't want to be known?"
"She is a god, Liila. If she has taken the guise of a kyrian, it is so that she may move without the weight of who she is bearing down on those around her."
Liila seems to consider it a moment before nodding. Her hair is tousled, spilling around them in wild red tangles.
"Have you ever had to issue orders to your boss?" Liila teases.
Adrestes snorts, despite himself. "I would not phrase it thus," he pauses, "but more or less." He kisses Liila's temple. "The first time, I had trouble with it. How does a meager soul like myself order a god to do anything? She took me aside later, when she had resumed her natural form, to tell me she expects me to treat her as she presents. If she is an aspirant, I am to treat her as I would any aspirant. An ascended as an ascended."
"A spirit as a spirit?"
"The good thing about that is that I do not typically meet with spirits, so I do not need to worry about such things."
"You met with me," Liila says. She pauses. "With Amaeria, that is."
"You're special," he murmurs. He plays with her hair, savorinig in the feeling of it in his fingers.
"A soulmate?"
"A bit more of this and I might have to start believing in such things," Adrestes says. He leans his head closer to hers. "Don't tell Eridia."
Liila's laugh is music to his ears.
He wishes they could stay this way for the rest of eternity, but there is no way that could ever be. Even if he stepped down as polemarch, there would be times when he would have to bear souls. There will be times when she will have to, as well, assuming…
Assuming whatever Thenios and Vesiphone and the Archon are working on can actually be achieved.
Assuming Liila does not succumb to her curse before they can find success.
He did not miss how she avoided his plea for her to let him protect her. Perhaps it was not an intentional avoidance, but…
"The way out of the Maw has been destroyed," he says. "If you go there, you won't be able to get out again."
"You're sure?" When he nods, her gaze lowers. "Retaliation against our jailbreak, I assume?"
"It was," Adrestes says.
Abruptly, Liila jerks upright. "Mitchell went—"
"Mitchell escaped," Adrestes says, sitting up with her and catching her before she can jerk her clothes back on. Her robes are still bunched in one hand as she looks back at him, an obvious question in mind. "Lysonia and the mawsworn were able to send him back through, along with a couple other mortals, to get the word out."
"There's got to be another way out," Liila murmurs. Her eyes move, as though looking over some invisible battle plan or checklist.
Her mind is a whir, and he knows she is no longer just his. That moment has passed. Even the promise that there will be others in the future, other moments when they can curl up together and just be cannot quell the unease inside of him.
Because that promise can't come to pass if Liila will not be careful.
Adrestes catches her hands, holds them. "Liila. It would be suicide to go to the Maw now. You must know this."
She looks back up at him. There is love in her eyes as she meets his gaze. "Don't worry so much. I won't go there until we have a good idea how to get back."
Adrestes wonders if he can hide the word about Korthia from her. It will get out, he doesn't doubt. "The Jailer wants you. And if he gets ahold of you…"
"He won't be satisfied with one death," Liila murmurs. Then she shakes her head. "Like I said, I won't be going back until we have a plan, and by then he'll have—"
"Astronos came through with the mortals. With Mitchell. He says the Jailer is not going to forget you. If he gets ahold of you, he is going to make you pay for your defiance in his realm." A thought strikes Adrestes and he adds, "Anyone who goes with you will become targets to get to you. His ire has turned to vengeance, and that endangers any group you take, any friends you have with you."
That makes Liila pause. She sits there, her hands still clasped in his, seemingly going over the matter in her head. Then she looks up at him, meets his gaze. "Well, I'm actually working on something, so I won't be going back to the Maw anytime soon anyway."
"Oh?"
"My soulbinds and I are going to try to figure out a way to revoke Helya's boon."
She seems ready to launch into an explanation of the whole of it, but Adrestes leans forward and kisses her. Then he catches her gaze and holds it. He sets his jaw, willing himself not to shake her. "And how do you plan to do that without going into the Maw?"
She perks up instantly. "That's actually not that hard! See, back on Azeroth I worked with other priests and mages and a few other classes when need be, and we developed a sort of testing protocol for important spellwork." She frees her hands so that she can count on her fingers. "First, you test dispersal spells and the like on inanimate objects. So any weapons or armor from the mawsworn attack that you haven't disposed of yet. There's plenty of it here, so we won't have to worry about going to the Maw to get it."
Adrestes tries to remember what they're doing with the mawsworn gear.
"Then you move to organic matter. We can taint a few plants with the essence of the Helsworn easily enough, using the maw weapons. Nikolon was injured with one some time ago, and I was able to dispel the residual poisoning effect, so I feel like we'll be able to corrupt a few flowers or trees or something to test out any purification spells." She notes the concern on his features and gives him a reassuring smile. "Don't worry, we'll make sure to do this somewhere where the corruption can't just seep out and go wild."
It is all he can do to keep himself from snapping that this sounds like a terrible plan.
She holds up a third finger, the index finger on her opposite hand pulling it down. "Then there's the small animal testing. I don't like that phase, but we use it to work out any unexpected kinks from simpler organic matter, so that by the time we use the spells on people, any side effects or spell backlashes are well understood and expected." She seems to consider it. "Granted, it will work a little different considering we want to isolate and destroy a boon rather than a poison or affliction. But I feel like if we treat it as an affliction—"
Adrestes pulls her into his lap so that her back is flush against his chest and rests his chin on her shoulder, arms wrapped tightly around her. He closes his eyes and feels the thrum of energy between them, that perfection that makes it hard to know where he ends and she begins. She leans her head against his, her hands resting over his.
Adrestes kisses her cheek. "I think you and Arios will get along very, very well in the future."
"Oh?"
"You talk just like a disciple of Wisdom." He squeezes her a little, willing himself not to beg her to drop her focus on the Maw and maw-beings. "This is the temple to be in for experiments. Thenios has all kinds of protocols, depending on what one is seeking to do. Gather souls more efficiently, hone spells, cultivate plants, experimental alchemical concoctions…"
"Adrestes, stop," Liila whispers in his ear. "I'm already turned on."
He can't help but laugh at that.
She nuzzles his cheek with her nose. However, before he can suggest that she really should lay down and get some sleep—she sighs. "I imagine you have all manner of things waiting on you."
He doesn't respond right away, fighting the feeling that she is trying to get rid of him so that she can happily throw herself down the rabbit hole she's found. "I will talk to Arios," he says, finally. "I'll see if he can't send someone to help you with your…theory crafting."
"That would be fantastic," Liila says, perking up. "I'm going to write to a few others, see if they can't come and help, but in the meantime…"
Adrestes listens to her plans, as patiently as he can. Because he can already tell where this will end. Either she will run out of tools to experiment on or she will succeed and cure Devos and the three mawsworn in Bastion.
Either way, by the end of it, she will need to go back to the Maw. For more resources or to save the mawsworn.
Part of him wants to tell her right now what Thenios has told him, about how her soul is barely clinging to itself and how she must take better care of herself if there's to be any hope for her in the future.
But then she is so excited to talk about the possibilities of freeing the mawsworn.
He has never seen her this enthusiastic before—as Liila or Amaeria—and it so endearing. He cannot bring himself to put a damper on her spirits. Not just yet.
He decides that he will ask Thenios to talk to her, hope that the paragon will be able to explain it in a way that will carry more weight than anything he can hope to say.
When Liila gets to the point that she darts from him to fish some paper out of her bags and start taking notes on something she's thought of, he can't help but watch her, lovingly. She pauses when she sees him watching her, head tilting ever-so-slightly to the side, a questioning look in her eyes.
He gathers his clothes and leans down to kiss her forehead as he tugs his robe on. "I think I'll head over to Loyalty and see if I can't get you some of those weapons."
Her smile is radiant as she stretches up to kiss him. "Thank you."
"I'd do anything for you," he murmurs.
And he means it.
Even as she traces his jaw once more, he realizes that he means that with every fiber of his being.
And that is a dangerous thing.
The aches that are always present inside Liila still feel a bit louder today, but she ignores them as she always does, slipping into the third of Wisdom's libraries that are carved into the cliffs around the center of the temple.
It has been two days since she woke up after her most recent death, and in that time, it has been somewhat of a struggle to get her letters out, seeing as couriers are not at liberty to come and go from the realm as they please.
In the end, it was Carroll who took her requests for her priestly companions to return to the afterlives. She was reluctant to tell him anything, but had finally caved when he was annoying enough, telling him that she wanted to remove Helya's boons. She expected he would argue that it was a stupid waste of time and resources, but he was surprisingly on board with the idea.
"If we can weaken her mawsworn, that would cripple the Jailer's forces."
That is true enough.
The more she thinks about it, the more benefits she can see to getting rid of Helya's blessing. It may free some minds, may save some souls, and it will definitely make traversing the Maw a little easier.
Even if she's not supposed to go.
Adrestes is adamant that she never return to the Jailer's domain, and while she appreciates his concern, she can't really reconcile the idea of leaving it to others. After all, even if it was just people she didn't know taking up the reins and the dive, they have loved ones too. It's not fair to expect others to risk what she won't.
She supposes she can wait for now. After all, her aches are more prominent, and she has heard that she's incurred the Jailer's wrath.
And her sleep is already starting to get worse, again, but she wants to hold off on heading to the Temple of Purity, at least until they've made some decent headway on gathering the resources they will need for their new spells. It doesn't help that when Nibbles gave her a ride back to Wisdom, he was almost caught and she is concerned that, with all the heightened security, maybe he will not be as good at dodging guards as he usually is.
Banishing a few bad dreams is not worth harm to her friend.
She has not slept well since her death. Her dreams have been a barrage of memories, and fears that twist from them. Some of the images she sees from Maldraxxus are not her own. When she wakes, she can feel Thales' concern, bold and strong and unwavering until she closes her eyes and focuses on sending him assurances that all is well. She has dared to feel for Kleia and Pelagos as well, and found that they are there, a feather's brush against her mind. If they notice any change in her, in how she is treating their bond, she cannot feel it.
Liila has decided the next time to sees either of them, she will ask. It will most likely be Pelagos, as Kleia is still at Loyalty, though Pelagos did manage to send a note to her, and Liila knows that Adrestes has talked with her as well.
Just thinking of Adrestes makes her heart flutter.
She wishes Haa'aji were here so that she could talk to him about it.
Haa'aji has never liked her choices in men, but she thinks he'd come around to Adrestes. Especially since Adrestes isn't a warlock trying to drag her down into the void with him. Maybe they could talk about him and Zen'taki, too.
She snuck a letter to Haa'aji into her bundle that Carroll took, earlier, though she's not sure how likely it will be that she'll receive something back any time soon, when the realm is locked down as it is.
The lockdown makes the days drag out, impossibly long. It's only been two, and yet she misses Hero's Rest so completely, misses taking a couple hours out of her day to wander the fields and gather herbs.
Hopefully, soon things will change.
Granted, it doesn't seem like that can happen until something bad comes first.
Another attack by the Jailer.
If he doesn't get what he wants, will he keep assaulting the realm?
More and more, it seems clear that if they want to stop the Jailer, they are going to need to take the fight to him.
To the Maw.
Roberts says that, considering what Sire Denathrius did to Shawn and a few other death knights, he doubts the death knights or Liila will be able to be present for any raid against the Jailer himself.
She feels a little guilty about that, but she doesn't think she minds skipping out on that fight. The one time she met the Jailer was terrifying enough. It was not only that he had towered over all of them as they had attempted to escape his realm. It was not only the forces that he commanded, poised and ready to crash down upon them like a tidal wave, with her knowing that in the end, she would be the only one left standing after falling herself.
It was the corruption within him that beckoned and threatened all else, how it felt like all the sorrow, all the rage, all the cruelty of the realm was drawn toward him, like smoke toward an open window. He was the culmination of the damned, of the broken, of the lost, and he had stared right at her as she stood beside King Wrynn, trying desperately to activate the waystone before that point of wicked singularity could draw them in.
He is as terrifying as N'zoth was. Perhaps more so.
And Liila barely survived fighting N'zoth, and she was certainly not unscathed. Not even over a year after the creature's death. The old god's grip may have been loosened on her, but it has only served to let her really see the creature she is up against now.
It still leaves her uneasy that the Jailer let her leave his realm back then. She still feels like there was some…trick to it. Something that has yet to manifest.
The Archon said it was to allow for confusion for when the mawsworn found a way out of the realm, and yet there was no confusion when that happened. Those creatures had carried the Maw's corruption in a way that no living mortal could, even if the more recent mortals to escape the Maw have seemed closer to that awful corruption.
If his plan was to make the other realms pause when they saw Mawsworn, that has failed.
And the Jailer…he has yet to fail, so far as Liila can see.
Perhaps it is arrogant to think she was so important a pawn in the beginning, but then… the Runecarver said that if the Jailer is using her as a pawn, then it is because she is interchangeable. It is because any mortal could have escaped the Maw and set things in motion.
Whatever those things might be.
Again, she feels both relief and guilt that she will likely be sitting out the fight against the Jailer.
It is a selfish thing, really, and one selfish act reminds her of another and she finds herself musing over that…'memory' of Amaeria's again. That feeling that she had already messed things up by being selfish, that it would be too much give in to her wants and reach out to Adrestes.
It is…odd.
Amaeria has always felt like such a foreign creature to Liila. The scarce records of her had been unfamiliar and impersonal, and with the way those few who knew her talk, Liila had rather assumed she was nothing like the creature she had been.
A shadow, an imposter, a husk.
All words hurled at her at one point or another.
All words that have stuck because they make something inside of her twist, make something whisper that their speakers are right.
To think Amaeria suffered guilt over selfish thoughts or decisions or…whatever had happened… To think she had worried she didn't deserve Adrestes…
It almost makes Liila want to know her.
But that would be impossible anyway. Those memories are gone.
Well, most of them are.
A small part of her wonders if perhaps she shouldn't go to Olympic Village and just take the time to walk its paths, look around and see what comes back. To see if maybe Amaeria is there, waiting, and if maybe she is not so other that remembering her will banish what Liila is now.
Liila wonders what she will uncover if she does that.
Most of the memories that have had any substance to them have been little more than guilt.
Guilt that she could talk of puddles when people were dying. Guilt that she could want Adrestes when there was so much…wrong that she could not fix.
She does not feel the same pull of that guilt once the memories have passed, but there is another type that pricks at her mind, a guilt that hounds her present whenever she lets herself get too wrapped up in the idea of spending more and more time with her beloved polemarch.
Her soul is unraveling, falling apart a little at a time. The likelihood that she will ever truly make it to an afterlife is such a tiny sliver. And considering all that she has done since her judgment, all that she has lived through… even if she could somehow come here, it does not feel like she would be slated for this place again. It makes her think that perhaps…
Getting to kiss him and hold him now is one thing. She will be able to treasure their moments together for the rest of her life, but in the end, she will be the one leaving him behind.
The fact that he can forget her, like he did last time, sits like an unsteady boulder in her mind. It will be good for him, she thinks, though the idea of being forgotten hurts. She tells herself he will not do that until she is gone, and she will not be there to be sad about it, but…
Does it cause any real damage when there can be a reset in the future? To curl up with him now, to get lost in his voice, in his touch. To know that this peace and pleasant thrum of energy when they touch will be so short-lived for him, but to embrace it anyway?
Perhaps it is cruel. Just because he can forget doesn't mean he will. And it will take time to forget. He will suffer the loss before that.
She could leave now, before things go too far…
Granted, she's not really sure how much further things could actually go at this point.
But if she went to another covenant, put distance between them, perhaps by the time her existence is snuffed out, it will not hurt him so.
She already knows she won't do that, though. She doesn't want to send herself away. She doesn't want to leave behind Pelagos and Kleia and Thales and all the other friendly faces she is growing to care so much for.
But a part of her whispers that it is unfair to any of them that she lingers as she does.
Almost as soon as she thinks that, she feels what could almost be a slap from Thales. He may be on the other side of the realm, but he is still there, with her, and he is indignant.
Very abruptly, memories draw up.
Her memories.
For a moment, she is back sitting behind the glass counter of her alchemy shop in Orgrimmar, Whisper's Vials, so named because Whisper was the one to sign the contract, even if Liila and others were just as involved in running it and making its products.
She leans against the counter beside Sham, who is telling her that she worries over Lash, her nephew. He is their youngest member of the guild, their baby, so to speak, even if he is a grown orc at this point. Sham loves him like a son, and has never had any children herself.
Kha'rhi, another of the guild's shaman, sits across from them as they talk, with Whisper casually wandering the shop and checking that all of their stock is in place, calling out her opinions occasionally.
There is pain that comes with the memory now. Khai'rhi left the guild when she became pregnant with her first child, not wanting to put her baby's life at risk against the Lich King and whatever dangers might surface later down the road. Whisper is still trapped in the maw. And Sham…
Sham is somewhere out here, in an afterlife that Liila cannot reach.
Hopefully, she is safe.
As much as it hurts, those severed connections, Liila is glad to have known them. It hurts her heart to think that she will not see Sham again—may not see Whisper again—but she still loves them, and they are still such an important part of her.
And then, she thinks of Timmons Burlaste. He is not dead, but he has done as she muses doing now. He left. He left and it is not any easier to deal with his absence than it is any of those who have fallen in battle. In a way, it is like he is dead because he is just as gone as her guild leaders.
If it will hurt no matter what, whether she is alive and gone or dead and gone, perhaps she should just wait and enjoy the time she has…
Thales seems content.
It is both reassuring and a little disconcerting to have him there, in the back of her mind, so readily. She has been told, time and again, that mostly emotions are only really felt if they are particularly strong, and it makes her wonder if Kleia and Pelagos have been quietly trying not to focus on these same thoughts, these same worries that she carries. She wonders how much stress it causes them.
And she realizes rather abruptly that this complicates another aspect of her life.
Ever since her initial talk with Arios all those years ago, about how her soul is falling apart at the seams and there was nothing the spirit healers could do to help, she has had a plan. It is one she has not told to anyone, because she doubts it will be well-received.
Liila decided, after that fateful meeting, that she would wait until her friends were dead, until time had brought them all to whatever comes after their mortal lives, and then, when she is the only one left, she will remove her curse herself and see if she can't beat the odds and follow after them.
Most likely, removing the curse will unmake her, but there is a chance…and she decided that when there is no one left to mourn her, she will take it.
Because she does know how to remove the curse. It is just that the backlash is not something she will survive, body or soul.
It is such a simple plan, one that had made her content to stop desperately going to group after group after group, never finding an answer that could help.
Now, however, things are bit more complicated.
The dead don't die—or at least they're not supposed to. Pelagos and Kleia and Thales will live forever. Adrestes will live forever.
She cannot wait for them to pass on, cannot wait for a point in time where they will not be there to suffer the fallout if her curse does what it likely will.
Now, no matter what, there will be someone to mourn her if the odds play against her, as they are stacked to do.
If Adrestes' words to her while she was coming back to life are any indication, he will fight against all the odds to find a way, even if she's one of them.
Maybe there is a way to be found. Maybe Arios was wrong about her curse.
It's a bit aggravating to think that he withheld information, like how ingratiating herself to the leader of the spirit healers or something equally powerful might be able to help, but…
But if there is another way, no one has mentioned it to her, and they have to know what Arios told her. They have to know that she has no hope for real freedom from these aches and pains.
From her disintegrating soul.
And she's seen the looks that Arios and a few others have given her in the recent few days. Pity, fear, sorrow.
Like they think her time is running out.
Like they know it.
It is odd to even consider.
She had imagined she would be the last one of her friends to go, and now it is looking like that is not how it will play out. She has rather expected those growing aches to be with her forever, not realizing that perhaps they were signs that she is finally reaching a breaking point.
An true end.
She's been told before that one cannot plan for death, and it seems more and more like death goes out of its way to ruin plans.
She wonders who she should blame for that. The Jailer, perhaps? Or just the nature of the beast?
Whoever may be at fault, there is no time to point fingers.
And there is no point in fretting over it.
Hard as it is to push aside the worries and fears that are growing in her, she has decided that she is going to undo Helya's blessings, and she tries to focus on that instead. It feels like she is stepping back in time, having to focus on simpler tasks rather than the behemoth looming over her.
If she just takes it one step at a time, doesn't look at the bigger picture, at the end of the road, she will be alright.
Surely dispersing a God's blessing cannot be so different from dispersing the curses and magic that she has already dealt with. She was able to dismantle the magic on Nikolon when they first met. And she has known how to dispel helpful boons on enemies before, so long as they are not too complicated.
Perhaps, if she combines some spells…
Or if she can find something here in the Eonian Archives that might point her in the right direction.
It would help if she had a better idea of what she was looking for.
She is not a hundred percent sure what she would even need to study in order to get her spells up to par to dispel a god's boon, but that has never stopped her before.
She peers up at the massive wall of shelves and then glances around. No one else is in this library with her.
She looks back up at the bookshelves and then conjures a spell to give herself temporary wings. She has done this before with shadows—before coming to the Shadowlands—and has even flown briefly with them once or twice, but this time she uses light as her base, not wanting to worry anyone nearby who might sense her shadow magic and assume the worst. There is already too much to worry about without feeling an echo of the void returned to Bastion.
She flies up a few feet, though it is a little awkward, and then starts to scan the titles of the scrolls and books quickly.
Unlike her spirit of redemption, this spell lasts its usual length, and her wings fade after a dozen seconds. She falls back to the ground and frowns.
It would figure. She can't help but feel that she is finally in the right place, and yet, she cannot reach it due to physical limitations.
With a sigh, Liila reaches up and starts to climb the bookshelf.
"Why not call back your wings?"
She blinks and turns to find an ascended has come up behind her and is watching her, head tilted slightly to the side as a small smile plays on her lips. There is no hint of displeasure that she would make her own wings, but Liila still feels a bit embarrassed to have been caught.
"Takes a bit before I can do that again," Liila replies.
The ascended wears her amusement openly. With a wave of her hand, a pair of those training wings they use to help aspirants practice flying sprout from Liila's back. Liila falls back to the ground—glides, really—and then hops into the air, her wings catching and keeping her aloft.
She moves a little clumsily back to the bookshelf. "Thank you."
"Of course," the ascended says, smiling. She flits closer herself, inspecting the titles on the shelves and then looks down at Liila. "Thenios sent me to see if I can assist, but I'm afraid I'm still a little vague on the details. What are you looking for?"
"I…am still figuring that out," Liila admits. "Anything to do with magic dispersals and removals."
The ascended tilts her head again. She's familiar, and it takes Liila a second to place her.
During the fighting at Loyalty, she saw this ascended a few times, mending those around her. Liila is fairly certain that they threw heals on each other at one point or another.
Things were rather crazy, though.
"Are you looking into your curse?" When Liila is surprised, the ascended looks at her, "Everyone knows of it."
"Right." Liila shakes her head. "No. I…"
She's not sure how well her interest in saving the mawsworn will be received, but she decides to take a gamble. After all, all of her soulbinds are on board. And Adrestes seems willing to help, too. "I want to revoke the hold that Helya has on the ascended taken to the Maw."
"The Helsworn," the ascended murmurs.
"Yes," Liila says. "Mawsworn, too. I want to take away her blessings, to take away her hold over them."
"You want to save them."
It is more of a statement than a question, and Liila can't help but notice the way the ascended seems to appraise her carefully.
"I…" Liila shrugs, looks back at the scrolls and falls back on what Carroll said. "If nothing else, it can hurt Helya, weaken the Jailer's forces. If we could take out his aerial minions, then his forces would be ground-bound, and it would make any invasion of Bastion nigh impossible."
The ascended seems ready to argue the point that Liila wants to save them, that these other bits are just…happy coincidences that would align with her goals.
And it's the truth, really.
Instead, she asks, "Do you think there's anything left of them to free?"
"Well," Liila says, drawing out the word a little. She doesn't want to give this stranger a rundown of her traumas and why she feels it could be possible. "I won't know until I try. In the very least, perhaps I can help Astronos and his lot…" She pauses when the ascended's brow arches. "We wouldn't have been able to save the forsworn in the Maw if not for them. We wouldn't have made it out of the Maw at all if not for them."
"They are still the good people they were, down at their core," the ascended says in a hushed tone, as though they are considering it, debating it. Then, she turns to the shelves and begins to scan them herself. "I do not know if what you seek to do is possible, but I would be happy to help point you in the right direction."
"Thank you."
The Temple of Loyalty is nothing like it once was.
Eons ago, Adrestes had served this place happily, assisting aspirants as they grappled with the last tenet, the last rite to pass before they could go to that final trial and gain their wings. It had been his loyalty to the kyrian, to the Archon, and his willingness to always do more that had led him to the role of polemarch, but nevertheless he had always loved coming back here when he could.
Until the last few centuries when Devos had needed him less and less, had suggested when he did come by that he was likely required elsewhere.
Perhaps if he had pushed back against the paragon then, if he had kept his routes coming to Loyalty regularly, then the temple would not be in the state it is in now.
Xandria is serving as the authority here in the interim, with her temple empty and abandoned.
Despite her efforts during the assault on Loyalty, the forsworn watch her with guarded expressions, and she has told him once that it is like talking to broken vespers. Any noise they make has nothing to do with the conversation she is trying to have.
The damage that Devos has done to their trust is unfathomable.
The forsworn have been indoctrinated.
They know that the other paragons serve the Archon, and they believe, unwaveringly, that the Archon is against them.
Adrestes wants to shake them, to just start at one end of the temple and go through the whole damned thing. To shake each and every one of them until they realize that they have been misled. Until they see that their mistrust is misplaced, that there is a way forward, but they must be willing to reach out, to meet the ascended halfway. That even that is a gracious bargain considering all the damage they have done.
But any actions made out of impatience will do nothing more than grow the rift between the two factions.
It is such a pain.
Adrestes flits over the main commons of the temple, scanning his surroundings for Xandria. No doubt he'll find her the same as the last three times he's been here. Arguing with Uther or another of the few high ranking forsworn who have not been taken into custody—or just trying to reason with them as they stand there, arms crossed and expression one of utter displeasure.
Even as he sees her, high overhead, with a few others assisting her in setting a bell in place, a familiar voice calls out to him.
"Adrestes!"
He stops and turns as Nebi flies up to meet him. She hovers before him, her dark wings flapping almost in time with his, the space between them just enough that their feathers miss one another by a hair's breadth. There are two other forsworn with her, though they hang back, watching Adrestes as though they fully expect him to draw his mace and strike them out of the air.
"Nebi," he replies, nodding for her to speak.
"Perhaps you can help?" She asks and then motions for him to come down and land.
He casts a quick glance up to see that Xandria is still holding the one bell, and pointing at a few other empty spaces overhead, no doubt trying to figure out where all the fallen vespers in the temple once went.
He still remembers how they were when he was a disciple here, and feels like he could probably draw her a map.
Regardless, Xandria is busy, and so he allows Nebi to lead him down to another part of the temple. It is an area that was always used for meditation, though it has been taken over by fractured tables and unfurled scrolls that practically litter the air.
"This is what I've been working on," Nebi begins, and he recognizes a few of the scrolls from when she recruited him to give information to Thenios. She goes over the basics of it, the different places that souls are being dropped off instead of the Maw. Adrestes scans the information, watches as the scrolls update with new names every couple minutes, showing where souls are being sent to stay while they await judgment.
Then, she turns to a few other scrolls. They are static, unchanging.
"These are the ones Thenios gave me," she says, speaking tentatively. "They're not…"
"Working," says another forsworn. Achillon. He has his arms crossed, a heavy frown in place. "We want to work with the ascended, but we can't very well do that if you won't work with us."
"Achillon," Nebi says, her tone warning. She looks back at Adrestes. "I have a feeling his scrolls are set so that those designated as threats to the realm cannot view them properly. Or just those without the proper clearance."
Adrestes nods slowly. Since the Void's attack, eons ago, they have enchanted their missives with different spells to keep enemies from getting real-time updates, if they acquired the proper scrolls or missives.
"Do you think we could be granted access?" Nebi asks. "He has access to our scrolls."
"Why don't you just move this to Wisdom?" Adrestes asks.
The looks he gets from every forsworn present tell him exactly why.
They don't trust that, if they leave this temple, they will be safe.
It's a bit ironic, considering they are the ones who have been lashing out at the rest of the realm, and yet…
Nebi did not attack the realm. Achillon did not. Adrestes cannot speak to the rest of the ones present, but he has a feeling that they are suffering the repercussions of their allies' actions rather than their own.
Adrestes looks over the station they have set up. "Is it all of the scrolls he sent?" When Nebi nods, he frowns. "I might be able to get Arios to come by and see if he can fix them," He pauses when he notes a few bristled feathers. "I would help you myself, but I don't really have much of a knack for this."
"Let me try something." Nebi takes one of his hands and lightly presses it against the scroll. For a second, there is a whir of letters that shift quickly, adding to the scroll and catching it up with where it should be. However, the second he his skin breaks contact with the scroll, it goes still.
Adrestes frown deepens.
"How often do these update, typically?" As he asks, he touches the next scroll, watches as the information updates with frightening speed.
They all motion to their own records, the ones that are in constant change.
Adrestes takes in a slow breath as he reaches out and presses his fingertips against two other scrolls, using both hands. "I'll do what I can now, and then see if Arios or someone can come."
"We appreciate you," Nebi says, a simple smile in place.
Adrestes glances around. There are other ascended here. "Perhaps you could get someone to work with you?"
"We tried with one or two who were willing to help," Nebi says, mouth a thin line. "But it seems you need to be a certain…rank. And they did not possess it."
Adrestes updates the last scroll, then pauses and taps the first one. There are at least ten additions to it already.
"We can't get a good idea of where to take souls if we don't know where others are being taken," Nebi says. She is appraising her own scrolls at the moment, making notes on yet another.
When he looks at her now, she does not look as…dull as the forsworn he has interacted with in the past have. Her skin is still gray, but he can swear there is a touch of blue to it, and her hair…the part that would be an almost glowing white, were it in its natural state, is lighter than the rest now, with little points in it that almost look like stars. He wonders if she was like this the last time he saw her, and he just didn't realize it, or if something is changing.
The others with her are similar. There are cool undertones to their grays and blacks. There are stars in their hair.
He wonders if he could ask about that, or if it will just make them wary.
"Thank you, Adrestes," Nebi says.
When he looks back at her, she is smiling at him, and for a second, it is like he is looking at her eons ago, when they were still aspirants, the way she would smile at him every time she wrangled him into helping her with some odd thing that had gone wrong. Like losing her scroll in the fields to a vulpin.
He reaches out and lightly tousles her hair. "I'll do what I can."
"You always do," she says, her smile even brighter than before.
When he looks around at the others, he sees that they are watching him as though he has grown a second head, completely mystified.
He gives them his usual frown.
As he turns to go, however, he thinks of something and pauses, looking back at Nebi. "You wouldn't happen to know what's been done with the mawsworn armaments, would you?"
"We haven't taken them!" one of the forsworn snaps, bristling.
Adrestes looks back at them, nonplussed. "Liila—The Maw Walker wants them."
At that, Achillon perks up. "Is this about freeing the mawsworn?"
Adrestes turns to appraise him, carefully. "You've already heard about that?"
"Kleia came by earlier, asking us about where we keep scrolls for combatting magic and the like," Nebi explains. "She seemed very enthusiastic about it."
Adrestes nods. "Apparently, there is a…system in place for developing such spells. It starts with inanimate objects."
"Does Helya actually bless the weapons, though?" Nebi asks.
Adrestes holds up his hands. "I would not know. I'd tell you to talk to the Maw Walker, but you'd have to go to Wisdom for that, too," he says, voice dry.
Nebi rolls her eyes slowly toward him, giving him a pointed look.
He gives her the same look back, even though he knows she can't see him behind his hood.
Abruptly, Nebi looks at Achillon. "See, he's not so scary."
The other forsworn shuffle a little, and he can't help but wonder what she has been telling them. She knows plenty of embarrassing stories, if she wants to share.
"So no ideas about the armaments, then?" Adrestes asks, ignoring her comment.
"You'd have to talk to Xandria," one of the other forsworn says.
Nebi offers him another smile. "Here's hoping she hasn't just tossed them back into the Maw, already."
Adrestes lets out a low groan. He pauses, looks back at her. "I imagine it will be an hour or so before I can get back to Wisdom, but I will see about getting your scrolls fixed." Nebi and the others nod to him. "Is there anything else you need to help your operation run smoothly?"
Liila walks through Loyalty's gates, glancing around as she goes. The good thing about Wisdom and Loyalty is that their grounds meet, and so despite not being able to take the gateway for just anything, Liila can walk from one temple to the other.
A few stewards watch her cautiously from a spot they have been cleaning near the entrance, where it looks like a pillar used to go before something knocked it down. There are cracks running across the ground to support that theory. The stewards seem a little unsure of her, but when she waves to them, they both wave back. She hopes that means they won't mind her asking a few questions.
She trots over to them and stops in front of them, giving each of them a nod. "Do you know where I might find Kleia? She's been helping out here the last few days. She's ascended, not forsworn." Liila pauses and then when neither respond, flexes her own arms, as though that will do anything other than look pathetic. "She's very strong, ponytail, on the smaller stature, even if she does have nice muscles—"
"I know!" One of the stewards says, chirping happily as they perk up. "She very nice! She help lift heavy things!"
Liila nods. "That sounds like her."
"Where find…" The steward says, pausing, talons tapping on the side of their beak.
"Lots of pillars down near western commons. Maybe she there?" the other offers.
The first nods, and they both look back at Liila at the same time, eyes round and full of hope that they have helped.
Liila nods back and then looks toward the temple grounds. "So…If I just go this way…?"
"We take you!" The second one chirps and the first nods.
They start a quick, but manageable pace further into the temple grounds.
There is a tension in the temple that is palpable. Ascended and forsworn alike are working on repairing the damage to the temple grounds, but even so, they are not…mingling. It is as though neither side quite trusts that they can go to the other for help, and the two instances that Liila sees an ascended or forsworn go over to help another end quickly, with both sides awkwardly putting distance between themselves as fast as possible.
"How's the restoration going?" Liila asks.
"Slow," one of the stewards says. "We want use anima stores, but paragon says no. They for other things."
The other steward lets out a low, soft whistle and clicks of their beak.
"You know, that's what's happening in Courage and Purity, too," Liila offers. Both stewards look back at her. "Well, really it's just Purity. There are no repairs going on in Courage right now."
"No one there?" the first steward asks.
Liila shakes her head. "They all had to go other places."
"So sad," the second steward says, shivering. Its feathers fluff up a moment. "Courage stewards must miss home."
Liila nods. "But I just mean, it's not just because you're Loyalty. The whole realm's suffering from the drought."
"Drought caused by Denathrius," says the second steward. Liila nods. "Denathrius cause drought for Jailer." Another nod. "But Jailer talk to Devos." Another nod. "Devos good."
Liila twists her lips to one side, considering it. "I think, maybe the Jailer tricked her?" Liila offers.
Both stewards eye her, suspicious.
Liila shrugs. "There was a god in Azeroth, several really, who would pretend to be good and kind. And they would get really good people to listen to them." The stewards are watching her, their suspicion slipping just a little. The first's wariness is already shifting to curiosity. "Well, they would start off with good things, good ideas. To help. And the good people would listen to those good ideas, and they knew they were good, so you know, it made sense. But then the gods started to shift to ideas that the good people were a little uncomfortable with. Just a little." Liila holds up her fingers, thumb and index finger almost touching. "Just enough that, with a little persuasion, the good person could see that the idea wasn't…that bad."
The second steward chirps. "Then it get a little worse next time and next?"
Liila nods. "Until those gods had good, honest people doing absolutely awful things."
"Like sending people to the Maw," the first steward says.
"Exactly," Liila nods. She tries to see things from their view, to see the Devos that must have been, once upon a time, before the Jailer got ahold of her. Before she fell from grace. She tries to believe what she says next, too. "I don't doubt that Devos started this path with every intention to do right. She saw some issues that weren't working and wanted to fix them."
"But Jailer gave wrong idea how to fix," the first steward says. The second nods. "Devos realize this and come home soon?"
Liila winces. "I…" Liila thinks back to seeing Devos in the Maw. To how she saved Blood—and Liila and her group, much later. "I think she has realized this wasn't the way to fix things."
"She come back again?"
"I am not the one to ask about that." Even as she starts to explain she's little more than a minion, one of the steward's brow furrows and they point at her.
"Why not? You Hand of Archon, yes?"
"I'm what?" Liila asks.
"That's what everyone calls you these days," comes a voice just behind her.
Turning, Liila finds Achillon has joined them.
She quirks her brow. "I thought Adrestes was the Hand of the Archon."
"The polemarch is the Voice of the Archon," Achillon corrects. The stewards nod.
"Oh, well, that makes sense, I suppose."
"So it would make sense that his soulmate would be her Hand."
"You know, I feel like you're fishing for something, sir," Liila says, making a point to inspect their surroundings instead of looking at him.
"Just making small talk."
"I see."
Silence falls over the four of them for a while as they walk through the temple, with the stewards taking turns running ahead to make sure certain wards are deactivated.
Achillon motions to one as they pass it. "It disorients anyone who shouldn't be in the temple, if they get too close. Xandria's had most of them deactivated, but one caught two ascended by surprise this morning."
"Is that why things are so tense now?" Liila asks.
"Things are tense because we are a failed rebellion, and we do not know our fate."
Liila nods. "I imagine that would make friendly banter a bit difficult."
Achillon lets out a low hum of agreement. As the silence threatens to settle back over them, he speaks. "I hear you are looking to save the Mawsworn? Or is that as farfetched as you being the Archon's Hand?"
Liila glances up at him. "You know, for a realm on lockdown, word spreads pretty fast around here."
She expects that he will say more about the mawsworn or forsworn. Instead, he turns his gaze ahead, as they walk. "Would you invite Pallessa to assist in your endeavors? She's a brilliant caster. She is staying at Wisdom right now." He glances down at Liila, notes her inquisitive look. "She is struggling, and I think having a project would really help. She always does better when she has something to focus on."
Liila tries to remember Pallessa, and when she thinks back far enough, she remembers Achillon, before he fell, helping them gather materials and the like to do the final rite to get their wings. He had been there, with Kleia and Clora and Sophone and others…
Liila remembers a pretty aspirant, mostly quiet, who stood close to Achillon, holding his hand at one point. "She's a friend?"
"A soulbind and a soulmate," Achillon says, voice soft. "I can't fix the hurt I've caused her, but…"
"Won't she know you sent me?"
"I don't think so," Achillon says quietly. "She ignores me now. Ignores our bond."
There is pain in his voice as he speaks. His gaze is downcast.
Perhaps it shouldn't, but it reminds Liila of how she has spent much of her time ignoring Pelagos' and Kleia's ties to her.
Of how, when she found Pelagos earlier and asked him if he minded if she paid more attention, he had perked up, his smile radiant.
She hadn't thought she was doing anything more than respecting their privacy, and yet, these bonds are so deep, so…intimate. It is a cruelty to pretend they are not there, to attempt to reap the benefits of such a bond without accepting the rest of it.
She wonders if she should tell the other mortals about this, about how deeply ignoring the bond seems to affect the person on the other end.
She has to admit, she's felt an odd ease in herself, now that Pelagos does not seem to be withholding himself from their bond, either.
It's like denying a part of one's soul.
"I'll talk to her," Liila says. "I don't know if she'll want to join me." She pauses, appraises him. "Maybe we'll go get drunk instead, shit talk you."
Achillon lets out a dry laugh, looking down at her. "If it makes her feel better, I welcome it." He pauses and then adds, "Pallessa has never had a very strong tolerance for spirits, so please be careful with her."
"You're a bit of an ass, aren't you?" Liila says, glancing up at him. When he gives her a puzzled look, she motions over her should. "I literally just walked here from Wisdom. You could go the other way."
"I have," Achillon says, voice dropping. "She… she was sitting by the water, alone. I…don't think she wants me to come to her."
"I'll see if she's interested. No promises."
"I cannot ask for more." He pauses, and then appraises her. "The polemarch came by not too long ago. Said you were looking for Maw gear?"
"Among other things." Liila abruptly eyes him. She reaches into her pocket and pulls out a list of almost a dozen texts. "I don't suppose you know where any of these are, do you? I wanted to find Kleia to help, but the more of us looking for these, the faster we can get into this."
Achillon kneels beside her, gaze scanning the titles. "Where did you get this?"
"Disciple Tia, over in Wisdom," Liila says, motioning vaguely with her free hand. "She, Pelagos, and Nikolon are searching Wisdom. I thought I'd come give Kleia the specifics we're looking for and then see if I can get to the other temples."
"Nikolon's alright?" Achillon asks, perking up.
"They didn't tell you?" Liila asks. "He's fine. We were able to help others get out of the Maw, too. They're at Purity."
Achillon seems genuinely surprised. "Xandria said that he was fine, but it seemed too…neat. To say that all the forsworn from the Maw were home…"
"I don't know if it was all the forsworn in the Maw, they were sometimes taken to another hold, I think," Liila says, "but we were able to help the ones where Nikolon was. With the help of Astronos and Devos."
Achillon nods, mostly to himself. "It's good to know they're not just lying to placate us."
Liila shakes her head. "No. The Maw forsworn are in Purity, the Courage are in Humi—" She stops and looks at him. "Why aren't you in Humility?"
"Our meeting with the Archon was cut short. We went to Courage to help get the others moving, and then I felt the incursions into the realm begin and I…I knew Pallessa was in Wisdom, so I wanted to make sure she would be safe."
"You went to Wisdom instead of Courage?"
"They would've have speared me the second I showed up," Achillon says. "I flew."
"Brave soul," Liila says, softly.
He merely frowns.
Even as Liila considers if she knows him well enough to tease him, one of the stewards tugs on her hand. She looks at them, head tilting.
"What you say earlier… You not use gateways?" one of the stewards asks.
Liila shakes her head. "They don't want people using them unless it's to transport resources or for emergencies."
"It not just us?" the other steward asks, feathers fluffing a little. There is a genuine hope in their eyes, like they are just starting to consider maybe their circumstances are not quite as dire as they thought.
"It's the whole realm," Liila says. "Hero's Rest is closed completely. Courage is empty. The other temples and the Spires are waiting to see who gets attacked next."
"It not just us," the steward repeats. There is awe in their voice.
"I'm not saying you won't be under house arrest after things calm down," Liila says, slowly, "but no, it's not just you."
There is a shift in the stewards then. They chirp and talk more as they lead the way through the temple grounds, and even Achillon seems to be in a better mood. He asks after Nikolon, about more specifics of what Liila plans to do. He asks if she intends to save Devos.
"That depends on if anyone will let me close enough to try," Liila says.
"Does the polemarch stand with you?" Achillon asks.
"He did come by to get me resources, didn't he?"
Achillon nods. "He's a good sort."
"The best," Liila replies, unable to stop her smile.
Before Achillon can say anything else, one of the stewards perks up. "I find!"
"Kleia! Kleia!" the other yells, running forward a few steps and then stopping as Kleia descends in front of them.
Kleia looks most curious, offering Liila a smile as she surveys their little group. "I heard you were here, so I thought I'd come meet you."
It doesn't take much to catch Kleia up on Liila's plans and how things are going. As soon as she's done, Kleia hesitates. "You…are you going by Purity then?"
"If I can get there," Liila says.
Kleia considers it. "Perhaps after I'm done here, I could…"
"We can search for you here," Achillon says. "Show me the list again?"
The stewards perk up. One darts off, saying, "I get paper!"
Liila watches the steward dart over to the nearest building and then looks at Kleia. "You look tired."
"So do you."
"Fair enough."
As Kleia explains some of the repairs being made around the temple, and Achillon and the steward chime in, another forsworn lands near them, just as the second steward comes back.
As the second steward takes Liila's list and begins making a copy of her list, the forsworn gives Liila a once-over. "You are the Maw Walker?" When Liila nods, he gives her a slight bow that reminds her more of what a human might do than what a kyrian would. "I am Uther Lightbringer. Blythe here told me you can confirm that there are forsworn in Purity?"
"I can."
"And you are going there?"
"That is the plan."
"Would you mind getting their names? So many were taken to the Maw; it would be good to know who has made it back. Less people to mourn."
Liila considers pointing out that the forsworn have been leaving plenty of people to be mourned, but she can't quite bring herself to be that mean. Instead she nods. "I can tell you off the top of my head that Nikolon and a Watcher Nebi were two of them." She rattles off three more names she heard in passing.
Achillon straightens up. "Nebi was in the Maw?" He looks embarrassed as he adds, "I've been working with her since the attack on the temple."
"Bastion is currently a glorious clusterfuck, isn't it?" Liila asks as the steward gives her back her list. "No one fully knows what's going on."
While Kleia puffs her cheeks out, brow furrowed, she doesn't argue.
Liila nods to Uther. "I'll get their names in case Nebi doesn't know everyone who was there."
Uther nods. He hesitates before turning to go, and Liila tilts her head. "I was—I imagine you have much to do. Perhaps we could talk more another time? One Azerothian to another?"
Liila gives him a nod. "Are you a healer?"
"I can be."
"I might need your help, later, with this," Liila says, pointing at her list and then him. He offers her a salute before taking flight.
Xandria cracks her knuckles slowly, one at a time, as she stands with Adrestes, looking out over the temple. They have flown up to the upper reaches so that they can have a word in private.
"Do you think you could take charge here?" Xandria asks.
Adrestes blinks, looking up at her. "What? I'm not a paragon."
"No, but I've seen the way they're interacting with you. You get further with them, and faster."
"It's Nebi's doing," Adrestes admits. "She's making sure they see me as someone who can be trusted."
"It can't all be Nebi," Xandria replies. "She tried the same with me, and all that did was lose her a few fans. But you… They are flocking to you, polemarch. And considering you are the polemarch, the Archon's voice, that says something."
In the last twenty-four hours, Adrestes has not left Loyalty. He has sent out a few missives, to Thenios and others to ask about acquisitions for the temple that he doesn't think will interrupt the recovery of others or the security of the realm.
Arios has come by already and fixed the scrolls for Nebi and her group of bearers. It was surprisingly easy, though Adrestes never would have come up with the fix on his own. Now their scrolls are updating in time with Thenios', and vice versa.
That was sorted out in a matter of hours, and since then, almost a dozen other forsworn have come to him with issues, asking if there might be any fixes for them.
Some ask him about rejoining the Path, some ask him about keeping their memories, the list goes on. He does his best to answer who he can, and promises to find the answers to those he cannot.
When he was asked where Devos is, there was a moment where it seemed like all his goodwill would be lost. He had dismissed the question at first, but then thought better of it, He managed to catch their arm, even as they turned away, disgruntled. He ignored the bitter look they gave him. "We are expecting another attack. We think the Jailer may try to gather Devos, be it because he thinks she will rejoin him or to punish her for going against him. No one gets to know where she is. Forsworn or ascended. Not until we have a better idea of the Jailer's next move."
He hadn't expected them to accept his answer, that it would be like when he tried to tell child souls about where they were headed.
But somehow his words had been enough.
Nebi pulled him aside later and told him it was because he was willing to tell them as much as he did—which felt like nothing substantial to him—that they respected him all the more. And that he was willing to admit that Devos might be a target, not some mad creature willing to throw herself back in league with so wicked a god.
It also helps that he caught three ascended leaving the realm. One of them had clearly not wanted to go. He had been in tears, pleading with the other two to leave him behind.
They intended to go to the Maw.
Adrestes had considered striking them down, but hadn't wanted to spook the last of them. He hadn't wanted to start something where other forsworn would come to help their brethren, not knowing the details and assuming that Adrestes was striking out of vengeance.
Adrestes had intervened, only to save the one, telling the other two that if they left Bastion, they would be considered enemies the next time they met. They had spat at him and taken flight, into the clouds surrounding the realm and beyond.
The last of them had clung to Adrestes' arm, as though he thought that the two would be back for him the second the polemarch left.
So Adrestes had let them go, and he had walked the last of them back to Nebi, to make sure he would be looked after.
"I intend to take the fight to the Jailer," Xandria says.
"Are you mad?" Adrestes asks before he can stop himself. When the paragon looks at him, he stares at her. "There is no way out of the Maw! The mortals could not pull you—"
"There is Korthia," Xandria replies. "The Archon believes there is a waystone in Korthia. Something left by the First Ones." She pauses, mulls it over a second. "And if nothing else, we could take the notes from that Kel'thuzad that Mitchell mentioned and return the way that Astronos did. Into the In Between and then back into the realm."
Adrestes stares at her, shaking his head in disbelief.
Xandria reaches out and pats his shoulder roughly. "I'm not going right this second. It will take time to organize people for a proper assault, and I'm not about to send my people or myself into a needless slaughter. I just want to know that this temple will be in good hands, when I do go."
Adrestes looks out over the temple. He has rarely looked down at it from this height, and to see it all sprawling before him is an impressive sight. He considers what she is asking him. He cannot stop her, if she does decide to go, if the Archon approves it. But he can make sure that all will be well in her absence.
And it is not as though she can look after this temple forever, anyway. She has her own to manage.
"I can talk to Kalisthene about resuming her role as acting polemarch while I tend to things here," Adrestes says. "She has done a good job of it while I was recovering."
Xandria nods. "Good. That's one more answer I can give the Archon when I present my plan."
Liila finds that, once she decides she actually needs to use the gateways, getting to them is not as hard as she would have expected. She and Kleia had left Loyalty and gone to Humility, with neither of the guards at that gateway doing much to stop them. However, Humility has considerably more people in it, who are considerably more anxious about friends and loved ones who have been caught at the other temples during this lock down.
As a result, there are more guards at that gateway, and they ask considerably more questions.
So, after getting the new list to Hipokos and Thales, when Liila and Kleia tried to head off to Purity, the guards had been hesitant to let them.
That is, until Liila said, "You are questioning my, the Hand of the Archon, business as though you think I would use the gateways for something trivial?"
She had figured they would roll their eyes at her, and she'd be introducing Kleia to Nibbles and hoping they could get along long enough to get from one temple to the other, but instead, the guards had simply stepped out of the way.
Liila is a bit proud of herself for managing to use a rumor to her advantage, when Kleia simply sighs.
"Chyrus was behind us. He motioned for them to stand down."
"Shit."
Kleia bites her lip, trying not to smile. "So you're the Hand of the Archon now, are you?"
"That is what the stewards were telling me," Liila says as they start forward.
Or rather, she does.
When she realizes that Kleia is not walking with her, she stops and looks back to find her soulbind is searching the area instead, like she expects someone to be waiting for them. Of course, there is no one but the current guards at the gateway, who usher them away from it to keep it open for others.
"What's wrong?"
"Oh!" Kleia seems genuinely surprised by the question, and she flounders a moment before holding up a letter. "Do you remember the letter Disciple Kosmas asked you to give me?"
Liila tilts her head. "Yes?"
Kleia's cheeks flush a darker blue. "Well, he was thanking me for helping with the children here and…Oh, we're keeping the children souls you bring form the Maw here for now, since the bells are so good at banishing nightmares and there's room and…" She flounders a moment, embarrassment curling through her. "I didn't, though. Help. You were the one who brought those things for the little ones. Not me. I never even talked to you about it. He asked me for help, but I never really… I did send some things—and I did ask some of the mortals to bring things when they can, but I didn't do…" Her shoulders sink as she looks down at the note. "I didn't do this."
That she is crushed to have been given credit for something she didn't do is so…sweet.
That makes Liila pause. She thinks back to when she came back from Azeroth, to the bags of toys and treats that Haa'aji had left for her to take with her.
"Well, that wasn't my idea. That was Haa'aji's."
Kleia's shoulders droop a little more. So do her wings. "I never met—"
"Did you meet a blood elf named Felmar?"
Kleia shakes her head.
"What about a human named Harry?"
Another shake of her head.
"A dwarf named Henry?"
Kleia is already shaking her head when she stops. She blinks. "Henry Longbeard?"
With a broad smile, Liila nods. "That would be one of Haa'aji's disguises. He has a bunch."
For the first time, Kleia perks up. "Haa'aji is Henry." When Liila nods again, her expression softens. "He's a kind man. I can see why you like him. He talked about his gaggle of children very fondly."
"Haa'aji is the best," Liila says, unable to stop the smile that stretches her lips. "And you were the one who made the connections that got what Disciple Kosmas is thanking you for," Liila says, motioning to the note. "So you don't have to feel guilty."
Kleia blushes again. "You know, I still—"
Before she can finish whatever it is she is going to say, a voice calls out to them, and they both turn in time to find Eridia alighting beside them. They salute her, and she waves them at ease. "Maw Walker, I hope all is well?"
Liila assures her it is, and then fishes out her list. Eridia looks it over, curious.
"You're looking to dispel something?"
"Helya's blessings."
Eridia's brow shoots up. "That is quite the endeavor, Maw Walker. Though, I suppose if you can purify temples and raise the dead in the realms of the dead, then perhaps it is not such the feat that it would be to another."
Liila shifts a little awkwardly. Blood told her that he had fallen in the Maw, that her resurrection spell had reached considerably further than she realized. Thanikos has likewise told her that she brought him back, and possibly a few around them when she died.
However, Liila is not quite sure that she wants people developing such high expectations because of a few…flukes.
And she hardly did anything when it came to cleansing the Temple of Courage, certainly not to the extent that Eridia's comment implies.
Eridia smiles. "If you need help, I'm sure there are plenty here who would be willing to lend a hand. It is a good cause, after all."
Liila is a little surprised that Eridia would want to help the mawsworn, especially after what happened at Purity. However, she doesn't press the matter. She doesn't want to expend the goodwill or remind the Hand of all she has lost.
Perhaps that is it, too.
So much has been lost that maybe Eridia just wants to see something go right.
Eridia is looking back down at the list, scanning it. "I wish I could assure you we have these, but the truth is even the ones we're supposed to have might not exist anymore…" She sighs. "They will, once we have time to go through memories of those who read them and reconstruct them, but we won't have the manpower or anima for that for…"
She trails off, offering them a sympathetic shrug. "I can show you where to start looking, if you'd like. And send someone to help search further." After Eridia has directed them and Kleia confidently tells her they can find their way, she pauses, looking at Liila. "Maw Walker? Vesiphone would like to see you when she gets back to the temple. I'm not sure how long it will be."
"Well, I imagine it'll take a while to search for these," Liila offers, tapping her list.
Eridia smiles. "Today would be the day you find them quickly. I do not wish for you to twiddle your thumbs if it comes down to it, but I know this is important."
"I'll stick around," Liila promises.
They make their way to the partially restored library, and when they reach it, Liila can feel the way Kleia's heart hurts. Bookshelves hang in the air, and they are pristine and new.
But they are largely empty.
Liila can remember passing by another area and seeing scrolls upon scrolls stacked neatly within cubbies and shelves, and she wonders if that is how this spot was supposed to look.
For an instant, she sees a flash of a memory that is not her own, of older shelves, still neat, but worn with a few beloved notches that fingers readily trace as eyes scan stacks of parchment for what is being sought.
In a blink it is gone.
It makes her think of Thales, and what he said about how easy it is to see into a soulbind, and how baffled he had been that she would expect to treat it any other way.
Liila reaches out and squeezes Kleia's hand. Kleia seems surprised at first, but then gives Liila a small nod and smile before squeezing back. They had a chance to talk about things in Humility. Kleia did not seem outwardly as enthusiastic about the offered change as Pelagos was, but at the same time, the feeling that Liila had felt echoed inside of herself had seemed…deeper.
It occurs to Liila, not for the first time, that while Pelagos was told to soulbind with her, Kleia asked her to, and perhaps that is where the difference lies. Their binding was never meant to be out of necessity.
There are a few aspirants sitting near the bookshelves, penning new versions of a variety of charred or torn documents, the remnants hovering in the air before them. The nearest greets them when they walk up, and they get a few casual glances and nods, but for the most part, everyone here ignores them.
Kleia takes a copy of the list with her as she flits up to the bookshelves, and Liila goes over the titles with the aspirant who greets them. For most of them, he can only shrug or shake his head. But when she gets to the third to last, he perks up a little and motions to one of the aspirants nearby. "I think Hala is transcribing that one, now."
Liila perks up. "Hala?"
The first aspirant points to another and then bids her good luck with her search as he settles back into his own restoration project. The other aspirant's back is to them as she works, head bent forward, her hand moving in careful, neat strokes as she recreates one of the more damaged scrolls. There is a steward there with her, helping to clean and place some of the original pieces of parchment, and figuring out how to put them together to form what was. The steward notices Liila first and chirps a warning to Hala, who lifts her quill before turning to see who has come over.
Instantly, her face lights up. "Maw Walker!"
She hops to her feet and wraps Liila in a quick hug before stepping back and inspecting her. Liila smiles up at her. "When he said your name, I hoped it was you. How have you been?"
Hala is one of almost a dozen kyrian who Liila has found during her time in Torghast. While she has heard from most since their return to Bastion—she knows Teliah, for example, is doing well, even if she is a little unhinged and bloodthirsty—but she has worried that their time in the Maw might affect them more negatively than initially thought.
However, Hala seems no worse for the wear.
They catch up quickly before Liila motions to the scroll that the steward has returned to piecing together. "You can't use anima to fuse it fix it?"
Hala sighs. "That would take more anima than just re-penning it. There is more anima these days, but we still need to be careful with what takes priority." She motions up above them. "And the bells are the priority. At least here."
Liila listens, her ears pricking up. She thinks she can hear a new note or two in the song overhead, but she hasn't been around this temple enough to truly notice the difference. The sound is pretty nevertheless. She nods to Hala, who is stretching her fingers.
"Well, I actually came looking for the scroll you're working on," Liila says, peering around at the pile of scraps that the steward has yet to assemble.
Hala lets out a dismayed laugh and then immediately apologizes. "I don't know that it'll be any use anytime soon. It's like someone stood here and just tore it to little pieces." She thinks it over. "I might be able to go a little faster, but even if the older version was pieced together perfectly now, it would take time for me to transcribe it to the new scroll. A couple days at best. Weeks at worst."
Liila wanders over to where the steward is working. "Do you think I could help?"
By the time Eridia finds them, Kleia and Kosmas have joined in with Liila, Hala and the Steward, Syla, who are all carefully figuring out how the puzzle goes. Liila's not sure how long the Hand has been watching them when she finally notices her, but her smile is kind as she meets Liila's gaze and nods to her.
"I hate to interrupt your flow, but Vesiphone would like to see you."
"We'll keep at it," Hala assures Liila.
Eridia lifts Liila easily into her arms and takes to the air, soaring through the sky to where Liila and the others once fought their way, during that initial attack.
Liila can still remember getting there with the help of a few ascended—Kosmas was one, she thinks—in time to find Lysonia going after Vesiphone. Liila had been terrified to see the leader of this attack honing in on anyone, especially after how Eridia had been overwhelmed.
However, when it had been Vesiphone's turn, it had looked more like a toddler charging a seasoned warrior. Liila's not sure that Lysonia even made a scratch on Vesiphone.
If only the rest of the damage could have been mitigated thus…
Vesiphone, however, for all her terrible power, welcomes Liila with the gentlest, brightest smile. Her toes touch the ground silently as she lands and then settles down, adjusting her wings carefully so as not to stir too much of a breeze and then beckoning Liila over.
It is good to know she is still willing to greet Liila thus, after their last encounter, when Liila brought Devos back from the Maw.
"You wanted to see me?"
"I did," Vesiphone says, her voice gentle. She nods to Eridia. "Thank you."
It is the kindest dismissal Liila has ever heard, and Eridia gives her paragon a quick salute before taking back to the air.
Vesiphone motions for Liila to sit. Like the time she met with the Archon, there are a few cushions arranged neatly in front of Vesiphone, though these are considerably smaller than the ones in the Archon's chambers. They are very obviously for aspirants. Liila still feels a bit tiny sitting on one, but it is not nearly the ordeal of climbing up onto it. The paragon watches her, a patience in her eyes that says Liila could take a year to get comfortable, and Vesiphone would be happy to wait.
"I wanted to talk to you about your curse," Vesiphone says, straight to the point when Liila looks up at her, ready to ask what the occasion is.
Unease coils in her stomach.
Worse, however, she feels a smidgeon of hope.
That a paragon would wish to speak with her about it at all…
Surely, if things were as Arios had initially told her, Vesiphone would have no reason to arrange this meeting. Surely…
"I was told there's not much to talk about," Liila replies, careful not to let herself get too hopeful.
"Well, it is quite the mess," Vesiphone admits. "Thenios and I have looked at the notes you gave to Arios, when you consulted him."
Liila is a bit surprised. She remembers offering him copies of her notes at the time, but she had rather assumed he had tossed them once their dealings were done. That he had kept them, brought them back to Bastion…
"He said dispelling the curse will rend my soul."
"It may," Vesiphone says. "If it is done without care. If it is done the way you've taken off the other pieces."
Liila's brow pinches. That damnable hope is stirring in her chest, begging to be ignited.
She has settled for the fact that there is no real escape, accepted it. To think that she could be wrong…
"May I take a look at you?" Vesiphone asks. "I might see a few memories in the process, and it might bring a few to the forefront of your mind, but I promise I will not be searching for them actively."
It is with reluctance that Liila appraises her. "What…exactly do you need to look for?"
"Well, I would like to see the condition of your soul," Vesiphone explains. "I don't know if you know Uther, but it was brought to my attention that he was wounded by Scourge magic and, well, upon closer inspection, there are pieces of him missing. I would like to see if you have anything missing." She hesitates before adding, "Your body—and likely your curse—make it difficult to see with a simple look. That is why I will need to do something more in depth."
Liila baulks at the idea. "You think part of my soul is already…gone?"
"Possibly. When it comes to Uther, the piece is considerable, and after looking at some of his memories, I think it might have been stolen by the one who killed him. The Lich King."
"I never—" Liila stops herself, considering she doesn't really know what she's about to declare. "I don't think I encountered the Lich King before the time I went with my guild to cut him down."
Vesiphone's brow arches slightly. "Well, it's quite possible that nothing has been stolen. But there is damage some kind, and I won't know what kind or the full extent until I can get a proper look. Depending on the kind of damage, it may be possible to mend. It could make the curse's hold on you weaker, and any mending we can do will improve your chances of surviving its removal." Liila must look a little mystified because Vesiphone holds her hand out. "May I?"
It is without thought that Liila reaches out and takes Vesiphone's hand. Her own fingers aren't even child's size next to the giant's, but the second their skin touches, Liila is overtaken with a strange sensation. It is not the welcome thrum of energy that comes with Adrestes' touch, but something else, like a gentle but steady wind sweeping up and over her, through her.
Her memories whir through her mind's eye, too quickly to focus on any one thing.
When it subsides, Liila is still touching Vesiphone's hand, but the paragon's smile is gone, replaced with a look of sympathy. She does not speak. Instead she withdraws her hand and conjures anima. Her hands move with the precision learned over eons as she twists the ethereal strands of light together. When she is done, it flits to Liila, into her chest.
Her curse protests it but for a moment before it seeps in, beneath those painful runes, to deeper parts of her.
To her soul.
The aches that have been hounding her since her last death ebb, and Liila blinks, surprised.
The world itself is a little sharper. The bells sound louder, clearer.
Vesiphone's smile is brilliant.
Even as a thank you tumbles from Liila's lips—it is insufficient considering what has been done—Vesiphone holds up a hand, one finger extended while the rest curl toward her palm. "Do not get ahead of yourself, Maw Walker." When Liila is puzzled, she smiles. "I can see why you and Adrestes fit together so well. You are both too ready to accept partial mendings as good enough to fling yourself back into the fray. What I have done now will help, but it cannot be the end. You will need more mending, once this has settled."
Liila motions to herself. "You can...heal around the curse, though?"
Vesiphone nods. "The wounds to your soul are different from Uther's. With a bit of time and care, we may be able to send you back to the world of the living without that curse hanging over your head."
Liila's eyes widen. Words, feelings, hopes all bubble up inside of her, and she can't take any of them in.
It doesn't feel real.
She had given up on ever being free of this curse. Of every making it to an afterlife the way she should.
And now…
She stands up, thinking that perhaps she will just fling her arms around the giant before her and hug her as tightly as possible, but when she moves, her body is unsteady, and she starts to go down just as quickly as she came up.
Vesiphone catches her with a soft laugh and a playful rebuke. "Already you're ignoring my warnings. You must take things slowly. You are a healer yourself. You know how the larger spells can knock a person off their feet."
"I can't…thank you enough," Liila whispers. She feels like she might cry.
Even as she struggles to find the words that can even begin to convey how deeply her gratitude goes, Kleia alights near them, cautious, though a hopeful smile is already on her lips, too.
"You can thank me by living a long, happy life," Vesiphone says, patting her head. "Once your current time here is done, take your time coming back to us, yes? We are happy to wait for you." She cups Liila's face in her hands, gives her a kind, reassuring smile, and then rises. "I would like to see you again in a few days, but for now, I imagine you have places to be. Rest here for as long as you need."
Vesiphone takes flight, off to tend to other parts of her temple, and Kleia darts over to sit with Liila, wrapping her arms around her and leaning her head against Liila's as the elf cannot help but start to cry at the idea of the future that is daring to open up before her.
Adrestes looks at Devos, struggling to remember the paragon he had so fondly trained under, the paragon he had served before becoming polemarch.
The rotting creature before him, however, is like a ghost.
She is stripped of her armor, and confined to a single platform that is adorned with little more than a mat for sleeping and a small cushion for meditation, high above the rest of the spires, where the air is thin enough that most dare not fly. Runes are carefully etched on the floor, creating an invisible barrier so that Devos cannot get close enough to the edge to see the world below. Hers is naught but a view of the sky and, if she looks off in one direction, she can see the Archon's chambers in the distance.
Nothing else.
More than that, she has been stripped of her paragon status. She now stands just barely taller than Adrestes. It is odd to be able to look her in the eyes without her needing to kneel or him needing to fly at her eye level.
Adrestes has to stop himself from reaching up to make sure that his hood is in place. He can keep his mouth a thin line, but he cannot hide the pain, the betrayal in his eyes. And he does not want her to see how much she has hurt him. He had looked up to her for countless eons, admired her commitment to their people and their cause. He had admired her valor, her dedication.
Her loyalty.
Now, he wonders if the rot overtaking her reflects the same twist of her nature within. Is her mind likewise deteriorated?
Deteriorating.
There are a few scruffy, pitiful looking feathers pushed under the edge of her sleeping mat, piled together so that the offending sight is mostly hidden from view.
The Archon and Thenios are speaking with her.
Or trying to.
Devos will not look at their god, and only answers some of Thenios' questions. She is completely disinterested in talking about anything other that the fate of her forsworn—including her own redemption.
It makes Adrestes angry that she could lead so many so far astray and then still have the gall to act as though she was helping them. Even if, in her twisted mind, she thought she was…
He thinks of the forsworn who have come to him in the last three days, who have sought someone to look up to, to give them direction. They are so fractured and lost, struggling.
A struggle made all the worse by the lies Devos has fed them, about how evil the Archon is and how flawed the Path they used to walk has always been.
The more Adrestes talks to them, the more he can see why they would take issue with certain matters, but at the same time…
He does not know how to fix what has been done, but he has decided that he will do all that he can. He will try. If he can save the forsworn, he will do it. Even the ones who have hurt others. Even the ones who have hurt him.
He supposes that means that that includes Devos, too, though he's not sure that she can be saved. Especially if she will not accept such graces.
It startles Adrestes as much as it does Devos and Thenios when the Archon asks if Devos might ever walk the Path again. That finally draws her out of her own little world. Devos scoffs at the idea.
Thenios watches her as she waves off the Archon's attempt at peace and then dismisses himself quietly, unable to look at his soulbind.
At his soulmate.
It is no wonder he is trying to help Adrestes find some fleeting bit of happiness; his own seems out of reach.
"You could lead by example," the Archon says.
"I am done leading," Devos replies, finally breaking her silent treatment to their god. It seems Thenios' departure has affected her more than Adrestes realized. "The damage I have done… Your people are not sheep, Kyrestia. So long as I lead the forsworn, there will always be doubt to their trustworthiness. There will always be suspicion that the next time I rise up, they will answer my call again."
"You may be done, but the forsworn still need someone," the Archon says, trying to reason with her. "They are splintered and lost, and you made sure they will not trust any assurances I can give them."
"Perhaps they shouldn't," Devos mutters. She notices the way Adrestes bristles on the Archon's behalf. She seems nonplussed, though she does consider who might take her place. "Uther could—"
"Uther is a wounded soul—"
"You choose to see that now?"
"I might have seen it sooner, if you had not come to me in hysterics, riling up everyone in the Rise."
"Forgive me for not keeping my composure when I found memories proving that the Jailer's reach extended from the supposedly unbreachable Maw."
"There is much you have done that I struggle to forgive," the Archon replies quietly, "but that is not something that needs it." She falls silent for a long, still moment. "I should have looked at Uther's memories myself."
"You should have!" Devos cries, standing as tall as she can, fire in her eyes. "I came to you with a legitimate threat! I wanted to protect our people! And you brushed me aside! I was loyal, as I had always been, and you dismissed me like I was some pathetic little creature, afraid of shadows! If it had been anything else, I might have… but this! How could you turn a blind eye? Thenios' scouts! Vesiphone's Watchers! Xandria's Bearers! They told you, over and over that the Scourge's magic reeked of the Maw! But you insisted it was coincidence! You—"
"I was wrong," the Archon says.
Adrestes feels the very air around them quiver, as though frightened by the admission. He cannot help but look up at their god himself, likewise shaken by her words. Devos feels the truth of it, too.
And just like that, her fire is doused.
Devos' face twists with grief, despair. Her fists clench as though she is a child, staring up, heartbroken, at a wayward parent. "Why couldn't you have seen that before? I sent so many to their damnation… Why couldn't you have seen that before I—" Her shoulders tremble. "Before I found someone who believed me. Before I found Helya. Before she led me to him."
She does not say the Jailer's name. She does not need to.
The Archon flinches. It is such a slight thing. Devos does not see it through her tears. She is looking down to hide them from their god, as though she can. But Adrestes sees what she does not. He sees the wound those words inflict, the guilt that flits upon the Archon's face, for just a briefest fraction of a second before it is gone.
The Archon starts to reach through that invisible wall that holds Devos captive, as though she will take her back, even now, even after everything that has happened. When Devos sees the Archon's movement, however, she bares her teeth in a sneer. "Do not pretend such worthless words can make this right! I will not let you smooth over your failures, your transgressions with a few soulless platitudes! I may have failed, but at least I tried! What did you do, Eternal One? You are not so different from Zovaal! Both of you are arrogant monsters!"
Before Adrestes can admonish the fallen paragon, the Archon holds a hand out to silence him. She lets her other hand fall back to her side.
"I failed you, Devos," the Archon says, voice ever calm. Despite that, the air around them feels heavy, like rain. It is a sensation that Adrestes is certain he has never felt here in Bastion. "I will not fail the forsworn. They will not suffer your fate."
"Prove it."
The Archon merely turns away. "Adrestes, call the guards. No one visits her without my knowledge or permission."
Adrestes salutes even as a small drizzle begins, the eternal light of Bastion dimmed by clouds far overhead. The Archon does not look his way before taking flight.
"Do not be a blind fool," Devos says, drawing Adrestes' attention away from their god as she ascends up to her private chambers.
Adrestes looks over his shoulder to find Devos there, at the edge of her confines, watching him with narrowed eyes, even as the water slowly begins to run in small rivulets down her face.
"I'd say the same to you, but it's a little late for that."
Devos merely frowns.
Adrestes does not give her a chance to say more. Not while their god's tears fall all around them, slowly picking up into heavier droplets. He summons the praetors—they have been specifically designed and programmed by Mikanikos to be certain they cannot be swayed by anything Devos might tell them—and takes to the air himself.
Liila sits on the edge of a library in Wisdom with nine of the twelve texts she was looking for stacking neatly behind her, watching the rain fall. It is not so heavy that it is a downpour, but it is enough that those who live in this realm seem utterly lost.
Stanikos sits beside her, staring at the water falling before them with utter devastation.
Liila leans toward him and nudges him. "It's not so bad. Remember those puddles we were talking about? We'll be able to play in them when this passes."
"You think it pass?" Stanikos asks, looking at her, anxious. He takes her hand in his talons, though this time, it seems she is not the one needing to be grounded. "The sky never fallen before."
"It will pass," Liila assures him, patting his hand. "And once the rain has finished, things will be better. The grass with glisten, and there will be a freshness to the air. Rain can be very cleansing."
Stanikos peers back out at the rain. "You think?"
"I know," Liila nods to reinforce her words. She slips her arm around his shoulders and squeezes him gently. "Things are going to be alright."
