Adrestes stands next to Arios a few feet into one of the mostly-empty library chambers built into the walls around Wisdom, watching as just over a dozen mortals prepare to test out one of their newly completed spells on a mawsworn javelin.

It has been two weeks since the Jailer's attack on Loyalty, and while most of the realm is still holding its breath, waiting for whatever may come next, the mortals have been busy. Perhaps it is because of all the apocalypses they have faced in the last few years, but none of them seem particularly concerned with another impending Maw assault.

Nor were they concerned with the rainfall, only a few short days ago.

That had tied Adrestes' stomach in knots, knowing that his god had been pushed to the point that her own sorrow echoed out into the realm. He had—and to some degree still—felt shaken to his core, genuinely unsure for the first time in eons.

And then he had come across Liila and Pelagos, coaxing a few stewards to puddle hop with them, watching as every splash seemed to wear away some of their concerns. Nikolon had been roped into splashing around as well, as had a few disciples and acolytes of Wisdom.

Arios had stood back, watching the whole thing with an unreadable expression. Even as Adrestes had stood there with him, wondering just how to take this revelry in their god's very tears, water had poured down onto the both of them, a cold wave that quickly soaked their clothes and left water in their feathers.

Thanikos had grinned at them from over a half-tipped windblossom, gleeful to have caught them both.

While Arios had taken flight, chasing after him, Adrestes' attention had been caught when his name was called. He had looked down to find Liila standing there, biting her lip and trying very hard not to laugh. Despite her fun, the rainwater only came up a few inches on the cuffs of her breeches—her robes were discarded somewhere leaving her in her under shirt and pants. Her feet were bare, too, and had glistened with gold remnants from the water.

Whatever joke she had been about to make was chased off when Adrestes shook his wings out and caught her in a mini deluge. When he was done, Liila had been as soaked as he was, her clothes clinging to her and hair sticking to her face and neck in awkward twists

The stewards had shrieked with delight and then taken turns hopping into the natural pools and chasing each other and aspirants alike just to shake off next to them.

It had been some much-needed levity.

And it had been even more enjoyable to help Liila out of her soaked clothes, later, too.

By the Archon's grace, it was good to have Liila near.

However, she has made a good balance out of fun and work while she's been in Wisdom, and today she is focused on the latter. Adrestes wishes he could do the same, but aside from the couple times he has let her steal him away to some quiet corner, he has been solely focused on securing the realm and assisting in Loyalty.

Kalisthene is doing well, taking up some of his tasks while he dwells in Loyalty, and he likes to think that they are as prepared as they can be for another attack. Whenever it comes.

Wherever it comes.

Adrestes does not think Wisdom will be a target, at least. He suspects if a temple is attacked again, it will be Loyalty. He has a feeling that the Jailer is not pleased to see his flow of winged recruits cut off, and that if he thinks he can get more of them, he will make an attempt on the place where they are most likely to turn from the Path. The place where they have already turned from the Path.

Xandria thinks that the Jailer will target the Spires directly. After all, the Archon has told them what the Jailer seeks, and seeing as she keeps it on her person at all times, it will be pointless to attack anywhere else.

Vesiphone worries about attacks to lure the Archon from the safety of the Spires, but Adrestes doesn't see it happening. The Jailer and the Archon are siblings. They have known each other longer than any creature in Bastion has existed. If the Archon does not think that the Jailer will attack the temples again…

Though she has admitted that she may be wrong. She has admitted to him that she does not know what the Jailer has become, that he could have learned new tricks while she was so busy tending to her own realm, so busy turning a blind eye.

Adrestes is drawn from his thoughts as he realizes that the chamber has grown eerily quiet, with the casual banter between mortals dying down completely.

Carroll, the only mage present at the moment, stands back, still flipping through a spellbook and inspecting a few different spells. Howl rests near him, though the orc's eyes are on the priests, on his wife.

Liila and the others have drawn out meticulous circles, each accompanied by rows upon rows of runes, and in the very center, is the tainted javelin. Seven of the priests stand in small circles that barely touch the inner, largest one, while the others hang back against the walls with spellbooks and scrolls in hand.

Even so, their gazes are on the central figures.

Liila stands away from the group, near the wall, but it is on her order that the ritual begins. A human priest—a Topher Barnett—begins the incantation. Veena and Millie join in next, followed by Wren and the last two. The priests begin to glow and that inner light fills the circles around them and then spills into the greater one. The other priests, and even Carroll, seem to hold their breaths as they watch.

The Light moves inward, illuminating runes that rise from the ground and hover, flickering brighter and brighter with power.

The javelin begins to glow.

There is resistance, dark lines snake through the light creeping up it, even as the light likewise begins to break into smaller branches and force its way up higher onto and into the corrupted weapon.

It is a fight, one that is painfully slow, but in the end, the Light wins out. The entirety of the javelin glows brilliantly, as though the Archon herself has blessed it.

It is beautiful.

And then, very abruptly, it is not.

The corruption pulses, a final act of defiance against the purification, and the javelin shatters.

Gasps accompany shields flying up everywhere, and as Adrestes feels Liila's magic curl protectively around him, he catches a part of the javelin as it hurtles toward Arios. Arios doesn't even flinch, though he does give Adrestes a small nod of thanks.

The chamber feels unnaturally dark with the light extinguished.

For a moment, the world is quiet, and then a furbolg priest holds up a piece of the javelin, triumphantly. "It is purified!"

As the cheers rise up within the chamber, Adrestes realizes that he cannot feel the corruption of the Maw in the piece in his hand. He turns his hand, palm up and uncurls his fingers to look at the javelin. If he had not known that it was from the Maw, he never would have guessed as much. It feels like…nothing in particular, which means it must feel like Bastion.

Liila calls for people to gather the pieces so that they can check for how the backlash operated.

As she does so, Millie happens to look toward where Adrestes and Arios are standing, watching. Her gaze, however, goes down and to Adrestes' side, brow pinching together. "We killed Mitchell!"

Instantly, all eyes snap to where Mitchell stands, having just been dropped off by a disciple who is hovering a few feet behind him, looking most concerned. A large splinter from the javelin juts out of Mitchell's chest, and a dark ichor slowly stains his robes. He is most irate, and his mood only worsens as a dozen voices call out apologies for murdering him.

As he jerks out the splinter, those dozen voices conjure healing spells, and he cringes against the assault of the Light on his undead body.

"Knock it off!" He hisses, waving his arms like that will somehow interrupt the spells. "At this rate you'll get my heart beating again!"

He trots into the room, a few satchels of parchment and ink and other various resources the group will need slung over his shoulders, with one of his Maldraxxi companions—Sabrina if Adrestes remembers right—sauntering along after him. Liila walks over to meet him, taking the javelin piece from him and all but ignoring it. Instead, she focuses on him, as though he could still be injured after all those heals.

Arios waits until Liila is content that Mitchell is alright before speaking out. "You will need to keep your experiments in their theory stages until we can find a better place for you to run your tests."

Adrestes cannot say he is surprised, watching as one of the priests asks Howl to come help them pull a piece of the javelin out of the wall.

In times past, there would have been any number of chambers available for the mortals to experiment in, but now, between the retrieved items from the Locus and the injured, all of the safer places to run trials are filled.

Adrestes can understand not wanting random shrapnel impaling disciples passing by. That and the texts stored here require protection. There are already enough scrolls and papers that need to be rewritten, without adding a few more with entire passages punched out by flying debris.

"What about the top of the plateaus?" Liila is asks.

"I will have to get back to you," Arios replies. "I don't want you taking out any patrols, either."

With that, he takes to the air, again voicing that the mortals need to hold off on any further attempts. He makes sure he has their word that they will put things on pause before heading off to find them a new place to work.

His concern, fortunately, does not seem to dampen anyone's spirits. Despite the explosion and Mitchell's impalement, moods are high.

Adrestes kneels as Liila walks up to him, a smile in place. "You know, at this rate, we may be moving to organic matter by the end of the week." She taps her nails against the bit of javelin she still holds. "I could do a quick run to gather some herbs—"

"I'd rather you stay on the temple grounds," Adrestes says, reaching out and lightly pushing her hair back behind one of her long ears. She leans her head into his touch, closing her eyes for a second.

"I can probably gather some things from around the temple. I'll need to ask what can and can't be taken. I wouldn't want to ruin someone's garden."

As she speaks, Adrestes considers what she's been saying about organic matter and having to get the corruption just right in order to produce worthwhile results, and a thought occurs to him. He holds up a finger, hand still curled around the broken fragment of the weapon he caught earlier. "Hold off on any gathering. I may have something for you to help with your next steps."

Liila's brow raises. "Oh? What have you got? There aren't mawrats in Bastion now, are there?"

He leans forward and brushes a kiss against the crown of her head. "I'd rather wait until I know for sure that I've got something for you."

"A surprise then?"

He can't help the faint smile. "A surprise then." He pauses. "Though I will say it's not mawrats."

"Good, because that would be stage three, not two."

Shaking his head, he affords himself one final kiss to her forehead before rising and taking to the air.

As he heads off, he hears Mitchell ask, "So how the fuck do you two—"

Adrestes is rather glad that he doesn't hear the end of that question, if only because of the loudly yelled, "Mitchell, no!" that follows.

Adrestes takes the anima gateway to the Spires and heads to the Archon's Rise to find that the Archon is already in the middle of talks with the paragons in the smaller, private chamber above. Kalisthene stands guard over the discussion, though she readily moves aside to allow Adrestes entry. He gives her a small nod and a pat on the shoulder as she salutes him and then stands at ease.

Chyrus is the first to greet him, with a warm smile and a nod. Xandria gives him a nod as she continues to talk about wards. Adrestes feels some of his earlier good mood waver when he realizes she is saying she worries they will not be enough.

Thenios interjects that there have been no further trespasses into the realm, but Xandria merely shakes her head. "The peace we have now could very well be Lysonia's doing, not our own."

Vesiphone lets out a displeased hum. "Is there a way to find out?"

"We could send people into the Maw," Xandria says. Thenios and Chyrus both frown, as though they have heard this already. Xandria, however, ignores them, instead looking to the Archon. "If the Maw is truly connected to Azeroth—"

"We know it is," Thenios says.

"—then anyone who goes in can come out. So long as they have wings." Xandria maintains eye contact with the Archon as she continues. "We can send scouts into the Maw and they can come out through Azeroth.

"Who would even go through?" Thenios asks. "They would have to be forsworn for Lysonia to want to talk to them, I imagine."

"Uther, perhaps?" Vesiphone offers. "He and Lysonia have been working together for a long time now. He might be able to get information from her."

"Or Astronos," Xandria suggests. "He's mawsworn. He might get further."

"Pardon," Adrestes says even as Vesiphone concedes that perhaps a mawsworn would be the best bet. The others turn to him and it feels odd to have the Archon and paragons' attention at once. He tries not to feel out of place. After all, he has addressed them all before. Granted, he is usually just relaying information or missives for them to debate, so stepping into the conversation himself feels a little like he is overstepping. "The mortals won't want forsworn or mawsworn coming into their world, will they? Especially when they've been struggling to push back the mawsworn bringing their resurrected enemies."

Chyrus nods, thoughtfully. "Perhaps a group? Ascended and forsworn alike?"

"The mortals say that the larger the group, the harder it is to stay alive," Vesiphone points out. "It would need to be just a handful at most."

"Perhaps they could take a mortal with them?" Chyrus asks. "To vouch for them when they come through."

"Considering how high up the tear in the veil is, I don't think that would be necessary," Thenios says. "Even their flying mounts cannot quite reach it. The air gets too thin."

"Which means whoever goes through might be in for a bit of a freefall before they can catch the wind in their wings," Xandria murmurs. "And if they're freefalling into the range of the mortals, they would need assurances that they're not going to get attacked with friendly fire."

"Can't they shift back into the veil as soon as they enter Azeroth?" Chyrus asks.

"No." The Archon's single word carries a weight that makes the air heavy. "There are too many variables right now," the Archon says, tone firm. The paragons quiet, though Xandria looks like she wants to push the subject. She holds her tongue for now, however. The Archon looks past her to Adrestes. "How fares Loyalty?"

Adrestes stands a little straighter. "It is…coming along."

Xandria is the first to ask him specifics, with the other paragons quickly following suit. With each answer he gives, he notes that the Archon's gaze never leaves him.

As they talk, he finally says, "For the most part, the forsworn just want to feel like they have some control over their own fates. That they are not simply sorted here and that is the end." He hesitates and then looks to Vesiphone. "Do you still have the tomes that detail why different memories need to be cleansed?"

Vesiphone considers it a moment. "Some were spared in the attack. Which do you need?"

"All of them," Adrestes says. "If I can show them the why behind the cleansings, perhaps they will not be so quick to dismiss the purpose of Purity." He pauses before adding. "Many of our forsworn aspirants were pulled from the Path without being given a chance to understand it. I think some might be able to come back if we can just explain it to them."

"I still use them myself, but there is no reason we cannot share," Vesiphone says.

"I can see if we have any copies in Wisdom," Thenios offers. "I'll send whatever I have to you," he nods to Adrestes and then looks to Vesiphone, "And I'll let you know what he has."

"The only other matter, then—unless I have missed something—would be how the mortals are faring with their own purifications," Chyrus says, nodding to Thenios.

"They were setting up for a test," Thenios begins and pauses when he notices the way Adrestes perks up. "Do you have news?"

"They succeeded," Adrestes says. He realizes that he still has the javelin fragment in his possession and he offers it to the others to view. "Granted, there are some rather…dangerous side effects at the moment."

Thenios takes the fragment from him and inspects it, holding it closer for Vesiphone to give it a once over. "The mortals work fast."

"Apparently the mortals have dealt with Helya before, so the groundwork is already laid, to some extent."

With a thoughtful nod, Thenios offers the fragment to the Archon, who takes it in hand with idle curiosity as she inspects it. "Did the purification take hold before or after fragmenting the javelin?"

"It happened very quickly," Adrestes admits. "So I fear you will need to ask Arios. He was present for it." When Thenios seems pleased that his Hand was there for the breakthrough, Adrestes adds, "He did tell them that they need to find a new place to work, however. If Mitchell had been a living mortal, their endeavors would have killed him."

"How much space do you think they need?" Xandria asks and then motions to herself. "Courage's arenas provide plenty of room for mishaps."

"Would it be safe?" Vesiphone asks. "There are spaces in the Spires that afford plenty of space. The coliseum, perhaps."

"I doubt the Jailer would attack an empty temple," Xandria says.

"He likely doesn't know much about its condition," Chyrus points out.

"Or he'll know it's empty and not expect anyone there," Xandria says. "We don't know how he gets all of his information. But assuming it's piecemeal from others, then Mitchell and the mortals trying to assess Lysonia's attack were the last he'd have heard from, and they might have mentioned the temple is abandoned. Or Lysonia might have. Either way, there would be no reason to suspect that a handful of healers would be experimenting there."

"He will expect me to have pulled everything from my damaged temple," the Archon says. "If he goes by what I'd do, he won't expect them there, so it will be safe enough." She considers it. "I would still like a few guards with them."

"Thanikos can oversee it," Xandria says. "Artemede and Apolon are doing well handling things in their respective temporary homes, and Thanikos has been itching to start cleaning up the arenas anyway. It'll give him an excuse."

"As though you aren't also itching for an excuse to get back to your temple," Vesiphone teases.

Xandria merely grunts. "Loyalty will be glad to see me less."

"I think they're coming around," Adrestes offers.

Xandria snorts. "To your presence, perhaps. Not to mine."

"You're more intimidating than I am," Adrestes says, and Xandria simply laughs.

As she shakes her head, the Archon smiles, her skin crinkling faintly around her eyes. Just as she starts to dismiss them, Adrestes stands a little straighter, "My Archon?" Everyone pauses, gazes focused on him. Again, he feels a little out of his depth, but he doesn't let that give him pause. "The mortals need corrupted organic matter to further their experiments. I was wondering if we might put Devos' and Astronos' shed feathers to good use."

"I'll have them sent to Courage," the Archon says. With that, she calls their meeting to an end and departs first.

Vesiphone calls out to Adrestes even as he bows to the paragons and turns to go. "Will you tell Liila to come by Purity? It's time for another mending."

Even as Adrestes nods, Thenios interjects. "I'll tell her. I'm heading back to Wisdom anyway. I'll let the mortals know to prepare to move to Courage, too."

And with that, he is gone. Vesiphone nods to Adrestes, offering him a gentle smile before she heads back to her temple as well.

This will be the fourth mending Liila will undergo under Vesiphone's care. Already, Adrestes can see a difference. Liila doesn't look as worn, and she definitely has more energy. Her movements are sharper, and she has told him that the world itself seems clearer, louder, more vibrant. It is like she has been watching things through a fog and that fog is lifting, slowly. Kleia has noted that the aches that ripple out from Liila through their bond seem to be easing, as well.

It pains Adrestes to think just how far gone she was when they first met, just how precarious her situation was, without any of them fully realizing it. It is a sight to see her coming alive like this, something he holds dearly, even when he isn't holding her.

More than that, she has started asking him the sort of questions she asked before, during her first time here. Questions about the Path and ascension, about Bastion and him. It is as though she did not expect to ever make it here again, as though she had simply resigned herself to falling to pieces.

Perhaps some part of her had known it was going to happen sooner than later.

As Adrestes turns to go, Xandria calls out to him. Chyrus is still there as well, sitting, as he so often does with his disciples and acolytes and aspirants. Xandria kneels, motioning Adrestes closer.

"Things are going well in Loyalty, aren't they?" Chyrus asks, revisiting the topic.

Adrestes shifts on his feet a moment before adjusting his wings, a little surprised by the paragon's interest. "I think there's hope."

"Hope that they'll come back?" Chyrus asks. "If they can be heard?"

Adrestes nods.

"They really look up to you," Xandria comments.

In the last two weeks, Xandria has gotten more involved in the realm's security and planning that unpopular assault on the Maw, which has definitely not been approved by the Archon. With her gone, it has fallen to Adrestes to manage the temple, as he has been. Things have fallen into somewhat of a routine now, with Kleia assisting him most often of the other ascended. The two of them are good at sorting through the issues the forsworn have, the fears they face. They have been working to assuage the worries they can and find answers for what they can't.

It will be a long time before the forsworn can be considered back on the Path, but things are definitely getting better.

Adrestes talks a little about the tentative state of the temple and finds both Xandria and Chyrus offer excellent advice for dealing with different issues that have been arising.

Chyrus smiles broadly. "You're running that temple beautifully, you know that, yes?"

With an awkward laugh, Adrestes dips his head to the paragon. "Thank you." He considers it and shifts his weight. "I admit, I will be relieved when there is a paragon of Loyalty again."

Chyrus tilts his head to the side, appraising Adrestes with care. "Whoever might that be, I wonder."

Even as Xandria reaches out and lightly thwacks Chyrus on the arm, calling him a menace, Adrestes cannot help but frown.

It is not the friendly banter that bothers him, but rather the question of it, looming up before him.

Who will be the new paragon of Loyalty?

Lysonia will never rise to that position. Nor will any of the forsworn leaders. They will face the harsher punishments when it finally comes time to dole those out. Considering the forsworn took damned near every disciple of Loyalty with them, he cannot think of a single soul who could reasonably be placed in that position without fear of their picking up where Devos left off.

Aside from Nebi, perhaps, though he's not sure she would want such a high-ranking position. She would have to give up being a Watcher, and she has always loved her job.

He is pensive as he dismisses himself to head back to Loyalty, though he does here Xandria murmur, "Look how you've worried him," as he goes.

Like Mitchell's comment, Chyrus' answer is lost to him as he heads back to his duties, nodding to and dismissing Kalisthene, who still stands dutifully at the entryway. She flies with him back to the anima gateway before heading off to make her own rounds, the one he has been missing, as acting polemarch.


"If you get bored and need to punch something," Thanikos says as he leads the group of healers through the empty temple, "there are plenty of training dummies over here."

Liila can't help but smile up at him as he explains that they can easily get them more, and of varying sizes.

As they get to the center of the largest arena—it is impressive, to be sure—their merry band begins to spread out a little to set up shop, so to speak. Pallessa is with them, as well as Pelagos and Thales and Hipokos. Disciple Tia takes up the rear, helping Cromas, who is on loan from the Spires, to carry a some of the tomes from Wisdom as well as a crate filled with corrupted feathers. They are talking quietly about spell backlashes. Arios has sent some notes over as well, with possible alternatives to their current work that might result in less explosive results.

All in all, things are going quite well.

Thanikos stands near a few training dummies and inspects their group, arms crossed, wings slightly fluffed as though he may start rating people on how quickly they settle in.

In reality, he's probably remembering what this place was like when it was used as it was meant to be.

Liila looks out as well, imagining what it must have been like, full of aspirants and disciples. It hurts her heart a little to think of all of those who were lost, who she will never know. She looks up at Thanikos, notes that he is watching her. "Will you thank Xandria for us?"

"I imagine she'll come by to see how things are going," he says, letting his gaze wander away. "But if I see her first, I will tell her." He is quiet a moment before adding, "I don't know if I've ever voice this, but I'm glad I got to know you this time around."

Liila cocks her head. "Oh?" She is hesitant a moment before asking, "Did you know me last time?"

She's fairly sure that she's been told they never met, yet the way he's talking now…

"I tried to last time," he says, giving her a faint grin, a sparkle in his eyes. "Whenever I had to go to Purity, I'd always fly instead of taking the gateways, and I'd go over that little pond. You were never there, though." He sighs and then reaches out and tousles her hair. "I'm glad you wandered further into the realm this time."

Even as she looks up at him, a bit mystified by his confession, someone calls out asking about where they're putting bedrolls. "I imagine that'd be up to you lot," Thanikos replies, only to pause when someone else asks about what to do during inclement weather. "We don't have that here…well, normally." He cracks his neck as he heads over to the fretting mortals. "You caught us in our once in an eternity rain storm. It won't happen again in my lifetime, much less yours."

It is going to take a bit more than that to ease the mortals concerns, and Liila finds herself looking around for anything with an overhang that she might be able to direct people to sleep under, 'just in case', when she sees a familiar figure heading her way.

Zen'taki.

He is in his praetor uniform, and he picks up his pace when he notices he has her attention.

She meets him almost halfway from where she first saw him. "Is everything alright? Haa'aji and the little ones are—"

"They be fine," Zen'taki assures her, offering her a thumbs up and a nod to reinforce his words.

However, despite his assurances, he is clearly uneasy, and Liila appraises him carefully. Before she can ask what's wrong, he motions out around them. "Lots of movement goin' on. What's all this for?" After a brief run down, and an invitation for him to join them, he awkwardly scratches at his chin. "No, I… I know there's that time difference goin' here, but I still don't know quite how it works, and well, I've got work. The empire won't defend itself…"

"Of course," Liila nods, offering him smile. "Just thought I'd offer since you're one of the only paladins I can stand to have around."

He offers her an embellished bow, grinning. "Glad to hear that." He pauses then, that earlier concern coming back. "I…"

Millie calls to Liila.

"I should let ya get back to your work."

"No," Liila says, waving off Millie as she calls again, and stepping closer to Zen'taki. "You came here for a reason, didn't you?"

"I…" he hesitates, glancing to the other casters and then looking down at Liila. For a moment, it is like he has turned to stone. And then, very abruptly, he blurts out, "I came to ask ya for permission to court Haa'aji."

Liila stares at him.

He fidgets.

Silence stretches out between them.

Finally, Liila gathers her wits and blinks a few times. "I believe that's Haa'aji's choice, not mine."

Before she can point out that she's fairly certain that Zen'taki is already courting Haa'aji, the zandalari sighs, his impeccable posture slouching for a moment as he shakes his head. "He's too worried about you to really…" He sighs again. "I tried, ya know? And I hear ya do. Know, I mean. I got him all flustered once, thought I finally made it clear what I wanted, and he seemed to want that too, but… then he said he couldn't happen again. That it upset ya."

Liila's mind goes back to the time she saw them together, wrapped up in each other's arms in the corner of Haa'aji's room.

It feels like that happened a lifetime ago.

She had been upset, hadn't she?

Though it hadn't been because they were together so much as because she felt like she was keeping them apart.

And now it turns out she really is.

"You know, we're not… it's not like we're a couple or—"

"No, you're worse than a couple," Zen'taki says, laughing awkwardly. "You're the Ghost's Dragonlily and he's the Dragonlily's Ghost. Ya got a bond deeper than damn near any couples I know. Sometimes I think there's no room for anyone else with somethin' like that."

Liila feels another twinge of guilt as Zen'taki speaks, as she thinks of how she has left Haa'aji for all these months… Well, at least for him it's only been a couple weeks.

But still.

They do have a strong bond, and there have been so many jokes over the years about how if either gets a lover, their lover gets them both.

Liila reaches out and takes Zen'taki's hand. "I think you make him happy, and that's what matters. I'll…I'll write to him, alright? Let him know he doesn't need to worry about me."

"I have your blessin', then?"

"So long as you understand that he is my best friend in all of reality," Liila says, still holding his hand, and tightening her grip a little when he tries to pull away. "If you ever hurt him, I will tear your heart out and feed it to you."

She lets his hand go.

With a laugh, he offers her a salute. "Yes, ma'am. I've got no intention of doin' that anyway, so no worries there."

His entire demeanor has shifted. There's a brilliance to his smile, an ease to his shoulders. He looks around again, this time far more relaxed. "I've never been much for purifications or I'd consider stayin'. I've always been more of a warrior type. Bash with the shield and call the Light down as a hammer."

"A respectable method," Liila says.

He nods, looks down at her. "I can see if anybody has any insight they might be able to offer, but knowing the time difference, they'll probably get here as you're wrappin' up."

Liila cannot help but smile. "I appreciate the confidence in our work, but any help you can send will be appreciated. Even if we get something working, we'll need plenty of people to channel the spell and figure out a way to implement it effectively in combat."

She doubts most of the mawsworn will sit quietly through a purification if they're being controlled.

Zen'taki nods, thoughtfully, and then grins at her. "Well, I'll see what I can do. It's the least I can do." He starts to give her another salute and then pauses, thinks it over, and hugs her. "Ya better come home soon, by the way. Everyone's missin' ya somethin' terrible."

It isn't long before Liila and the others have their space set up within the arena. Despite the room, they still set up wards to try to keep any shrapnel from future experiments from spreading too far, figuring if nothing else, it will spare them the pain of having to scour the temple for it. Mitchell and Carroll are the only mages who join them, with most of their group consisting of priests and kyrian.

On their second day there, Watcher Nebi comes by with another forsworn in tow, someone named Sybigone. She is cautious around them at first, especially on the occasions when Adrestes comes by, but she is helpful none-the-less, and her insight proves invaluable. Pallessa asks her once about Achillon, and is disappointed that Sybigone does not run in the same circles as him, even if Nebi had mentioned leaving him in charge of the soul sorting station when she was there.

Nikolon joins them, though he rarely says anything, instead keeping a close eye on Pelagos. He asks a few times about security measures in the temple, and Liila realizes that he is concerned about further kidnapping efforts. After all, he was taken from this temple, not too long ago.

Tia and Cromas bring a new handful of feathers every now and then and it is a bit concerning to Liila just how quickly Devos and Astronos are losing them. However, they are much better test subjects than javelins or corrupted flowers, though Mitchell complains that they are definitely skipping steps. No one else can say that they mind. While Mitchell mumbles about the integrity of experimentation and the rules surrounding such things, the rest of them work on adjusting their spellcraft.

The first fix will need to be something to overcome the backlash, but after that, they will want to make it possible for individuals to purge Helya's curse/boon, if possible. After all, it will be very difficult to get the mawsworn to sit still for such intricate channeling.

Thales swings by fairly often, and Adrestes and Kleia come and go. Tia reports their findings to Thenios and Vesiphone, and both send back notes on how to improve casting, and simplify the spell itself.

Their biggest help, however, tends to be Thanikos. He doesn't have much skill in the art of healing or much in the art of casting in general, but he is a good listener, and good at repeating back what they say and stopping them when something doesn't make sense. Like a step is missed or a hole in reasoning is found. And he likes to listen.

Liila suspects that a huge part of it is just that he is happy to be back in his temple.

Carroll has taken to calling him the 'best rubber duck' he's ever seen, a term Liila vaguely knows from Mitchell, as mages tend to use odd objects to talk to when explaining their own spellcraft to figure out problems with their work.

When they take breaks from their theorycrafting and testing, Thanikos is always quick to rope at least a few of them into doing something, be it helping clean up parts of the temple or just doing some light sparring.

He gets Topher to duel with him once as shadow, though everyone's surprised how quickly he's able to actually negate shadow spells and knock the human priest completely out of his shadow form. Thanikos is grinning like a fool when he's done, though it only encourages a few other priests to switch to shadow form to try to land in a few good hits.

It makes it feel a little bit like they aren't all sitting around, waiting for the end of reality, or simply just the next strike from the Jailer's forces.

It's nice. Soothing, even.

Tia can't help but shake her head as she watches the friendly matches. When Wren asks how Thanikos got so good at dispersing shadows, Tia points south, toward the remnants of the fight against the Void, even if it can't be seen from where they are. "When the Void attacked, we learned its tricks."

"Oh?" Liila asks, quirking a brow. "All of them?"

"You should duel him!" Topher says, thwacking Liila's arm from where he lays sprawled out beside her, still catching his breath.

"With how my duels go, I'll get banned from Bastion," Liila murmurs, scanning a few pages of their latest spell. While they may be on a break, she can't help but feel like they are so close to making a breakthrough. She has just turned toward the second page of her notes when she feels a faint breeze on her hair, one that does not fit with the eternal winds that wind gently through Bastion. She looks up, slowly, to find Thanikos leaning over her, a simple smile in place.

"Wren says you're the only legitimate shadow priest here."

Liila reaches out and pats Topher. "He's pretty good, too."

"Let's see what you've got."

Liila tilts her head, shakes it slowly. "Bad things happen when my friends and I get into duels."

Thanikos thuds down to sit in front of her. "Mitchell told me you've blown up cities?"

"None of those incidents were actually my fault," Liila replies, finally looking up from her notes. Thanikos is grinning. "But poor luck follows me." She pauses and adds, "And cities were not 'blown up'. There were a few minor explosions—" Thanikos smile is spreading.

Taking in a slow breath, Liila clicks her jaw once. "What are the rules for the duel?"

Thanikos arches his brow. However, even as she thinks he will ask if she's joking or tease her that she just doesn't want to fight, he says. "No killing blows, obviously."

"So low blows are allowed?"

"Let's be honest, Maw Walker," he grins. "You're tiny. All your blows will be low."

Liila holds his gaze, appraising him. "And underhanded tricks?"

"Does the Void have spells that aren't?"

Liila nods slowly, and then hands her papers off to Topher. "Alright. I may be a bit rusty with my shadows."

Thrilled, Thanikos hopes back to his feet and strides off, away from where they are researching. His eyes arc with glee as Liila motions for him to go further as she hears Mitchell start taking bets for which of them will take out a wall first. Tia is looks a little concerned, especially when Thales pipes up and says Thanikos is bigger, so of course he'll take out one before Little Liila.

Cromas is roped into being their referee, though he is quite clearly annoyed by it. He counts aloud and when he calls for the duel to start, neither Thanikos nor Liila move at first. Liila knows damned well to keep melee fighters such as Thanikos as a distance, and that with his wings, he'll be able to bridge the distance considerably faster than most she's dueled before.

So when he throws his axe, it takes her by surprise.

Rather than dodge, she shifts into shadows just long enough for the axe to pass through her and then dismisses them before he can break her connection with them.

Even so, he moves fast, after his axe.

Liila conjures shadows to toss it out of reach, darting to the side to keep space between them.

Shadows do not come as readily in Bastion, with its eternal light, and the ones that are here are weak.

Their dance begins in earnest when Thanikos disappears, through the veil, only to reappear crashing down on her. She shifts to shadows and darts up and over him, switching back so that she can kick the back of his neck and propel herself up and over his wings.

He catches her with one, batting her toward the ground, but she disperses before she hits and uses her momentum to snake along the ground, reforming again before he can negate her shadow form.

She calls shadows to grip his feet, ruining his attempt to return to the air. He banishes them with a stomp. His lunge is quicker this time, and this time when she shifts to shadows, he catches her just as she reforms with a sharp kick. She calls tendrils of shadow to grip his wings and tug him off balance.

He flips and lands in a crouch.

When he charges, she conjures a wall of shadows. He doesn't burst through it. Instead, he phases back through the veil behind her and attempts an ambush, though she's already expecting that.

She ducks into the shadows herself, and when he slices through them with his axes, the ground is empty.

To say it is exhilarating to get to dabble in her craft, in her main specialization, would be an understatement. Liila is practically flying herself, darting around, dodging and casting quick spells, using a fear here and there. Thanikos breaks out of those easily enough, too quickly sometimes.

The duel finally ends when Thanikos sweeps her with a wing, locks her shadow spells, and pins her to the ground with an axe to her throat.

Even as her eyes flicker with shadow magic and she prepares a spell that will restore her freedom, a voice interrupts.

"What's going on here?"

Thanikos and Liila both look to find Adrestes landing nearby, frown firmly in place and considerably deeper than usual.

"Friendly competition," Liila offers, and Thanikos laughs, hooking his axe back to his belt and then offering her a giant hand up.

Adrestes is not amused. No sooner is Liila up on her feet, Adrestes is in the air with Thanikos, whispering angrily. Unfortunately for him, he underestimates elven hearing, and Liila can hear him hissing about mortal frailty and how heavily the curse weighs on Liila.

That makes her stop.

The truth is that Liila has been feeling better in the recent days and weeks than she has in…well, damned near ever. She's not sure she's ever felt this…whole.

It is so strange a notion, and she had not realized how thin she's gotten—or her soul rather—until now that it is being repaired. Each time she sees Vesiphone, she leaves Purity feeling stronger, steadier, more.

The world is more present and so is she.

It is amazing what the curse has eroded over the years, how little things have been lost. Vesiphone has promised her that she will see Liila healed enough to withstand the curse's removal before she returns to the world of the living. As overwhelming as it still feels, sometimes, Liila can feel the hope curling inside of her. Like herself, she had not realized that that very hope had been stretched so thin, either.

But it is back now, and she finds herself looking forward to her future.

She is already so much more than she was when she first got to the Shadowlands, and that is why it surprises her how cross Adrestes is with Thanikos, who lands after a moment, eyeing Liila carefully. "You are unharmed, yes?"

"Fine, considering I won our duel," Liila says, smirking when Thanikos arches his brow. "You withdrew first."

"I did not withdraw."

"What else would you call sheathing your weapons?"

"Our duel is on hold," Thanikos clarifies after appraising her a second.

Liila nods, lips quirked. "To be resumed."

"Indeed. I never even got to see any of your real attacks."

"You held your punches, too." She winks when he looks surprised. "I've seen you fight the maldraxxi, remember? I know what to expect."

Thanikos' grin is a promise for absolute trouble in the future.

"Enough." Adrestes looks put out, especially as a few of Liila's mortal friends boo him loudly. Thanikos settles for challenging Mitchell to a duel as Liila draws away to speak quietly with Adrestes.

She wishes she could see more of him, that what little time they find to spend together could last longer. But Adrestes is busy helping to tend to Loyalty, and she knows it would be selfish to drag him away from something so important.

Perhaps if they can figure out a way to dispel Helya's blessings, then she can move on to helping him in that temple.

As it is, he is only here briefly to ask after her health. Each time he comes by, he is tense, but the tension bleeds out of him a little at a time as she twirls for him or shows him how she is moving more easily, how she is healing. She's told him not to worry, but he merely scowls when she does so.

It's sweet.

The next time her group breaks to figure out why only half of their latest feather exploded and what they did right to make the other half not, Liila takes the time to rest her mind and write to Haa'aji.

She tells him of how Zen'taki is a keeper, how he came to see her, how she wishes he had talked to her about it instead of just letting it fall to the side. She asks after the kids, tells him of Vesiphone's healing, and how she may be able to return home without the curse at all. She ends up writing much more than she intended, but when she seals the letter, she feels better about everything, and after she's given it to a courier, she idly wonders how long it will take for there to be a response. If Haa'aji is in the living world—he should be—then he'll get it quickly for him, but even if he sends out a response within an hour of getting it, it'll still take days here for Liila to get it.

If not for the work they were doing now, Liila might just go back to the world of the living. She has included a promise in the letter that she will come back soon, as well as how much she misses him, and how she wants him to sit down and meet her Zen'taki, that she thinks he will approve of Adrestes.

And then she gets back to work, coming back to find Thanikos listening and nodding as Wren walks through their spell's latest iteration.


The field stretches out around her, and she settles into the grass beside one of her dearest friends. His words blend together as he talks and she can only catch meaningless phrases and idle comments that fade from memory as soon as they are spoken. The two of them have wandered off alone, and they should not have, not with the strange attacks growing more frequent, but she would do anything for him, to keep his friendship. Even if that itself is the problem.

He means so much to her and yet…

She looks around, tucking some hair back behind her ear. When she looks at him, tries to make small talk, he won't look at her, and it breaks her heart because she knows she hurt him. She had an inkling that he saw something more between them, and when he learned it would never happen…

Well.

She's come out here to make things right, to plead with him to come to her wedding, but the longer she is here, the more she realizes that she has been selfish, to want him to go to something that will make him hurt so much.

She had thought…

She shouldn't have come out here. She should have given his heart time to heal instead of trying to force his mending to adhere to her schedule.

She should have—

She looks to the treeline in the distance, and they begin to emerge from the shadows. The ghouls.

She knows this story, knows what happens next, and she does not want to see it. She tries to stand up, to call shadows, but she cannot change the course of fate. This has already happened, and all she can do is watch.

The ghouls shamble at first, and then catch sight of them. Her friend has his sword drawn. She starts to get up from the grass.

She cringes away from what is going to come because she hates it so much.

She hates—

A bell tolls overhead, and she is sitting by a small pond.

That is what drew her here this first time.

This memory is too painful, and she cannot not bear it. She had started walking as though if she went far enough, maybe she could leave that awful memory behind. It had started aimless, but her feet had taken direction without her realization and as she had wandered she had felt…safer. Sounder.

And she had realized that it was the bells rolling softly in the distance that seemed to be able to keep that awful memory at bay, to dull the edges around it, blur the words and the actions that followed. She had chased their sound, wanting to be free of the past, wanting something that didn't hurt.

And then she had remembered that souls do not go to the temples. If she wants to go to the temple, she must have a form, and to have a form she must face her worst memory.

And that is the very thing she is running from now.

And so she sits by the water and struggles with the guilt that comes with knowing that she cannot save anyone from here. And the anger and the frustration with knowing how she ended up here to begin with. Her hand moves to rub at her leg.

Her wounds are gone, but she can still feel that one, perhaps because of who—

She struggles. The ghouls are coming, and with each second that passes by, their howls get closer, more frantic. A plated hand catches hers, breaking fingers with the way it grips hers and crushes them against the sword hilt that she clumsily tries to clutch. Her hand is jerked up and away, the sword pressed painfully into her palm as she looks up, meeting a gaze she abhors for the first time.

"We are going to have a grand time, you and I."

The field bleeds away into a small, rotted room with no door, the glowing crescents of his eyes never breaking eye contact as she feels herself withering away. He caresses her cheek with such a gentle touch. He always does that when he is about to do something heinous. As he reaches for her again, she grips his hand tightly, jerks it away, and—

Liila blinks as she stares up at Tia, who is returning her gaze with genuine surprise.

For a moment, Liila thinks perhaps Tia is there to ferry her to the Shadowlands, that she has finally died and the ascended is here to take her away from the small room and the wicked man.

Before the idea can fully form, she recognizes the 'dim' light overhead signaling night in Bastion, and realizes that she is holding Tia's hand away from her, tightly. She immediately lets her go and casts a heal on her instinctively, hoping that her nails have not broken skin.

She should really keep them shorter, considering how bad her nightmares can get…

She did, for years, until she finally felt like she had gotten enough of herself back that they wouldn't be a danger to anyone, that she didn't have enough incoherent mornings that she would likely lash out on some poor, well-meaning fool.

There is no blood on her fingertips or under her nails, and she lets out a small sigh of relief, flopping back from where she's been half sitting up.

There is a moment's silence before Tia tilts her head and says softly. "You were having a nightmare."

"Yeah," Liila murmurs. "Sorry."

"There are so few bells here, they are not being kept at bay as they should."

"Is that why?" Liila mumbles, sitting up. A few other mortals are snoring, not far off, and Liila can see that even their kyrian counterparts seem to be resting.

All save her and Tia.

"I didn't wake you, did I?"

"No," Tia says, and her smile is kind. "I don't sleep very often."

"I hope you don't push yourself too hard," Liila murmurs and then pauses when she notes the way Tia tilts her head, an amusement in her eyes that says she thinks Liila's concern is adorable. "I just know most people here seem to do that at one point or another."

"Adrestes can be like that," Tia offers. "Thenios, too. Most of the paragons, really. Especially now, with all that is going wrong." Her smile slips.

Liila nods. "Well, hopefully this mess will end sooner than later and we can all pretend to get our sleeping habits back under control until the next apocalypse."

Tia nods. Then, she taps a small stack of parchment that is resting neatly beside Liila's bedroll. "I'm needed elsewhere, but I wanted to leave this for you. In a way, it's fortunate that you woke when you did."

Liila merely frowns as she reaches out and picks up the parchment. The top is a letter, presumably from Tia, and she skims it before moving to the next page which is covered in some of the most complicated spellcraft she has ever seen.

Even as she leans toward it, Tia says, "This sort of thing is usually reserved for our most experienced casters. But mortals learn so quickly, I think perhaps it could benefit your work."

Liila tilts her head as she skims it and then her brow shoots up. "This is…the inner workings of the Crest of Ascension."

Tia nods. "What are wings but a boon earned by the kyrian? Perhaps if you can understand this, it will help with understanding the principles behind Helya's work?"

"Helya's not on the Archon's level," Liila murmurs, checking the next page and then looking up at Tia. "But this is incredible. I can see the parallels."

Tia leans forward and carefully thumbs through the pages to stop on one near the back. "Here is how wings are removed." As Liila's brow arches, Tia says, "It's never been needed before, but considering what's been going on in Loyalty, it looks like there will be more than a few who need their wings revoked until they can properly earn them."

"The Archon should take Devos' wings," Liila mutters under her breath, pausing when she notices Tia's arched brow. "It would be fantastic, actually, because think of it. Devos has had wings for damned near ever, right? The Archon could start a bet for how long before she just walks off a platform, thinking she can still fly."

"I doubt that will happen," Tia says, clearly unamused, even as Liila smirks at the idea of Devos having an 'oh shit' moment as she freefalls.

"Well, I will hold out for my petty mortal vengeance."

Tia simply shakes her head and rises to her feet. "I will see if I can bring a few more bells with me next time I come by. You are not the only one with nightmares, Maw Walker," she adds as Liila starts to protest.

"We'll all appreciate that," Liila says quietly, and notes the way Tia offers her a faint smile before taking to the air and then shifting through the veil.

For a moment, Liila wonders if it is quicker to travel on the other side of the veil. She resolves to ask someone, as she lays back down. However, her mind is unsettled, and she can feel the ghosts of her memories waiting for her to close her eyes.

She has had four memories cleansed. Each time, as soon as the memory tormenting her is gone, a new one rises up to take its place, a new aspect of her past sweeping up to make her wary of simple sounds or the flicker of movement in her peripheral vision.

When she went to have the last memory cleansed, she had asked Kosmas if he sees the memories, knowing that he does. When he confirmed it, she asked if it affects how he sleeps.

"I cleanse the ones I cannot handle," he had replied in that deep voice, the words rolling over her like the bells above.

"Have you had to cleanse mine?"

"If I have, I don't remember," he'd said. "It will take time, but by the time we are done, no one will remember him," he'd added, smiling when Liila seemed a bit surprised.

Liila hadn't needed to ask who he was talking about. She didn't like to say his name, either.

Or perhaps Kosmas simply didn't know it.

Regardless, his words had been such a balm. To think that eventually nothing of her tormentor will be left.

She hopes that's true in every sense. That he's rotting and falling apart in the Maw. That his soul will collapse into dust there and he'll never be able to hurt anyone else.

Pelagos has brought up several times that he doesn't think anyone should be sent to the Maw. Liila doesn't think she can agree with that, though she doesn't argue with him. He can feel her disapproval, though. The last time, he actually uncurled himself from Nikolon's side and came over and hugged Liila. Nikolon's expression had been hard to read, but Liila has the impression that Nikolon is not her biggest fan.

Liila envies Pelagos' compassion to a degree, half wishing that she could be as forgiving.

Perhaps, someday, if she can forget all that that bastard did…

For now, though, that will not be possible. Her nightmares are too vicious, too many. Her own torture continues too strongly for her to be willing to wish the one who did it be redeemed.

Liila finds that she does not want to go back to sleep just yet. Her newest memory to take center stage is one that hurts deeper than the others. She is sure that in times past it was not so, but perhaps it is because of what has been knocked loose here, the echoes of Amaeria. In her last dream, it felt like a memory of a memory for a while, of her sitting beside a pond, wanting to get rid of…

Yes, it is better she doesn't sleep just yet. Liila wants to be sure that she won't draw blood when the next well-meaning person wakes her up.

She inspects the notes she's been given, before looking around. Mitchell sits a ways away, his spellbook open and a few scrolls hanging in the air around him. He is alone in the night, and so Liila gets up and goes over to him. He doesn't bother to hide his work when she gets closer, and that makes her smile because it means he's likely just stealing kyrian spells at the moment.

He continues his mad scribbles as she settles down beside him. They sit in silence for a few minutes before he says, "I need to get your measurements for a new tabard."

"I don't think I'm much different than—"

"You almost look healthy," Mitchell says, cutting her off. He doesn't look up from his work. "That means the tabard will be too tight if I use your old measurements. I'll need to get Inaar's, too."

Liila nods. "I'll make sure she comes by in the next few days."

"I'm going back to Maldraxxus tomorrow," Mitchell says. "I'll be back in a couple days, though. If nothing else, she can come to Maldraxxus. I'll be at the House of Plagues, helping contain shit."

"Alright," Liila replies.

"I guess I might have been wrong about this lot." He pauses then to look up and motion toward the nearest sleeping Kyrian. Thanikos. He is propped up against a few crates, but his head is bent forward and his feathers are fluffed a little. He is so still. "When I said they'd want to keep you."

"They want me back eventually," Liila says, perking up and scooting closer to whisper conspiratorially. "So you're not entirely wrong."

Mitchell lets out a soft, thoughtful hum. "I've heard rumors that they might not make people forget everything anymore."

"I know that's one of the forsworn's biggest grievances."

"Haa'aji will be happy to hear that." Mitchell is quiet a moment before adding, "I'm happy you won't have to forget us." He rolls his shoulders, one and then the other. "I mean, we won't even be in the same afterlives, so I guess it doesn't matter, but I like to think…I'll remember you and…"

He trails off and then shrugs, glaring at one of the nearer scrolls before he starts writing again.

Liila blinks, staring at him. And then she darts closer, wrapping her arms around him and slumping all of her weight against his shoulders. He flails, his book falling from his lap as he tries to keep his balance. "I don't know Mitchy, you're a good soul. I think you might make the cut—"

"I was already judged, remember?" Mitchell says, finally managing to shove her off him. He puffs up a little, looking at her with a bit of pride in his eyes. "I was pretty freaked out, after I saw some sinstones, right? But Lash asked if they had one with my name and they don't." He turns, facing her, excitement lighting up his face. "And! I was talking to some of the guys in Maldraxxus and they were saying that maybe they can bust me out of wherever I end up to come back to them, whenever I finally manage to die. Mevix says they travel the realms anyway, so they'd have the ability to get to me, wherever I go."

"What if you have a nice, quiet afterlife where you can be happy and study to your heart's content?" Liila asks.

"Bah!" Mitchell cries, throwing his hands in the air before reaching down to pick up his spellbook. "I'd rather be in Maldraxxus." He glances at her. "With all I've been through, I don't think going anywhere that doesn't have skeletons and constructs would feel like home, you know?" As Liila considers it and nods, he adds, "And if you think you're not up for an eternity in this bright hellscape, you're welcome, too."

"I don't think the Archon would take kindly to maldraxxi coming back here to steal away her souls."

Mitchell rolls his eyes. "We can be subtle." He hesitates before adding, "And you can play with shadows in Maldraxxus. And you know, if you decide you want to change things up before then, Vole said he'll be your first maldraxxi soulbind."

"Not you?"

"We're still alive," Mitchell mutters. "And you know Haa'aji would set shit on fire if you have anyone else as your first living soulbind other than him."

Liila can't help but smile. "You think?"

"I know. He already threatened me about it."

Liila sits beside him and hugs him. He grouses about her being so touchy-feely lately, but returns her hug with a one-armed squeeze. Liila rests her chin on his shoulder. "I'm sorry that I was so mean to you."

"You should be. I'm fantastic."

"You are."

Mitchell nods knowingly before reaching up and patting her head. "You seem like you're doing better lately. Especially in the last couple weeks."

"I think so, too," Liila says.

"Blood says it's because you're getting laid."

Liila snorts and buries her face against Mitchell's shoulder to stop herself from laughing loud enough to wake everyone.

"You know I've had plenty of—"

"Oh my gods. NO."

"Back on Azeroth, I was—"

Mitchell drops his book and pen to cover his ears. "I can't hear you!"

Liila waits until he lowers his hands. "You literally asked me the other day how I have sex with Adrestes."

"I wanted to know the logistics, not the details!" He pauses. "I mean, I was wondering about the paragons and other larger kyrian, too, really."

"I don't know if you have much of a chance with Xandria." Liila hears a faint snort from Thanikos' direction, but she ignores it, as Mitchell gives her a scowl.

"I'm not stupid."

"You always perk up when you get to talk to her," Liila teases, thinking of how eager Mitchell had been to inform the paragon that Margrave Sin'dane had been brought to justice, so that the Temple of Courage was finally fully avenged.

Scowl persisting, Mitchell shoves her away. "Don't you have other things to do? I'm busy."

"And here I was going to ask you to look at the spellcraft that goes into making kyrian wings with me…"

Instantly, Mitchell perks up, tugging Liila back by her elbow. As she laughs, she holds out the notes and they begin to look them over together.


Kleia steps away from the anima gateway in Purity and looks around, idly wondering just who she'll need to see about her current task. Likely, she'll need to talk to Eridia or Vesiphone, but the idea of asking either for vespers to help those at Loyalty rest is a little daunting, considering what happened to their temple.

It won't do to go behind their backs, either, though.

As she resolves herself to the fact that this will not likely be a particularly pleasant conversation, she hears the faintest whisper of footfalls behind her just before a deep voice calls out.

"Kleia! It's good to see you again."

"Kosmas," Kleia says, ignoring the faint flutter of her heart at the sound of his voice. She turns to meet his brilliant smile. She offers him a small bow.

"It's good to see you in Purity again. With how tight movement has been, I wasn't sure I'd see you again any time soon. I hear you've been assisting those in Loyalty?"

"Well, I was helping when they locked everything down and I've just… there has been a lot to do around that temple, honestly." Kleia shrugs. Kosmas nods, sympathetic, and tells her that he was stuck in the Spires for almost a week before he was allowed to return to Purity, himself.

"How is Loyalty, these days?"

"It's a mess," Kleia says, sighing. She looks around at Purity. "It looks about how Purity did after…"

After the forsworn attacked.

She wonders if Kosmas' grimace is for his temple or for the people she is helping who hurt his temple. It wasn't all of them, of course, but there are people at Loyalty who are guilty of striking out at different areas in the realm, and it is a narrow course to fly, figuring out what sort of reparations and justice will be required of those she's been assisting of late.

As she looks at Kosmas, she scrambles for anything to say, anything to steer the conversation away from the forsworn. Nothing comes to mind.

Quite abruptly, she feels like she should be doing something with her hands, though nothing comes to mind. She crosses them, uncrosses them, lets them hang, and then, finally, rests her hand on the pommel of her warhammer, where it rests on her hip.

"That is a beauty."

"What?"

Kosmas motions to her weapon. He says a name she doesn't recognize as he asks who made it.

"Oh, no. Sophone made this for me. My last one was damaged too badly fighting the mawsworn."

"May I?"

He holds out a hand, and with a soft 'oh', Kleia removes the warhammer from her belt and offers it to him. For the first time, she notices he has one of his own resting on his hip.

"This is beautifully made," he says, that deep baritone rolling around her. It almost makes her shiver. He grasps the grip, swings it carefully and then flips it in his hand in a smooth motion before offering it back to her. "Thank you, my friend. I will have to ask if Sophone has time for commissions, should something happen to mine."

Kleia is sorely tempted to ask after his own, and feels her feathers fluff a little with embarrassment when he reads her so easily and offers her his to try out. The wrappings around its grip are fresh, but the weapon itself is old. Old, but with clear dedication to its upkeep.

"Forgive me," he says softly, and she looks up, surprised, wondering what he could have possibly done that would warrant forgiveness. His eyes shine as he meets her gaze. "You didn't come here to compare weapons."

"Ah, no." Kleia says, feeling a bit of a flush rise to her cheeks. "I was…well, I was wondering if Purity might have any spare vespers. Maybe ones that are being replaced, but still work well enough?"

"The Maw Walker is having nightmares again?"

"No! Well, yes actually," Kleia murmurs, gaze lowering as she considers the memories that have flickered stronger of late. She can usually tell when Liila is asleep because the memories that come to mind are bold and dark, and merge with others into odd twisted things.

She has let herself see them lately, let herself pay attention to them. She almost went to find Liila during one of the worse ones, to try to talk her into going to Purity to rid herself of those hateful memories. While she didn't, she did hear that Liila went to Purity on her own, from Pelagos, and shortly after, those dreadful echoes were gone.

There will not be time in a mortal life to get rid of everything that plagues Liila, but perhaps if she could leave behind the worst of it here, then—once all this is over and she is back in the realm of the living—perhaps she can live the rest of her days in relative peace.

"We can always find room for her," Kosmas says gently.

He's so…sweet.

Kleia cannot help but smile back at him, just as gently as he does. "I will remind her, though she's very driven at the moment."

"Trying to find a way to save the mawsworn," Kosmas says.

"Yes," Kleia nods. She hesitates a moment and then, just as Kosmas starts to say something about sending bells to the mortals, she takes a step toward him. "I was looking for bells to help the forsworn, actually."

Kosmas stills, for just the barest fraction of a second, and Kleia isn't sure why her heart sinks at the idea that she has hurt him, but it does.

"I'm sorry," she whispers without thinking.

His eyes widen, and in a breath, he takes her hands in his. "Do not apologize, Kleia." She likes her name on his lips. He holds her gaze, the sincerity there making Kleia's breath catch in her throat. He lowers his gaze. "I…I am the one who should apologize. I am letting my own bias cloud my judgment."

Without thinking, Kleia turns her hands just enough to clasp his. "You have nothing to apologize for, Kosmas. I will need to talk to Eridia or Vesiphone anyway. I shouldn't have troubled you—"

"I like when you trouble me," Kosmas says. He dares to raise his gaze and meet hers.

For a moment, Kleia thinks he may lean forward and kiss her and even as she tries to wrestle with whether she would like that or not, he squeezes her hands and lets them go.

"I do not know that our vespers will help the forsworn." He motions overhead to the chiming tones that ring out around them. "Most of the forsworn who were here had to leave because our bells give them headaches. They are designed both to push back nightmares, but also to help put distance between oneself and one's mortal memories. For those who do not wish to follow the Path, their sound is a grating shriek."

Kleia frowns. "Some were able to stay?"

"Only those willing to come back to the Path find any serenity here," Kosmas says.

Crossing her arms, Kleia bows her head as she considers it. This should have been obvious. She's seen the results of what happens when the forsworn are caught off guard by certain bells in Bastion. She has relied on those very vespers to turn the tide in fights against them. And she's heard the forsworn lament how the chimes don't sound the same for them, once they fell.

Still…

Still, they do not deserve the nightmares and anxieties they suffer.

"You could ask Vesiphone," Kosmas offers. "Or perhaps Chyrus? His vespers offer a gentle solace, from what I remember." When Kleia nods, he gives her another warm smile and echoes the action. "I should let you—"

"How are the children doing?" Kleia interrupts, surprising them both. She's not sure why, but she doesn't want him to go just yet. Guilt curls inside of her as she considers she is wasting his time. And not just by trying to keep him near with idle banter.

Pelagos and Liila have both told her of an inexplicable pull that draws them toward Nikolon and Adrestes, of how when it first started, they had both ignored it, and it had been easy to push out of their minds, but had never-the-less always been there. About how now it is a beast all its own, a comforting tether to their partners. The connection has grown for both the more they have leaned into it, and she can feel the echoes of the comfort it brings them, but nothing of the tug itself.

It has made her wonder.

Sometimes, when she has a moment's rest, she sits still and closes her eyes and feels for her own tug, for her own pull that will lead her to someone she is meant for.

She did this in the past, on quiet evenings when the Path was long and hard, and she felt like she could use a soulmate, someone made just for her to lean on and be leaned on by. She has always loved the stories, the meetings after ages, the romance of it all.

But it always felt a little bit like a fairytale.

There were people around her who had soulmates. Clora and Sophone. Achillon and Pallessa. The renowned Eridia and Lysonia, and Devos and Thenios.

However, for the most part, it always seemed like people didn't have soulmates, and that had made it easy to sort of believe in them without actually believing. To see it as just a deep and meaningful relationship.

But now…

With Pelagos and Nikolon, and Liila and Adrestes…

There is something there, something inexplicable. The two have tried to explain it. Nikolon has tried to explain it—Adrestes just frowns if people ask him about his 'soulmate'—but nothing those who try say resonates with Kleia.

Here, now, with Kosmas, Kleia feels for some tiny tug that perhaps whispered in the back of her head without her knowledge, but it is just not there.

She likes Kosmas.

She really likes Kosmas, and had he noticed her even a few months ago, she would have gladly welcomed his attention, gladly returned it with her own.

But now she thinks of what Liila said about soulmates being awful.

About being in a relationship when one's soulmate shows up and the fallout that would come with it. What if hers shows up while she is entangled with Kosmas? What if his shows up after she's given him her heart?

Kleia feels a little miserable as she considers that perhaps Liila is right after all.

Soulmates are a terrible concept.

Despite her reservations, she cannot bring herself to turn away from Kosmas just yet, and so instead she lets herself enjoy talking to him as he tells her of the little ones' adventures that he has stumbled upon, and how the one she met asks after her from time to time.

"He calls you the strong, pretty lady," Kosmas says, laughter in his eyes.

Kleia cannot help but smile back. "I'm glad they're doing well. They're lucky to have such a handsome and kind guardian like you."

For just a second, his cheeks tinge a shade darker. His laugh is a little awkward before he catches himself. "Well, I'm hardly alone in looking after them." They have been walking as they talk, and Kleia realizes rather abruptly that he has been quietly guiding her to Eridia this whole time.

She feels a little guilty again, though this time, she can't place why.

Kosmas points Eridia out to her, offering that the Hand might have a better idea about what to do with the vespers for the forsworn. He starts to dismiss himself before turning back to her and pointing at her. "I've been meaning to ask: I've heard Nikolon is friends with your soulbind—"

"They're soulmates," Kleia interrupts without thinking.

Kosmas brow arches, and then his smile returns. "Pelagos and Nikolon? Eridia will be disappointed the mystery was solved so easily."

Even as Kleia can't help a small laugh, he shakes his head. "But if you know Nikolon, he may be able to help with those vespers. He used to help me tune them here."

"I think he's…" Kleia pauses. "I think he's in Courage with Pelagos and Liila right now. Perhaps I can ask him about it the next time I go to check on them. Assuming Eridia can't help me."

"Courage, hmm?" Kosmas considers it, his humor slipping for the first time. "Perhaps I will find the time to see him myself." He hesitates and then whispers softly, "I miss him." Even as Kleia takes a step toward him, thinking to hug him, he collects himself and gives her another warm smile. "I must return to my duties. Stay safe, Kleia."


Pelagos scans a few of the scrolls, pausing occasionally to check back with some notes he's taken before scribbling down a phrase or two, a combination of spells and theory. As he moves to check another scroll, he pauses when he notices that he is not alone in his little corner of the arena. Nikolon rests on one side, propped up by his arm as he watches Pelagos.

"Don't mind me," Nikolon says, motioning to the scrolls between them and then to Pelagos. "I'm enjoying the view."

Pelagos can't help but smile. He shakes his head and then peers back over at his soulmate. "Have you been there long?"

"Long enough to be most impressed with your dedication to your craft."

"You're welcome to pitch in."

Nikolon shakes his head. "I've never been much for spellcraft. I can do a few minor things, but you'd spend most of your time backtracking to explain everything to me."

"You don't want to be a rubber duck?" Pelagos teases.

Nikolon snorts. "I will pass."

Pelagos glances down at his notes, considers where he's at, and then looks back at Nikolon. "How's Loyalty?"

"You don't have to stop what you're doing."

"I could use a break," Pelagos assures him, quietly marking a few pages and then setting things so that nothing will get blown around should any wing gusts reach them. When he is done, he hops over the neat stack of resources and sits with Nikolon.

"You're sure?" Nikolon asks, sitting up and adjusting his wings so that his feathers don't twist.

"I'm sure."

"Good," Nikolon reaches out and tugs Pelagos into his lap. He wraps his arms around him and then rests his chin on Pelagos' shoulder. That heavenly prickle of energy between them is a welcome thrum. "And to answer your question, Loyalty is doing well. No one has even whispered about defecting to the Maw in…well, weeks. Everyone who remains wants to stay in Bastion, to make it better."

"I'm glad," Pelagos says, leaning back against his soulmate. "Kleia seems optimistic about the temple, too."

"She's a huge help," Nikolon replies. He leans his head against Pelagos. "I think the stewards may love her more than Devos."

When Pelagos laughs, Nikolon straightens up just enough to steal a quick kiss. "She is always sure to tell me that you are doing well and how far along your work is coming."

Pelagos can't help but smile. The last few weeks have been…good. While the threat of the Jailer is an ever-looming worry, he has been able to focus on the spellcraft here, and it has gone surprisingly well. Twice, he and Liila have had epiphanies thanks to their soulbind, thanks to being able to share past experiences without words.

And he feels like Nikolon is coming around to liking Liila, as well. He is still rather reserved in their interactions, but in private, he has told Pelagos more than once that she and her mortal friends are 'not so bad'.

"You know, there's a chance, slim as it is, that we may be able to get the Path altered," Nikolon says softly. "You might not have to forget everything."

Pelagos blinks, shifting a little where he sits so that he can face Nikolon fully. As Nikolon leans forward to kiss his neck, Pelagos frowns, a sudden thought coming to mind. Guilt pools and coils in his stomach, ready to strike. "Tell me you didn't fall because of me."

Leaning back, Nikolon blinks, surprised. "What?"

"Because I couldn't pass my Rite—"

Nikolon interrupts him with a hard kiss and then leans his forehead against Pelagos'. "I did not fall because of you." He is quiet a moment before moving to brush his nose against Pelagos' and kissing him again, much gentler. "I fell because I could not stand the pain our ways inflict. I became a disciple of Purity because of how hard it was for me to forget," he says.

When Pelagos blinks, wearing his surprise openly, Nikolon takes one of his hands in his and brushes a kiss against his knuckles. "My time in Purity was not so different from yours. And when I finally earned my wings, I knew what I wanted to do with my eternity. I wanted to help others through that pain, to find ways to make it easier for them. And for a while—for eons, really—it seemed like it was working. There was pain, but aspirants could move forward, given enough time and enough patience.

"But then the drought hit and there was just so much suffering. There was no end to it. Aspirant after aspirant fell because they feared they were not enough or they could not bear to forget. We were taking away from all of these souls, and with the drought there was little that could be given back. There were no festivals or hobbies they could throw themselves into to make new memories. All they could do was sit and wait and dread the next cleansing that would cause more pain, that would chip away at the experiences and lives they had lived."

Pelagos reaches out and slips his arms around Nikolon. He wants to tell his lover that he has such a kind heart, that he is so good and that he hopes that perhaps with the drought coming to a close, things will get better, but he does not know how to say it without simply repeating words he has spoken time and time again. Words that Nikolon has not found comfort in because he always says things about how the pain was always there, it was just easier to ignore, and how he does not feel that it is right to cause at all.

"I wanted to help those who were falling, to spare them pain, and yet the forsworn just inflicted a different, more final kind of agony. I wish I could undo that."

"I'm glad to hear that."

Both Pelagos and Nikolon startle as a deep voice interrupts their conversation.

Nikolon tenses, gaze snapping away from Pelagos, even as he holds him closer. "Kosmas."

"Nikolon."

The ascended stands close enough to speak freely without raising his voice, but Pelagos can feel the distance between the two. He tenses himself, worried that there may be a confrontation.

"I should not have interrupted a private moment," Kosmas says, gaze lowering when Nikolon snaps that he's right about that. "But I… I miss you. You were my brother for eons, and I was glad to see you. I did not realize until too late that you were not alone." When Nikolon does not reply, Kosmas motions to him. "I was hoping we might talk. In private."

"Pelagos is my soulmate," Nikolon says, holding his chin a little higher. "There is nothing you cannot say in front of him."

Something flutters in Pelagos' chest as he looks back at Nikolon, even as he was ready to excuse himself—or in the very least climb out of his lap.

Kosmas' smile is genuine as he nods toward them. "I heard. Eridia says neither of you could find a better partner."

"She's still determined to know every soulmated couple who comes to Bastion, is she?"

"Of course. Surely you have not been gone so long that you think her favorite pastime would wane so quickly. Her enthusiasm is muted now, considering what hers has done," Kosmas says, "but musing over who dear Pelagos had found was something to distract her for a while, at least."

Pelagos can't help an awkward laugh at that.

Kosmas nods to the two of them. "May I sit?"

"I won't ask for forgiveness," Nikolon says, feathers sleek, chin held up, tension in his jaw.

"You need never ask me for that," Kosmas says in turn. "When it's due, I have always given it without question, haven't I?"

As Pelagos glances back at Nikolon, the forsworn looks away, toward the ground. "We were soulbinds until I fell."

"I respect the decision you made," Kosmas says quietly, "but I wanted you to know I still consider you a dear friend." He stands there, with a small satchel held under one arm, watching them with an expression that says he does not know where he stands.

"You can sit," Nikolon murmurs. He frowns as Pelagos moves out of his lap, though Pelagos sits beside him so that their knees touch. He laces their fingers together as Nikolon unfurls his wings and rests one against Pelagos' back, tugging him just a hair closer.

Kosmas comes closer before settling down himself. "I do not know if you would be interested, but Kleia came by Purity asking about vespers, and I thought perhaps you could help."

For just an instant, Nikolon's expression twists to grief, though he composes himself quick enough. "They do not work for me as they once did. I have lost my connection—"

"You have lost your connection to bells that were made to help people forget," Kosmas says quickly, "but the bells here do not cause you grief, do they?"

"There are hardly any here."

"But the ones that are, do they bother you?"

Nikolon is quiet for a moment, letting Courage's silence extend around them until he hears a few soft chimes in the distance. He shakes his head. "These do not bother me."

With a smile, Kosmas places his satchel in front of him and pulls out a few hand bells. Some of them are most definitely from Purity, but others bear the distinct colorings of those used by the forsworn. "Kleia says many of those at Loyalty have nightmares. I thought that perhaps we could do something about that. Perhaps we could design vespers that would be gentle on all ears of the realm."

Reaching out, Nikolon picks up one of the bells and rings it softly. Faint as the note is, he still winces. He rings it again anyway, listening somberly to the note it makes. "I think the problem is that Purity banishes nightmares the same way it banishes memories. It makes one forget."

Kosmas nods, slowly. "A fair point."

"Perhaps if we tried to make them calm nerves before one actually falls asleep?" Nikolon offers, looking up to meet Kosmas' gaze. "If we made them preventative instead of reactive."

Pointing at him, Kosmas nods. "I like the way you think. There are some vespers like that at Purity," he pauses, considers it. "They're too big to bring here, though. Maybe I can find something at Humility or Wisdom…"

Nikolon nods. "I can check around Loyalty, see what I can find."

"We could meet back here tomorrow?" Kosmas asks.

Even before Nikolon replies, Pelagos knows that he will say yes. There is an excitement, a hope in his soulmate that is palpable. As he watches Kosmas rise and dismiss himself, leaving the handbells he brought for future use, Nikolon seems to relax and for the first time Pelagos can see just how tightly the forsworn has been wound, for he is able to see the shift in his expression, in the way he holds himself.

Even if they have only exchanged a few words, it has done Nikolon good. Pelagos reaches out and squeezes his hand, laughing when Nikolon drags him closer again, though he merely rests his head against Pelagos' shoulder, holding onto him tightly. He wraps his arms around Nikolon, fingers in his hair as he lets his soulmate lean on him.

Pelagos can't help but hope that this is one of the many, many bridges that might be mended here in Bastion.

He kisses Nikolon's hair and leans his cheek against him, closing his eyes as he feels that truth that has been stirring in his soul, growing stronger and stronger with each new experience he has.

Everyone deserves a second chance.


It has been almost a month since the Jailer's forces breached Bastion.

It has been almost a month, and Adrestes feels like they are still no closer to figuring out how to assure the realm's security. Perhaps it would not bother him as much if not for the fact that he has not been able to involve himself in that very security as much as he usually would.

That is not to say he does not find value—or find it rewarding—to assist the forsworn.

A decision has been made about reprimands for the forsworn who partook in attacks against different parts of the realm. Those involved in the assault on Purity are, in the least, having their wings stripped. They have been told that they will have the chance to earn them back, once all is said and done, but for now, they must give up the skies as part of their penance.

Three have argued against that, and surprisingly enough, none of them were ones actually being stripped of their wings. Rather, they were soulbinds and soulmates arguing on behalf of their loved ones, ready to fight Adrestes to keep the others safe.

It was a bit of a task, but with Kleia's and Nebi's help, Adrestes was able to reason with those who were most upset, and begin setting things right.

Now, he sits with a handful of forsworn, aspirants and ascended alike, as they discuss one of the most touchy aspects of their rebellion.

Memories.

Nikolon is there, frown in place, and Adrestes cannot help but notice the way the aspirants present seem to flock to him, seeing him as a protector. They sit around him, closer, like they expect that he will pull them to safety if something goes awry. Some of them, he thinks, are from Courage, though he is not particularly familiar with who has been where. Travel has become marginally easier in the last week or so, and some of the forsworn who were staying at other temples have returned to Loyalty. He recognizes one of them as one who came to speak with the Archon before everything fell apart. She watches him with an intense look that says she is judging everything he says and does, looking for signs of trickery or betrayal. The rest do not seem nearly as on edge.

Or if they are, they are better at hiding it.

"I was not here in the beginning," Adrestes begins, but he lightly taps dozens of records beside him, "but I have seen what can happen when certain memories are kept, and I've read about what happens with others."

The frowns that meet his words are pronounced, but at least there are not outright objections just yet.

"Let me start with the tale of Watcher Eresthene." Both Nebi and Nikolon wince at that one. Nebi, is intimately familiar with it, as it was her observations that led to her fellow watcher getting caught. "Eresthene was a dedicated soul who strove to find cures for illnesses in life, after her son succumbed to one. She hid the fact that she kept memories of her son from Vesiphone."

"Back in those days Vesiphone was not as diligent about assuring all memories were gone, and occasionally let people keep a few that were considered particularly precious," Nikolon murmurs.

Adrestes nods. "Eresthene was an outstanding Watcher until one day, a boy came before her who had succumbed to illness, and he reminded her so much of her son that, even though it was his time, she sent him back." He looks from one aspirant to the next. "Again and again and again. He realized that no matter what happened to him, he would always come back, and so he became dangerous to his world. He harmed people because he knew even if he faced punishment for his crimes, he would still come back. They could not kill him because something was watching over him. Eresthene saw what he was doing, how he was twisting into something wicked, and she ignored it. She looked the other way, sometimes chastising him, before sending him back to live the life her son never got to live."

"I had to judge many of the souls he sent ahead of him," Nebi murmurs. "He was something so wicked by the end. Very manipulative, too. That was how he played on her sympathy so easily."

"When he died outside of her reach, Eresthene was outraged that she could not convince her fellow Watcher to send him back. She bickered, and it gave him time to attach himself back to that world as a specter. He was lost to us, to the Shadowlands, and his soul rotted as he terrorized his world, striking down dozens of others who did not deserve it, who would not have suffered those fates, had he been ferried when he was meant to."

"So we all have to forget our children because one Watcher was a fool?" one of the aspirants asks.

"It was not just one," Adrestes says quietly. "I'm just telling you about the one I was present for. She was the last of almost thirty who made calls clouded by personal bias, whose calls had a ripple effect on the worlds where they happened, and led to premature deaths in others."

"Do we know they were premature?" another aspirant asks. "What if it was fate that they die that day? What if they would have died some way, maybe not by that soul's hands, but—"

"While it is not every world, there are many living worlds that have various seers or keepers of time." Adrestes explains. "Most of the transgressions were brought to us by these creatures communing, letting us know that one of our own had destabilized things within their world. Some sought reparations. Some demanded justice."

Nebi nods slowly, despite herself. "The Bronze Dragonflight are the ones on Azeroth." She lists a few others from other prominent worlds. "They can see how any one event can shift the future or the past, and they direct it in very specific ways. They get very upset when outside forces disrupt their plans."

Adrestes inspects his audience. He has other examples, of people taking souls that remind them of their exes before their time, of Bearers damaging souls during the ride over through carelessness because they were certain the soul would be bound for the Maw, only for it to go, damaged, to another afterlife.

"When the Scourge hit Azeroth," Adrestes says, instead, "I had to witness some of the most awful deaths I have ever seen while I was bearing. One that stands out was particularly brutal. I ferried the soul as she was meant to be. I did my duty." He is quiet a moment. "And I far too frequently hoped that I would get to bear the one that had sent her to the Shadowlands as well. I wanted to give him just a taste of the horror he had inflicted. To drop him in the In Between and let him be lost, or to cast him into the Maw myself, lest he end up somewhere that did not provide the justice that I felt he deserved." He looks toward the scrolls. "I still think that, had I had that opportunity, I might have."

He looks over his audience with care. "It is so easy to fall to bias, and in my case, it would have happened without memories of someone beloved being hurt or reminding me of someone else. When the temptation is that strong without those personal attachments, I can only imagine how bad it would have affected me with them."

"What if those who want to keep their memories stayed in the realm?" One of the aspirants asks. "We could be collectors. Our memories would not hurt anyone then."

"All of us bear at one point or another," Adrestes says. "Every ascended, every disciple, every Hand, every paragon. The Archon herself still bears souls, when needed. And considering all we have lost with the recent fighting, we are even more hard pressed for bearers than ever before."

"What happened to Watcher Eresthene?" one of the aspirants asks.

"She was sent to the Arbiter to be rejudged," Nebi says, softly. "We don't know where she went."

"Revendreth," Adrestes corrects. "She was sent to Revendreth to atone, and then to a smaller, quieter afterlife."

"Did she get to see her son again?" that same aspirant asks.

"I do not know," Adrestes says. "But if she did, it was after eons of suffering."

"Do most souls who don't make it here go to Revendreth?" another aspirant asks.

"Prior to the drought it was incredibly rare," Adrestes explains. "But unless that soul was violent or caused catastrophic damage through their actions, no." He pauses. "I know one soul who was sent to Ardenweald. He's quite happy there as an owl."

When they look curious, Adrestes tells them the tale of how he was delivering a missive and found himself flying with a companion, small and translucent. The soul had asked after a few names he had known and more he hadn't, but had been content with the answers Adrestes had given.

"I'm told he still likes to swoop up and join any messengers who happen through the realm, to check on how Bastion fares."

"Does he miss it here?"

"I think he misses some of the people," Adrestes admits, "but I think he's happier where he is."

"Do you think I could be rejudged? When the Arbiter awakens?" the aspirant with so many questions asks.

"I do not see why not, if that is truly the path you wish to take," Adrestes says. "But I will tell you now that you will not be a priority when she does."

As the aspirant sits up a little straighter, Nikolon reaches out and stays her protest with a hand on hers. "The priority will be the souls who have fallen to the Maw. Comparatively, your fate waiting here is kind."

One of the other aspirants tilts his head. "What about those of us who want to be Bearers but want to remember? Could we just make certain that we're not assigned back to our old world? Or any too similar to it?"

Adrestes frowns at the idea, considering it. "That would fall under Xandria's or Chyrus' purview. I know there have been talks, but I do not know how they are going. It is going to take time to figure out what changes can be made."

"But they are willing to make changes?" It is Nikolon who asks. "Vesiphone is willing?"

"She will have the most changes to make, very likely," Adrestes acknowledges, "but I know she does want Bastion to be unified once again, and if that means making changes on her part, she is willing, so long as they will not endanger the souls we ferry."

Their conversation winds on a little longer, with more questions that Adrestes cannot help but feel he does not answer well. The last question comes from one of the ascended who sits with them, and it makes Adrestes feel a bit helpless.

"Have they decided who will be the next Paragon of Loyalty?"

He opens his mouth to answer and then sighs. "I…I know the Archon is considering who would be best suited, but as of now, I do not know."

More than a few of them look disappointed. One ascended looks at him, an earnest expression. "What about y—never mind."

When they part ways to resume repairs around the temple, Nebi lingers. She gives him a faint smile and lightly thwacks his arm. "After all these eons, you're getting sneaky, you know that?"

When Adrestes' merely gives her a frown, she laughs and then leans on his shoulder, whispering, "I know who you were talking about when you said you wanted vengeance."

"I wanted justice," Adrestes states, standing a little taller, and knocking her off her balance.

He rolls his eyes when she says, "That's what Uther said, too." She pauses. "The difference being Devos made sure he got a chance to act on his."

"So you see the problem."

"I'm not one of the ones you need to convince," Nebi says, though she leans in again and points at him, "But you shouldn't use your soulmate as an example of minor bias."

Adrestes takes in a measured breath. "At the time I did not know—"

"So you do believe in them these days!"

"I did not know what she would come to mean to me," Adrestes finishes. As Nebi dramatically falls away from him with a disbelieving cry that he's stubborn, he can't help the small smile that comes unbidden. He nudges her further off balance with a wing, and she feigns horror before nudging him back, hard enough that he almost loses his footing.

Her hair has been lightening over the last few weeks, and it is now a deep blue instead of black, with lighter streaks in it.

He has seen this happening with many of the forsworn, and it gives him hope that the issues keeping them apart may truly be mendable. There are still those with dull black hair and dull gray skin, but every day they seem to be fewer.

After making a round through the temple to see that everything is going along as smoothly as can be, he dismisses himself to go talk to Vesiphone. He wants to bring her the forsworn's suggestions so that he can better explain things the next time they talk. He wishes that Vesiphone would come here herself, but for now, he thinks that it would rile up the forsworn too much to have a paragon there. Xandria has not been by in almost a week, and Thenios has only checked in a few times. Chyrus has come by thrice, offering any who were training in Humility a chance to come back and resume their Path.

There have been so many questions about the Path.

Vesiphone seems to have instructed her people to bring him to her right away, because when he arrives at Purity, he is immediately directed to her. She welcomes him warmly. She is helping to tend to one of the gardens near the edge of the realm, and she pauses there to sit with him.

The temple is looking nice, and he tells her as much, noting the hard work that has gone into the restoration.

"It is because the realm is so focused," Vesiphone admits, motioning to a few ascended in the distance. "We have different disciples and acolytes on loan from every temple." She pauses before adding, "even Loyalty."

"Forsworn?" Adrestes asks. When she nods, he scans their surroundings for them and spots an aspirant helping to carry things in the distance. "They are doing well here?"

"I would not let them stay if they weren't," Vesiphone says. Her tone is gentle.

He nods to her, trying to remember when anyone would have come here. After a moment, he remembers Kleia mentioning something about a few who wanted to return to the Path, and taking them to Purity to resume their cleansings.

"Forgive me," he murmurs. "I try to keep track of everyone, but—"

"It takes time to adjust to such things," Vesiphone says, smiling. "And keeping track of so many has never been a skill you needed. I imagine you have the patrols and guard rotations down to the second."

"I do," he admits.

"If you want the truth, sometimes I have to check with Eridia or one of my disciples to see where someone has gotten off to."

"Kleia and Nebi have been helping me with that," Adrestes says letting his gaze wander the garden. Many of the plants are small compared to what once was, but it is still beautiful. "Kleia deals with relocations, and Nebi helps to make sure those still feeling lost find a way to voice their concerns."

"It sounds like they would make good Hands," Vesiphone says.

"Nebi would hate that," Adrestes says. "She's a Watcher through and through. She'll stay for as long as she's needed, of course."

"Of course," Vesiphone says. "What about Kleia?"

"I…" Adrestes considers it. "She is an inspiration to those around her. She makes them feel seen, heard. They know they can come to her with just about anything."

"And you?" Vesiphone asks. "Do you feel those at Loyalty can come to you about anything?"

"I think some are intimidated by me," he says, "but more and more, they bring things to my attention. Repairs that need to be made, scrolls that were lost, things like that. One brought me a crate's worth of Devos' propaganda that they apparently spent the previous week gathering." He pauses, looks back at Vesiphone. Her feathers are partially fluffed and her stance more relaxed that he has seen her in months. "Mostly I field questions that I don't have answers for, though."

She tilts her head. "About the Path?"

He nods, shifting so that he can pull a list from a pouch on his hip. "I was hoping for some help, actually."

There is a twinkle in Vesiphone's eye as she holds out her hand for the notes. As she starts to scan the questions, her expression shifts. She drums her fingers against her knee, thoughtfully. "Well, I don't have specific answers for most of these, but I can say there is talk of splitting the Path into a few." She pauses, looking at one of the last questions. "But I think you should warn the one asking about being sent to worlds unlike their own…the living realms overlap for different people in ways that are utterly unpredictable. Some Watchers would grow attached to a world with creatures completely unlike anything on their world just because the sunsets were the same splashes of color. Some grew attached to worlds because of how different they were from theirs. Some because the art is similar or the infrastructure for the cities are reminiscent of what they lived in. We can stop them from going to worlds with obvious connections, but bias will find a way in if there are memories of a home." Even as Adrestes nods, somber, she seems to reconsider it, "Though I suppose there is a bias comparing the mortal worlds to Bastion, too. After all, no matter how hard we train, we are still people."

"You think we cannot truly get rid of our mortal flaws?"

"Sometimes I wonder," Vesiphone says. "You should come to our next debate. Bring as many questions as you can. Sometimes I think we've lived so long that we've forgotten some of the simpler aspects of being mortal."

"Some that are not so bad?"

"Perhaps." She smiles again. And then she slips back into her thoughts. "Most of the times that something goes wrong, Watches and Bearers not performing their tasks as they should, it is because something bad threatens a positive memory. Letting a monster return to the living realm, bearing children from their homes, seeing the echo of a loved one who has been done wrong."

"Perhaps more consistent follow ups with Bearers and Watchers?" Adrestes asks. "Perhaps, if they seem like they are losing their way, instead of cleansing them, we could have them channel their energies into the realm for a time?"

"Switch from Bearer or Watcher to Collector?" Vesiphone asks. "It has been done, albeit it is rare." She considers it. "Perhaps it should be encouraged."

"Eternity is a long time to do one thing," Adrestes points out. He is quiet a moment longer before adding, "I know I lost my compassion, somewhere along the line. My duty was all that mattered, and it didn't matter how my charges felt about it. I made things harder for many by being so distant." He thinks of the times the little ones would ask him where they were going and how he had been dismissive or ignored their questions altogether to save himself the discomfort of conversation. "I made the process frightening."

"You have always been loyal."

"To a fault," he murmurs. "So loyal, so dedicated to our ways that I shunned simple things that could have been done differently without harming anything or -one."

"Oh?"

"I…" Adrestes looks down at his hands. "Forgive me, I should not—"

"Speak your mind, Adrestes."

Something about how she says his name…there is a weight there, a meaning. It feels like she is talking to an equal. While she has never held her position as paragon over others, something about this… Perhaps it is in Adrestes' head, but…

"I think we have taught a blind loyalty. I think that is how Devos got so many to follow her off the Path. We have taught people to not question the Path or the Purpose and it has lead to this. If we had questioned any number of matters earlier, we would not be where we are now."

"It has been a hard lesson to learn," Vesiphone murmurs. She is looking out over her temple.

"I did not mean you—"

"I know," she interrupts, smiling at him. "But the truth is that it was not just Devos drawing in those who followed her. It was the rest of us pushing them away, too, one way or another." She nods, mostly to herself. "We walk a difficult Path, but perhaps it does not need to be quite so trying." She winks at him.

It is refreshing to hear his own thoughts accepted, for they have been growing inside of him over the last few months, and he has struggled with the idea that perhaps the Path does need some tweaking. He wonders if the relief in him is comparable to what the forsworn feel when they speak their piece and find it welcome rather than immediately shut down.

It is a shame that it took something so drastic to bring them here, but perhaps good can come out of it after all.

They talk a while longer about the road to recovery, with a few stewards and disciples coming and going as they assist with the garden's restoration.

"You know, you're a very good interim paragon," Vesiphone says, watching him for his reaction.

Adrestes lets out an awkward laugh at that. Her words hit home at something he has been willfully ignoring in the last month. He has dismissed the way Xandria has left the temple to him, the way the paragons talk to him like he is one of them, the way the Archon seems to have shifted what she expects of him. He again thinks to that question he has been asking himself over and over.

Who will be the next Paragon of Loyalty?

For the first time, he sees that there really is at least one name he has never thought to consider seriously.

His own.

It is not something he ever intended or expected, and yet…

"I…thank you—"

"My paragon!" Eridia's voice calls out, exasperated as she interrupts them. "There are mortals here to see you." She pauses when she sees Adrestes, and nods her head to him before looking back at Vesiphone. "They said their task is of the utmost importance. Would you like me to tell them to wait? Perhaps send them on a long quest or two while you clear up your schedule?"

There is a distinct note of displeasure in Eridia's voice. Vesiphone picks up on it too. "What is this about?"

"If only I knew," Eridia says, feathers shivering a moment as she shakes off her irritation. "They mentioned something about a lost aspirant before they realized I was not the Archon."

Vesiphone's brow arches.

"I told them she does not generally deal with aspirants herself, so they are graciously saying they'll settle for a paragon."

Adrestes frowns, feathers bristling for an instant. He has seen arrogance in more than a few of the mortals who assist other realms. The few who showed such pompous attitudes in Bastion either learned to check that self-importance early on or to go to a realm that might be more welcoming of such disrespect.

At his last Ember Court, Lady Moonberry had gleefully regaled them with a few tales of how they were handling those who thought too much of themselves in Ardenweald, and he had been sorely tempted to take notes, if only to relay them to Liila. She had been thrilled enough with what he remembered, and had known quite a few of the mortal offenders, offering her own stories of their insufferable attitudes.

Adrestes has also heard that Kalisthene has taken to just sending the mortals directly to Voitha. It's happened thrice so far, if he's up-to-date.

Before he can suggest that perhaps these new mortals be sent to Voitha as well—she enjoys the challenge—a voice interrupts Eridia as she tries to explain what little she does know of this ever-so-important task the mortals are on.

"We can take it from here."

Eridia's feathers tighten, wings sleek at the mere sound of the voice, even if it does have a pleasant ring to it.

As she closes her eyes and wills herself to not just turn and carry the speaker from her temple, two mortals round the nearest pillar, both quel'dorei, from the look of it.

Or…

Adrestes feels like perhaps that is not the right term. It seems like there was something about a difference in eye color. Green are not quel'dorei, are they? He's been trying to pay more attention, seeing as the mortals helping them now would likely not appreciate being referred to as the wrong species.

Liila has told him that just calling her and Wren and anyone with particularly long ears 'elves' will be sufficient, after explaining that if elves so much as hear about a new type of magic, they end up affected by it enough to be considered a new species, and it's a headache for everyone—elves included—to try and figure out how many types there are these days. He's not sure how accurate that is, but both she and Wren were adamant that this was true.

They had listed all the different types of elves there are, and while he's fairly sure that a few weren't real, it was a surprisingly long list.

Eridia takes a second to compose herself before saying, "I told you to wait while I checked if Vesiphone was availa—"

"And we can wait here," the first elf says. His hair is almost as red as Liila's and pulled back in a long ponytail that spills over one shoulder. His armor is pristine and shines with the reflected light of Bastion as he strides forward with a confidence that does not feel earned so much as expected. He is nobility if Adrestes had to guess. The shaft of a larger weapon sticks up over his other shoulder as he appraises them, and a goatee frames his mouth, which flashes a rather charming smile as he focuses on Vesiphone. "Forgive our intrusion, but ours is a quest of utmost importance. We can wait for you to finish with this fellow, but then we must speak."

The other elf with him is quieter, his gaze snapping around as though expecting a trap at any point. He is blonde, with crisp leathers adorning his frame and a bow and quiver on his back. He stands tall and proud, but there is a fear in him that he is trying very hard to hide.

They are the embodiments of Pride and Fear.

Adrestes can imagine the glee in the venthyr's eyes if they got ahold of these two.

As Vesiphone tells them that they must be more respectful of her Hand, Adrestes notices movement from another part of the garden, and glances just in time to see Blood ducking behind a pillar. The mortal has never been a shy one, and so the fact that he does not outright come join their group has Adrestes leaning slightly to see if he can still see him.

"We apologize," the second elf finally speaks, his voice strained. "Magister Emberdawn is just a little anxious." Adrestes stills as the second elf offers a sweeping bow. "I am Jaserisk Dawningblade, a captain within the Farstriders of Silvermoon City."

"And I am Magister Gryst'lyn Emberdawn, former captain of the Argent Crusade."

Adrestes completely forgets about Blood, gaze snapping back to the elves in front of them.

Gryst'lyn Emberdawn?

Liila's—

No.

Amaeria's fiancé.

Both Vesiphone and Eridia seem to note his change in demeanor, and that is when Vesiphone says, "If you will apologize to Eridia—properly—then I will hear you now."

She is giving Adrestes the excuse to listen in.

The words that drip from Gryst'lyn's lips are laced with honey as he holds a hand out to Eridia as though he make take hers. He cannot quite reach her hand without making a fool of himself, however, and she does not offer to make things easier for him. Adrestes can see that the elf is used to getting whatever he wants with his handsome smiles and pretty words.

He can almost hear Amaeria laughing and saying what a sweet talker Gryst'lyn is. Somehow, Adrestes had assumed she was exaggerating.

A part of him is stunned to actually meet the man he has heard so much about. A part of him whispers that he was right to never like him, to hold his tongue when Amaeria had talked about him.

Jaserisk offers a much simpler, succinct apology.

Eridia accepts both with equal grace. Adrestes barely catches a subtle hand motion from Vesiphone that keeps her Hand from leaving to attend to other matters. There is to be an audience for this, then.

And truly, there are a few stewards and even a disciple or two who are hovering a little close, listening in.

"Now then," Gryst'lyn says, straightening up a bit further, somehow, and turning that charm toward Vesiphone. "We will try to be brief."

"You are looking for an aspirant, I hear?"

"Yes, her name is Amaeria Lightswill."

For a moment, Eridia's brow pinches together. Adrestes feels himself mirror her confusion, considering that Liila is so well known in her world. As much as he wants to point that out, something inside of him stops himself. After all, they are not here to talk to him. As he watches them, glad to have his hood on to hide his reactions to the tedious little creatures, Eridia smooths her expression to perfectly indifferent as she waits behind the two mortals.

Gryst'lyn continues. "We asked around your spirit village and were told if she is not there, she has already moved on to become an aspirant."

"You asked for Amaeria Lightswill in Olympic Village, and they sent you here," Adrestes clarifies. There is no way. Damned near the whole realm knows that Liila is their lost soul returned to them, so there is no way they could have been sent to Purity instead of wherever Liila is.

This…does not make sense.

"There was initially some confusion about who we were looking for, but we worked that out," Gryst'lyn says. "Souls moving on from the village come here, yes?"

Vesiphone merely tilts her head. "Well, that is true enough. However, our aspirants shed their mortal names when they complete their first cleansing and obtain their kyrian form." She pauses and looks to Eridia. "Which reminds me, has our Maw Walker been given a kyrian name in honor of her first cleansing? I would hate to break tradition for so noble a soul."

"I believe Kalisthene has set a name aside for her for when she gets here through more traditional means, but she did not tell it to me," Eridia replies, dutifully.

"Embrosia," Adrestes says softly, without thinking. Kalisthene told him a few weeks ago, asking if he thought she should present Liila with the name now or hold off. He had told her he wasn't sure, because he knew how much she liked being Liila. As far as he knows, Kalisthene has not spoken to Liila about it yet.

"Oh that's a lovely name, isn't it?" Vesiphone says, turning to Adrestes, the most pleasant, patient smile in place.

He wants to laugh as he realizes what she's doing, but instead he simply nods, maintaining his own detached and calm expression. "Kalisthene felt terrible that she did not gift it in the formal ceremony accepting her into our ranks as an aspirant."

"I can imagine—"

"I am sure your maw walker is a lovely woman," Gryst'lyn interrupts, "but if we could stay on track?"

Vesiphone looks back at him, as though she is surprised by his rush. "And what track would that be?"

Gryst'lyn's amicable air never wavers. "Well, I feel like we've found one of the reasons no one could find her. If she's got a new name, then I imagine asking after her old name would make things more difficult."

"I imagine so," Vesiphone says, smiling.

Adrestes wonders if he should tell her that Amaeria and Liila are the same person, if perhaps she has somehow not heard about that—surely she has. But he's not sure how he can without interrupting the conversation.

And if he's honest, he's enjoying watching Vesiphone teach these two a bit of patience.

More than that, though, he finds it odd that Gryst'lyn would be here asking after Amaeria, when Liila has clearly indicated that they met after her escape from the Scourge. It's such a touchy subject for her that he has not spoken about it with her, but now…

This is an opportunity to learn some of the details without upsetting Liila.

"We would still like to see her. It's important."

"Yes," Jaserisk murmurs, though he hardly sounds sincere. He does not look like he wants to be there, and has glanced back at Eridia twice now, and—since the comment of gaining a kyrian form—has been peering at any other nearby kyrian, as though he expects any one of them could be who they're looking for.

As though he expects it and dreads it in one.

"Well, you must understand that this is a most unusual request," Vesiphone says, still playing with them.

"Most unusual," Eridia echoes.

"After all, I don't believe we've ever had mortals come to Bastion searching to find or speak with specific people."

"Other than the Archon, of course," Eridia says, and Vesiphone laughs and admits that that's true.

"Amaeria was very important," Gryst'lyn says. "News of which afterlife she was relegated to has spread rather quickly in the mortal world."

"I see," Vesiphone says, arching her brow. "And for what purpose do you wish to speak with her? Who are you to this Amaeria?"

"I'm her fiancé," Gryst'lyn declares. Eridia's expression deadpans for a moment and she mouths, 'was', behind him. "And Jaserisk is one of her best friends."

This time, Jaserisk mouths the word 'was', seemingly subconsciously.

That makes Adrestes' eyes narrow. He is again thankful that he's wearing his hood, so neither can see the scrutiny he has turned on the second elf.

Because he has not found time to purge his memories of Amaeria yet, and so he remembers ever story she told him, every friend she spoke of, every warm memory that left her fighting back tears that she would never see those close to her again.

And she never mentioned a Jaserisk Dawningblade.

Vesiphone lets out a soft hum. "You know, we have never had this problem before."

"Problem?" both Gryst'lyn and Jaserisk echo at once.

With a solemn nod, she motions to them. "To become kyrian, one must give up their past. To expose an aspirant to pieces of her past when she is trying to forget, important pieces at that… it will complicate things for her dramatically."

"She will have to forget meeting you here," Eridia says, tone calm and detached, as though she is commenting on a passing cloud.

"Depending on how far along she is in her cleansings, she may already not know who you are," Vesiphone says, polite smile ever in place.

Something seems to click in Jaserisk's mind and he begins to pale, horrified. "We should—"

"We need to prove that that thing is a liar," Gryst'lyn snaps, his charming demeanor completely shattering as a harsh tone makes his voice crack.

It is such a brief thing, but it is such a change.

It proves what Adrestes has always thought—that the charm is nothing but an act the elf has perfected over the years to get what he wants.

Adrestes cannot help but think of the times Amaeria had gushed over Gryst'lyn, all the times she said he could be a little rough around the edges, but was so very good, in his heart. He thinks of the quiet, sad smiles that accompanied any stories of him and wonders if Amaeria ever saw how ugly Gryst'lyn could be.

It takes a second for Gryst'lyn to coax his smile back into place. He looks at Vesiphone who is waiting with the most patient expression Adrestes has ever seen. "I'm sure you know of the Scourge."

"We do."

She offers nothing more and a brief silence stretches. Jaserisk fidgets and even Gryst'lyn seems to fall to discomfort before finding his voice again.

"It was and is a great tragedy—"

"Mortal tragedies are not something we concern ourselves with," Vesiphone says, tone ever so gentle. "Our job is only to take the souls of the deceased to the Arbiter."

"It is better if we do not judge the souls in question or the circumstances surrounding their demise," Adrestes adds.

"With exception of deciding if it is their time, of course," Vesiphone says.

"We should go," Jaserisk says quietly.

Gryst'lyn's smile is slipping, so painfully slow. He ignores the other elf, shrugs off an attempt to grasp his shoulder. "Please. I'm not asking you to cast judgment or… When Amaeria died, she came here," Gryst'lyn says. Vesiphone nods. "Well, something else wormed its way into her body in her absence."

Adrestes feels cold wash through him. It grips his very core in suffocating vice.

Vesiphone tilts her head, that pleasant smile in place. "And how does that concern us?"

"If I could just talk to Amaeria. If I could prove what that creature did—"

"Whatever may have worn her in her absence," Vesiphone says, very calmly, "surely it vacated upon her return?"

Gryst'lyn's brow pinches together. Jaserisk is turning green, and looking around like he may need to throw up. "What do you mean 'her return'?"

"The Scourge stole souls from us," Eridia says from behind him. "Amaeria has only recently returned to Bastion."

"She prefers Liila these days," Adrestes says, voice falling flat, interrupting whatever Vesiphone was about to say. He is no longer in the mood for this game.

Vesiphone peers at him, as though gauging how he is doing. Then she looks back at Gryst'lyn. "That is actually quite fortunate for you. She has started her cleansings, unofficially, but will not need to forget everything until she passes through the Veil that final time. If you need to speak with Liila, you hardly need my permission."

"I see," Gryst'lyn says, mouth forming a thin line. He ignores Jaserisk's request that they leave again, and motions to Vesiphone. "I fear you have been deceived."

Vesiphone's head tilts again. This time when she speaks, her tone is not so gentle. "Have I?"

"That is…" Gryst'lyn's mouth twists as he tries to find some of that honey to coat his next words. Instead, his face falls. "If you lost Amaeria's soul then she may truly be lost to everyone." He stares down toward his feet, the idea crushing him. For a moment, Adrestes thinks that the elf may cry, though he can't help but wonder if any tears shed would be real or another show for his audience. Instead, the elf looks back up. "Wherever Amaeria may be, she is not in her body. Liila is not—"

"She is," Adrestes says, tone firm. "Liila and Amaeria are the same soul."

"Liila is not Amaeria!" Gryst'lyn cries, with enough force that his words echo out around them. "She's nothing like my Amaeria! She tries to play at being some kind and helpful creature but it's a ruse! She's cold and cruel and hateful! Amaeria was everything that she's not! Liila," he sneers the name, "wears my lover's body like a poorly fitting glove! She can't even smile right! She—"

"Enough."

Vesiphone never raises her voice, and yet somehow there is enough weight behind that word that it stops both Gryst'lyn's rant immediately, as well as Adrestes when he shoots to his feet and starts toward the mortals. Adrestes can swear that for a second, even the vespers overhead seem to quiet.

Vesiphone rises, towering over the two mortals. She walks past Adrestes to them—patting his arm as she goes—and kneels, leaning forward so that her eyes are closer to their level. "Mortal dealings are not something the ascended deal with, but I would offer you both advice, if you would take it." Neither speak. "Gryst'lyn Emberdawn, you are doing a great disservice to your eternal soul, poisoning it with all this vitriol. You lost your love, but devastating as that is, you must consider the damage you do now. If no one else, think of the damage you do to yourself, obsessing as you do. Find a purpose beyond your lost lover and let go." She motions to Eridia. "If you would like help cleansing yourself, we will help you—"

"I will not forget a damned thing!" He hisses, stance shifting as though he may attack Vesiphone.

Adrestes pulls his own mace into hand, and notes a few other ascended have flown down and closer, ready to assist and protect. No doubt they took note of the mortal's earlier display of anger, too. Of that crack in his façade. Even one of the stewards holds a garden trowel like a weapon, though their feathers are visibly fluffed with terror at the thought of coming to blows.

"That is your choice," Vesiphone says, nonplussed. "But know this, those who become so singularly focused as you are almost always end up in Revendreth or the Maw. You will give up much more than I think you would need to here if you go to Revendreth, and you will be tortured until you are unmade if you go to the Maw."

Gryst'lyn stands taller, jaw set in defiance, but says nothing.

Vesiphone looks at Jaserisk, "And as for you."

"We should not have bothered you," Jaserisk whispers, refusing to meet her gaze.

"No, you shouldn't have," Vesiphone says. "Reality is on the brink of collapse, and you are on your own private crusade against one of the foremost fighters trying to save your very existences. Surely, you understand that your efforts could be better spent?"

Gryst'lyn struggles to find the words, and finally, he looks away. "If Amaeria isn't here…"

"Gryst—"

"We have to go back to Northrend. She's likely a banshee, if she has no body."

"Enough," Vesiphone repeats. "I have seen souls occupy objects and creatures and people and bodies that do not belong to them," Vesiphone says. "Liila Dragonlily—The Maw Walker is in her rightful body."

Gryst'lyn shakes his head, expression twisting again. "You're wrong."

"I am not."

For a moment, anger and bitterness twist the elf's features, making him look most hideous. However, perhaps it is the chiming of the bells overhead or something deeper, but the fight bleeds out of him, leaving him looking exhausted and lost.

"Amaeria loved me," Gryst'lyn whispers. "She saw the good in me, even when no one else could. Even when I couldn't myself." His voice breaks, and he stands there, helpless and broken. Tears fall. His brow pinches, contempt replacing his sorrow. He shakes his head again. "I can't accept that. Amaeria wouldn't have forgotten me. She wouldn't have given up on me. She…" He swallows. "I'll find her. Back on Azeroth. I'll prove you wrong."

Eridia steps to the side as he whirls away and storms off, back the way he came.

Like a man possessed.

A part of Adrestes wants to feel pity for this broken soul, and yet a larger part of him wants to cast the mortal over the nearest cliff for the things he was saying. To be so self-centered and broken…it is no excuse for spewing such vitriol. Gryst'lyn's words are echoing in his head, and he cannot stop himself from thinking about how much they parallel the things that Liila has said herself.

It makes him wonder which came first, her own self-loathing, or Gryst'lyn's accusations and disdain.

To hear her say such things breaks his heart. To hear someone else say it…

Adrestes adjusts his wings and his grip on his mace, fighting the urge to catch the mortal even as he leaves the realm and make sure that there will be no returning to the Shadowlands.

Eridia catches his gaze, however, and holds it, concern plain on her features. It is enough to remind him, if nothing else, that he should not succumb to this anger.

And more than that, it reminds him of the forsworn who want to keep their memories. Of the warnings he has given them that ascended must be unbiased. Perhaps…if he can lead by example. If he can recognize that this soul is wounded and lashes out from a place of pain, if he can push aside his personal bias without forsaking his memories, then there can be hope for the others.

With a huff, he swings his mace to rest on his back, between his wings.

Eridia looks like she might step over the remaining mortal to hug him, though she doesn't.

Adrestes' feathers bristle and then settle as he forces himself to think beyond his own prejudice. He wonders if Vesiphone's warning reached the mortal. If perhaps, given time, it will have an effect. It is not their job to save souls from damning themselves, and yet…

Vesiphone has turned her attention back to Jaserisk, who seems smaller somehow, surrounded by giants as he is. He also seems frozen in place, finally meeting Vesiphone's gaze with one of complete and open terror. "As the paragon who oversees the cleansing of memories, I have seen all of my aspirants' memories, at one of point or another." She holds Jaserisk's gaze as he flinches. "And I consider Liila to be one of my aspirants, even if she still draws breath."

Jaserisk is pallid and stiff as he whispers, "She remembers, doesn't she?"

"I think you already know the answer to that," Vesiphone replies softly.

He swallows hard.

"I think you should follow your own advice," Vesiphone says. "Whether it is simply going to another realm or returning to the land of the living." She rises to her feet and unfurls her wings, taking to the air. "Though I do think seeing Revendreth would help you, mortal."

Jaserisk does not respond. Instead, he whirls away and hurries off.

Adrestes frowns as he watches him go. "Did you really see something about him?"

A hush falls over the garden, interrupted only by the impossibly soft flapping of wings and the tolling bells overhead. When Adrestes finally looks up at Vesiphone, she gives him a look of playful reprimand.

"Adrestes," Vesiphone says, tone teasingly chastising, "I know you are not asking me to betray one of my aspirant's confidence."

"It's not that," Adrestes says quickly. "She just… She never mentioned a Jaserisk. Not once." Even as he starts to say more, he remembers sitting with Amaeria the time she spoke about moving on, about beginning the process to forget. He remembers her questions about Revendreth and how after she learned souls could be redeemed, that was when she said that everyone she knew would end up somewhere good.

He wants to ask her about what it was that happened, and yet… Liila won't actually know, will she?

Rather abruptly, he feels arms wrap around him.

"I'm proud of you for not squashing the annoying mortals," Eridia says, squeezing him a little.

Adrestes frowns. "I wasn't going to squash anyone."

"Tossing them off cliffs then," she corrects.

With a sigh, Adrestes pats her back. "It was very tempting."

"So tempting," she agrees.

"If you had, I might have been a little slow to step in and save them," Vesiphone comments with a wink.

Adrestes cannot help but laugh at that. She smiles down at him and then nods her head. "I will speak more with you later, I'm sure."

After Eridia lets him go, he offers Vesiphone a quick salute before she takes flight. Those who have been watching the events unfold have already dispersed, resuming their prior tasks.

Once they are alone, Eridia sighs. "I will be glad when this is over, and we don't get anymore mortals barging into the realm with all of their drama."

"They are very dramatic little creatures, aren't they?" Adrestes murmurs.

Eridia nods. For a moment, Adrestes does not know what to say. He wants to thank her for the hug, to tell her that he actually did need it.

"So how's your dramatic little creature?" Eridia asks before he can say anything else. "She's due for another visit here in a day or so, by the way."

"Do not call Liila—" Adrestes frowns at Eridia, noting the mischief in her eyes. "I suppose I should be thankful you've behaved as well as you have."

"I'm quite certain I don't know what you mean. I always behave myself."

Adrestes appraises her as she feigns innocence. He considers chiding her, but stops himself. He is not sure why, but instead he says, "My soulmate is doing fine. I'll let her know to come by."

Eridia's eyes widen.

Adrestes wraps an arm around her shoulder and peers over at her. "And I just want to say how much I appreciate how well behaved you always are. I appreciate how you're not going to rub it in my face that I could be wrong about things such as soulmates, and that you can accept being right with such incredible grace. Truly, your actions are those to aspire to."

Eridia lets out a small cry as she stares back at him. "You wicked man." And then she hugs him again. "You make sure you come visit frequently, you hear? I'm going to miss your grumpy frowns."

"Where am I going exactly?"

Eridia gives him a look. "You are far too smart to not know the answer to that." She pats his arm. "I need to make sure those mortals actually leave. Come by again, soon. I promise not to be too terrible."

And with that she is off.

Adrestes stands there for a moment, in the empty gardens, mind replaying all that has happened.

Abruptly, he remembers Blood.

And suddenly the mortal's odd behavior, his sneaking around makes sense. He must have known the two, known their relationship to Liila.

Adrestes feels a pit opening inside of him at the idea that Blood may relay the ridiculous business, the ridiculous beliefs that brought her former fiancé and friend to the realm.

Surely, Blood will not tell her the things they said. He must know that such things will hurt, that they will run so close to the dissonance within Liila herself…

That pit inside of him is only growing, and he decides that instead of hoping for the best, he will try to catch Blood before he can say anything.

Adrestes takes to the air quickly, heading toward the anima gateway.


Liila finishes drawing the last of the runes she has been working on in the main circle and then carefully steps back toward its center, where the next feather is already prepped and waiting. She lets her gaze follow the curving pattern of runes, inspecting each to make sure that she has not messed up.

Everything is perfect.

Pallessa is finishing up her part of the outer circle, and a few others are just starting on the adjacent channeling circles.

As Liila checks to see the best way to step out and make sure she doesn't accidentally smudge any of the design, a voice interrupts her scrutiny. "Need a hand?"

Liila looks up to find Nikolon flying down to hover just in front of her. He is different from when they first met and when he first fell. It has been a gradual change, over the last few weeks, but now his wings are a soft gray with patches that almost look like clouds across his feathers. A few of his flight feathers have blues tips to them, like a regular ascended's. His hair is a dusty mix of blacks and blues that remind her of a deep lake. She has asked Adrestes what they're seeing in the forsworn means—for Nikolon is hardly the only one changing—but he has not had any clear answers. Thanikos suggested it was that the forsworn were redeeming themselves, but Tia has another theory, one that Liila likes more.

Tia thinks that it is a combination of the realm accepting them back and them accepting the realm back, a harmony coming together.

"Bastion can see that they are not the traitors they were, and they can see that Bastion is not the enemy they thought."

"You mean the Archon can see that," Liila had clarified.

Tia had given her a faint smile. "What is Bastion if not an extension of the Archon?"

It was a fair point, though it had left Liila wondering.

"Do you think that will be enough for everyone to welcome them back?" Liila had asked, and when Tia had seemed surprised, Liila had shrugged. "Sybigone says that she has killed kyrian on and defending the Path, that she was initially one of the ones who forced Adrestes' memories upon him before realizing what they were doing was wrong. But her wings are lightening too. Even if the Archon can forgive her transgressions, can Adrestes? Or the ones who loved the lives she took? Won't some of those who have never strayed from the Path be beside themselves with grief and rage when they see the ones who took their dear ones forgiven? When they are expected to get along with them and not seek retribution?"

Tia had not had an answer for that.

Liila likes to think that perhaps, after all that has happened, Bastion can find peace again. However, she does not see an easy way for that to happen.

But then, all of that is well above her paygrade, isn't it?

Now, she is content to get along with those she can, to do whatever small part she can, even if it means refraining from side-eyeing Sybigone too often, and considering that she carries her own sins as well.

She still wants to fear Sybigone off a cliff for what she did to Adrestes.

But when it comes to forsworn like Nikolon… They have never wronged her.

And Nikolon is waiting patiently before her.

He holds his hands out to her, and she takes them. With a quick tug, he has her in his arms and flies beyond the spellwork to set her down next to Thales and Pelagos, who is beaming. He has already finished his part of the runes and is holding the completed pattern's design in hand as he compares the two from a few crates he's standing on so that he can match Tia's and Thanikos' height. Thales is content to sit on the edge of a lower crate and listen to whatever discussions are at hand.

Nikolon lands a bit behind him, careful not to hit anyone with his wings as he drops down.

"I think it will work this time," Pelagos says.

"It worked last time," Liila teases. "The last dozen times."

"The explosions are just an added bonus," Thales adds, grinning. Liila high-fives him. He has been here for a few of the latest experiments. At first, he felt useless because he could not see what it was that everyone was reading and inspecting, but he had hung around as moral support none-the-less, enjoying the chance to speak with Thanikos and others in between breaks.

And then, during their second to last experiment, he had caught something that the others couldn't see. He had felt the essence within the feather shift, the corruption resist and give way. He had felt how Helya's curse seems to build up and fight back in that final show of defiance against purification, and it was his detailed explanations of what he sensed happening that has led to their latest tweaks to their spell, something to counter the budding pressure.

Liila can feel his excitement curling inside of him, his hope that he has been able to help, even if he cannot theory craft with them in a traditional sense.

The last experiment, they had done the exact same way as the one before, with half of them watching nothing but the feather instead of the runes and the channelers. Tia and Arios had seen what Thales had caught as well, and from there, well…

Here they are. Arios wanted to be here for this experiment, so they are planning to have it set up and ready for when he arrives, which should be shortly. Fortunately, there is not too much more preparation to do.

"Feathers exploding are one thing. People are another," Pelagos murmurs, barely listening to their conversation. Instead, his brow is pinched, ever so slightly as he looks at what is being drawn and back at the parchment in hand.

Liila hops up opposite Nikolon, between Pelagos and Tia, peering over his shoulder. "What's wrong?"

"Maybe nothing, I just…" he hesitates and points to a rune. "Do you see that one?"

Both Thanikos and Tia lean in to check as well. Thanikos scans their set up and points. "It is near where Millie is working." He peers back. He looks up and down and up again. "Is it supposed to be next to…which rune is that?" He draws a squiggly line in the air, a bit of anima residue lingering to glow in the form he is trying to point out.

As Tia names it, Pelagos looks up and back down twice before shaking his head. He taps another rune. "Shouldn't it be followed by this one…"

Liila peers at the work and then tilts the page he's holding. "Shit, I think a few are in the wrong spot."

"I'll fix it!" Pelagos declares, hopping down from the boxes and skirting the spellwork until he can reach it, with Nikolon in tow. He calls Sybigone over to double check from the proper angle, and she nods after taking to the air. She motions to a few different runes, and Pelagos and she both work on carefully undoing them so that the correct ones can be drawn while Nikolon takes the time to inspect the rest and make sure they are in place.

"A good save," Tia offers, smile in place as she watches the others work.

Liila nods. While everyone here has brought something important to the table, Tia has been a godsend. She can never stay too long, but she always comes back with new scrolls or notes that help move them forward when they hit a wall.

"I have a question for you, Maw Walker," Tia says, pulling Liila from her thoughts as she wonders if Thenios is missing what has to be one of his best disciples.

"Of course."

"Why do you not participate in the casting?" Tia asks, motioning to the others. "Everyone else seems to take turns channeling."

"That's true. Everyone does. But not you," Thanikos says, eyeing her. "You're a good healer, so—"

"I'm a cursed healer," Liila corrects. "Back during our efforts against the Legion, we were working on stronger resurrection spells, and we kept falling short. It didn't make sense because we knew we had the spellwork right. As we were talking, I brought up a sort of tension in the magic, like a barrier I couldn't quite push through." Liila frowns at the memory, and Thales reaches up and pats her foot for reassurance. One of the side effects of being mended by Vesiphone seems to be that she and her soulbinds can read each other better than before—though Liila's not sure if that's just because she is making an effort to be more open or because the repairs to her soul somehow make her more receptive. In the end, she supposes it doesn't really matter. "That was when we realized that I was the only one who had that problem. That barrier. When someone else stood in for me, they were able to cast the spell with no issue."

Thanikos cocks his head. "So were you never able to cast it yourself?"

"Once we narrowed the spell down, reworked it for individual use rather than," she motions at the groupwork they have going now, "then I was able to pull it off about…thirty percent of the time. It depends on how recently my curse has activated."

"Is that the spell you used in the Maw?" Thanikos asks before motioning to himself. "And then on me?"

"The Maw was a bit…more than that, if I'm honest," Liila murmurs, thinking back to it. That magic had been fueled with desperation. She nudges him. "I just cast a regular rez on you."

Thanikos eyes her like he thinks she's downplaying what she did. "And it worked?"

"It wasn't your time, Ascended," Liila says, in a mock-serious voice.

With a snort, Thanikos reaches out and tousles her hair. "Apparently not."

"I've been reworking most of my spells to incorporate anima as a base instead of mana," Liila says, more serious. "I think that's why it worked. If it had been mana based, you wouldn't have come back."

"So it's not a regular rez after all."

"If it still works back on Azeroth, it'll be my go-to, so isn't it?"

Even as Thanikos shrugs, Tia circles back to her question.

"You don't think you could manage now that your soul is being mended?" Tia asks.

Thales puffs up a little. "I think you could. Especially considering what you did in the Maw."

"I'd rather not have us hit a dead end because I want to be one of the ones who makes the breakthrough." Liila nods her chin toward the circles. "Once we've had a successful go of it, I'll start in on the rotations." She nudges Thales' head with her toes. "So will you."

"You think?"

"It'll be easy to translate it into a verbal command once the framework is established."

Thanikos lets out a grunt of approval as Tia nods, expression somewhat sorrowful as she looks to Thales and then Liila. Liila cannot help but feel a little uncomfortable with the worry, even if it is sincere. "While we wait, perhaps you can answer a question a few of us have been curious about."

"I would be happy to," Tia says, cocking her head.

"What happens on your end when we resurrect people? Are you bearing the souls, and they just disappear or…?"

"Usually successful resurrections happen while we're still judging the soul," Thanikos says, frown pronounced. "We'll be in the middle of a memory leading to one's demise and then poof," he holds up his fists and then flicks all his fingers out at once. "The memory just blinks out of existence, and it's just Watcher and Bearer staring at each other, trying to figure out if the Bearer should stick around a few minutes to see if the soul shows back up or not."

"They rarely do," Tia says, a slight note of irritation in her voice. "In the event you can see the soul when it happens, the spell wraps around them and then draws them away, similar to a teleportation spell."

"So there's no running after them as hands of Light drag them away? Nothing like a fish on a hook?"

Thales snickers at the idea. Thanikos rolls his eyes, and Tia simply shakes her head.

Glancing at the work going on before them, Liila notes that most of them are wrapping things up. Pelagos and Sybigone are both inspecting the outer and inner circles for other errors though Nikolon seems to be telling them he's confident there aren't any. "So do Bearers in general hang around with a Watcher until a soul shows up or do you have to be called from Bastion?"

"There will be a few of us in the area. We take turns taking whoever shows up and coming back," Thanikos says. He fluffs his wings a little and squares his shoulders when Liila looks at him. "I was a Bearer for a while, before I became Xandria's Hand."

"Do you miss it?" Thales asks.

"Sometimes," Thanikos says, cracking his wrist as he moves it in a slow circle. "It's exhilarating seeing the different worlds. But I enjoy helping here, training aspirants and acolytes." He shrugs. "I wouldn't give this up for anything."

With a nod, Liila reaches out and pats his arm. He grins at her. They watch the others finishing up their runes and then Liila looks at Tia. "What about you?"

Tia blinks, surprised. Then she considers it. "I'm not a Bearer, but I have borne plenty of souls. All who have wings must bear souls from time to time, even the Collectors."

"Most ascended are Bearers," Thanikos adds, "And we typically only ever have about a tenth of all ascended in the realm at any one time. The realm is mostly collectors, those training to get their wings, and those resting in between assignments."

Liila considers it. "The Spires are a lot bigger than can be seen from the ground, aren't they?"

"Much, much, much bigger," Thanikos says, wide grin in place. "You should get Adrestes to fly you around them sometime. There's training arenas, an amphitheater, the Coliseum, shrines, over a dozen different gardens. I could go on."

"A few have plants from beyond the realm that overzealous Bearers bring back," Tia says. She shakes her head, as though she does not approve of such actions.

"The Archon allows it," Thanikos says, pointedly. Tia merely gives him a look. He smiles broadly and then leans toward Liila and Thales. "Thenios was the one who kept bringing stuff back, initially. The others were very cross, but the Archon was gracious enough to give him space to see if he could get his seeds to grow. Then it became a sort of honor. If you do your job well and aren't an absolute terror, you can bring a single seed from a world you like, and add it to the gardens."

"But what if you find a world you like more down the road?" Thales asks.

"That's what keeps most from bringing entire worlds back to Bastion," Tia murmurs, gaze focused on the spellwork before them. "They know they only get one, so most don't jump too quickly to grab the first thing they see."

Liila notes the way Thales' mind goes to the feel of something coarse and brittle. Something from Maldraxxus. She wants to hug him, and point out that things from this side of the veil are probably more accepted, that he need not give up his special seed on marrowroot or other plants from another realm. Thales lets out a hum that tells her he's felt her. She sits on the crate she's on and then looks back up at Thanikos and then Tia. "Do Watchers get to bring things back?"

"They have their own garden," Tia replies.

Even as Liila starts to ask how they get the seeds through the veil, a deep rumble of a voice calls out a greeting, followed by a cheerful hello from Kleia. She lands with Kosmas, each of them holding a small box.

"We come bearing gifts," Kosmas announces, inspecting the work being wrapped up and then trotting over to where Liila and the others are. Pallessa and Millie have already started to head over to join them.

Kleia calls out a soft warning to Thales before setting one of the little boxes beside him and taking the lid off. "The little ones heard about how hard you are working and they wanted to send you encouragement." She takes out a handful of folded papers and offers one to Liila.

The handwriting is shaky and a few letters are missing, but it reads

You can sav them! We beleev in you!

-Crixel

There are little drawings all around the words, though Liila's not quite sure what the shapes are supposed to be, if they are flowers or the faces of creatures from worlds she has never seen. After all, the souls she and the others have saved from the Maw come from so many different worlds.

Even as she thinks that one of the images is a star, Millie says, "This is adorable. We have our own little cheer squad."

As the others come over and receive cards from either Kleia or Kosmas, they take turns reading what the little ones have written. Tia seems surprised when Kleia hands her one, and she stares down at it for a long, quiet moment before turning it to show to the others. "A handprint."

"That one's from Quezoctic," Kosmas explains. "His people don't have a writing system, as they feel anything important should be remembered through oral traditions."

Kleia nods. "He still wanted to send his support, though."

A round of 'aw's come from the group.

Topher shakes his head. "I can't imagine trying to remember everything without writing it down. I'd forget my own name if it wasn't in my spellbook." He holds it up to show where it's printed neatly on the inside cover for emphasis.

"They use song," Kosmas says. "Song and rhythmic poetry. You should come listen to him tell some of his people's stories sometimes. They're quite inspiring."

"Some of the others were teaching us how to dance, too," Kleia says. "They are very enthusiastic teachers."

"It helps that Kleia is such an astute learner," Kosmas says. "They were feeling hopeless trying to get me to remember all the steps, but Kleia saved the day, as usual."

Kleia's cheeks flush, and Liila can feel the way she is trying not to enjoy her fellow ascended's attentions quite so much. Her feathers have fluffed up a little at the praise, she does her best to smooth them and look professional. The way Kosmas is watching her, Liila can guess that he adores how expressive her wings are. It is a moment too late that Liila realizes Kleia has picked up on her thoughts and looks even more embarrassed than before. She clears her throat awkwardly. "Well, I hope we didn't interrupt anything."

"We're waiting on a few observers to arrive," Tia says, dismissing her worry.

Kosmas perks up. "Does that mean we can, too? Observe, that is."

A chorus of nods and yesses resound, and then Pallessa motions to the waiting circles. "If you'd like, we can explain some of what we're doing. If I remember correctly, you're a healer, too."

"I would welcome that," Kosmas says, nodding to the group and then Kleia specifically before allowing himself to be led away by the aspirant.

Nikolon and Wren join them as they head back over, talking quietly.

The group falls into quiet banter as they wait, a few wandering a bit away to keep their conversations private.

It is almost ten minutes before Arios arrives, with Blood in one hand and Howl in another. Veena skips over to her husband, gleefully throwing her arms around him as he swings her about, and then starts talking excitedly. Howl has been present for most of their experiments, a quiet support. When they finish, he always heads off to do a bit of questing on behalf of Revendreth, and then comes back to see what progress has been made.

Blood, though, this is the first time he's come to check in. And from the way he makes a beeline to Liila, she has a feeling that perhaps he is not here about their work. Just as he makes it to her, Arios speaks up. "I apologize for my tardiness, there was an incident with flight practice that needed to be handled."

Thanikos lets out a knowing sigh and nods to his fellow Hand.

Arios glances around. "Are we the last to arrive?"

Liila does a quick head count. "Everyone we're expecting is here." Blood makes a motion like he wants to talk to her before they start, but she holds up a hand, giving him a sympathetic look. When he notices he has Tia's attention, Blood seems to drop it, stepping back a few paces and nodding to Liila. Seeing that he is willing to wait, Liila looks back at the rest of the group. The priests are all looking at her, and Millie has a shit-eating grin that makes Liila want to toss her off a cliff because she knows that Millie is the reason the others are still waiting on her order and not just doing what they should. Instead of assaulting her fellow priest, she nods to the others. "Alright, who's up? Millie, you're leading?"

"Roger!" She salutes. Half the other priests salute, too.

Liila gives them a tight-lipped smile. She hates when Millie does that, but now is not the time to remind her that there is no Order. Instead, she motions to her.

Millie calls out a few names. "Places!"

Pallesssa and Pelagos are among the seven who take their places in the channeling circles. Millie begins the spell, conjuring the Light. The others step in on their cues. Liila follows the runes, watching as they light up and raise. Like every time before, the light reaches the feather and seeps into it. Liila focuses on the feather now, holding her breath as the light moves up it like fracturing glass.

That.

That is a little different.

Usually it looks…smoother.

There is a flicker of corruption. It attempts to fight back, as it always does, but this time the light seeping into it holds firm. The corruption pulses out in a series of smaller pulses, and dissipates before it hits the inner edge of the inner circle.

The light lingers in the runes and circles, in the air.

In the feather.

It gleams brilliant enough that Liila has to shield her eyes. When it fades, a pure black feather falls gently to the ground.

A hush settles over everyone, though it is Arios who dares to flit to the feather and pick it up.

Pallessa steps carefully over the expended runes to join him. "We failed?"

"It's not a failure if the feather stayed intact," Veena calls out. She stops just shy of the outer circle to inspect it.

Arios flies the feather over to where Thanikos and Tia are standing. From what Liila can see, it looks healthy, even if the color is wrong.

"A forsworn feather," Tia says, lifting it gingerly in her hand. "But not mawsworn."

Even as she speaks, Nikolon lands beside them, another feather in hand. It is one of the ones they have yet to use. When they are held side by side, the difference becomes clear as the skies overhead.

The unused feather is sickly, with the barbs oily and matted, and the vane partially transparent.

The purified feather looks like it has just been plucked from someone's wing, its black so deep that it does not catch the light of the realm.

"You did it," Tia says, voice soft. "You undid Helya's curse."


As Adrestes catches Blood's attention, cheers rise up from the group of mortals and kyrian behind him. As everyone talks at once, excited, Liila notices that Blood is slipping away from the group, but one of the people near her catches her to spin her around in a hug before she can come after them. Good.

Adrestes needs just a moment to make sure Blood doesn't put his foot in his mouth. As Blood looks up at Adrestes, he kneels so that he can keep his voice low. "Don't tell her about what they said."

Blood seems surprised a second before shaking his head. "She'll know. This isn't the first time they've tried to prove she's not her. And they really like the idea that she's some random stranger inhabiting their precious Amaeria's corpse."

With a shudder, Adrestes frowns. "Couldn't you just…forget they were here?"

"With the commotion they caused in Olympic Village?" Blood grunts. "She's gonna hear it from someone." Blood glances back at the others. Liila is working her way through the others to get to them. "Honestly, she'll probably just roll her eyes—"

"She already hurts enough without this," Adrestes blurts before he can stop himself. He and blood stare at one another, both of their faces mostly masked by their armor.

He can see the faintest smirk under Blood's helm. "Would you like my shining armor, Mr. Knight?"

"What?"

"Tell me you aren't being mean to Adrestes," Liila interrupts. She drapes herself over Blood's shoulder. "I'll have to hurt you if you are."

"He can defend himself," Blood assures her. A shadow flicks his exposed neck, and Blood hisses.

"And he shouldn't have to." She pauses, looking up at Adrestes, eyes sparkling as she lets go of Blood and takes his hand in hers. "We figured out the curse! We'll have to replicate our results before we try it on Devos or any of the others of course, but it's progress. Real progress."

Adrestes feels something clench in his gut as he considers that with progress means trips to the Maw. He was hoping this would take them longer. However, he manages a smile as he leans forward and brushes a kiss to the crown of Liila's head.

Blood makes a point to be openly grossed out by their affection.

Liila shushes him and then leans against Adrestes as she looks at him. "What did you want to tell me?"

"It can wait." Blood motions back toward the others. "You deserve some time to enjoy this."

"You know that's not gonna happen if I'm worried about you," she says.

"I wanted to warn you," Blood says, after a short, internal debate. "But…" He looks up at Adreste and then shakes his head, looking at Liila. "We think we found your druid lover from Silithus."

Even as Adrestes straightens a little, caught off guard, Liila collapses against his knee, laughing.

A few others have trailed over to see what's going on, and Wren and Pelagos look to Blood, confused.

Blood shakes his head. "You're laughing. Your druid lover is missing you something fierce, and you're laughing."

Wren frowns. "Druid lover…" he seems to think for a moment before blinking, curious. "The one from SIlithus?"

At that Liila is laughing harder. "You told Wren?"

"About your deep and unending love for your druid? Of course."

Wren's ears flatten a little. "After trying to convince me—"

"Successfully convincing you."

"—that you'd been sent to seduce Kael'thas, he told me that you were visiting your druid lover in Silithus."

There is a pause and then Pelagos lets out a sharp bark of a laugh, turning away slightly and pressing his fist lightly against his mouth to stop from laughing outright.

Liila looks up at Adrestes to see he is watching her and reins in her laughter enough to explain. "I made a friend in Silithus. I wanted to bring him home with me, but the guards did not approve."

"So she told the guards," Blood pauses before correcting his own explanation, "the druid guards that her friend was a druid. Like they wouldn't fucking see through that in a second."

Instantly, Wren looks like he understands. "By the Light, you befriended a silithid, didn't you?"

Liila is laughing again.

"She told them it was her lover, but he was stuck in his experimental insect form." Blood cackles. "They were not amused."

"And that's how we got banned from Cenarion Hold," Liila says, trying—and failing—to stop laughing.

Wren shakes his head and turns away. "I don't want to know the rest."

Adrestes eyes them. "Lying to the guards got you banned?"

"Nah," Blood shakes his head. "Creecree ate one."

"Stop lying about my Creecree. He didn't eat a guard," Liila says, her humor wavering a little as she looks up at Adrestes. "He just bit off a hand. And druids are really good at burst heals, so they got it reattached really fast before there was any lasting damage. He was fine."

"He was angry."

"Yeah, angrily gesticulating with both hands," Liila counters. She shakes her head. "We had to sleep in the desert for a week." Even as she considers that, she looks back at Blood. "Where is he? Tell me he's not in Revendreth. He was a bug. He was just doing what bugs do."

"He was a servant of an old god trying to corrupt the world," Blood replies. "I'm pretty sure he only followed you around because he got you confused with a cultist."

"He followed me around because he was friend-shaped," Liila retorts. "Where'd you see him?"

"Okay, I didn't see him," Blood admits, "so much as I found a sinstone with the nickname 'Creecree' on it." He pauses, "If it's him, I think your friend-shaped friendship saved him from the Maw."

Liila has finally calmed herself enough that she simply shakes her head. "I'll have to find out where his crypt is and bring him snacks."

"Maybe you could get someone to make little bread rolls shaped like druid hands."

Liila unhooks her spellbook from her belt and throws it at Blood. He cringes away like it can actually hurt, still laughing. As Liila appraises him, she nods toward him. "Is that really what you had to tell me?"

"I have a million things to tell you," Blood says. "But that was the main one for now."

With a shake of her head and a roll of her eyes, Liila looks back up at Adrestes, still smiling.

That smile…

With almost no thought, Adrestes lets himself shift into his aspirant guise and he catches Liila around the waist and tugging her toward him. His hands catch her face, and he kisses her hard, feeling that heavenly electricity ignite everywhere that her skin touches his. He pulls her to him, kissing her breathless before he leans his forehead against hers.

"Have I ever told you that you have the most beautiful smile?" Adrestes asks, cupping her face in his hands and looking her in the eyes. "You're beautiful. Exactly as you are."

"What?" She can't help but look up at him mystified. "I mean—thank you, but what's brought this on?"

He kisses her again. "I like seeing you laugh."

Adrestes can see the way Liila tries to piece together what's gotten into him as he kisses her again and then draws her to him, holding her tightly as though she will somehow fall apart if he lets go. Liila slips her arms around him in turn.

Her cheek presses against his, and he closes his eyes for a moment, hoping that his declaration doesn't lead her back to the very creature he doesn't want her to know about just yet. He shouldn't have said anything about her smile, and yet...

"What's going on?" Kleia interrupts.

Liila pulls back enough to grin at her and then motion to Adrestes. "Just catching up a bit."

While Kleia look more than a little confused, she stops when she gets a better view of just who has Liila wrapped in her arms. Adrestes gives her a nod and she stands taller, eyes wide. "Polemarch! Your wings are…"

Adrestes can see most of the others are looking their way now. As Thales yells out, asking what's going on, Liila yells back. "Don't tell Big Adrestes that I'm cheating on him with Little Adrestes! It'll make things awkward!"

Thanikos is the one who yells back. "Since when can Adrestes shift?"

That is followed by a much lower, "Wait, what?" and suddenly the attention their way is shifted, mostly to Thanikos and Arios who are explaining something to the much shorter mortals and aspirants around them. Most of the ascended just looked amused.

Abruptly, Thanikos shifts himself and is suddenly barely taller than Pallessa who is standing beside him. She startles and looks him over.

With the others utterly mystified, more questions are shouted. Just as Millie asks if the Archon can do that, Adrestes finds Liila's attention back on him. When he looks down at her, she shifts up onto her tiptoes and brushes her nose against his. "You have a beautiful smile, too, you know?"

He lets out an awkward laugh. "Thank you."

As she laces her fingers around his neck, Liila presses a quick kiss to Adrestes jaw just as Blood makes a gagging noise.

"I'm gonna throw up," Blood yells, a bit too close and loud for comfort.

"I'm gonna throw a polemarch at you!" Liila yells back, casting levitate on Adrestes so that it looks like she's picking him up.

Blood cackles.

Adrestes frowns.

Liila grins up at him and winks as she reaches up to brush his cheek again. "It's a good day, love. So why do you look so sad?"

Adrestes' flinches, realizing that without his hood, he cannot hide his displeasure with the day's earlier events as well as he'd like. He struggles with the idea of just telling her what has happened, but then everything is going so well right now, and Blood did make a point to respect his request. Adrestes sighs. "We'll talk later."

"We will."

She waits a moment, watching him and then perks up, smiling brightly.

"Come on, then!" Liila laces her fingers with him. "Come look at the purified feather!"

Adrestes lets her lead him over to where the others are still enraptured by a flexing aspirant Thanikos.

He wants to tell her that she is not an imposter or a wicked creature parading around as the lost Amaeria, that her smile is exactly the same—that so many of her facial expressions are exactly the same.

She is the same.

He wants to tell her every little thing that he loves about her, every little thing that has prevailed through her deaths, every little thing that makes her who she is. He wants her to know that she doesn't need to hate herself, that Gryst'lyn was just a pathetic little man who liked the way she made him feel, probably more than he actually liked her.

And he wants to ask her who Jaserisk is.

And what it was he was so afraid of Liila remembering.

When Liila lets go of him to go gather the feathers, Thanikos slings an arm around Adrestes' shoulders and jerks him closer, looking up at Arios. "Join us."

"You have more than established that we can do this, my participation is hardly necessary," Arios replies as he looks over the notes that have led to their triumph. When Thanikos reaches out and tugs a feather, Arios nearly knocks them both over with a bat of his wing.

Adrestes is tempted to just switch back, considering he doesn't need to be so small when he is around so many people, but Thanikos won't let go of him long enough for him to put some comfortable distance between himself and everyone else. After all, he does not want to knock someone over with a wing when he suddenly takes up substantially more space.

Kleia and Pallessa stand in front of them, though they are mostly focused on Thanikos.

Pallessa stares at him, expression muted. "I think I sparred with you."

"I think I did, too," Kleia murmurs.

As Thanikos grins, another voice chimes in, "Oh, I assure you that you did."

When they turn, they find another aspirant sitting near Tia, swinging her legs slowly so that her heels hit the crate she's on, a small trident resting next to her.

Kosmas smiles brightly and bows to the aspirant. "Paragon."

The mortals are losing their collective minds, though they have quieted about it somewhat.

Xandria stands up and saunters over to meet Liila as she brings over the feathers, one in each hand, and inspects them carefully.

Pelagos stands a little taller. "Were you here to see?"

"I am always here to see your progress," Xandria replies, taking the feathers to inspect herself before offering them back to Liila. "Well done. All of you."

Arios has finished skimming the notes. "Is this a copy I can take to Thenios?"

"That's my copy, actually," Millie says, standing up on her toes. "You can borrow it though, if you'd like. It'll take time to set things up for a second run."

Arios nods. "Thank you. I'll have some of my disciples make copies for Thenios, Vesiphone, and the Archon."

"Don't forget Chyrus," Xandria calls.

Arios nods and takes to the air, pausing once to give Adrestes a nod before he is off.

As he leaves, Topher stares after him and then looks at the others. "Can the Archon be an aspirant, too?"

All of the kyrian aspirants present straighten up a little at the idea that their god may have casually passed them by, with them none the wiser, with the idea that Thanikos might not be the only one they sparred with.

The mortals seem less bothered by the idea as they speculate that it would make sense.

Liila, for her part, lets them wonder as she carefully puts away the proof of their breakthrough, not repeating what Adrestes has told her about the truth of it, of how the Archon can easily walk among her people. He wonders if it is because she is unsure if she should tell them, or if she just likes the chaos of the speculation.

From what he knows of her, she is probably enjoying the chaos.

After a short debate, the mortals decide that yes, the Archon has definitely been by to check on their progress, guised as a regular kyrian.

"There's no way she would let a bunch of strangers blow things up in her realm without checking to make sure we're not causing irreparable damage," Wren muses.

"True enough," Xandria agrees. While the mortals all focus on her, she doesn't offer them any further explanation, instead meeting their attention with an amused look.

Liila thwacks Wren on the arm. "She could have just come by like Xandria did, on the other side of the veil."

"We don't even see like ninety percent of this realm, do we?" Millie asks, and giggles at the way the senior ascended all smile.

Topher has been inspecting all of the kyrian present with a suspicious eye. "What if Pallessa is the Archon?"

Pallessa is bewildered. "I am not the Archon."

Topher points at Millie and then Wren and a few others. "We need to make a list of everyone who's come by. We will figure this out."

Shaking her head, Kleia fluffs her wings a little. "If the Archon did come by—"

"She did."

"—and didn't present herself as such, then I'm sure she had a reason. She wouldn't want us—"

"Kleia is the Archon!"

Even as Kleia lets out a huff, Liila smacks Topher on the back of the head. "No, she's not."

"How would you even know?" Topher asks. "She's been the Archon the whole time, and you just never picked up on it."

"I'm soulbound to her. I would know—"

"And your observational skills are shit," Blood says, voice a bit loud, even as he stands in the midst of all the healers. When everyone looks at him, he points accusingly at Liila. "One word: Odyn."

"Fuck off, Blood." Liila puts her hand over her heart as though she's offended. "Are you really gonna bully me about Odyn after all these years? Odyn?"

"I don't see how you travel with someone for over a week and don't figure out that they're a god," Blood replies. "I knew what he was right away."

"When you met him, he was forty feet tall with a beard of molten lava," Liila counters, her hand coming up to her chin and then down, as though stroking an imaginary beard herself. "When I met him, he was just an oddly helpful old man."

"The fact that he was oddly helpful should have given you a hint," Millie replies. She nods sagely, lips pressed together as she looks up at Liila.

"I thought he was gonna end up being a high shaman or something," Liila mutters. She hesitates and then shrugs, "Or a dreadlord."

All of the mortals groan at the word. Most nod.

Adrestes cannot help but wonder just what Azeroth is actually like if they are all this used to deceptions and gods and… He had wondered why so little seemed to phase most of the mortals here in the Shadowlands, but he is beginning to see why they are all so unflappable.

"You've probably worked with the Archon a dozen times and never realized it," Howl says from where he leans against some crates. "I mean, how long did it take you to figure out where you know King Wrynn from?" When Liila stares blankly at him, the orc stills. "You have recognized him, right? You said you were traveling with him in the Maw for a while."

"I don't typically keep up with Alliance leaders," Liila says, eyeing Howl as though she's expecting a trick. "You know that."

"For fuck's sake Dragonlily, you adopted him for damned near a month in Pandaria."

Liila's frown deepens as she stares at Howl, brow slowly furrowing. "I didn't adopt anyone in Pandaria."

The two glare at each other, and Adrestes can see the wheels turning in Howl's mind as he tries to figure out why what he's saying isn't clicking with Liila.

For a moment, Adrestes feels something tighten in his chest, as he remembers one of his talks with Thenios about how her memories have likely been lost as a result of her many deaths. Even as he wonders how many holes she may have in her current life, Howl scowls.

"The little blonde boy you and Haa'aji kept giving ice cream to who finally asked you if he could have a vegetable."

"Oh my gods, the small nerd child. Andy." Liila pauses a moment and then adds, "Wrathion's friend." Her gaze darts as she scrutinizes her memories. "I thought he was a dragon."

"Wrathion was the dragon."

"I thought they were both dragons." Liila shakes her head. "No, he was a dragon. Haa'aji said his full name was Andrion or something like that."

"Anduin," Howl, Blood, and Topher say at once. Howl gives her a look that's hard to read. "You… you really couldn't recognize King Wrynn?"

"Why would I think a small dragon child and the human king of Stormwind were the same person? That makes no sense." Even as Howl reiterates that Anduin Wrynn was never a dragon, Liila stills. "He's still in the Maw."

Adrestes' heart sinks. He shakes Thanikos off and moves quickly to Liila, catching her arm even as she turns and starts to say something to Blood. "And there is no way out of the Maw right now."

"What about summoning? If they can breach it from their end, maybe we—"

"The mage order and warlock covens are both working on it," Topher interrupts. "That's where Carroll is right now." He pats her arm. "We'll get him out. Him and the others. For now, we should just focus on what we can and the fact that you thought the king of Stormwind was a dragon for the last, what, eight years?"

Liila's expression is muted for a moment before she abruptly leans into Adrestes, slipping an arm around him. "It makes more sense than the idea that the Alliance just lets small royal children wander the world alone."

"Hey, you can add 'kidnapped the prince of Stormwind' to your list of war crimes," Wren offers.

With a scowl, Liila points to him. "Isn't it your turn to lead the set up for the purifications? I imagine the paragons will want to see a demonstration."

Wren salutes her. "As you say, High Priestess."

"There is no order—"

"We voted to reinstate it last week," Wren calls over his shoulder as he heads over to their spellwork to see what needs to be redone for the next ritual.

Still leaning against Adrestes, Liila points to herself. "Well, I'm not rejoining it!"

"Too late," half of the priests say in unison. Millie pats her hand. "We already elected you back."

"I'm retired, you assholes."

The way the other healers turn away, some heading to help set up the next experiment while others go to inventory resources or just talk quietly among themselves, it is clear that none of them are particularly concerned that Liila will not step back up into the role they seem to have designated for her.

Thanikos kneels beside her and Adrestes, having resumed his actual appearance. "You have a 'list' of warcrimes?"

"Not really. Wren's just being melodramatic." Even as Thanikos nods, she shrugs her shoulder that isn't pressed against Adrestes. "My list is just regular crimes."

Thanikos' brow shoots up as Adrestes inspects her for signs she's teasing them. "Any we should know about?"

"Probably."

She does not elaborate.


Liila is not in Loyalty five minutes before Achillon lands beside her and matches her brisk pace with a casual stroll, thanks to his long legs. "There is talk of your success," he says plainly. "I imagine there will be expeditions into the Maw soon enough?"

"We have to figure out how to get out before we can go back in," Liila replies. "But yes. The purifications are moving along well. I believe we're going to attempt to free Astronos soon."

"He's here?"

"Was that not common knowledge?" Liila asks, looking up at him.

Shit.

Achillon stares down at her, one corner of his lips quirking up. "I will tell no one." He pauses. "Though I would be grateful to know the results."

Liila lets out a low hum. "We'll see."

It less than a dozen steps before he goes to the topic she knows he's there for.

"How is Pallessa faring?"

"Can't you tell?" Liila asks, appraising him suspiciously. "You're still soulbinds, aren't you?"

"I can feel her emotions, but I don't necessarily know the details—"

"And that's your fault," Liila says, stopping in her tracks and pointing at him. "You know that, right?"

"I know—"

"And it's not because you're forsworn. It's because you ditched her."

Achillon straightens up a little. "I've done no such thing."

"How many eons did you two promise to get your wings together?" Liila asks, crossing her arms. She points over Achillon's shoulder, at the offending appendages. "Pallessa remembers the first time you promised each other, and every time after."

"I thought she was going to get hers during the ceremony," Achillon says, feathers bristling. "I thought if I was going to keep up…I didn't know the crest was destroyed until after I'd gotten mine."

Liila shakes her head. She wants to argue with him, to tell him that Pallessa wouldn't have gotten her wings even if the crest had been intact, of how she had been sitting away from the others as the ceremony was set up, looking utterly broken because of losing Achillon.

It is a complicated mess. Quiet and focused as Pallessa is, Kleia came to her at one point in Courage with news that there would be another ascension ceremony soon, and Pallessa was on the list of those ready. At the time, she had simply whispered that she wasn't ready, but later, Liila had found her sitting alone and asked if she was alright. That was when Pallessa had finally spoken about Achillon.

She had stared off into the ether around the edges of the realm as she spoke of their eons of training, of their constant companionship, of how perfect it had been, to move through the temples together. If one finished their rite early, they would help around the temple until the other was ready to move on as well. They had been inseparable, walking the great Path hand in hand.

And now… now Pallessa thinks perhaps she has intertwined her path too much with Achillon's, because it feels like without him there is no path at all, yet he clearly found one without her. "It's not healthy," Pallessa said, softly, "to need him so much. Especially when he doesn't…" When Liila had mentioned that he worries about her, Pallessa just shook her head. "I feel his worry, his concern. Just as clearly as I feel his sense of purpose. He worries, but he's still moving forward. While I'm… not."

Liila wants to beat sense into Achillon, but that is not her place. Pallessa's pain is not hers to tell.

"You should talk to her."

"You say that every time."

"And I mean it every time."

Silence settles over them for a stretch before they both start talking at once. While Achillon starts to motion for her to go first, she beats him to it and he sighs. "If I write her something, would you see it delivered?"

"Coward."

"If I show up, she'll feel like she has to talk to me," Achillon argues. "If I write her, she can decide whether or not to read it, whether or not to come."

"Maybe she wants you to come back to her," Liila says glaring up at him. With a scowl, she shakes her head, ears pulling back a little, reminding herself that this isn't her battle to fight. "Where is Adrestes?"

"Southern commons," Achillon says, looking a little defeated. He points the way and then dismisses himself before Liila can tell him she'll take his damned letter.

Liila sighs as she heads off to find Adrestes.

It has been three days since the first successful purification, with half a dozen happening in its wake. Now that they have a working spell, they are looking at how to simplify it, while also preparing what will be needed to purify the mawsworn in Bastion.

Blood told her the truth of why he was there, and of how Adrestes had wanted to…she's not sure what. Spare her, perhaps?

Bringing Gryst'lyn and Adrias into any conversation does tend to dampen her mood, but she can't say she appreciates the deception. Better to know they're prowling about and be ready than to accidentally cross paths.

Liila should have come to him about this mess sooner, but she had been so caught up in the purifications that—that is a lie she cannot even sell herself on.

In truth, she's been avoiding him since she learned of his conversation with her ex.

Whatever has happened, it will be intrinsically connected to Amaeria, and she does not want to deal with that.

She wants to focus on the good and pretend that Gryst'lyn and Jaserisk never came here, but that is not possible, is it?

And so she has come to seek Adrestes, to talk about what has happened and how she would rather he not hide such things from her and see if perhaps she can't smooth things over, assuming there is any smoothing needed.

She is just heading down the stairs to the southern commons when she hears her name.

Lash lopes up and matches her stride, just like Achillon did so little a time ago. Lash seems in better spirits than her last companion, at least.

"Tell me you're heading to Adrestes."

Eyeing him, Liila gives him a suspicious look. "Tell me you aren't planning on dragging my poor polemarch away to another of your parties."

Lash just grins and holds up the invite between two fingers.

"He's going to be cross with you."

"You could always come with him this time."

Liila lets out a dull groan in response. "You know I don't like parties. I don't drink, and all the small talk with people I don't know gets me restless."

"Think of the chaos you could cause." Lash waits for a response for a tic before adding, "Theotar will enjoy the time to catch up."

"I catch up with him at his tea parties."

"There will be runestags to pet. And gormlings."

"You have gormlings?" Liila asks, eyeing him. "If I show up and there are none, I will throw someone off Sinfall's ramparts. Maybe your prince."

"That's fine. He can fly."

"Maybe you."

"Draven will catch me."

"Of course he will," Liila says, feigning disgust. "He ruins all my fun."

"Speaking off, he might even apologize for throwing you off a cliff." Duskeh lets out a growl as though reinforcing his master's words.

Liila reaches out and pats the sabercat's head, pausing at the base of the stairs to rub his ears. As the cat leans into her touch, purring, Lash shakes his head. "You can curl and sleep with Duskeh when you've had enough."

"You're trying to buy me with your cat?"

"Is it working?"

"No."

"Mitchell will be there with Marileth. And Kevin."

"Adrestes will not enjoy slimes everywhere. He likes things neat and orderly." She motions around them. "Look at the temple."

Despite a few areas that still show damage from the attack, most of the debris has been cleared, and clear progress is being made with repairs.

"Slimes are not neat and orderly."

Lash concedes that point. "I think Mitchell wants to talk about guild stuff, too."

"I'd need to bring Blood, Roberts, and Inaar with me, if that's the case."

"Well, it's sort of a meeting to set up an official meeting," Lash says. "Mitchell wants to go over what we're about and see how long everyone's willing to commit." He looks Liila over, then. "Assuming we don't all die horribly out here, what are you plans for when we get home?"

"Go back to Haa'aji and the kids," Liila says. "I mean, if things go the way Vesiphone is talking, I won't even be cursed anymore, so there will be no reason for anyone to want me more than any other priest for whatever next disaster hits." She pauses, shakes her head. "It's…strange."

"Hmm?"

"To think I might be able to have a regular life. To think I can go home and have a happy little family. To know what's waiting for me when I die…"

"You're coming back here?" Lash asks. When Liila looks surprised, he shrugs. "I remember on one of your trips to Revendreth, you said you thought you needed to be rejudged."

Liila's shoulders slump a little as she considers it. "I mean… I still think that. I've done a lot of things since I was judged. Like kidnap the prince of Stormwind. Did you know King Wrynn was little Andy?"

"Andy…little blonde dragon boy? Yeah, I knew."

"He's not a dragon, apparently."

"Really?" Lash frowns. He glances down at Duskeh, who is still too happy to get his ears rubbed to care about the conversation at hand. "Are you sure?"

Liila mirrors his frown. "Wait, you thought he was a dragon and the king of Stormwind?"

"Yeah." Lash shrugs. "I just figured he was the dragon that replaced the other dragon that got caught."

They both pause to consider it before Lash shakes his head. "Honestly, I don't think you need to be rejudged. You're a good person, and they say your soulmate is here, right? It would be cruel if you and Adrestes had to go to separate afterlives."

That has not occurred to her before, and Liila pauses as she mulls it over. She's not sure she belongs here with her track record, but the idea of coming to the Shadowlands and not spending eternity with Adrestes is so… lonely. "I… I suppose I don't know. I'm still getting a feel for this whole 'bright future' business." She motions to Lash. "What about you?"

"What about me?"

"Any ideas on where you're going?"

Lash shrugs. "I've only died the once, in Icecrown, and I don't think I was down long enough to be judged." As Liila nods, he tilts his head. "I hope I can see Sham and Gore again, though. Even if it's not my permanent afterlife, I'd like to know they're doing well." He smiles faintly. "I'd like to think that maybe my little one can get to know them out here, too, when her time comes. Far from now, Ancestors willing."

As he speaks, Liila glances toward movement not far from them and sees that Adrestes is striding across the commons to them, his usual frown in place.

She can't help but smile at him. For a second, he smiles back, though it shifts into something neutral far too quickly as he looks from her to Lash. "What brings you to Loyalty, Huntmaster?"

Lash's smile widens, and he holds out his invitation. "We look forward to seeing you in three days."

Adrestes' frown returns thrice over. "I was just there not a full week ago." When Lash gives him a one shouldered shrug, Adrestes crosses his arms. "There is far too much for me to do here—"

"Do I need to go ask Chyrus if he'll come this time?" Lash asks. When Liila arches her brow, Lash grins. "I'll tell you at Court."

"I'm not going," Liila says, plainly.

Lash appraises each of them for a painfully long moment before turning and flagging down a passing steward. "Hey, I need help. It is very, very, very important."

The steward straightens up eagerly, feathers fluffing. "I help!"

Lash hands them the invitation. As she inspects it, he points at the letter. "Will you make sure Polemarch Adrestes takes this?"

The steward blinks at Lash and then looks up at Adrestes, puzzled. She looks back at Lash, down at the letter, and then shrugs. She walks the two paces it takes to get in range of Adrestes and holds up the invitation. "For you."

Lash looks up at Adrestes. "Are you going to deny this steward her purpose?"

As he speaks, the little creature lowers her arms when Adrestes does not take the invitation, looking around, clearly confused. "I do…wrong?"

"No," Adrestes says in time with Liila. He leans down and holds out his hand, thanking the steward as she chirps happily and places the letter in his hand. "Thank you for your help."

"Yes, always!" She chirps again and then toddles off to handle whatever she was doing before.

Adrestes straightens up and tucks the invitation into a pouch on his belt. "I will be talking with your prince about your methods, Huntmaster."

"Bring Liila!" Lash says cheerfully as he pats Duskeh's head and turns to head back the way he came.

Adrestes watches him go, mouth a thin line.

Before Lash has even hit the top of the stairs, Liila reaches up and lightly brushes her fingers against Adrestes'. "Are you alright?"

"I'm annoyed," Adrestes says, though he pauses when he looks down at her. "I take it this means you weren't here solely to badger me with him?"

"I've come to badger you all on my own," she offers.

He hesitates then, glances around, and then holds up a finger to her. He calls over three ascended and an aspirant and gives them orders on what he wants to done, and where focuses should shift. When they salute and head off on their tasks, he kneels and holds an arm out to her. "Come, I should have some time."

Liila wraps her arms around his neck and leans into him as he pulls her close and takes to the air. When they reach the top of the nearest plateau, he sets her down and then sits beside her, adjusting his wings and pulling back his hood as he motions for her to speak. "What's on your mind?"

"You." She fidgets a little when he arches his brow. A part of her urges her to make a joke, to push their conversation in a direction that will end with discarded clothes and their bodies wrapped around one another. That, however, she feels would be a disservice to why she is really here. Instead, she goes straight to the point. "I wanted to talk about why you and Blood were at Courage the other day."

Adrestes lets out a slow breath. He reaches up and removes his hood, runs his fingers through his short-cropped hair and looks at her. "He's told you then."

"I'm a little puzzled at why you'd want to keep something like that a secret," Liila says. "They've harassed me before. I handled it last time. I'll handle it this time."

Adrestes blinks, genuinely surprised. "They won't be bothering you." When Liila just gives him a tired look, his expression wavers. "Vesiphone sent them out of the realm. Eridia made sure they left. Both of them returned to the realm of the living."

That… is not something Liila was expecting. Gryst'lyn has never been one to give up easily, and Adrias has always been one to encourage him to follow whatever path he takes. When she says as much, Adrestes tilts his head.

"Who's Adrias?"

Liila frowns, eyeing him. "Blood said the dipshit duo came by."

"Gryst'lyn and Jaserisk," Adrestes says, nodding slowly as he mutters that the nickname suits them.

Liila stares at him, the gears in her head not quite wanting to move.

"Jaserisk is the one who came with Gryst'lyn?" Liila drops to sit, considering that. "I had assumed… Adrias has always been Gryst'lyn's biggest enabler, his best friend. He hated Amaeria and he hates me," Liila explains. "Usually, if it's just two of them showing up, it's them."

Gryst'lyn, Adrias, and Jaserisk were the only three still alive who had ever known Liila when she was Amaeria. Gryst'lyn despises her for what she did to him. Adrias hates her for taking aways the best friend he was secretly in love with. And Jaserisk…

He joined their little crusade to discredit her as a way to cover his own ass. Because he is terrified that Liila will someday tell a certain story to, well, anyone.

The coward.

Liila brushes some of her hair back behind an ear as she wonders how Gryst'lyn could have roped Jaserisk into coming here. If the former had been right, then the latter would have ended up facing the real Amaeria, and she doubts very much that he would want that.

How fitting that her first memory has resurfaced right when Jaserisk shows back up.

Fate can be a fickle little thing, can't it?

"You said Vesiphone sent them away?"

"She did," Adrestes says. Liila nods, idly wondering if Vesiphone would object to a gift basket or two being sent her way. Or would she look at that the way Arios did, as some sort of mortal bribe rather than a thank you?

He holds out his hand and tugs her closer when she takes it, into his lap. As he curls an arm around her, something else clicks into place. "What you were saying when you came to check on me…I'm guessing it's because of something Gryst'lyn said?"

"I won't repeat the things he said," Adrestes murmurs, "but I have a feeling you've heard them all before."

Liila allows herself a small, joyless laugh. "Let me guess, I'm a body-snatching imposter, riding the coattails of Amaeria's good graces to earn esteem and adoration here?"

Adrestes withdraws from he. Even as Liila feels an odd panic that he's angry with something she's said or that he doesn't like how dismissive her tone is, she finds that he has shifted his form. He moves to close the gap between them, tugging her back into his lap and resting his head against hers when she lays it on his shoulder. "He came here to talk to Amaeria. He and Jaserisk. He thought if they could prove she was here, then they would prove that you…" He shakes his head, hugging her more tightly against himself. "Your soul is exactly where it should be. No matter what he said, it was just some twisted hope that there was still some part of you out there that loved him."

"He loves the idea of being loved unconditionally more than the actually loving someone," Liila says, voice soft.

"You knew?"

"I figured that out when I was the High Priestess. Some of the things he would say, when he broke down. It was never, 'I miss her' or 'I love her'. It was always, 'She loved me'." She shakes her head. "I don't know what happened to him, honestly. According to the Argent Dawn and the Argent Crusade, he was a good warrior, loyal to his people. He never took another lover, but he also never obsessed…not until after he met me, and I rejected him."

"So long as you were dead, he could think you had died loving him," Adrestes says, pressing his lips to her temple. "He is a selfish, self-absorbed creature." He is quiet a moment before adding, "And you have the same smile you've always had."

"Is that so?"

He leans back, catches her gaze and holds it. "I can bring my memories up and show them to you side by side, if you'd like."

"You don't need to go through all that," Liila says, unable to stop a small laugh at the sincerity and determination in his eyes. "If you say it, I believe you."

"I know you don't like talking about Amaeria, but…" he trails off a moment and then looks at her, "but you should know that it wasn't her, wasn't you who forgot." He strokes her cheek, her hair. "It was all those deaths that made you lose pieces of yourself. You didn't abandon yourself."

He reaches out and wipes a tear off her cheek, and that is when Liila realizes that she has reacted outwardly to his words. She reaches up to rub at her eye, embarrassed. He searches her face. "And I don't expect you to remember who you were or to be exactly the same, but the truth is you already are. You already care deeply about the ones you love and doing what's right, and you already have that wanderlust inside of you, and you already dedicate yourself to helping others. If you don't feel like Amaeria, then I understand that, but Amaeria is just a name. The person that you were before you fell is who you are now."

The Archon's words come to her and she feels a few more tears on her cheeks. "I'm the same at my core, regardless of the trappings I bear."

She's not sure how much she believes all that, but a part of her wants to. She'd like to think that maybe Amaeria isn't so foreign after all. That maybe what he's saying is true. That she's always been her.

Liila has always hated being compared to what she was. She has hated the jabs and vitriol spewed about all of Amaeria's graces and all the ways she falls short.

And yet when Adrestes talks about her… it is not the same. She wonders if perhaps he is just a little starstruck and that's why he still sees his old lover in her.

Or if perhaps he's right.

There have been a few memories of Amaeria's that have surfaced over the last few weeks, little things. Pangs of guilt, of wonder, of sadness, of hope. And they all feel so…familiar. They feel like her, and when she steps back and examines her, she doesn't feel any different.

She doesn't feel like Liila is slipping away to make room for the lost version of herself that she has hated so.

And she can't quite hate Amaeria as much as she did.

Not when Ikaros wants to puddle jump with Liila, and Stanikos likes to just sit with her as she is, not minding that her name has changed and she doesn't remember him.

There is no expectation that she become some perfect creature that never does any wrong, and honestly the more she remembers, the more she realizes that Amaeria wasn't perfect at all. She was just as flawed as Liila is now.

Well, maybe not quite as flawed.

Liila has told herself that the image the dipshits have portrayed cannot be real, that no one is so good and wonderful and perfect, and yet, it is not until Bastion that she has started to really see how true that is.

They made Amaeria into something that Liila couldn't embody, something unobtainable, something that Liila could do nothing but fall short of.

The real Amaeria… Liila will never know her.

Unless she already is her.

That is unsettling to consider, though she can't place why.

Adrestes brushes aside her tears that fall a little harder now as she tries not to face that precipice of a revelation. She's not ready for that. She doesn't know how to…

"I love you," Adrestes whispers. "Every bit of you, the part that steps back from glory to make sure the spellcraft can be sound, the part of you that looks after those around you, that part of you that sees good in others no matter how small it is. Be they men or giant bugs." He kisses her gently. "I love all of you, even if you can't just yet. The part of you that is lost, the part of you that struggles now, the part of you that can't recognize a god when you're looking them in the eyes."

Liila groans and lets her head rest against his shoulder again, using his last comment as an excuse to hide her face from him. "Not you, too."

"I even love the part of you that got my name put on the list for that miserable Ember Court. Though, if you don't come with me to Court this time, I'm going to ask Howl for as many embarrassing stories as he can remember and share them with Arios to make sure everyone in Bastion hears about it."

Liila lifts her head back up, incredulous. "Are polemarchs allowed to blackmail people?"

"I learned that it's okay to bend the rules from my soulmate," he whispers, giving her a gentle grin.

"I love you, too," Liila whispers, reaching out to cup his cheek and stroke her thumb against his skin. "Don't tell big Adrestes."

He laughs and then whispers conspiratorially. "I think he might already know."

She nuzzles his neck. "I love big Adrestes, too. He is just harder to cuddle."

"Trust me, I know." Silence settle over them as they sit curled up together before he adds. "I'm sorry for being so…dramatic. For keeping what happened from you. I just couldn't stop thinking of how you treat Amaeria like a different person, and how… It felt like he was the one who caused that."

"He wasn't, not really," Liila says. She sighs, relaxing against Adrestes. One of his arms comes forward so that his hand rests on her hip and she lets her nails trail slowly up his bare arm, tracing over the muscles there. "About four years after I'd been taken by the Scourge, we were reunited. He came to me and called me Amaeria, arms open and heart on his sleeve. I didn't know him, didn't remember. He tried to push things, and I was very cruel."

Adrestes lets out a soft hum. "I can't imagine you cruel."

"I was not in a good place," Liila murmurs. "The sin'dorei had joined the Horde within the year and rejected me on the principle of my eye color, calling me a human-loving traitor. And I was the one told to behave, when they were the ones… I felt like they were stealing my home from me. And we had just killed my tormentor, but it didn't feel like he was really gone. I had been so sure that I would feel better, feel safer, once he was in pieces and…"

And it hadn't worked. The edges of her vision had still held him, whispering that he was there, just out of sight, biding his time, waiting to strike.

"And then this stranger was badgering me with some great romance that I didn't know anything about." Liila shakes her head. "It was all too much. I couldn't do anything about the other issues, but I could do something about him. I could make sure he would leave me alone." She traces abstract patterns against Adrestes' skin, feeling that lightning thrum through them, strong and true. Perhaps it should feel strange, talking about her former fiancé with her current lover. But it doesn't. She takes in a deep breath and lets it out slowly. "The idea that maybe I had been switched with someone else, a soul stuffed in the wrong body, came to both of us separately. He—my tormentor liked to swap things around. He called me Amaeria or Miss Lightswill often, but then I didn't know if that was really my name or if it was something he had decided to do to mess with me, to make me forget what my real name had been." With a bitter laugh, she adds, "I wore a dead woman's ring for years thinking it might be mine, some connection to a life I had lost."

A connection she had never been able to decide if she wanted to pursue until it had been decided for her and proved to be a lie. It took years for her not to reach up to feel the missing ring hanging on a thin chain around her neck. To not expect it to still be there. She had returned it to someone who had known its rightful owner, after all.

She closes her eyes. "I thought I might not really be Amaeria for a couple years, actually. But then I went to Silvermoon on unrelated business and I met Captain Dawningblade and I knew him." She takes in a slow breath and lets it out with equal measure. "There was not a damned thing in that city that was every so much as an echo in my mind, no hint that I had been there before. Nothing. Except for him." She arches her brow, thinking back to their first encounter in Silvermoon. "And he knew me. The second he saw me, he paled and whispered, 'Amaeria'. And then I knew. If Amaeria knew him and he saw her in me, then that was who I'd been."

"You never told me about him." Before Liila can explain that she doesn't share that memory often, Adrestes adds, "Amaeria never mentioned him. Not even once."

"I imagine she—I wouldn't have." Liila hesitates then. "I promised myself I would never tell anyone what happened. I tell myself that Silvermoon doesn't need to lose another hero, but honestly, my reasons are much more selfish. I worry that if they knew, they still wouldn't do anything. That they would still treat him as the same hero they do now, and I don't think I could stand that. So long as they don't know, I can pretend that they would avenge me." She shakes her head. "Like that would do anything."

Adrestes' brow pinches together, forming that line between his brows that she loves. There is such a simple question in his eyes, one she could answer, easily enough.

She is quiet as she thinks it over. "Another part of me worries that if I put that memory to words, Haa'aji will find out, and that he'll 'handle' things. If he did that, they'd kill him, or just leave him on the run, and that wouldn't end well for anyone. An Amani troll attacking a sin'dorei hero would not end well." She looks up at Adrestes, smiling faintly. "Amani trolls and sin'dorei—and quel'dorei are sworn enemies. We stole their land, ages ago, and they've wanted to expel us ever since."

"I suppose that explains a few things," Adrestes murmurs, stroking her hair. "He—Jaserisk was terrified while he was here. I think he came here against his will, though I'm not sure why."

"He has to support Gryst'lyn, or it will raise questions and shine a light on him that he very dearly does not want," Liila replies. "Because he's tried to discredit me many times, tried to insist anything I say from 'before' cannot be trusted. If I am not Amaeria, he thinks he is safe." She shakes her head. "It's ironic because Gryst'lyn figured out what really happened early on and tried to kill him, apparently. But then I became the enemy and so they became…friends isn't exactly the right term, but…"

"Vesiphone told them they were on a path for Revendreth," Adrestes says.

Liila straightens a little, peering at him as though he may tell her he is teasing. As though he would do such a thing. She appraises him carefully. "I thought ascended couldn't judge people."

"She didin't take them to Revendreth, just warned them to change their ways. She put them in their places. Or tried to. I'm not sure she reached either."

"Vesiphone lost her temper?"

"Not even for a second," Adrestes says, smiling at the way Liila deflates at his answer. "I think she could actually kill someone with kindness."

"I would pay to see that."

"I shouldn't have been so dramatic yesterday," Adrestes says again. Even as Liila tells him that she's rubbing off on him—she wouldn't call what he did dramatic herself, but considering how calm ascended typically are, perhaps it is a bit dramatic for Bastion—he squeezes her closer. "I saw Blood waiting to talk to you and I worried that…I'm not sure what. I was worried that he would upset you, but in the end—"

"In the end, everything was alright," Liila says, cupping his face in her hands. She moves to her knees and leans into him, kissing him soft and slow. "And now I know both you and Vesiphone have my back."

"Always." He kisses her back, hands wandering over her before he stills and pulls away. "I think what scares me most was the thought that some of what they said might resonate with you when it shouldn't. You've made so much more progress than I think you realize, personally and otherwise. I worry you will go back to the Maw and I'll never see you again."

"I told you I won't—"

"But you don't value yourself as you should," Adrestes argues. "You're here because you gave up your happiness with your best friend and your little ones. You push yourself beyond what you should and your soul nearly unraveled because of it. Even with what Vesiphone is doing, if the Jailer catches you—which he will if you return to the Maw, I will…" He shakes his head. "You make reality better, by being in it. You are your own light, and I wish you could see that. No one person can right every wrong, and you are not less for setting your boundaries and keeping them. I worried that if you heard the things he said, you would feel yourself less, like you really are some imposter, one that doesn't deserve… this." He motions around them to Bastion.

For a moment, Liila thinks that Adrestes might cry. He is able to keep his composure, though he cannot hide the pain in his eyes.

Liila sits back a little. She takes one of his hands and curls all of his fingers in, save for his pinky, and then does the same with his other hand. Then she catches both of his pinkies with hers, curling her fingers to lock with his. "I swear to you, Polemarch Adrestes of Bastion, mate of my soul, I will not go back to the Maw. I will give my soulcatcher to another, and I will stay out of the Jailer's reach." She peers into his face, watching him carefully. "I promise you."

Adrestes holds her gaze for an eternity before leaning down and kissing her knuckles. "I'll hold you to that, Liila Dragonlily."


Devos rises from where she is sitting, in the middle of her prison, as Adrestes alights on the edge of the platform. "Come for more feathers? I fear you'll need to start plucking me at this rate."

She does not look well. Each time he has come to see her, infrequent as his visits have been, she looks a little worse. It is almost as though she has given up, and is letting this miserable ailment eat her away.

Or perhaps it is because she was able to fight it better as a paragon. Perhaps they should not have stripped her of her status until after she was healed.

"Actually, I have one for you," Adrestes says. He motions her over. She seems wary for a moment before she reluctantly steps up to where he waits. He holds up a feather the length of his forearm, pure black. Even as Devos inspects it with idle interest, he tips it so that it breaches her containment and she can take it if she wants. "It's yours."

Devos' eyes widen. She reaches for it, only to stop in the last second, as though she fears some trick. "They dispelled Helya's boon?"

"We're calling it a curse, but yes."

"Will I taint it?" Devos asks.

Adrestes' brow arches, though she cannot see his expression beneath his hood. "I don't believe so. I suppose it is something to check—"

She grips the feather tightly then by the vane, as though she thinks he will pull it away if she is not fast enough. The plume bends and twists in her hand, but her corruption does not spread back to it.

She drops it after a moment, staring down at the broken feather that rests at her feet.

"How do you plan to reach those in the Maw?"

"We're going to worry about those of you out of the Maw, first," Adrestes replies. "Starting with you."

Devos glares at him. "You waste your time—"

"Would you rather we start with Astronos?" Adrestes interrupts, tilting his head. "Should he be the first full soul to be tested upon? Should we start on the people you led astray and hope it works before we circle back to you?"

Devos bares her teeth at him in a snarl, as though she is some caged animal, and for a second, he thinks perhaps that is what she is becoming. Her right wing is so rotted that there is no way she can fly with it, and the skin on one of her hands is beginning to come loose. It hangs off two fingers in strips. He cannot imagine the pain she must be in, trapped in a rotting form.

It reminds him of what Liila looks like when her curse takes hold.

Devos is fading.

"Let us test the spell on you. This will be the most dangerous trial, after all. If we can save you, we can save the others."

"Save me…for what purpose? So that I can be executed in the main commons of Loyalty?" Devos asks, pacing away from him.

"I do not pretend to know what the Archon has planned for you, but it won't be that. Loyalty has come too far to set everyone back with such a public execution of someone they still love so dearly."

Devos stops, but doesn't look back at him. "They are doing well?"

"They are," Adrestes says. "We have not heard any more from Lysonia and those in the Maw, but those at Loyalty are recovering. The temple is coming back together, too. With the return of anima to the realms, we're able to do repairs faster than Purity was. They still take priority, of course."

With a scoff, Devos shakes her head, though she pauses mid-action to reach up and rub her neck. Adrestes can see signs of rot from under her tunic, and he grimaces at the mere thought of it.

"You've been to Loyalty recently?"

"I all but live there these days."

"So you're to be my replacement, then." She finally turns back to inspect him. "I figured as much. Who is to be your Hand?"

"We haven't gotten that far," Adrestes says, not bothering to argue with her that the Archon has not actually asked him to step up as paragon yet, either.

"I'd give you names, but you'd probably discard them on principle."

"Will you help the mawsworn?" Adrestes asks, pushing their conversation back on track.

"Do I have a choice?"

"As I said, you get to choose who goes first. You or Astronos."

"Is he well?"

"He's rotting, just as you are."

"Do you think he'll survive?"

"Chyrus and Vesiphone have tinkered with the spell to account for larger…targets."

"Larger than single feathers, you mean." She winces at the idea. For a moment, she looks like she may argue, like she may tell him to leave her be, but instead, she looks at him. "If it goes wrong with me, you'll make sure they fix it before they try anything on him or any others?"

"I will."

Devos shivers, a few feathers falling from her wings as she does so. "So be it."

Adrestes motions over his shoulder, and two praetors fly up with an anima gateway held between them. They set it carefully on the edge of the platform and then shove it into the containment field. Adrestes motions to it. "They're ready for you."

Devos stares at the gateway for a moment before looking at him and giving him a disgusted look. "You knew to play on my loyalty. There was never a choice."

She steps on the gateway and disappears. Adrestes takes in a breath and then takes to the skies, flying quickly to the platform that has already been set up below.

Devos stands in the middle of a larger version of the spellwork that the mortals had set up before, drawn by Vesiphone, Chyrus, and Thenios. They already stand in position, with the Archon and Xandria. Eridia, Arios, and Voitha are there as well, back up for the lack of a proper fifth paragon. Adrestes takes his own place, noting the way Devos will look at no one but the Archon, eyes narrowed.

The Archon leads them through the setup just different mortals have the few times he has been present to see this happen. The Archon begins the channeling, and then the others join in, Thenios and Chyrus, Vesiphone and Xandria. The rest of them join last, channeling their anima to support the will of their god, to make right what has been made so wrong.

The circles ignite with blue-white light, different from the way the mortals do it. Adrestes forces himself not to concentrate on that, not to worry about the subtle differences that may mean something is going awry. The runes rise into the air, and the light begins to pool underneath Devos. For a moment, she looks afraid, but she stands taller, balls her fists at her side as the light begins to move up her legs.

It occurs to Adrestes then that this is going to be a painful process for her.

He nearly loses his focus as he wonders if she will be able to take the pain of the corruption inside of her when it thrashes in the end, when it tries to keep her.

The Archon calls his name, and then Eridia's.

It is a comfort that he is not the only one wavering.

They focus. The light moves up her, when it has almost overtaken her, she cannot take it anymore and falls to her knees, crying out in pain. Thenios flinches, and pushes harder.

It seems to be working and then…then it is like they hit a wall.

Despite the light engulfing Devos, he can see the corruption beginning to seep through, to stain and extinguish their work.

"Devos, please…" Thenios whispers. "You can't give up, not now."

The corruption is winning.

Vesiphone shifts, trying to maintain her casting. It is beginning to cause strain on all of them. "This is her doing! She fights us even now!"

"Devos!" The Archon snaps. "You asked me to prove that I will do better by my charges, but what of you? Will your final act be to fail yours? To let the rest of them rot away in the Maw? Lysonia and Klotos and Lakesis and Atticus and—"

"Stop it!" Devos sobs. "I would give everything for them!"

"Then prove it!"

The light come back with a brilliance that makes Adrestes have to turn his head. There is a culmination, a pulse and then abruptly, his spell channeling cuts off. He falls to the ground, gasping for breath, and then quickly looks up.

Eridia and the other Hands are down as well. Voitha nods to him, even as Chyrus helps her settle into a more comfortable sitting position. He moves slow as well, like even he is exhausted from what they have done.

What they have done…

What have they done?

Adrestes looks to the center of the ring to see that Xandria and Thenios kneel on either side of Devos. Thenios breaks his composure to tug her into his arms, wings curling around them both. Xandria rises to her feet, expression grim.

Even as Adrestes feels his heart fall, Devos voice comes, muffled against Thenios shoulder. "Let go of me, you fool."

Despite the words, her tone is soft, and as Adrestes forces himself to his feet and moves to get a better view, he can see her hair falling freely over her shoulders, black. He circles slowly, trying to see her clearly, though Thenios is doing a good job of shielding her from the rest of them, whether he means to or not.

When he gets to Xandria, Adrestes stops, eyes widening as he looks at full, dark wings, tucked against Devos' back.

"She's free," Chyrus says, standing with them now.

Xandria looks to the Archon. "Shall we let the mortals handle the rest of them or would you rather we take them?"

"For the spell to be effective, others will need to be able to use it," the Archon replies. "Let them try their hand at the helsworn next."


The light encompasses Astronos, consuming his form. Kleia hovers just off the platform, watching and waiting.

The Archon feels it important to see if the mortals can handle the dispersions themselves, seeing as they would be more likely to go into the Maw than anyone else any time soon, even if Xandria was saying her assault on the Maw would be even more important now. Even more potent if they can purify their brethren as they attempt to defend the Maw against her planned incursion.

They have been given focuses with the paragons' and Archon's power in them to help bolster their spells enough to purify such old souls, and it has worked twice now. However, just because they are purified does not make them friendly or repentant.

The second to be cleansed had been mad with rage upon her release from Helya's grip, and had attacked a few of the mortals who had been assisting.

Thus, Kleia and a few others are ready to sweep the nearest mortals to safety, should something go wrong.

This time, nothing does.

The light bursts brilliantly and then Kleia is staring at Astronos where he lays, weak but whole. The lot of them hold their breath as they wait, and it is not until Astronos finally pushes himself up and then looks himself over and laughs in disbelief that anyone lets out a sigh of relief.

Millie throws her hands in the air. "He didn't explode!"

Astronos' gaze snaps up to her, bewildered as a few other cheers sound off. "There was a chance of that?"

Liila pats his head. She has participated since the second feather was cleansed, and it has been surprising to see the shift in power around the spellwork. She is stronger than the others who have stood in her place in the interim, even if she does not seem to know that.

It is no wonder they elected her as their High Priestess.

Liila gets a few quiet words to Astronos, but before he can respond, Thenios is ordering the mortals to be returned to the Temple of Courage, while other ascended take Astronos back into custody. He is, after all, one of Devos' most loyal followers.

Kleia can hear him asking about taking the spell back to the Maw as she picks Liila up and heads back toward Elysian Hold.

When they get back to Courage, others are already testing how to implement a numbing clause into the spell, to make it more merciful for the creatures they may heal later. They are also breaking it down, shifting it so that its main power can come from the focuses they have been given.

So that they can use the spells individually.

The idea of a band of mortals sweeping through the Maw, purifying the mawsworn as they swoop down, gathering the ones who would return to Bastion and bringing them home…

It stirs something in Kleia that she can't put to words.

Liila gives her a smile from across the way, a nod. Kleia cannot help but smile back. Liila's smile stretches a little and Kleia feels a curl of mischief from her before a slight cough catches her attention. She turns to find Pelagos beside her. He's holding a small box of bells. That same mischief is in his eyes.

"I told Nikolon and Kosmas I would get these to them, but I'm a bit busy here," he motions back to the other healers with his head. "Perhaps you could drop them off before you head back to Loyalty?"

Kleia stares down at him, feeling that hopeful, supportive twist of emotion echo out to her.

Apparently her soulbinds have been collaborating behind her back.

She schools her feathers as she realizes they have bristled a little, and takes the box of bells. "I'm happy to help."

Pelagos wishes her luck, which makes her cheeks flush as he turns and heads back over to where he is working on his spell adjustments.

Nikolon and Kosmas have taken their bell tuning experiments to another empty arena in Courage, far enough away that their attempts do not distract anyone. Kleia flies most of the way there before landing as she gets closer. Nikolon's bells hurt her ears, and she does not want to get startled by the sound of one and crash, even if it's not so far.

As she approaches, she finds the two leaning over a table that has various schematics across it, with all manner of runes and anima flows and other things she doesn't understand noted around images of vespers and bells that have always just been…standard, as far as she knows.

Nikolon taps one of the drawings of a bell. "I'm telling you, if we adjust the curve here—"

"That will just change the tone, won't it?" Kosmas interrupts. "I think we should try—" he stops himself as he hears the faint clank of tongs from inside Kleia's box and both look up to see her. "Kleia!" He offers her a wide smile and motions for her to come closer.

Nikolon eyes them both and shakes his head before looking back down at the schematics they've been debating.

Kosmas takes the box from her, and Kleia feels a bit of heat rise to her cheeks as their fingers brush for a fleeting instant. His smile brightens. "Would you like to stick around a while and learn a bit about vespers?"

"Oh, thank you, but I should really…" Kleia motions over her shoulder. "I need to get back to Loyalty. There's so much to do."

Kosmas' smile slips, but he nods. "Of course. Perhaps I'll get to see you there, if we can get these things working."

He holds her gaze until she realizes that she's the one who needs to move if she's to go anywhere. She gives him an awkward nod and then takes to the skies a bit too quickly.

When she dares a glance back at him, he is again debating with Nikolon, both of them animated. When Kosmas nudes Nikolon with his wing, she looks away.

Rather than head to the anima gateway to return to Loyalty, Kleia flies out to the outermost edges of Courage, finding a quiet ledge and alighting. She sits by herself, feeling the winds tug at her feathers and clothes. She's barely had a chance to settle in and watch the twisting clouds at the edge of the realm, when she hears her name.

Before she can get up, Disciple Tia waves aside her concerns, walking over on silent steps. "May I join you?"

"Oh, I won't be here long," Kleia says, smiling at her fellow ascended. She motions to the ledge beside her, "but you're welcome to, of course."

Tia settles beside her. She is taller than Kleia, one of the older souls from the realm. The mortals have made jokes about how kyrian seem to just get taller and taller as the eons go on, as it's a way to gauge their ages. Even as Kleia considers that it's true enough, Tia motions to her.

"You seem…down. Has something happened at Loyalty?"

"Oh, no!" Kleia exclaims. "Things are going quite well there. I've been helping some of the aspirants and acolytes with their training, and seeing about getting them to the temples they still need to train at and," she realizes that Tia likely already knows all of her duties and cuts herself off. "Things are going well. I'm just…thinking."

"May I ask what about?" Tia asks, tilting her head. "If you'd like to keep your thoughts yours, I understand." She adds, letting her gaze wander out toward the edge of the realm. "I've just recently discovered that I have a tendency to assume all is well around me when it is not. I need to work on listening and recognizing when someone needs to be listened to."

"Oh," Kleia says softly. She has heard this same sentiment echoed from many of the older ascended lately, Kosmas and Adrestes included. She smiles back at Tia. "I suppose we all have things we need to work on in the end."

"No one is perfect," Tia says quietly.

"We don't need to be perfect," Kleia says, sitting up a little straighter. "We just need to be willing to try hard and give our all."

"Your devotion to your duties is admirable," Tia says, nodding toward Kleia.

"Thank you!" Kleia feels a bit of heat rising to her cheeks at the idea that people have been paying attention to her actions like this. She sits a little straighter. "Your brilliance is quite admirable, yourself."

Tia lets out a laugh. "I…thank you."

"It is," Kleia insists, leaning toward her a little. "I know Liila is always talking about how much your insight moves things forward. She thinks very highly of you."

Tia's smile is soft as she meets Kleia's gaze. "I am glad to know that. The Maw Walker is a good soul. As are you."

Kleia's feathers fluff a little, despite herself. "You don't get to Bastion, otherwise."

With a shake of her head, Tia appraises her. "I suppose that is true enough."

They talk for a little while, about Loyalty and the healers in Courage, conversation winding on, light and carefree. Kleia is glad that she did not head back to Loyalty right away.

As a lull comes in their conversation, she motions to Tia. "What brings you all the way out here?"

"I was hoping to talk to you," Tia repliles. When Kleia blinks, surprised, Tia nods toward her. "As I said, I have been trying to pay more attention of late, and I've noticed that sometimes that steadfast confidence of yours seems to waver a little."

"Oh." Kleia's gaze drops to her lap. "That's… it's nothing to do with Loyalty or… Or Bastion, really." When she dares to look up, she sees that Tia is watching her, as though she does not know if she should be curious or concerned.

"If you do not wish to speak of it, I understand," Tia says. "I just want you to know that if you need someone to speak to, I am here."

"That is so kind of you," Kleia assures her before hesitating. She has not put her concerns into words yet. Pelagos and Liila seem to feel it to some extent, but from the looks of things, their solution as been to encourage Kleia to welcome her feelings for Kosmas, even if… "I've been a little caught up on the idea of soulmates."

Tia blinks, surprised. "Soulmates."

"Yes." Kleia says. She picks at the hem of her tunic. "It is silly."

"I doubt that."

"Well, I've just…" Kleia weighs her thoughts a moment before abruptly blurting. "I'm quite taken with Kosmas, but there's no pull."

Tia sits a little straighter.

Before she can say anything, though, Kleia looks away, shaking her head. "Pelagos and Liila are so drawn to their soulmates, but I don't have that. Which means that my soulmate is still out there somewhere," she motions to the edge of the realm and beyond, "and I don't mind waiting, really, but there's Kosmas and I like him, but I don't want to just use him while I wait for some soul I'm meant for to come along. It's not fair to him and it's not fair to me and it's not fair to whatever soulmates are waiting for us down the line."

A sharp laugh is interrupted as Tia catches herself and schools her expression, though she can't quite hide the glimmer in her eyes. "I am sorry. I just did not expect your concerns would be… that."

Kleia covers her face with her hands. "I…"

There is nothing she can think of that will take back what she's said.

A hand reaches over and takes one of hers, pulling it away from her face. Tia smiles at her. "I apologize. I did not mean to make you feel foolish."

"It is fine," Kleia murmurs, still blushing despite her best efforts to remain calm and steadfast.

"You know, many soulmates don't have that tug right away," Tia offers. "In fact, most don't." She lets go of Kleia's hand as she lets her gaze wander. "I remember speaking with my brethren, long ago, and we all came to the conclusion that that tug you're talking about usually forms over time. Souls fall for someone and as they spend more time together, they get a feel for them, a connection that comes on its own, similar to soulbinding, but something that comes all on its own, even if it's not entirely expected."

Kleia tilts her head. "But everyone I know says they had that connection before they even really knew each other. Liila was just instantly drawn to Adretes. Pelagos was drawn to Nikolon—"

"Was he?"

"He said… it was there in the back of his mind, easy to ignore at first," Kleia repeats Pelagos' words.

"But it wasn't something drawing him without him knowing a destination, like it was with Liila, was it?"

Kleia starts to reply, but stops. "I don't…know. I assumed it was."

"If their bond had been as strong as Liila and Adrestes' the second they met, they would have known. It would have been like Eridia and Lysonia, with Pelagos telling you right away that he was drawn to someone. Did he ever say anything like that?"

"No," Kleia replies. "No. He did say that he preferred Nikolon to other disciples, and he did talk fondly about him, but it wasn't until after Nikolon fell that their bond seemed to really form." She pauses. "But Pelagos could always find Nikolon, when we went to Purity together. Like his gaze was drawn to him." Kleia looks down. "There was something there, just…faint. Faint until they reached for it. When I reach out, there's nothing."

"Did you know that when Devos and Thenios first got here, they couldn't stand one another?" Tia asks. When Kleia sits back, she nods. "They were constantly getting on one another's nerves, constantly at odds. And somehow, over time, that thread of fate formed. They grew so that they wanted each other around, grew so they could feel where the other was when they weren't, and they found comfort in that connection. Suddenly their differences weren't so abrasive. Time wound on, and their initial odds were all but forgotten as they leaned into that connection of theirs, as they made it into the sturdy thread it is today."

"Really?"

"I've found, of the pairs I have seen form over the ages," Tia says, resting her arm against her knee and leaning against it, "that the ones that feel that instant connection strongly, like what Adrestes and Liila have, tend to be those who are the most hopeless at finding love on their own." She winks at Kleia. "The universe takes pity on them and gives them a hint of where their can find their mate. The rest…well, if the universe isn't pitying you, it means that it has faith you can find your way on your own."

Kleia feels heat rising to her cheeks again as she thinks of Kosmas. "I like that idea. That it's there to be discovered."

Tia nods.

Motioning to Tia, Kleia tilts her head. "Do you have a soulmate?"

"I do."

"May I ask who?"

"Bastion." Tia's smile is loving as she lets her gaze wander over the temple around them. "I cannot imagine myself without her. I'm not sure I would even exist without her. I know she would not exist without me."

As Tia speaks, for just a breath, Kleia is not looking at a fellow ascended. Instead, she sees the golden crown, the gold-tipped wings, the regal form of her god.

Kyrestia, the Firstborne, Archon of Bastion.

It passes so quickly, but there is no doubt in Kleia's mind that it is the truth.

Kleia's lips move wordlessly as she tries to think of anything to say. Before she can find her voice, however, Tia lifts a single finger to her lips, that twinkle still in her eyes.

She rises to her feet and then offers Kleia a hand, which Kleia takes without thinking.

"Do not fret about where and who your soulmate may be. I'd wager you're already on the right path to find yours, Kleia." She takes to the air and motions back toward the temple. "Shall we?"

As Kleia follows her into the air, Tia pauses and looks back at her. "I imagine this does not need to be said, but I would prefer if you not make any announcements to the mortals." As she speaks, she holds a finger to her lips for emphasis.

Kleia nods quickly. "I won't say a word."

As they head back, Kleia can't help the bubble of hope that is rising in her chest as she thinks about Kosmas, and then considers that perhaps the next time she sees him, she'll see if he has some time to talk, just the two of them.

She would like to know him better.


Devos is back on her original platform, with its sparse furniture cleaned and the last of her fallen feathers quietly taken away to be used in finetuning the purification spell for easier use. When Adrestes flies up to see her, she is pacing, though she stops as soon as she sees him.

He can tell just by looking at her that she is recovering quickly. Her feathers are sleek and healthy and her hair still falls freely around her shoulders, but even that has a life to it that was all but gone before.

She stands a little taller when she sees Adrestes, appraising him with a guarded look, as though she cannot guess why he is here.

"Astronos is healed, as you are."

She lets out a breath that he didn't realize she was holding and then moves closer to him, almost forgetting the barrier between them. "He is well, then? May I see him?"

"No."

She jerks to a stop at that, as though she has been slapped. It takes her a moment to regain her composure. "It was too much to expect."

"You waged war on our realm," Adrestes says, pointedly, "That cannot be brushed aside. You have crimes to answer for."

"And I'll answer for them," she snaps. "I just wanted… it makes no difference. He is well?"

"He's recovering quickly."

"What will his fate be?"

Adrestes sighs, closes his eyes and then crosses his arms. "He was one of your lieutenants. There are discussions to see if Revendreth will take him."

"Revendreth!" Devos hisses the word and shakes her head. "He was doing as I told him—"

"He is adamant that he made his own choices," Adrestes interrupts. As Devos scowls, he says, "The purification killed Orisone. Or rather her path did. She was purified, but with Helya's boon gone, she went mad. She nearly killed one of the mortals—"

"Are you sure it wasn't just because the mortals are too weak?" Devos interrupts. Her earlier fight seems to be gone for now.

"The paragons were there, at the ready, to step in if needed. Vesiphone did. Helya's magic had eaten too much of her mind for her to be saved."

Devos flinches. "Orisone was one of the first I sent to the Maw."

"Leros didn't survive, either," Adrestes says. "They were able to dispel the corruption, but he was too weak to…" Adrestes trails off and then shakes his head. "He thanked them before he faded."

"Then my going first was for nothing."

"You weren't helsworn," Adrestes replies. "The two who died were. But I think if we get to the newest helsworn, they may be saved. And the mawsworn who followed you can be saved."

"Saved to be thrown to Revendreth."

"It's better than not existing at all, or being tossed back to Helya."

Devos is quiet a moment before turning to him. "Adrestes. Let me make right some of what I've done. Let me take the purification spell to the Maw. I can heal them and—"

"Anyone you saved while there would be killed while they recover. There's no way out of the Maw." He pauses and adds, despite himself, "Again."

"That won't last long, with all your mortals running about. When the way is opened, let me go. Let me do something right."

"You know that's not my call."

"Talk to the Archon then. She has always favored you," Devos says. "Adrestes, please. Let me do something. All this waiting is a torture in its own right. I'm going mad up here."

Incredulous, Adrestes shakes his head as he looks at her. "And just whose fault is that?"