"I can't stop this," Vesiphone cries out, the magic in Liila's curse swelling and building momentum despite her efforts to make it stall and buy time. "Chyrus! I need help—"

Still kneeling with the Archon, Chyrus hesitates, unsure what he can do. He is a healer, but he does not see that he can push back this wicked magic. Before he can decide to simply channel his anima to Vesiphone and let her use it as she needs, the Archon's hand grips his arm, drawing his attention back to her. Instinctively, his gaze drops to that the dark, hateful wound on her shoulder. "Get Thenios!"

There is something about the desperation in the Archon's voice that makes Chyrus take to the air faster than he ever has before, shooting into the sky like an arrow, straight up.

It only takes him a few minutes to find Thenios. He is not far into the Spires, trying to order Devos back to her confines, but she will not hear it. She is emptyhanded, but that hardly means she isn't dangerous, and Chyrus briefly worries that he should not have left Compassion behind at Humility.

As Devos yells something about needing to make sure the Jailer has not taken her people—because of course she is still singularly worried about those she has led astray—a single word interrupts the argument before Chyrus is even close enough to fully hear it.

"No!"

The very air trembles around them and all the bells toll at once, the resounding notes from each drawing out in a way that has never happened before.

Devos nearly falls out of the air, but Thenios catches her. As he does, he happens to look down enough to see Chyrus, who in turn takes advantage of his attention and motions for him to go back.

"The Archon needs you!"

With a curse, Thenios makes sure Devos' wings can find purchase in the air again before ordering her to stay where she is and heading back down.

Chyrus calls for a few guards to detain Devos and check on the other prisoners as he follows Thenios.

When he alights on the Rise, he finds that the Archon, Vesiphone, Adrestes, and Xandria are all channeling their anima toward a single point.

The Maw Walker.

Her soul feels different, though Chyrus cannot place how or why. It is like it is somehow more present than it was, only moments earlier. He does not get long to muse on the change.

"You said you could fix this," the Archon says to Thenios. Her voice is strained.

"There's not nearly enough time to do as we planned," Thenios says, stepping closer to the body at the focus of their anima. It still bears so many of those vile Maw marks. Another is building with a dark light flaring within it, pushing back against Vesiphone's and the Archon's will as though it is the Jailer himself trying to make them falter. "I can stop this, but…" Thenios shakes his head. "The damage will kill her. We didn't want—"

"It is already killing her," the Archon interrupts. "We cannot hold this much longer. My brother bolstered the curse!"

Adrestes' casting wavers as he looks from paragon to god and back, confused. "What—"

That rune bursts in dark light, and the Maw Walker lets out a sharp shriek.

Thenios inspects the rest of the runes quickly and then reaches out with his own anima. "Chyrus."

He needn't say more. Chyrus shifts to assist Thenios, channeling his own anima to him.

Chyrus looks to the Maw Walker as Thenios evaluates the situation one last time, letting his own essence brush against hers, and he is heartbroken to find that it is a tattered thing, barely holding itself together. He knows that this was expected to some extent. He knows that the curse gets in the way of seeing just how extensive the damage is, but he hadn't expected it to be this bad. Vesiphone was mending these tears, slowly piecing their dear Maw Walker back together as quickly as she dared without putting too much strain on her soul.

He knows that as she is, she would never make it through the Veil, instead falling apart in her Bearer's hands if they tried to ferry her.

But there is hope, here and now.

After all, she is already through the Veil.

Thenios gathers his anima, as well as that which is channeled to him—there are at least half a dozen people lending him their strength now—and as he manipulates it to do his bidding, Chyrus can feel it.

The curse.

It is like dozens and dozens of brittle wires woven between body and soul, binding them together. No matter how those wires break, they will take something with them, and the core of the curse lies closer to the body, leaving the tendrils thinner as they reach the ethereal. As one snaps, it does so at its weakest point, damaging the part of the soul that it is connected to.

As the next rune begins to swell with Maw magic, Thenios twists the wire around that rune, tugging so that rather than snap at the end that is tethered to the Maw Walker's soul, it does so at the part bound to her body.

Her arm twists. Part of it ruptures in time with the expended rune.

What happens next is horrifying, and Chyrus turns his head away so that he does not have to watch as each of the remaining runes disperse and take part of their Maw Walker with them.

When it is done, there is not enough of her body left to even be called that. The pieces fall away, leaving a tattered and curling light behind.

Thenios falls to one knee, feathers ruffed. Worry pinches his brow as he looks at what is left.

The damage to the exposed soul is almost as dramatic as what was done to her body.

Exhausted as Chyrus is, he turns his attention to the soul. He thinks of all that has been lost, all that they are likely to lose before all of this is over, and he cannot help but think that if they can at least save one soul…

If they can at least save her, who has done so much for their realm and expected so little in return…

He realizes as he readies to channel his anima again that it is not his own thoughts that echo so fiercely in his head.

He realizes it when he sees the Archon move, seemingly oblivious to her own injuries. She is completely focused on the task before her, hands twisting and flourishing as she pours anima into the damaged soul to repair it.

She has told him in the past that she rarely does such repairs because it can be overwhelming. If one resists her, if they fall to panic at the realization of the immense and ancient magic wrapping around them, coursing through them, for even a second, it can cause irreparable harm. He was surprised to see her mend Adrestes, just a few short months ago, after his memories were forced onto him.

And he is surprised that she is willing to take this gamble again, so soon.

He lends her all the strength he can muster.

Others join in without prompt, again offering whatever they can give to their Archon to use at her disposal. It is not hard to see why. After all, the Maw Walker has left a mark on the realm, and there are so many who speak fondly of her. Chyrus has found himself smiling at almost every story that reaches him, told by excited aspirants who got to help the great Maw Walker or amused disciples wondering how well the 'Hand of the Archon' will do when she reaches their temple.

And there is Thales.

The smiles that the Maw Walker brings to Thales, after he has been through so much, reminds Chyrus of the way Mercia used to make him smile. She is a true and loyal friend, a light in these bleak, dark times.

And Bastion does not need to lose another light.

There is an outpouring of anima that condenses to a single focus. The excess bursts out around them like a nova, surging through everything. Chyrus feels invigorated by it himself as it sweeps over and past him.

He glances after that great surge, just to be sure it is not causing more harm to their reeling realm. Damaged drapes and banners touched by the residual effects of the spell are restoring themselves. Brilliant, blue anima weaves into them, pushing back against the dark stains left by the Maw magic. Cracks in bells and the foundations of the very marble beneath their feet are unmade in time.

It is both heartening to see the damage already being remedied, and a little terrifying. To see the wills of gods imposed upon one's home always is.

As his gaze lowers from the towering pillars overhead, he stills when he sees just who it is that has come to join in their attempt to save this soul. He had expected guards from around the Hold—and there are a few—but Chyrus never imagined that he would see her standing there, anima stalling around her fingertips like she might offer more aid if it is needed.

Devos and a handful of her forsworn followers stand and hover at the ready, most still watching the focal point of their spell.

The Maw Walker.

Devos' gaze flickers to Chyrus for a moment, and she is quick to disperse the anima gathered in her hands, lest he see it as an attempted assault. Before he can say anything, movement in Chyrus' peripheral vision catches his attention, and he turns back to the corner of the Rise.

Adrestes seems oblivious of everything around them, darting forward and catching a figure as it falls from the focal point of their spell.

Chyrus never had a chance to see the Maw Walker's kyrian form, save for in a memory showed dutifully to him so many months ago, but he recognizes her even so.

Adrestes holds a pale, willowy kyrian in his arms, his fingers brushing against her cheek and down her arm as he cradles her against him. Long teal hair spills wildly from her scalp and the tips that turn to bright, white light coil loosely on the ground.

There are no wings.

Perhaps it is for the best that the Maw Walker does not have those just yet. Chyrus can only imagine the terror she will be once she reaches the sky.

A good kind of terror, of course.

Perhaps he is being too hopeful, though.

Even with her new form, she feels like she should be translucent, like despite their efforts, there is still so little of her left that she may slip away anyway.

"What are you doing here?"

Shaking his head, Chyrus cannot help the half-laugh that escapes him when he looks to Thenios and then realizes who he has just noticed.

Devos stands her ground, back straight, chin high. "You needed help."

Before Thenios can start a proper argument, he looks back to the Archon, as though to see what she will do about the forsworn. However, her attention is elsewhere. She joins Adrestes, kneeling and examining the aspirant in his arms. With a touch, light wraps around her and forms into those simple, well known white robes.

She then rises and turns to inspect those who have come to the Maw Walker's aid. She doesn't bother to hide the wound on her shoulder, and ignores when several of them see it and pale. "I appreciate that you did not answer his call."

It occurs to Chyrus then that the reason the Jailer's reach swept out as far into their realm as it did is because he was actually trying to reclaim some of his pawns, some of the ones they have taken from him during the fighting in Ardenweald.

If even a few had answered the Jailer's call, things would have ended very differently. If their casting had been interrupted, even for a second…

Devos is offended, feathers bristling as she stands taller, like even now, even after everything, she will ask the Archon how she dares to think that she would give herself over to the enemy like that. It is almost like he is seeing the old Devos, before she fell from grace.

Either she realizes the folly of her indignance herself or she senses it from Thenios. Devos tries to school her expression and then looks to the others around her. "I will return to my quarters."

The Archon merely nods. "Yes. You will."

The rest of the former helsworn and mawsworn take to the air and head back to where they are being kept as well. Acts of good faith, Chyrus imagines.

As they grow smaller in the distance, the Archon wavers, falling back to one knee as her face twists with pain. It is fleeting, and she waves off Vesiphone and Chyrus as they come to her aid. "I will be fine," she murmurs and motions toward where Adrestes and the Maw Walker are. "Tend to her. The Jailer will not take our Maw Walker."

Vesiphone and Chyrus exchange a quick look before Chyrus bobs his head and goes to them. It takes little prodding to get Adrestes to follow, and they take the Maw Walker to a quieter part of the Spires—the Hold is rife with movement as people seek to mend those who need it and assess the damages to the area.

Once they have found a quiet, unoccupied nest readied for newly ascended who have yet to have proper homes made for them in the Spires, they nestle the Maw Walker into the waiting blankets. Adrestes settles beside her, staring at her sleeping form. He is still concerned, and Chyrus can understand why.

She does not look…well.

But at least she still exists.

"She will pull through," Chyrus begins, settling beside his friend and putting a hand on his shoulder.

Adrestes tugs his hood off, reaching up to scrub at his face with the back of a hand. He has been crying. "We killed her."

"We saved her."

He shakes his head, abruptly crumpling forward and pressing the heels of his palms into his eyes. "We killed her."

"It was her body or her soul, Adrestes," Chyrus says softly. "Either way, she never would have returned to the Realm of the Living."

He shakes his head, his feathers quivering and fluffed out awkwardly as he tries to will himself not to cry. "She had so much that she was…"

Chyrus catches himself before he can remind Adrestes that mortals always have plans and dreams that are left unfulfilled. Whether it is something great they wanted to do, a mark they wanted to leave, or just a final farewell they wanted to whisper, there is always something. It is a rare moment indeed when the mortal souls they ferry look up at them and say they are ready to move on without looking back one last time.

No matter when the Maw Walker passed, she would have had something left to do.

Chyrus does not remind him because Adrestes already knows. He already knows, and it doesn't make a difference because this is not just some mortal moving from one existence to the next.

This is his soulmate's dreams and hopes that have been cut short.

Instead, Chyrus weaves some mending spells of his own, bolstering the Maw Walker's soul with anima, making sure that what has been done so far does not begin to unravel.

He stays until Vesiphone comes to find him and call him back to his many duties as paragon. He is relieved that she is going to watch over the Maw Walker in his place. Perhaps they can take turns, juggling healing shifts and their duties.

As Chyrus gets up to go, he pauses to kiss the crown of Adrestes' head, a reassurance that all will be well.

After all, that is the Archon's will.

And even if it wasn't, the Maw Walker has proven to be a rather stubborn soul herself.


Thales is restless.

He is sitting in one of his sessions with Watcher Jacintha, discussing with a few other aspirants whether the current soul they are viewing should be allowed back to life or not. Watcher Jacintha has adapted her lessons for him, describing the souls for his benefit, while most of the aspirants with him can simply look at a projected image.

The first time he came to the group, he'd felt horribly out of place, like he was making everyone else's lesson drag on even longer as they had to listen to their tutor go out of her way for him. However, everyone has assured him that they don't mind and one aspirant came up to him later and admitted that he likes having Watcher Jacintha describe the soul, because sometimes she mentions that it is emaciated or sickly and he hadn't been able to tell, as he hadn't known the creature they were looking at.

Thales has been participating in these more and more as time stretches on, and Liila remains trapped in the Maw. He is anxious for her, especially when her own anxieties swell like waves. They always break, but each time her worries gather, he wonders if this will be the time that everyone frets over. The time that the Jailer catches up to her.

If he sits alone or tries to listen to a recorded lesson, his mind wanders too much. But when he takes part in more active lessons, it helps him focus. It is both a distraction and an attempt at normalcy.

And he does need to keep going down the Path, anyway.

They are discussing a soul from Azeroth when it happens.

A wail that seems to come from everywhere and nowhere at once.

It is as though the very realm itself buckles. Like some energy sweeps over them, through them, sputtering and wavering.

The bells toll erratically, off key.

And then Thales hears a gasp, not far from where they are. Someone calls out a warning to move. Another is just crying out when something big crashes into the ground.

A vesper, if the awkward clank that goes silent too quickly is any indication.

People are rushing to their feet. Thales gets to his, trying to gage what is going on.

That ripple…it reminds him of when the Maldraxxi attacked.

There had been a ripple then, too, as they had punched their way into the realm.

A ripple and then chaos.

There is no doubt in his mind that they are under attack.

He wishes he had brought his polearm with him to the lesson, but settles for curling his hands into fists as he tries to read the area around them. Everything is too hectic, though, for him to get a good feel for who is where.

People are shouting. More things are falling. A steward is crying.

It is so much like when he was taken.

Memories swell up, the panicked faces of the aspirants who do not yet know how to fight trying to pick up arms regardless against the monsters appearing in their midst.

A woman he had spared with many times takes a blade to the neck and the light simply goes out in her eyes as she falls.

Thales kicks one of their attackers off another friend, but when he rolls them over, he sees that they are already gone.

He and two others try to fend off their attackers back-to-back. One of the ascended is coming for them, and Thales can feel the relief as he descends.

Until a hook catches his wing and jerks him from the sky at an angle. Thales does not see where the ascended lands, but he hears the cries—a mixture of surprise and pain—as their attackers reach him.

Thales and his fellow aspirants take out two of their attackers before a bulky monstrosity charges them. A bell rings out off key as he hits the ground hard, landing next to a steward who is weeping softly, one of its arms badly damaged. Even as Thales meets their terrified gaze and starts to reach for them, they are dragged out of his reach. He looks up in time for the butt of a blade to hit him between the eyes, and his world is dark.

He catches a hand that closes around his wrist and twists, flinging them over his shoulder as he tries to back up to make sure no one can get behind him. They won't catch him off guard this time.

The bells are off key.

Something huge hits the ground, in pieces.

Like one of the statues of Agthia that were toppled in the assault.

He can just barely feel a soothing presence near him, can barely hear someone calling his name and telling him he is safe, when the second wave hits him.

It assaults his mind this time. An image of a blonde man burns so fiercely into his mind's eye that Thales almost feels like his sight has been restored.

The man is nothing impressive, a bipedal creature not unlike a kyrian, but living. Or…is he? Thales can barely focus on the man himself through the fear that curls through him, so unbearably strong that at first he mistakes it as his own.

And then the scene shifts as though he is turning his head, even though he is certain he's grown still. He sees an ascended flying toward him, and despite never having seen Kleia, he knows it is her.

He remembers the ascended from Courage, flying just like her, only for the hook to catch him.

Even as he tells himself this is not Courage, Kleia was not there—she had not even gotten her wings yet—she convulses and falls from the sky. Her wings break.

Panic swells in him, mixes with his own.

Panic, despair, fear.

And then…

It is like something reaches into him, into his core. It tears into his very being and twists. He screams, collapsing to the ground.

The pain is unbearable, and his memories tumble and merge. He sees the butt of the sword coming for his face, sees the butcher lifting the first eye taken and examining it with an idle interest as they offer it to someone beside them and then turn back to take the other eye, ever so casual as they laugh with the ones holding him down, unconcerned that he might ever break free.

He sees the blonde man.

As that memory clicks into place, he realizes, very abruptly, that Liila's terror is gone.

The fear curling through him is his own.

Mixing and twisting around an anxiousness coming from Hipokos, who is doing his best to send him a sense of comfort. Hipokos is not in Humility, but with the forgelite prime, and he is imagining hugs and tasty purian and cool sips from waterfalls and doing his best to send those pleasant thoughts to Thales in his absence.

As he manages to calm down, Thales realizes he can hear a soft voice assuring him that he is alright. Whatever has happened has passed.

Watcher Jacintha's voice comes to him from somewhere nearby, just a few feet in front of him.

It takes a moment before he feels sure enough to reach out to her.

He is shaking, but he looks around, listens. The sounds of whatever happened are gone. The vespers' tune is a little out of sequence, but the notes ring strong and true, as though they were never disrupted. He can hear a few people in the distance discussing moving a bell. Someone else is calling to ask if anyone needs healing.

Everyone sounds…

Calm.

Well, a few voices are a little shaky, but there is no active distress. Any hurried footsteps do not sound frantic.

"It has passed, Aspirant Thales," Watcher Jacintha assures him, her tone soothing and soft. "Whatever that was, it is gone."

"An attack?"

"I am not certain," Watcher Jacintha says, "Whatever it was, we just felt the after effects. Humility was not a target."

Thales balks at that.

Vespers fell from the sky, and that was 'just' an after effect?

Her hands find his and hold his firmly. "We are safe. You are safe."

Thales feels sick as his mind whirs through what happened. His memories are so clear from Courage. He shivers. "Did I hurt anyone?"

"No," she says, and there is a smile in her voice. "No, you were ready to fight and defend, but you didn't have to."

Thales isn't sure he believes her—he's fairly certain he threw someone over his shoulder—but he wants to think he didn't actually lash out while he thought that he was back in Courage and Maldraxxus.

"I bring sweet juice?" a steward calls softly.

Watcher Jacintha squeezes his hands. "Would you like something to drink?"

There is an ache in his chest, and he shivers again, even as he nods. The juice is cool and tangy on his tongue, and he takes a moment to focus on the taste and texture, to ground himself.

"If it wasn't an attack… What hit me?"

"Hit you?"

Thales reaches up and puts a hand to his chest, where it still aches. He's half surprised there is no wet feeling when his fingertips brush against his tunic. That there is no blood. "Something…it hurt so much. It still…"

Instantly, he hears a concerned hum, so faint he almost misses it as anima curls over and through him.

"Is that better?"

"Not…really?" Thales rubs at his chest a little harder. "It's like something is missing. Like something was taken or…"

Even as he tries to find the words, he realizes, very abruptly, what is gone.

Or rather, who.

Liila.

Her fear is gone, but so too is that whirlwind of emotions that usually sits at the edge of his consciousness.

His fingers curl into the cloth of his tunic as he remembers the blonde man.

And then Kleia falling from the air.

He stumbles to his feet, dropping his juice, though the steward must catch it because he never hears the cup hit the ground. "Liila and Kleia are in trouble."

"Aspirant Thales—"

"They were…" The memories are already fading, becoming harder to call back. He can see the architecture behind the blonde man, the large banners of sheer fabric falling flat against the walls in the distance, dark magic eating at them. The area beyond seems to stretch out into empty space. The ascended in the background fend off spectral creatures, but the architecture is unmistakably kyrian. "Somewhere with lots of pillars? In the air I think…" He tries to think of where Kleia might have been. "Loyalty…is the Temple of Loyalty mostly in the air?"

"No, all of the temples are ground based," Watcher Jacintha says reluctantly. "It would be best if you rested—"

"Elysian Hold then? I think they were—"

"Aspirant Thales," Watcher Jacintha interrupts. "I will have someone check on them. You need to sit back down."

He stands his ground. "I'll go myself. I know the way."

She tries once more to dissuade him before giving in.

"We will go together," Watcher Jacintha relents after a terse pause. When he starts to protest, she catches one of his shoulders to guide him. "There is damage to the walkways. I would not have you trip."

Though he wants to argue that he can handle a few cracks, Thales agrees. After all, if she really wants to keep him from going, he imagines she can.

They go at a brisk pace, with Watcher Jacintha having to guide him around fallen vespers and other debris. Twice, she stops him abruptly and grows deathly still before leading him in wide arcs. When he asks what they are avoiding, she says the ground has collapsed. The tremor in her voice makes him leave it at that, especially with the way her grip on him tightens, like she is trying to fend off her own fears.

Rather abruptly, they stop. He can feel the air stirring from wings in front of them before the ascended speaks.

"The gateways are currently disabled."

"What?" Thales cries. Even as he starts to ask how else they should get to Elysian Hold, that stern voice interrupts.

"There is no travel to any other areas right now."

"The Hold was attacked, wasn't it?" Thales asks.

Their silence tells him he is right.

He takes a step toward them, shrugs off Watcher Jacintha's hand on his shoulder. "Please, I'm trying to find out if two of my friends are alright. Kleia and Liila—the Maw Walker. She's my soulbind, but I can't feel her anymore."

The silence this time feels different.

Watcher Jacintha's hand returns to his shoulder, pulling him back gently. He shakes her off again.

"I need to find out what's happened."

"I am sorry to be the one to tell you this," the ascended says, their voice gentler. "The Maw Walker fell in battle." There is a short pause. "I don't know who your other friend is, but when I can, I will ask after them. You said Kleia?"

Thales shakes his head, annoyed. "Liila…she can't die. Well, she can die, but she can't stay dead. She's cursed. Surely, you've heard of the Maw Walker's curse? It's not some great secret."

"I am sorry," the voice is quieter.

"I need to go to Elysian Hold," Thales says, taking a step forward as he tries to push down his frustration that he is hitting a dead end.

Watcher Jacintha catches him again, turning him away from the ascended in front of him. "Even if they wanted to let you go, the gateways are down." Her arm slips around his shoulders. "Come. You need to rest."

"I need to find my friends!" Thales protests. "They were in trouble! I can get a larion and go, can't I? Or someone could ferry me—"

"Aspirant Thales," Watcher Jacintha says.

He is getting tired of how she says his name.

"They've obviously heard wrong," Thales argues, shaking her off. "Or didn't hear the full story or… Liila can't…Even if she died, she'll come back. And the paragons have been tending to her. Vesiphone herself has been healing her!" He looks toward where the ascended was. "You heard wrong. Liila can take on three constructs at once and come out unscathed."

"When I can, I will ask after them both," the ascended says. Their voice is too…pitying.

It makes something twist inside of Thales. He stands a little taller, nods. "Thank you. You'll see you heard wrong."

The emptiness in Thales' chest hurts.

This time, when Watcher Jacintha says she will take him somewhere quiet, he reluctantly lets her lead him away, fighting back the urge to shove past everyone until he can feel the gateway platform beneath his feet, to make certain that they are telling him the truth that it is inactive.

After all, it's something he and Pelagos and Pallessa have talked about. How the ascended keep things from the aspirants as though they are children. Like how all souls go to the Maw or the severity of the drought.

They have concealed important things before, and now Thales feels it happening again.

Watcher Jacintha takes him to where most of the Courage aspirants stay, at his request. A few rush to him, and he feels a metal hand take one of his. Anima hums softly beneath the mechanical fingers.

Aspirant Perese.

The Maldraxxi took her arm off. They would have taken the other, she has said, many times, were it not for a daring rescue on Secutor Mevix's part—not that she had realized it at the time. Liila and Thales had fallen behind while unlocking cages, only for Mevix to come back to them carrying a badly wounded Perese, who had been sobbing and trying to fight him as best she could even as he told her to calm down.

Thales remembers Liila saying later, when he had asked about his fellow aspirant, that it had been Mevix's quick thinking that had really saved Perese, because he had taken the clotting agent the butchers sometimes used and shoved a whole bowl of it onto Perese's wound, to stem the bleeding.

The strides in getting people fitted with prosthetics to replace the pieces stolen from them has been going well, and Perese was sure to let him feel her new arm as soon as she got it, talking away about the feel of it and how she hopes it will help her put everything behind her. She has forgotten the some of their imprisonment already, but she cannot very well abandon the memory of losing her arm because it would be too jarring to be down a limb and not know how it was lost.

Thales is one of the only ones who was mutilated that they haven't gotten to yet, and he knows it is because making something that can serve as a limb is easier than making something that will allow him to see again. Hipokos has shared that Mikanikos has a few prototypes in the works, something similar to the sensors the centurion use to detect the world around them, but for now, he is left in darkness.

Still.

He is happy for Perese, and relieved when she and a few others hug him and usher him into their area.

They are helping clean up, but Perese readily takes Thales to the side to rest, and to fill in the details that Watcher Jacintha has been careful to keep from him.

"There are holes," Perese whispers, as though saying it too loud will cause some great calamity. "The realm simply fell apart in places. You look down and see emptiness stretching out beneath us. You went to Hero's Rest once or twice before the attack on Courage, yes?" When Thales nods, she says, "Do you remember the cliffs beneath it? That empty…hole?"

Thales thinks of the times Watcher Jacintha stopped him and led him around collapses.

"Crotaes said they saw an entire branch of the Spires fall from the air," Perese continues, still in a whisper. "Comparatively, Humility wasn't hit hard at all. A few of the upper platforms are slanted, and no one dares land on them right now. A bunch of bells fell, too."

"Should I help heal?" Thales asks, listening to the sounds of work around them.

"Luckily there weren't many injuries, from what I can tell," Perese says. "At least not in this part of the temple."

Thales thinks about what he saw. Kleia, the blonde man, the magic eating the banners that were so still. It feels like a dream to even think of those memories now, and he knows soon enough they'll be gone. They aren't his memories, after all.

"They're saying the Jailer made his move," Perese says.

"He attacked Ardenweald already," Thales says, automatically. He had been talking with Liila when Xandria had made the call to arms. He had wanted to go, but going to a different realm and fighting on uneven ground he was unfamiliar with would have been…difficult enough.

He hadn't wanted to be a burden and had stayed behind.

Something he's been kicking himself for ever since. Perhaps if he'd been there…

Perese wonders aloud if that means Revendreth will be next, or Maldraxxus.

She has been shaken by what happened pretty badly, too. She is jumpier, her hand—her real hand—constantly going to his almost as though assuring herself that he is there, that they are safe.

She would probably do better if she had more to do, if she could help with the cleanup. When there is a lull in the conversation, he tells her that she doesn't have to wait with him, that he needs a bit of rest after all.

She sticks with him, though, despite his promises, saying she doesn't want him to get up to go somewhere and fall through one of the 'holes'. Some are enough for a steward or aspirant to fall through, but not enough for an ascended to follow them down.

She waits with him until Hipokos arrives.

Hipokos runs up to him and wraps his feathered arms around Thales in a tight hug, clicking his beak a few times and humming in relief. Talons carefully feel Thales' limbs to make sure he is alright and whole, and then pause and rest against his chest, where that ache will not leave him.

The stewards sits with him then, and Thales can hear the sounds of a satchel opening and something being moved around.

He smiles when he feels a tap on his arm, and he holds his palm out. A slice of purian is set carefully in his hand. He thanks Hipokos.

As they eat and Hipokos lets out a few hums and clicks, it reminds him of another creature that makes clicking noises.

That is when it occurs to him that perhaps he does have a way he can go find Liila.

Because based on the memories, he is sure she is not in the Maw anymore.

He can sit around waiting, feeling helpless because there are apparently holes in the very realm that make it harder for a blind man to wander, or he can do something.

He can find Liila and tell her of the stories going around, maybe get some answers.

With a few whispered words to Hipokos, they get up and hurry off. It takes longer than Thales would like to get to the little space where he brought Liila before, when he had wanted to help her with her own feelings of helplessness.

He scans the area, feeling for any nearby presences and then nods to Hipokos. The realm feels…frailer than before—like the air is thinner, but he's still certain that they are the only two here, and from Hipokos' soft click, he thinks that this place has not been damaged.

"Nibbles?" Thales stands there a moment, wondering if he should do something more. Does speaking the creature's name even do anything? After all, it watches Liila, not him, right? Or does it even watch her? She said she didn't know how it knows to come to her…

Steeling himself, Thales waves his hands around as though it might capture the devourer's attention somehow. He conjures a bit of anima to wave as well. "Nibbles? Do you know how to get to Liila?" He looks around slowly. He can feel Hipokos' presence, but beyond that, the world is quiet. "You come when she needs you… I'm friendshaped, too!" Thales says, daring to raise his voice to a loud whisper. He brings his hands up the way Liila showed him, fingers making a heart in front of his chest. "I need your help. I need—"

As he turns, his soulbind clicks his beak a few times anxiously. Thales abruptly finds himself facing what feels like a void. It has clearer edges than it did the last time this happened, and he can feel the unease from Hipokos.

A strange clicking noise comes from in front of Thales in response, seeming to mimic Hipokos' sounds.

Thales holds his hands up a little higher as he wills himself to stay calm. "I think Liila might be in trouble, but I don't know how to get to her. Have you seen her lately?"

More clicking and chittering. He thinks he senses the void in front of him move, but he cannot be sure.

Abruptly, an impossibly large, clawed hand rests against his. He reaches out and feels the massive fingers, curling into the same shape as his own.

Thales swallows, trying to relax.

Nibbles clearly does not understand all of what he is saying, but at least they are agreed that they are friends. And at least he has come when Thales needed him.

As he tries to think of how to phrase what he wants to convey to the devourer in front of him, a voice lets out a dismayed shout from somewhere beyond their little corner.

The world bursts into noise.

Angry clicks, Hipokos scurrying to Thales' side, the sounds of large footfalls growing closer.

Very large footfalls.

Thales stiffens as he hears Chyrus call out to him.

A hiss responds.

He can feel the pull of anima being drawn into a spell, feel the world prickling in preparation for the strike.

"Don't hurt Nibbles!" Thales yells, standing between the empty void and the swelling essence of the paragon. "He's friendshaped!" He holds his hands up for emphasis, hoping that Nibbles will think to do the same.

The footfalls—which no longer sound as loud as they should be—grow silent.

The world is still for an impossible moment.

"What is the meaning of this?"

Thales looks up at Chyrus as best he can, though he thinks his senses are a bit off at first, because the paragon's voice sounds like it comes from lower than it should.

Like when Xandria came to watch their progress with the purification spell, and the others had said she looked like an aspirant rather than the paragon she is. He supposes it makes sense that Chyrus might have shifted his form now, as Liila told him the little alcove is too small for most ascended to comfortably move in, let alone a paragon.

"This is Nibbles." Clicks come from behind him, with chittering and whistles. "He's Liila's friend. I was going to ask him to help me find her."

Chyrus' throat clears. "There is no need for that."

"You know where she is?"

"Aspirant Thales, we…if this creature is your…friend, can you tell it to leave?"

More chittering.

"I think he wants to know what happened to Liila." Thales turns to look back at Nibbles and finds that emptiness uncomfortably close. He can feel breath tickle his ear when he looks back at Chyrus. "They're saying she's dead."

There is a pause.

And then a hand reaches out, one that is the same size as his. The paragons truly can take any size they want, it seems. Chyrus takes Thales' hand in his. There is a growl and then a few clicks before Chyrus says, "The Maw Walker—" He stops himself as though to choose his words with care. "Liila is now officially an aspirant of Bastion."

Thales' brow pinches. "She's been an aspirant—"

"A traditional one."

It takes a moment for the meaning behind the words to sink in. Thales' lips move wordlessly for a second before he finds his voice. "She…did die."

Nibbles lets out a wail.

Of course he understood that.

By the time Thales turns toward the beast, it is gone, the world stretching out uninterrupted beside him. Thales hopes Nibbles will be alright and not do anything foolish.

"Let us go back to the temple," Chyrus says, gripping Thales' hand a bit firmer.

Thales lets him lead him out of the grotto, mulling over what he's been told. "Is that why I can't feel her? Because she died?"

"The Jailer severed her connections from her soulbinds."

They sit with Hipokos, and Chyrus explains what has happened as best he can.

"So Kleia is alright?"

"She will be. I imagine her wings will ache for a while."

Thales lets out a long sigh, nodding his head slowly. "Liila will be glad to know that."

"Thales," Chyrus says, voice soft. "I…you should know that she may not make it."

Thales bristles at that. "What do you mean?"

"Her soul was very badly damaged. We mended what we could, but—"

"I can soulbind with her again. That would help strengthen her, wouldn't it?"

"Souls cannot bind without consent. She is unconscious, and the process…you will both need to mend before you can do that again."

"May I see her?" Realizing what he's said, Thales coughs into his hand and then motions vaguely around. "Or sit with her, I suppose. I won't get in the way of healers." He perks up. "I can help heal. Or…just watch over her, while her healers rest. If it's so serious, she'll need someone with her constantly, won't she?"

The sound Chyrus makes is that of someone who is weighing his options, hesitant. "We have her—and intend to keep her—in the Spires."

"So high ledges that I can't see," Thales says, guessing at least part of the paragon's hesitation.

"Yes."

"Perhaps I could just visit her, then?" Thales asks. "I—" He stops himself, mind working over what little he knows. "If the Spires are still in chaos, then I can…wait." The last word is painful to say. "But when things have settled—"

"I will bring you to her myself," Chyrus says softly. "I'm sure, once she's up, she'll be eager to see you."

Thales sighs, relief washing through him. He nods toward Chyrus. "She will be up, you know. In Maldraxxus, she joked that she was held together with spite. I don't know if that's the case, but something's keeping her around. Maybe just her own sheer force of will."

"So I've noticed." When Chyrus speaks this time, his voice sounds from up higher. There is the rustle of fabric as he kneels. "In the meantime, may I fly the two of you back to the center of the temple? I doubt there will be anymore falling debris, but I would be loath to hear something fell on you on your way back."

"Thank you, paragon," Thales says, feeling tiny as Chyrus scoops him up in one arm and Hipokos in the other.

"And Thales?"

"Yes?"

"I never thought this was something I would need to say, but no devourers in the temple."


"I apologize," Thenios says as he stands with the Archon in her small antechamber above the Rise, out of the way of prying eyes. A small box, even for kyrian aspirant standards, floats between them. "I did not mean to turn this into the horror show that it became."

"What happened is not in any way your fault, Thenios," the Archon replies. "You were able to gather all of her?"

"Yes." Thenios has already gone over the Rise thrice and knows he has gathered all that he can.

All that is left.

Hopefully the mortals will not have a need to open this box, but if they do… well, it will not be as grotesque a scene as the kyrian had to endure.

The benefits of being ascended, of being a 'spirit healer' as they are so aptly called on Azeroth, is that they can usually piece bodies back together with relative ease. When he had begun to research how to remove the Maw Walker's curse, he had figured that he would let the body take most of the damage and then mend it once the process was over.

He has talked with the Archon about his theories at length. He has warned her that if the Maw Walker's soul was not sufficiently padded with excess anima to be burned specifically for when the curse was removed, it would be a bloody mess when it came down to it. Thenios had hoped they might handle the whole ordeal in a more private area, too, if he is honest. The various gasps from onlookers were distracting, though he had managed to tune them out.

He told his Archon that without that padding, this was going to be the sort of death that came with a certain finality mortals can't weasel out of.

And he had been surprised when she had told him that they would let their Maw Walker resurrect when it was over. If it came down to it, they would damage the body, save the soul, restore the body as needed, and send the Maw Walker to live her life.

This blatant favoritism is the exact sort of thing they strive not to do, but Thenios is not about to point that out to his wounded god. She has suffered enough and does not need his judgment.

While he expected to feel a nettling annoyance in the back of his mind from Devos—he has clung to their soulbinding, even though he shouldn't have—he is surprised to find that she is quiet. Either she is ignoring him because he is thinking of The Archon, or she agrees that their Archon has been through enough.

The idea that she might again consider The Archon as hers is a bit much to hope for, but perhaps in time…

It has been a private war in the back of his mind, wrestling with both his and Devos' sense of betrayal as they each look at one another as the one to have turned their back on the other. Thenios can see where he messed up—Devos has made sure that he has seen the conversation that turned her from him many, many times now, but Devos does not seem willing to own up to her own mistakes just yet.

Not to him, anyway.

She gave quite the stirring speech in Loyalty upon her return, but has not shown much of that remorse since.

In fact, he has felt her ignoring him since before he found out she had fallen. He is still not sure how she hid that from him, something that bothers him to no end. He has reached out time and time again, and all she will relay back is that conversation where she told the Archon that the Path was flawed and he stood silently to the side, not coming to her aid.

The conversation where he let her down and left her feeling isolated and alone.

He has steeled himself for this cold shoulder to last eons—Devos has always been stubborn—but her iron will has already wavered.

Because of the Maw Walker, of all people.

To say Devos likes the mortal—former mortal—would be a bold lie, but she is…invested in the Maw Walker's fate. He has felt her curiosity brushing against his consciousness as he has studied the curse and made plans for how to remove it. He thinks he's even felt relief that there was a plan in place, once, though she was quick to go back to ignoring him when she realized he was listening to their connection.

Stubborn to a fault.

Even so, he has left himself open to her, so that she can feel whatever of him she wants, and tried not to be disappointed that the Maw Walker's curse is the only thing she seems to take actual interest in from him.

If nothing else, it has encouraged him to delve into the subject more in the last few weeks, and prior to the Jailer's appearance in their realm, he had been quite confident that he would be able to remove the curse when the time came, after Vesiphone had properly prepared the Maw Walker.

The plan was good. It was sound.

Except that when it came time, this was not the curse Thenios was preparing to remove.

This was so much…more.

So much worse.

The Jailer wanted to make sure that their Maw Walker did not come out of this. He poured his malice into that curse, bolstering it into a beast that might have well been a new spell altogether.

Thenios had hoped that they might be able to fix this mess quickly, to use their abilities to set things right and foil the Jailer's plans for once, but…

He has attempted to mend the Maw Walker's body, but most of it is simply not there anymore. And his efforts to reconstruct what has been lost have been met with a unique resistance that further deteriorates the parts that are still there.

At least the blood cleaned up easily.

He may need to cleanse this memory, when he has the time.

It is not the worst death he has ever seen in his long time as a Watcher and Bearer and Paragon, but it is up there.

A god's wrath never leaves their target unscathed, and that wrath festers even now in what little remains.

When he had explained that the parts of the body that were destroyed were unmade entirely and that he could not mend what did not exist, the Archon had attempted to reconstruct the Maw Walker's body herself.

Only for what was left of the torso to crumble into dust when her magic brushed against it.

A few pieces of limbs are all that remains of the Maw Walker's physical form.

Thenios allows himself a small shudder. "I've never seen anything like this."

The Archon frowns. "Neither have I. My brother has learned quite a few new tricks during his confinement."

"It is a wonder he does not do this to all the maw walkers."

"Who's to say he hasn't?" The Archon says, gaze lowering as she considers it. "How many have died throughout the realms of death? Thirteen?"

"Fourteen," he corrects, adding almost as an afterthought, "Devos resurrected Blood Bloodsblood once, when they were both in the Maw. Most of the others died in Revendreth, fighting Denathrius. Our bearers were able to bring them back without issue. They don't even know they died."

The Archon stares at the box between them, still frowning. "Continue to keep an eye on the mortals. I want to know if we have trouble with any others."

"Of course," Thenios says. There is little else to be done at the moment, and so Thenios motions to the small crate that houses their Maw Walker's remnants. When it became clear they could not restore the body, it was gathered and set somewhere where it wouldn't be an eyesore. "I will return her to the mortals myself. What do you want me to tell them?"

At that, the Archon tilts her head. "I am not sure."

"Archon?"

She raises her head back, brow drawing together. "Of all the worlds, Azeroth has always been a problem when it comes to excessive and soul-damaging resurrections. If we tell them that the Maw Walker has fallen, that their Dragonlily is dead, they will try to bring her back."

"Do you think they can restore her body better than we can?"

"I doubt it."

Thenios grimaces then, already able to see their Maw Walker's fate. He can guess what sort of thing they'll put her in. A stranger's corpse, a wicker construct, a favorite pet.

Or maybe they'll just bind her soul to a rock.

He's seen that done too many times.

"If only we could prevent them from finding out she's died," Thenios murmurs.

"Carroll Bishop already knows her fate."

"We could wipe the memory. It's just one mortal." Thenios considers it and then adds, "We could probably get him to volunteer to forget, too. I doubt he'll get much sleep, considering he saw what happened."

"It wouldn't do any good," The Archon says, shaking her head. "She's been too active a participant in recent events. They would miss her, and quickly. And the longer she's missing, the more trouble they'll cause trying to find her. Better to just tell them the truth."

"And have them resurrect her into a gopher?"

Even as the Archon shakes her head again, the soft tinkling of chimes heralds Vesiphone's approach. She lands just outside of the doorway, saying something softly to Kalisthene who guards the way, and then slips past her to join them.

The Archon finally looks up from the box, to meet Thenios' gaze, her mouth a thin line.

He simply frowns back. "She's friends with the one that does that. The gopher pets."

"If they manage to draw her soul across the Veil, it will fall apart," Vesiphone says softly. When they look to her, she gives them each a small nod.

"How bad is it?" The Archon asks.

"You are going to have to intervene, my Archon," Vesiphone says. "Chyrus and I can only do so much. Whatever the Jailer did, it still wants her in pieces, and her soul is resisting our attempts to mend it."

"Just like the body," Thenios says. He considers it and shakes his head. "The curse is gone. I'm sure of that. This shouldn't be happening."

"This is my brother imposing his will."

Vesiphone pales slightly, her gaze turning to the box and then recognition washing over her features. She lowers her head. "So there will be no restoring her to life."

Thenios crosses his arms, feathers growing sleek as he considers it. "We cannot bring her back, and we cannot let the mortals pull her through the Veil."

"She was to be ours in the end," Vesiphone points out. "I think if we are diligent, she will pull through. As a kyrian."

"How long do you think it will take the mortals before they realize they cannot resurrect her?" The Archon asks.

"Their healers often talk about a window of opportunity. For them, it is generally half an hour," Thenios says, thinking back to what he has documented about the problems they've had with gathering souls from Azeroth. "In the case of the Scourge, however, it was weeks after their deaths that they dragged souls back."

Vesiphone lets out a soft 'oh', as though she is just remembering that this has already happened to their Maw Walker once.

The Archon's mind, however, is elsewhere. "If we wait a few hours before delivering the body…if we wait a day. That will be a few hours in their time. Their window of opportunity will be passed, yes?"

"The half hour window is generally because any longer and the body starts to break down," Thenios says. He motions to the box. "We won't have that problem. Most of their healers will see what is left and know that there is no coming back."

"So then we must worry about deterring the ones who will do…non-traditional resurrections," Vesiphone says.

"We were discussing that earlier."

They are silent for a moment before Vesiphone says, "We could tell them there is nothing left of her. That her soul suffered as her body did. Before her body did." She pauses. "That is the truth of what happened, is it not? We can leave out the part about saving her soul at the end. If they think there is nothing to bring back, then they will not try, and they will not unravel her."

"Some may anyway," Thenios says. "Azerothians are a stubborn lot."

"But after a few unsuccessful attempts, they will believe what we have told them," Vesiphone pushes. "They will stop, and she will be able to mend properly."

"It will be a blow to morale," The Archon says, "if people think she is truly lost. And not just the mortals. It will be pointless to tell the mortals one thing and our people another. There are so many here who tried to save her. To let them think their efforts were for nothing, that the Jailer won this battle, like every one before it, would be beyond cruel."

"To let her soul be unmade by well-meaning fools would be cruel," Thenios says. "To her, to them, and to all who have tried to save her thus far. And imagine what will happen if the Jailer learns he failed in his execution, because that's what this was supposed to be. He already had the sigil by the time he got ahold of her. There was no reason to stay except to punish her for her defiance of his will. To show us all what happens when we defy him. Do you think he'll leave her be if he realizes his message was not made clear?"

"Further attacks on the realm will hurt morale far more than the loss of one mortal," Vesiphone agrees.

The Archon is quiet for a painfully long moment, considering what they can do.

Finally, she looks up at them and nods. "Tell the mortals that their Dragonlily is lost."


Adrestes takes the message from Hermestes and looks down at it, unfurling it quickly, dreading what news it may bring.

Rather than any updates from the Archon, it is a request. The attack on their god has resulted in a ripple effect in the realm, and she wishes to know how badly Loyalty was hit. She has also detailed that he is to talk to no one about what has happened to Liila until she can talk to him.

That won't be hard.

Adrestes can't put to words what has happened anyway. He did try, when he first got back to the temple. Nebi had known something was wrong the second she saw him, and had followed him around like a gosling, asking what had happened. In the end, he had told her of Kleia's injuries, but he hadn't been able to speak about Liila's. He tried, but he cannot get far. It is pathetic.

He cannot put his failure to keep her safe, to protect her to words, and if there is to be some degree of secrecy around it, then he supposes it is a good thing.

The tension in his shoulders will not leave him as he looks to Hermestes and nods. "I'll be back to the Hold shortly."

He wouldn't have left at all. He had been intent to stay beside Liila until she opened her eyes, but then Vesiphone had needed him to move and had been flustered by his hovering, by the questions he asked between her spells.

She had finally suggested he got get some rest, and he had realized he was in the way.

There was no way he was going to get any sleep with things as they are, and so he had gone back to Loyalty, to make sure the Jailer had not come after the forsworn again.

It is a small relief that Loyalty is largely unharmed. They have lost a few more bells, but aside from that, they are fine.

He has mostly worked these last few hours dispelling or confirming the rumors that are floating around. He has told them that the Jailer attacked, but that it is over and everything will be fine. Some believe him, some want to, some are afraid.

A usual day in Loyalty.

He has almost gone back to the Hold a dozen times at this point, but each time he prepares to leave, he thinks of how he had gotten in Vesiphone's way. Adrestes will not be able to bear it if he is the reason they lose Liila. If keeping his distance gives her a fighting chance, then…

Bringing a report to the Archon will not be getting in the way, he tells himself as he goes to seek Achillon. He has relied on him, in Kleia's absence, to gather the reports on the damage to the temple.

Before he can leave the temple, Nebi catches him and wraps him in a tight embrace. "Tell Kleia we're thinking of her." When he nods, she pauses, appraising him carefully. "Liila, too."

He does not mean to grimace at that, but he does. He cannot look Nebi in the eyes as he pats her shoulder and says he'll be back later. Nebi lets him pass, even though she looks like she might try to squeeze more out of him, and the flight back to Elysian Hold is a miserable one.

The closer he gets to the Hold, the more significant the damage to the realm is. In the plains nearest it, there are spider fractures through the earth itself, as though a massive fist slammed into it and send cracks through the very essence of Bastion. It is going to take a long time to recover from this.

He should have stopped it.

There were shades in Elysian Hold. The very heart of Bastion.

It is his job as polemarch to keep this realm safe and instead he is watching it unravel all around him.

The realm and Liila.

When he reaches the Archon's Rise, he notes that the Hold at least seems to be returning to order. He reports to the Archon, as he usually does, giving her his updates. She takes the scrolls detailing the issues from him when he is midsentence.

"Adrestes, what are you doing?" When his brow furrows, she gives him a sympathetic look. "You do yourself no favors working yourself so hard."

He looks down, swallowing back the sense of failure that coats his tongue. He feels like she is dismissing him from his post or…

"Go see her."

His gaze snaps back up. "Archon?" He is already in the air when he pauses. "You said you wanted to talk to me about…what happened."

She waves him off, motioning upward. "Chyrus will catch you up. You know where to find him. Tell him I will be by later."

He can barely wait for her to dismiss him before he is off, soaring up and over, hope daring to bubble up inside of him. If the Archon is telling him he can see her, then surely things have taken a turn for the better.

Surely.

When he reaches the platform they have taken Liila to, he can hear her voice and he nearly forgets to flap his wings to stay aloft. He lands clumsily, chasing after that faint cadence.

That she is awake...that is a good thing.

By the time he reaches the center of the platform, however, she has already drifted back to sleep.

Before he can collapse on the nest of blankets beside Liila, Chyrus catches his attention and motions for them to talk a little ways off, and now that Chyrus has stepped away from his charge, he is somber as he answers Adrestes' query after her recovery. "I need to warn you, Adrestes. This next…while may be difficult. She has woken up four different times, warning me that the Jailer is near or crying because she thinks Kleia is dead. I've managed to calm her down each time, but she is incredibly disoriented right now. We're not sure the full extent of the damage to her mind or memories."

Adrestes stiffens, focus ever on Liila. He can barely see her within the blankets arranged around her. "Would it… I could bring Kleia here. I don't believe she's left the Hold yet."

"I don't think Kleia should be flying for another couple of days," Chyrus says. "Her wings are going to be tender, after what happened."

"Perhaps Pelagos then. Or maybe Blood—"

"Did the Archon not tell you?"

Adrestes frowns. "She said you would fill me in with anything I need to know."

Chyrus smile is thin for a second before he nods. "It has been decided that the Maw Walker's status is to be kept quiet. If anyone asks, Liila Dragonlily has been a casualty of the Jailer's machinations." He pauses then, mouth twisting to one side. "The only exceptions we're allowing are her former soulbinds. Thales already knows—I was unaware we were going to go this route with her fate and told him. I believe Vesiphone was going to talk to Kleia and Pelagos, though you may want to speak with them yourself when you get the chance. I would hate for them to be left in the dark."

"Of course," Adrestes murmurs.

"And then to answer your question, I don't think our Maw Walker be in any condition to have visitors for quite some time. I'm not sure seeing Kleia, once Kleia is up for the flight, would do any good with how disoriented she is."

They fall to silence.

Chyrus glances over his shoulder from where he kneels. He seems as worn as everyone else.

"The Archon said she will be by," Adrestes finally mumbles, not sure if he should go over to where Liila is sleeping or if this was a bad idea after all. It is not like he will be much help if things take a turn for the worse.

"Good," Chyrus says, allowing himself a fleeting smile. "I can keep her stable for now, but furthering her recovery is going to take more skill than I have." He seems to realize what he's said and who he's said it to as he sees the way Adrestes tenses. "Apologies, Adrestes. I did not mean to make you anxious or—"

"You are fine," Adrestes replies. He shakes his head, taking a few steps around Chyrus to get a better view of Liila. "You said no visitors…not even her soulbinds—"

"She has no soulbinds," Chyrus says. As Adrestes straightens up, Chyrus winces. "He severed them. I'm guessing before he removed the curse."

Adrestes stares uncomprehending for a moment before the reality of it sinks in.

And then he swears under his breath. Part of him wants to hunt down the Jailer right this second, to confront him, to make him pay.

But then, Adrestes is not so foolish to think he can take on a god by himself. Even enraged as he is.

He runs a hand down the lower half of his face and shakes his feathers out, trying to get some of the tension to leave his body.

"Could they reestablish their bindings—" He stops himself because he knows the answer to that. If a soul is too wounded, the soulbinding ritual can exacerbate the damage to it.

Silence again settles over the two of them before Adrestes finally looks at Chyrus, realizing that he has been watching Liila the entire time.

"Should I go?" The words catch in his throat, but he forces them out. Adrestes feels a fleeting relief when Chyrus smiles at him and shakes his head.

"I'd have run you off by now if that was the case. I'd wager soulmates are a bit of an exception to the no-visitors, Adrestes. Especially if the Archon sent you here." He pauses and catches Adrestes' arm when he starts to move past him to sit with Liila. "If she wakes up, try not to talk about anything too serious. Keep her calm. Panic will only make things worse." After he nods, Chyrus motions to a side part of the platform that houses a small workstation that Adrestes is sure was not there when he first brought Liila here. "I will be working on some tonics. If you need me, just call."

Adrestes thanks him and goes to Liila then. He sits on the edge of her nest of blankets, watching her sleep, looking for signs that she may be about to wake up. He would love to see her eyes flutter open and have her smile up at him, but from the sounds of it, it is more likely that she will awaken afraid. And she has always had trouble sleeping, without this whole mess. Adrestes searches for signs there are nightmares threatening to rear up, but her breathing is soft and even, her face smooth. He lays on his side, extending a wing over her as he watches her sleep.

It has been almost a full day since the Jailer attacked.

"It looks like you found a way out of coming with me to the Ember Court," he whispers, reaching out and brushing a few shorter wisps of hair from her face. Someone has braided it so that it rests over one shoulder. "Next time, perhaps."

He watches her chest rise and fall slowly. "You know, you don't need to breathe anymore… Old habits, I suppose."

Adrestes pauses as she shifts a little, waiting to see if she will wake up. When she doesn't, he lets out a breath himself.

His lips tremble as he stares at her, and he shakes his head. "I was happy to wait for you. I didn't mean for this…" He curls closer around her. "But I'd be lying if I said there's no part of me that's glad we won't have to part ways again." He brushes his fingertips along her jaw. "We won't be parting ways anymore, will we?" He fights the terror that curls inside of him. "I know you need your rest. After what I was expecting, this won't take long at all, I'm sure. So take as long as you need." He feels tears pricking his eyes as he moves to rest his head against hers. "Just…don't leave me. Please."

He plays with her hair, letting his fingertips trace against her skin, feeling that thrum of energy between them. It is not as faint as it was, and that is a relief. She turns into his touch, and he curls around her more tightly, wishing that his mere presence could mend some of the damage that has been done.

He is about to doze off himself—he is exhausted from the assault on the Spires and giving so much of himself to assist with saving Liila—when he hears a soft whimper. Adrestes' eyes snap open, and he shifts so that he can see her better. She is cringing into the blankets, and her breath hitches as a soft 'no' escapes her.

For a moment, he does not want to wake her, thinking of the time he found her out in the fields, of how she had clawed his hood in her terror, before she had settled down. Of how guilty she had felt afterwards.

Before he had touched her shoulder through her robe. Perhaps, if she can feel their connection, he can help calm her. Maybe she will register that it is him touching her, and not a monster.

He cups her face in his hands and presses his forehead to hers. "I'm here. You can rest."

One of her hands comes up and grips his arm, nails scraping weakly against his skin, like she may try to fling his hand away from her. Before she can, however, she pauses.

"Adrestes?"

The word is so faint he almost misses it.

He opens his eyes and shifts back a little to meet her gaze. She chases him, barely able to keep herself up, and he catches her, wrapping his arms around her as tightly as he dares. "I'm here."

"The Jailer—"

"He is gone," Adrestes says, between kisses to the crown of her head and temples. "He is gone. You are safe."

"He's—" she cuts herself off as she presses herself closer to him. She is shaking. "No… it's not him… it's—"

Even as Adrestes tries to shush her and tell her there are no dangers now, he feels an odd change to the air. Like some sort of magic is being woven around him, though it is not…right.

It feels more like mortal magic than anything anima weavers would do.

And he realizes rather abruptly that it is not being woven around him.

Runes, foreign to him, are flickering to life around them.

Between them.

"I don't…want…to go."

Adrestes sees red. He lashes out at the nearest rune, cutting through it. He moves quickly to negate a second, but it seems that first was a critical one, for no sooner has he destroyed it, the others blink out.

"Don't…let him take me again. I don't…" Liila keeps whispering, but he is not sure if she is switching languages or just slurring her words so badly that he cannot make them out. She clings to him weakly and starts to cry as she says something about a room with no door.

He pulls Liila to him, into his lap, looking around, alarmed. "Chyrus!"

How did they find her so quickly? She has been dead barely a day here in the Shadowlands, and that means it has been mere hours in the realm of the living.

And the mortals are already trying to call her back?

To what?

Her body is gone.

"I don't want to go back…"

"Adrestes?" Chyrus asks, darting over to them. "Please don't move her. She—"

"Someone tried to call her out of the realm," Adrestes snaps, though he quickly checks himself, pressing a kiss to her forehead and forcing a gentleness into his voice as he tells her that she is fine, she is safe. She is shaking like a leaf in a windstorm, and rambling too quickly to keep up with.

Much of what he can make out doesn't make sense, but he thinks some of it is half formed spells, as though she intends to fight whoever has tried to call her back herself.

As though she expects it to happen again.

He catches a few names as she whispers frantically, in between casting attempts. The Jailer, Gryst'lyn, Denathrius, others he is unfamiliar with. It occurs to him that some of her memories may have merged in her delirium, combining events and enemies.

Chyrus' brow pinches together as he moves to her other side, trying to ease her back into the blankets. She attempts to twist out of his grasp with a panicked cry, and he lets her go, lest he hurt her himself.

Liila shakes her head, clings to Adrestes. "I don't…I don't want him to finish…what he started. Don't let him finish—" She cringes against Adrestes when Chyrus offers her a hand.

Chyrus is careful with how he reaches for her this next time, catching her by surprise when he lightly presses a finger to her forehead. For a moment, Liila tenses like she will try to fight them both off, and then she goes limp in Adrestes' arms.

"This is the first time she's been this bad," Chyrus murmurs as he manages to arrange the blankets so that Adrestes can lower her back to the bed. When he keeps her in his arms, her head resting against his chest, Chyrus' brow pinches together again. "You said someone tried to…"

"I think it was a resurrection spell."

"Already?" Chyrus asks, incredulous. He shakes his head, mostly to himself. "We thought they might try something, but for it to be so soon…" He considers it and frowns. "They will have received what's left of her body to Oribos by now. But Thenios said they—"

Even as he speaks, those wretched runes return a second time. Adrestes lashes out at them again. Like before, it only takes disrupting one to interrupt the spell.

It is so…easy.

He cannot help but wonder if it would have been this easy to keep her here that first time, eons ago. If only he had been there, if only he had known what to expect.

As Adrestes' tries not to think about the past, he realizes that Chyrus is frozen, eyes wide. He abruptly rises. "That such a spell even got through the wards… Twice. I'll inform the Archon."

As Chyrus takes to the air, Adrestes wraps Liila and himself in his wings, as though that can somehow block the mortal magic from reaching Liila again. He is tense as he waits, feeling the air around them, waiting for an indication that someone is going to try to take her away again.

By the time the Archon returns with Chyrus in tow, there has been one more attempt.

Fortunately, Liila slept through it, though she did whimper and turn into him, seeking his protection even in her sleep.

He is whispering that she will be fine when the Archon calls his name.

"It happened again."

"That is three attempts, then?" the Archon murmurs, moving over to them.

"She thought it was the one who took her the first time," Adrestes says. It takes him a moment to ease up and tuck his wings back, to let the Archon close enough to see how Liila is faring. "From what I understand, he is dead. He has been dead."

The Archon helps Adrestes lay Liila back down and reaches out, gently smoothing back her hair. "Her injuries are great, Adrestes. She's likely a little lost in the where and when right now."

"I know that—"

"You saw her soul. With all that happened, her mind is fractured, and with it, her memories. Things will settle in time, as yours did."

Adrestes winces at that, remembering how hard it had been when his memories had been forced on him, how he had gotten lost from time to time, how his head had hurt constantly. Abruptly, he realizes that he never got rid of the memories of Amaeria, like he had intended to. He brushes the thought aside. There will be time for that later.

He leans down and kisses Liila gently. He has barely pulled away when he feels that change in the air again and curses.

However, before he can bat away the magic, the Archon catches one of the runes in her hand and grips it as though it is a physical thing. The rune flickers violently, the others go out. The one remains. She pulls it closer to examine it, and then holds it almost to her lips and says, "No."

The rune shatters, and its pieces fade.

When it is gone, she looks back at Adrestes. "That caster won't be bothering us again any time soon. There may be others, though. We didn't expect their attempts to begin so quickly—truthfully, we'd hoped to deter them altogether. Once the wards are restored, this shouldn't be a problem."

"The wards are down?"

"The Jailer shattered them," the Archon says, tone dry. "His minions couldn't have gotten into the Spires to cause their chaos, otherwise."

Adrestes is surprised how comforting it is to know that the Jailer had to destroy the wards to do his damage, that he is not so powerful that he can just reach through them. He also feels shame creep through him that he has not thought to check them since the attack. Between Liila and Loyalty he has let the rest of his duties slip.

The Archon seems unconcerned with his surprise. Instead, she is weaving anima into something small in her hands. When she is done, it looks like a tiny version of the wards that Adrestes knows so well.

She holds her hands out and the little ward floats up to hover high enough above Liila's nest that Adrestes can stand without hitting it.

"That should keep her safe until then. The Spires' ward was going to be a priority anyway, but I'll be sure the others keep an eye on this one for signs of wear." She hesitates and looks past Adrestes. "Perhaps you could help it along?"

"As you say, Archon," Chyrus says, pausing to smile at Adrestes when he looks over his shoulder at the paragon. He'd all but forgotten he was there.

Once he has gone, Adrestes looks back at Liila and then up at the Archon. "Was it really a resurrection spell?"

"It was."

"What are they resurrecting her to?" Adrestes asks. He can still see flashes of her curse being removed, still see what it did to her.

"I would rather not know," the Archon replies, adjusting her wings as she settles on the opposite side of Liila's nest. "I am sure they mean well, but I would rather not have her lost to us forever because of Azeroth's need to keep her heroes." Adrestes nods, and starts to rise, thinking of how Vesiphone had suggested he give her space, but the Archon motions for him to stay. "You need rest, polemarch. I will be here a while longer. Nothing will happen under my watch. Sleep."


"Pelagos! Kleia!" They both turn to find Thales walking as fast as he dares toward them, Hipokos at his side, clicking his beak whenever Thales is close to tripping over anything.

Pelagos offers the steward a small wave as he calls out in return, heart hurting as he sees them coming over. However, Thales seems to be in good spirits.

He stops when Hipokos lets out a soft hum, so that he is standing just before them. "You are both here, yes?"

"We are," Kleia says softly.

"And we are otherwise alone?"

Pelagos can't help but arch his brow, curious about why that would matter. "We are."

"Good!" Thales smiles and motions vaguely in front of him. "There are plans to be made. I was hoping you might come with me to visit Liila. I think it would lift her spirits if—"

The echo of Kleia's broken heart swells as her brow pinches together, a mirror of Pelagos' own sense of loss. Pelagos takes in a slow breath, feeling his own ache as he carefully appraises Thales. "Liila died."

"I know," Thales says. "And from what I hear, she's still really out of it, but I was thinking that familiar faces might help with the mending process and if we all went to her together, once they've approved visitors of course—"

"The Jailer tore her apart," Pelagos whispers.

He saw it.

Well, the aftermath.

After the way the healers had been so…pitying, after the way Kleia had cried, Pelagos had heard someone whisper something about 'it' happening on the Rise, so that's where he had gone.

To the Archon's Rise.

He'd made it up the stairs before the nearest guards could realize what he was doing and stop him.

Pelagos had seen what was left.

He had thrown up.

It is an image he cannot get out of his head, and he is not sure he can face that memory to purge it. Even Nikolon has been encouraging him to be cleansed of it, but he doesn't know if he can handle knowing Liila's fate without knowing it.

Without having proof in his head.

Liila's end has weighed heavily on both he and Kleia. They have been struggling to push through it this last week, but… Pelagos has needed space, and Kleia has been needed in Loyalty.

He has felt guilty over not going to see Thales sooner, and yet…

Thales seems so…cheerful. He seems to realize that they are not matching his excitement and tilts his head slowly, brow pinching together. "Kleia, don't you work with Adrestes? He hasn't told you?"

"What happened to Liila crushed him," Kleia whispers. "He won't talk about her with anyone. If anyone so much as mentions her name, he gets…"

Thales stands there, frown slowly deepening. Hipokos lets out a dismayed click. "Did…did no one tell you, then?"

Pelagos and Kleia exchange a look.

"Liila's dead, yes. As dead as we are," Thales says, motioning to himself and then vaguely in front of him, toward them. "They've got her in the Spires. Chyrus has been keeping me updated. He says that when she's up for it, she can have visitors, and I figure it's better to be ready. After all, with paragons tending to her, how long can it take for her to mend, right?"

Pelagos grips his arms. "Liila is…where?"


"Adrestes," Xandria says as she hears him alight on the platform behind her. She has been waiting for him in Loyalty's upper reaches, wanting both to refrain from unsettling the forsworn and to give them the privacy she feels they will likely need.

"Xandria," he replies. The lines around his mouth are more pronounced, the corners of his lips dipping deeper than usual. "All is well, I hope?"

She turns to him then, appraising him carefully. "That's what I came to ask you." When he tilts his head, puzzled, she motions to him. "I remember when I lost Agthia. I was inconsolable for…too long."

"I have not lost Liila," Adrestes says defensively, growing tense.

And then he pales.

Xandria realizes the conclusions he's making and holds her hand out to him. "I am sorry, I… my intention wasn't to worry you. Just to check in." She looks away, past the bells in Loyalty and out toward her own temple, which still sits largely empty. It is a hazy blur on the horizon from where they stand, and she wishes she were there, despite her resolve to check in on Adrestes. He has been a friend since before she was paragon, and she wants him to know that he is not alone, even if there are others who have surely already given him their support.

Thanikos, for example, is planning to ask him to soulbind.

"I just meant… it is hard to stand tall during this sort of thing, when someone you care for is hurt. If you need time, I can stand in for you or…" When he stiffens as though she has questioned his capabilities, she sighs. "I'm not the best with this sort of thing. I probably should have left it to Vesiphone or Chyrus."

Except they both have their hands full, juggling their regular duties with guarding and healing their Maw Walker.

Adrestes moves to stand with her, looking toward Courage as well. She idly wonders if he can see it or if his gaze does not see quite as far, with him not being a paragon.

That will change soon enough.

"Her mind is in ribbons," Adrestes says, a tremor in his voice. "The Archon explained it to me, but… Much of her is there, but it is…unwound. If we could keep her calm, her spirit, her mind, her memories…they would all settle into place and mend as they should. But her nightmares and the mortals stir things up, make them shift," there is venom in his voice. He shakes his head. "She wakes up inconsolable. We calm her down, get her back to sleep. The next time she wakes up, it is the same, all over again."

"She is not making new memories?"

"As it was explained to me, we're talking to different parts of her each time she wakes up," Adrestes says, shuddering. "Once she is mended, she will know we told her over and over, but until then…she… She fears long dead tormentors, she… She has told me twice that the Jailer is upon us. Once she didn't even know who I was." His voice breaks at that, and he shakes his head before seeming to stare harder at Courage.

Xandria appraises his profile a moment before looking down, toward the vespers and platforms that stretch out around them. "She will mend."

"As things stand, it will take decades," Adrestes murmurs. "It is not much compared to eternity, and yet…"

"To wait through it is agony," Xandria finishes. He nods.

Xandria has gone to check on the Maw Walker's fate herself, on several occasions. The Maw Walker has been moved to one of the higher platforms in the Spires, so that no one will accidentally discover where they are keeping her. Vesiphone is optimistic that, with time, she may make it, but there are other factors that are making it difficult. As Adrestes has said, her traumas and the memories that haunt her are a major one. They cannot be removed to ease her mind with the state she is in, and so they hound her, despite the bells and the soothing essence of Bastion itself.

The way her soul was damaged, it is easy for the shredded 'ribbons' to slide and make memories merge in ways they shouldn't. It is no doubt incredibly disorienting for her, when she is awake, infrequent as that is.

Chyrus has told them that Thales is eager to redo their soulbinding, that the aspirant longs to assist in any way he can and finds Chyrus daily to ask after his friend. He does not seem to grasp the severity of the situation and is already talking about visiting her like it will happen any time soon. Chyrus thinks it wouldn't hurt to allow him and Pelagos and Kleia to see her, sit with her for a while, but Vesiphone is hesitant to let them see the Maw Walker at all. They are all are recovering from the damage the severing of their ties did, and she does not want Thales in particular getting drawn into the Maw Walker's chaos when she wakes up disoriented, especially after she heard of his lapse into his own trauma when the realm was attacked.

They hadn't wanted Thales soulbinding to the Maw Walker at first at all because they had worried that she and Thales might trigger one another in profound, unforseeable ways. They had made excuses to deter them at first, hoping the subject would be dropped, and yet… One day Xandria had heard it wouldn't be allowed, the next Thanikos had told her that they had already soulbound to each other, saying he was confused because he thought that wasn't going to be permitted.

Xandria's still not sure how the two got their binding cleared.

She understands Thales' desire to offer the Maw Walker his aid in any way that he can, and that he feels if he can strengthen her soul, why wouldn't he.

But even if soulbinding might help to some extent, even if they could make sure it wouldn't do any damage to the Maw Walker, and it wouldn't further traumatize Thales, it would still be a delicate matter right now. Soulbinds are meant to be a give and take, but with the condition that their Maw Walker is in, she would mostly be a syphon to anyone she's bound to, using them as a crutch to hold herself together.

It would not be a conscious thing, but that hardly matters.

Adrestes has suggested he could soulbind with the Maw Walker, from what Xandria has heard.

Thenios has postulated that perhaps after Adrestes is elevated to paragon, he will be strong enough to bind with his soulmate and not feel the ill effects of it, but for now, it would likely weaken him notably and cause him despair to see how fragile she is. And if she feels his distress—the distress of any soulbind—she may take a turn for the worse.

It is curious how this one mortal—former mortal—has affected them all so greatly. Xandria half thinks that if the Archon felt it safe enough, she would bind to the Maw Walker herself, if only long enough to let her soul repair.

But being so close to a god is a tricky thing, and not something for a soul so frail.

Perhaps it is for the best, considering the Maw Walker might take that 'Hand of the Archon' rumor a bit too serious if she was bound to the god herself.

All of the paragons and the Archon have enjoyed Chyrus' telling of that story.

Xandria hopes there will be more like it, in the future.

They all need something light, something to laugh about.

Granted, that won't happen if the Maw Walker's fellow mortals have their way.

They have tried to reclaim her over a dozen times at this point. Xandria thinks that it is not nearly as nefarious as Adrestes is convinced it is. He has come to the conclusion that some devious mortals have decided they want the Maw Walker back no matter what, and don't care what bringing her back might do to her.

Xandria has noticed, upon looking at the memories of the spells attempting to call their newest aspirant away—and seeing one happen herself—that they are largely varied. It could be that the same person is going around trying to get different people to resurrect the Maw Walker, but… If she had to guess, as word of the Maw Walker's death reaches new groups, they are each trying their hand at remedying the tragedy on their own.

After all, it has only been a handful of days in the mortal world. News of her fate has likely not reached everyone there yet.

if the Maw Walker's body had survived, Xandria would have been happy to ferry her soul back to it herself. After all, a soul's fate is at their watcher's discretion, and Xandria is sure most here would be happy to give the Maw Walker another shot, just to see what she could manage with it.

However, this is not a death one can come back from, not even if they bend the rules just shy of snapping them in half.

And she thinks this slew of resurrection attempts is largely their own fault.

This is just the mortals' grief making them act out. They will give up in time, after enough failed attempts. With the wards back up for the Spires, the spells cannot reach the Maw Walker, and so it will feel like the spell is just reaching into emptiness, rather than hitting a barrier of some kind. At least, that's what Thenios says it will feel like for them.

They just need to be patient and wait out the mortals' denial stage.

One that Xandria thinks would end a little quicker if they just told them that the Maw Walker has made it to her intended afterlife and will be safe.

However, that would likely result in many a mortal demanding to see her, which would not be a good idea right now.

And the Archon worries about what will happen once word reaches the Jailer.

All of this secrecy is a bit outside of Xandria's purview.

And it is impressive to see the swell of mortals coming to take up arms in the Maw Walker's place. Would they be so willing to join the fight if they knew she was still around?

Or would they expect her to recover quickly and get back to it?

If her unmaking means more forces to fight against the Jailer…

There is not a good solution to this mess, but Xandria is glad to at least have extra forces teaming up to go into the Maw in their upcoming assault.

As her mind wanders over the more recent events, Xandria glances down at Adrestes, where he still stands beside her, and notes that his feathers are ruffed, as though he himself is wounded.

This quiet is no doubt not helping his nerves.

"How is Kleia?"

"Her wings are in perfect order," Adrestes says. He is quiet a moment before adding, "And she has forgiven me for my failures. Though I do not know that I have forgiven myself. She and Pelagos both struggled with grief they should not have had to endure."

That has been an unfortunate happenstance. Vesiphone had gone to tell them, but seen that they were with Kosmas and Nikolon and decided to wait until she could get them alone, especially considering Kosmas was sitting next to a sleeping Kleia, holding her hand and singing softly to her while Pelagos buried his head against Nikolon's shoulder.

And then Adrestes had come by and asked them if Vesiphone had talked to them about Liila. Pelagos had apparently told him that they 'knew', and Adrestes had taken that to mean the truth. Word had reached Vesiphone that Adrestes had talked to them and the two had been left to mourn.

For a full week.

"This whole thing has been a mess," Xandria offers. "We have all made mistakes of late. No doubt we'll all make plenty more before this is over."

"Thank you," he says softly.

They stand in silence for a while before he abruptly ruffles his feathers and smooths them. "Liila will be fine."

"She has a strong spirit," Xandria agrees.

"And the best healers the realm can offer," Adrestes adds, though his words sound mechanical. He fidgets a little and looks down. "If I'm honest, it's a bit of a pain, not being able to do more."

Xandria nods. "I wish I could help, too." When she notices Adrestes' surprise, she offers him a faint smile. "The Maw Walker saved dozens upon dozens of my acolytes and aspirants. Disciples, too. She even saved Thanikos." She shakes her head. "She's the reason my temple was freed from the plagues of Maldraxxus. I owe her a great debt."

"She wouldn't look at it that way," Adrestes says. "She was just doing what's right."

"All the more reason that I want to repay her kindness," Xandria replies. She lightly reaches out and thwacks Adrestes' arm. "Perhaps the both of us should look into learning some healing spells. More than just channeling anima this way and that."

Adrestes lets out a mirthless laugh and then nods. "Perhaps we should."


Adrestes stares at the spot where the Forge of Bonds should be, utterly bewildered.

Arios met him this morning, intercepting him on his way out of Elysian Hold to check on Loyalty, to ask if he might have time to soulbind.

"You will be going to the Maw," Arios said. "You will need every advantage you can muster. I would like to offer you my wisdom and my strength." He had paused then, before adding, "And it doesn't hurt that you are my friend."

Adrestes had clasped hands with him and tugged him in for a hug, taking Arios by surprise.

However, now that they are here, ready to bind themselves, there is a problem.

The forge is gone.

Adrestes scans the chamber, as though they will find it somehow shoved to some corner. As though that could happen. It would take a handful of centurions to even lift the thing. There are a couple other pairs of ascended near the spot where the forge should be, looking equally lost.

Soulguide Daelia stands to one side, arms crossed, lips pressed together as though she knows something, but has been told to keep it quiet. She stares into space, unmoving, and the ascended here seem to already know not to bother her.

Considering everything else that's been happening, Adrestes feels like he shouldn't be surprised.

When did this happen?

When the Jailer attacked?

That was weeks ago. Surely someone would have brought it up by now. Surely Daelia wouldn't be standing there as she is if it was not a recent change.

And surely Arios, of all people, should have some idea of what is going on.

And yet…

As Arios makes his way to Daelia to ask what has happened, a voice calls out apologies for any delays. Everyone in the antechamber turns toward the entrance. They watch as Xandria strides in, toting the Forge of Bonds in her muscular arms. Daelia flits to her, somewhat concerned, starting to reach out a half a dozen times and then stopping herself, like she is very much trying not to nitpick the way the paragon carries the forge.

The ascended present part for the paragon, and she walks to the center of the chamber before carefully setting the forge down where it should be. As she starts to stand, Daelia coughs slightly into her hand and then points. "The corners should line up with those marks…"

Xandria pauses, examines the floor for what the soulguide is talking about, and then adjusts the forge, ever so slightly. It takes four tries before the corners are lined up. When Daelia is satisfied that the forge has been restored to its proper place, Xandria stands and gives her a playful salute before moving to give the others who have gathered room to begin their bindings.

Adrestes calls out to her as she heads out of the chamber. "What happened? Was something wrong with the forge? Did the Jailer damage it?"

"Hmm?" Xandria pauses and then saunters over to he and Arios. "No, nothing like that." She offers him a genuine smile. "My soulbind wasn't cleared to come this far, so I figured I would bring the process to her."

Adrestes and Arios stare at her, uncomprehending. She borrowed the Forge of Bonds to bind her soul to someone?

She seems to remember something abruptly and reaches into a satchel resting on her hip, pulling out two large scrolls. She offers them to Arios. "Thenios will want these returned, I imagine. Please thank him, and let him know that I've no mind for these more complicated spells, but I'll keep studying the simpler ones, for now."

Arios stares down at them, unfurling one just enough to see its contents before he looks back up at Xandria, bewildered. "You've taken to learning healing magic—"

"Not quite," Xandria shakes her head. "I have a basic understanding of it already, but to actually weave such spells…I fear that may always be beyond my skill set."

Adrestes has to fight the urge to hug Xandria as he thinks back to their last talk, of how she had joked about doing this very thing.

Before he can move to offer her so much as a salute, however, what she said earlier catches his attention and he pauses, looking up at her, appraising her curiously. "You soulbound to someone?"

"We took into account all the problems Thenios foresaw and nothing went wrong," Xandria says, giving them both a nod. Then she looks at Adrestes and leans forward, patting his shoulder. When she speaks, it is barely above a whisper. "The Archon agrees that your lady will heal faster this way."

Adrestes straightens a little, eyes wide beneath his hood and mouth partially agape. "You soulbound to Lii—" he cuts himself off before dropping his voice, and using a name no one here will recognize if they overhear him, "To Embrosia?"

With a wink, Xandria pats his head. "It's temporary, until that soul of hers mends a bit more."

Adrestes stares after her, eyes wide, as she excuses herself and strides purposefully out of the chamber. When it occurs to him that Arios may have overheard what they said—there is no way he didn't—he glances toward the Hand, who gives him a knowing look.

"If it helps, binding to me will bring me into the loop, anyway."

"You already—"

"Every Hand has figured it out, Adrestes. We notice when our paragons change their schedules and priorities." Arios cannot help but smirk for a second when Adrestes shakes his head. "Don't worry. We also know not to talk."

"If all of you know, then…" Adrestes frowns. "That means Lysonia knows."

And Lereskos, Voitha's soulbind.

"And Devos," Arios points out. "And Hipokos. Possibly Nikolon." He is quiet a moment and then adds, "And there is a steward in Olympic Village who seems to know something, somehow. I can't figure out that one."

Adrestes takes in a slow breath. How does anyone keep a secret when soulbinds and soulmates exist?

How has the Jailer not heard about Liila's survival at this point?

Arios leans against his shoulder to whisper into his ear, "We're keeping our mouths shut."

He has not even had time to drop back to his heels when a hand slaps down on his shoulder, startling him and Adrestes both.

"Koros said he saw you two head this way," Thanikos says, grinning as he offers them a small wave. He holds up his hand as Arios starts to say something. "Hear my proposal, yes? Three ways are becoming rather common of late, with all the horrors hitting the realm constantly, and I can think of no one else I would like to bind to, than you two."

Even as Arios asks if Thanikos must call it that, Adrestes cannot help a faint laugh. It feels good to laugh. It has been too long. "I would be happy to bind with you both."

Arios' feathers fluff up a second before he sighs. "If it can keep you from falling to another tarragrue—"

"There was just the one."

"—then it is worth it." Arios pats Thanikos' shoulder as he turns to see just how much longer they will be waiting for the Forge of Bonds. "I would ask that you work on your phrasing, though."

"What's wrong with my phrasing?"


From the depths of a heavy fog, the world begins to clear for the first time in what feels like ever. Shadows of figures past line that fog, twisting and shifting, but slowly, they fall into place and fade out.

Kleia is flying toward Liila through that fog, faster than Liila has ever seen her move. She keeps her soulbind in view in the corner of her eyes as she tries to distract the Jailer.

If she can just keep his attention long enough—

"But first, let's have some privacy, yes?"

The pain is unimaginable, but what makes it worse is the way the Jailer turns Anduin's head, directing both of their attention to the side ever so casually.

To Kleia.

She spasms and falls from the air.

She hits the ground so hard.

Liila is certain she can hear the snap of bones even from where she is.

She wants to help, to conjure that finicky fucking Light or anima or anything that will fix this, but it will not come to her.

Kleia does not move.

And Liila cannot feel her.

A hand catches Liila by the shoulder, and she shrieks with both terror and rage, willing herself to move against whatever miserable spell the Jailer has her under, to fight back. To stop this before…

She grips the hand on her, thrusting it away from her as she jerks back as best she can.

It is too late, though.

She cannot feel Kleia. She cannot feel Pelagos. She cannot feel Thales.

She can still see the way Kleia lays, unmoving, not even the wind stirring the feathers on her broken wings. That image feels like it is seared into her very eyelids, brought back to vivid life with every blink.

Kleia is gone.

They all are.

Tears burn her eyes as she looks around, trying to find where Kleia fell. If she can just get to her, maybe she can call her back like she did Thanikos and those in the Maw. Maybe it's not too late to—

"You are alright!"

The words are repeated over and over as Liila's gaze snaps about, that miserable fog threatening to come crashing down around her again, muddling her mind. It feels like it has, over and over and over.

It feels like she has been trapped there, getting glimpses of what lies beyond, but not being able to grasp any of it, not being able to find her way out.

But now…

Now the fog is still there, but it hangs back just enough that she can take in where she is.

She is not on the Rise anymore, and Kleia and Anduin are nowhere in sight.

She does not know where she is.

"It is alright! The fight is over!" The words are but a part of a constant stream, filling the air around her.

Finally, her gaze lands on the one who has been reassuring her all this time.

Vesiphone holds her hands out to Liila, palms facing her to show she means no harm as she continues to assure her that she is alright.

Liila struggles to swallow down her panic as her senses settle.

She looks around again, this time taking in her surroundings properly. She is on a platform that has a small, roofed inner circle where she is nestled with blankets, with a large open area beyond stretching in all directions, dotted with a few hanging plants and small, gentle chimes and vespers. Sheer drapes blow gently around them in a perpetual breeze.

Everything feels so…

Light.

Gentle.

She looks back at Vesiphone, who waits until Liila meets her gaze and nods to her before coming closer. Even as her hand rests on Liila's shoulder and she starts to guide her back to her bed that is in utter disarray, that image of Kleia sprawled lifelessly on the ground comes back, and Liila cannot help the sob that escapes her. Her shoulders tremble, her legs give out, and she slumps to the ground.

As Vesiphone moves to pick her up, Liila shakes her head.

"Kleia—"

"She is fine," Vesiphone says, giving her a reassuring smile when Liila shakes her head again, tries to protest that the Jailer struck her from the air. "Cromas tended to her, and I have seen her just recently. She is well."

Liila wants to believe her, but…

"I can't feel her—"

Vesiphone nods, eases Liila back onto the blankets and busies herself with pulling them around her. "Your bond was severed, but even that can be mended, once you are feeling better."

Liila rubs at the rivulets of tears running down her cheeks, trying to will herself to believe that this emptiness does not mean what it feels like it must.

While part of her doesn't dare have hope, another part of her feels like she has had this conversation before. Muddled conversations with different people telling her that Kleia is alright tumble through her head in what feels like an avalanche of memories trying to order themselves.

She flinches and does her best to push them back, to instead focus on the present.

"She's okay?"

"Kleia is fine," Vesiphone repeats, lightly pressing on Liila's shoulder and guiding her back down. "She worries about you, but aside from that, she is fine."

"And Pelagos? And Thales?"

"All well and asking when they can see you," Vesiphone says.

"What about Adrestes? The Jailer was…he was right there. In Anduin." Liila tries to sit back up. Vesiphone's hand is gentle, but firm as she holds her down.

This conversation feels familiar, too.

It is stronger than the déjà vu that hit her when she first came to Bastion. Much, much stronger.

When Vesiphone feels Liila stop fighting to sit back up, she finally settles back, adjusting her wings so that she can sit comfortably beside her. "Adrestes is as steadfast and loyal as ever. The Jailer did not claim a single soul from Bastion when he came, so do not fret so."

"And the Archon?"

As she asks, she feels the gentle curl of fondness from somewhere beyond them. The familiar feel of an eavesdropping soulbind.

How?

If her bindings were all lost…

No.

Well, yes, but.

She has bound with someone new. She remembers agreeing to it, and yet…

Vesiphone is waiting with that infinite patience. When she sees she has Liila's attention again, she smiles and leans toward her. "The Archon is fine."

"She was on the ground."

"Yes," Vesiphone says, carefully. That warm smile never wavers. "But only for a moment. It is hard to bring an eternal one down."

Liila wants to ask more questions, but she does not have the energy.

That and she can abruptly see an image of the Archon on the Rise, talking quietly with Thenios and Vesiphone. They seem to defer to whatever she has said before the Archon turns her attention to the pieces of the statue that hang behind where she usually hovers during meetings. With quick, skillful moves, she repairs it and sets it back into place.

As though the attack never happened.

Other memories are offered, of Kleia working in Loyalty, of Pelagos talking to mortals in a dark place that Liila vaguely remembers, of Thales sitting and talking with other aspirants. She sees Adrestes appraising scrolls with a few others around him and pointing to them, discussing them.

They are well.

They are safe.

She can feel that faint draw that tells her where she can find Adrestes, if only she tries. Tempting as it is to chase, she is abruptly so tired.

Liila falls asleep listening to the gentle chimes around them accenting Vesiphone's words as she tells her again and again that all is well, that she is safe.

And more than that, she feels a warm assurance in the core of her being whispering that she is safe.

Safe and, finally, home.


This time, when the Maw Walker wakes, it is so much gentler.

So much so, in fact, that Vesiphone does not realize she has woken until she glances toward the nest of blankets and sees that their Maw Walker is sitting up and looking around in a semi-daze.

Vesiphone has been looking through the records of Purity's techniques for removing memories, wondering if perhaps those ancient practices should be put aside altogether. She has hated causing pain to the aspirants who come to her, hated having to watch them struggle to strip themselves down to their core essences, to be unburdened enough, pure enough to progress on the Path.

She has hated it, but she has done so, if only because she knows that she can lead those who follow this part of the Path with the utmost compassion, that she can be a gentle guiding hand.

Now, however…

Now she wonders what Purity will mean going forward. If they are allowed to keep their memories, then does her temple even have a purpose anymore?

She supposes they will still be there to help cleanse memories of more painful deaths seen during Watching and Bearing assignments…

And biases. It would not do to allow those to remain.

But to keep memories is to keep biases, on some level.

She thinks of the ascended who restored creatures that reminded them of their children. She thinks of ascended who were too desperate to see another have the love story they did not get send souls back when they should not have been.

And she thinks of ascended like Uther, who took judgment into their own hands because of the biases born from traumas they had in life.

She is trying to be objective about the possible changes. She is trying not to feel like if Purity's purpose is discarded then the forsworn who attacked her temple are being rewarded with what they want. Most of the forsworn who did attack her temple have already been brought to justice.

The remaining ones have either cast themselves into the Maw or hidden in a few places throughout the realm that Xandria is working diligently to find. They have separated themselves from the ones at Loyalty, who seek to find a way back to Bastion's graces.

And then there is Devos.

And Lysonia.

From what Vesiphone has heard, Lysonia is doing her penance in the Maw already, assisting the ascended who head down there to aid Korthia's recovery. She struggles with her own desire to see Lysonia put in her place, and Vesiphone has considered that perhaps she should forget herself.

Eridia is struggling with the idea that Lysonia may be allowed back to the realm with little in the way of punishment as well. She wants her soulmate back, but at the same time, she has been so deeply betrayed.

Vesiphone knows that Eridia cries over what has happened, knows that she feels guilt because she misses Lysonia even after all she has done.

It is such a mess.

Vesiphone has taken to wrestling with her own emotions while she sits with their recovering Maw Walker. She puts thoughts to paper and then erases them when she cannot come to a conclusion that satisfies her. Or, as she is now, she examines the cleansing practices.

There is no doubt that some memories hinder, but at the same time, she remembers hearing again and again about people not wanting to forget bad happenings, because they felt those very moments had helped shape who they are. In the past, she and her disciples had shown them that this is not the case, that they would have been kind or dedicated even if the wickedness had passed them by.

That is the nature of the souls that come here.

But how will that go now? Will they believe her when she tells them they do not need to remember a betrayal or a time they were hurt? Or will they fight her on it, following in the forsworn's footsteps?

At present, it is a relief that the Maw Walker is up. It gives Vesiphone something to think about that isn't so convoluted.

As she comes over and greets the Maw Walker, her charge looks up at her and nods. She looks tired, but at the same time, there is an alertness to her that has been absent until now.

"I hope you slept well."

"I think I did," the Maw Walker replies, letting her gaze wander away from Vesiphone for a moment before looking back up at her. "Are we in Purity?"

"No, the Spires," Vesiphone says, smiling warmly at her. This is the first time the Maw Walker has been this aware of her surroundings. "How are you feeling?"

"Like I could punch the Jailer in the shin, and he'd actually feel it," she replies. As Vesiphone lets out a disbelieving laugh, the Maw Walker shrugs, wincing at the thought. "Granted, he'd probably just punt me into oblivion the second after I did it, but…"

Vesiphone cannot help the way her smile stretches as she leans forward and carefully catches the Maw Walker's chin. "It sounds like you're feeling strong." She has her follow her finger with her eyes, and is pleased that the Maw Walker can focus enough to pass the test.

"That has to be Xandria's doing, yes?" the Maw Walker asks, and then pauses, frowning. "I…I did bind to her…" She looks a little lost for a second. Her brow knits together. "Did I?"

"You did," Vesiphone confirms. "I was a little wary to let you do it—I have heard from ascended that it can be a little overwhelming to be bound to a paragon—but the Archon felt it was worth a try, so here we are." She pauses and motions to the Maw Walker. "Here you are."

She nods, hesitates. For a moment, there is panic, but she manages to wrangle it in on her own before it can overtake her and looks up quickly at Vesiphone. "You said that Kleia is alright? Before, I mean. Or was that… Adrestes?" Her brow pinches together again, and she reaches up, rubbing at her temples.

"Headache?"

When the Maw Walker nods, Vesiphone weaves a quick spell over her, and then does a more careful evaluation, to make sure that her soulbinding has not upset some part of her, not done some previously unnoticed damage to her soul.

She is no worse for the wear, though. Rather, she is mending substantially quicker than she was before. Xandria's strength really is bleeding into her. They will have to make sure it does not happen too fast and cause her to heal wrong.

The Maw Walker—Liila, as she quickly tells Vesiphone to call her—walks herself through what she knows, carefully. The Jailer is gone. Her soulbinds are safe. Adrestes is safe. The Archon is well.

Vesiphone is a little mystified by how much better she is doing after so simple a thing. It hadn't been a standard binding, considering the two involved. They had suppressed the memory bleed that usually happens, not wanting Xandria's eons upon eons of memories to overwhelm Liila during the process. There had been a few other technical changes, but all in all, it was such a simple fix.

A careful inspection shows that there are still deep wounds in Liila's soul, but Xandria's is helping Liila's keep its shape so that it can mend. At this point, it will be as little as a few months before she is well enough to start the Path properly.

Whatever that Path may look like by the time she gets there.

They talk a little, Vesiphone takes the lead, keeping the conversation on lighter topics. Recovery efforts, her soulbinds' wellbeing, Adrestes.

There are a few instances where Liila seems to get a little lost, where a name doesn't quite stick for her, or they have to go back and repeat some of their conversation for her to catch up, but for the most part, she is doing so much better…

Now is not the time to grow careless of course.

As they are talking about Nikolon's and Kosmas' efforts in making bells that can soothe forsworn and regular kyrian alike, Liila seems to think of something and slowly it pulls her attention away from the current topic.

Vesiphone watches her carefully before asking, "What's wrong?"

"Do you know what happened to Anduin?" When Vesiphone hesitates, Liila seems to think it is because she does not know the name. "He was the man the Jailer used…the one he was…wearing when he attacked the realm." She is quiet a moment before adding, "He is still in there. I spoke with him many times while we were in the Maw. He…he kept wanting us to leave him behind, but I couldn't imagine doing something like that…" Abruptly, she pales. "I let him out of the Maw."

"No," Vesiphone interrupts before she can spiral. "No, you didn't."

"I did," Liila says, her breathing getting sharper. "I led him to the waystone. I activated it and—"

"That mortal was the one the Jailer used to lead the assault on Ardenweald," Vesiphone interjects. "He had already left the Maw at least once before you activated that stone. He didn't need it, and he didn't need you to open the way."

Liila stares up at her hard, like she is trying to read whether Vesiphone is lying to make her feel better.

"They learned how to breach the Maw from that Maldraxxi ritualist, remember?"

It takes a little more reassurance, but Liila finally seems to accept—or at least tries to accept—that she is not at fault.

They have talked for a little over an hour when she begins to droop. Her words and thoughts come slower, and she misses more and more of the stories Vesiphone weaves for her, ancient tales of heroes and scholars past to keep her mind off the nerve-wracking present.

Liila has just drifted off when Vesiphone hears someone alight on the platform behind her.

She cannot hide her smile when Adrestes comes to stand beside her, gaze first on his sleeping soulmate before he peers up at her. Just looking at him, one might not know that he is a bundle of nerves, but Vesiphone knows better. She has known him since he was an aspirant in her temple, and after seeing him come into his wings and working with him for countless eons, she knows his tells.

He is a bundle of frayed nerves now, but that will not be so for much longer.

"How is she?"

"There is already a change," Vesiphone says, motioning to the sleeping aspirant to her side. "She's more aware, when she is awake. And the vespers are starting to sooth her nightmares, as they should."

Adrestes stands a little taller, attention on Liila. "She…" He doesn't seem to know what to say.

"She'll likely still be a little frail for a while, but I'd say we're looking at months for her recovery, instead of decades." As he moves toward Liila, Vesiphone holds out a hand to make him pause. "That is not to say she will not have her moments. You'll still need to be patient with her, Adrestes."

"I think I can manage that," he whispers.

"And there will be no strenuous physical activities for a while."

For a moment, he doesn't seem to realize what she's referring to, but when he does, his cheeks darken a few shades. He coughs into his hand. "I…of course."

"I just want to make sure you keep that in mind," Vesiphone says, smiling when Adrestes peers up at her, mouth a thin line, cheeks still flushed.

From there, Vesiphone gives him some privacy.

It is unlikely that her healing abilities will be needed for a while, but she still stays close in case, going back to her scrolls.

Before Chyrus comes to take over for her, she hears Liila wake up again and talk to Adrestes. She cannot hear what they say to each other, but she can hear the cadence of their voices, and when she glances over at them, she sees Adrestes has forsaken his wings so that he can hold her close to him, his fingers in her hair, her head on his shoulder.

They are sleeping when Chyrus comes. The skin around his eyes crinkles when he sees them. Vesiphone catches him up on their charge's mending, and he perks up himself. "Do you think she can have other visitors after all? I have a very anxious aspirant who is getting a little impatient with me."


The next time Liila wakes up, her world is a little more…together.

She remembers her talks with Vesiphone and Chyrus. She remembers being held by Adrestes, of talking to him quietly. He has told her more of his adventures in Bastion, of quite a few when he was an aspirant, of quiet places he wants to take her to so that she can bask in the beauty of the realm without worrying about all the madness that has besieged it of late.

When she had woken to find Chyrus on duty, talking quietly with Xandria, who had stopped by to make certain Liila was doing alright, he had relayed that Thales is relieved to hear she is recovering. She had asked how Thales was in turn, and whether she could see him or not.

Before Chyrus could weigh in, Xandria had taken her side, pointing out that it wouldn't hurt to have someone so close to talk to, as it was going to get awfully boring hearing lectures from all of the paragons. Xandria had winked as she said it, and Chyrus had laughed and said he'd see what he could do.

Liila sits up now, looking around to see who is with her. When she cannot find any of her giant healers in their usual spots—Vesiphone tends to sit a little closer, reading, while Chyrus perches on the ledge to watch the world beyond unless Liila is awake. And when Adrestes is here, he's always close enough to touch.

She's told the Archon has been watching her, too, but she cannot remember talking with her at any point, though she suspects she has.

Her mind has just been too…scattered.

The soft click of a beak sounds from somewhere to her side.

"Liila?"

Snapping her head toward the voice, her eyes widen as she sees who is with her now. Thales starts to say something else, but she doesn't register it as she instead flings herself into him, wrapping him in a tight hug that almost knocks him over.

"I thought you died!" She says, and before she can stop herself, she is crying. "They said you were alright, but I…"

"I'm a resilient sort," Thales declares, flexing playfully before hugging her back.

They fall over when Hipokos joins in the hug.

"I asked about when we could redo our binding," Thales says when they finally manage to free themselves from their pile of limbs. He lets out a soft huff. "Soulguide Daelia said it's a bit complicated now, what with your current soulbind—you do remember that, yes?"

Liila stares at him for a moment, pausing as she feels that steadfast confidence curling within her. It is deep and sturdy and…

"I…yes." Liila nods. "I soulbound with Xandria. Or…I suppose she soulbound with me?"

"It goes both ways," Thales teases. "How are you feeling?"

"Really good," Liila says, taking a moment to just…feel. The usual, deep aches that she is so used to are muted things now, and her body itself feels fantastic. Thales' laugh is rich when she adds, "You know, I think I could win an arm wrestling match against Thanikos. Or maybe just Blood." As she says that, she realizes rather abruptly that with all the people she has been asking after, her lists have never quite made it to her mortal companions. She knows she asked Adrestes about Carroll once, but beyond that…

Perhaps they have not come to the forefront of her mind because they were not present during the assault, so far as she knows?

"I don't suppose you know how Blood is doing these days?"

"He's well, from what little I've seen of him," Thales says. "I've been bound to Humility more or less, and he and the others are spending most of these days in Korthia."

"Korthia…" It takes Liila a minute before she can place the name. "That's…the Maw?" When Thales and Hipokos nod, she slouches a little, wondering how long before she'll be heading back there herself.

After her last run in with the Jailer, she finds herself…scared. She is afraid to even think about returning to his domain. It feels cowardly to admit, even to herself.

Another strong surge of emotion twists through her, a promise that it is not cowardly to fear a god that has already harmed oneself.

"You've missed quite a bit," Thales says, interrupting the brief silence that settles over them.

Hipokos hums in agreement.

It takes little prompting for the duo to fill her in on what they know. The efforts to repair the realm, the work to retake Korthia in the Maw…

As he talks on, Liila happens to look down. It is a glance to see what is wrapped around her, but when she looks, her attention sticks.

Her skin is blue.

Liila stares down at her fingers, turning her hands once and then pulling her hair forward to see that it is teal. She glances over her shoulder as best she can, and frowns when she sees that there are no wings.

That makes her stomach flip.

"Thales?" She says, though Hipokos has already alerted him with a quick tap to the arm that Liila is not paying attention to what he's saying anymore. He tilts his head, offering her a hand to hold and squeezing hers when she takes his. "How long have I been dead?"

"A little under three weeks now," he says, his voice gentler.

Liila's gaze snaps to him. "You said weeks?" When he nods, a little confused, she slumps in place, shuddering.

"It's okay." He wraps her in another hug that Hipokos dutifully joins in on. She feels like she is swaddled in love and kindness. It does not work to ease her nerves, however.

"I…I don't think I can handle what's to come," she whispers.

If she's already been dead for almost three weeks, the curse's backlash is going to be on a level she's never experienced.

She feels a firm reassurance from her soulbind. From Xandria. The feeling is so deep, so…physical almost. It's a little overwhelming.

That is going to take some getting used to.

"You'll be fine," Thales says. "And you're hardly alone in your path. No matter the trouble, we'll see you through it."

Her mind is still a little muddled, and she can't quite follow what Thales' is telling her.

Instead, she remembers the last time she died, when she was kyrian for almost an hour. That resurrection had damned near broken her. The idea that she has been like this for weeks….

Granted, if her wings have already rotted then it won't be too much longer…

But there are no signs of that rot on the rest of her.

Maybe…

Her back doesn't hurt. And she vaguely remembers Vesiphone doing something to the curse before she blacked out from whatever the Jailer had done, so maybe this time will not be quite as painful as the last? Even if it is drawn out?

She slumps against Thales, and loops an arm around Hipokos when he leans into her, a half pile of what they just were. "Three weeks. I really have missed a lot then."

"You have."

He is hesitant to resume catching her up, but after she promises him she can handle it, they figure out where he was in his updates and he goes back to relaying all the twists and turns that have happened while she has been out.

It does not take terribly long, as he has not been at the forefront of the fighting, so there are more than a few holes in his updates—he doesn't know Shadow or Whisper, so he cannot tell her what has happened to them—but it is more than enough, for now. The important thing is that she did not seem to sleep through any deaths. After all, she would never forgive herself if something happened to Mitchell or Blood or any of the others while she was out of commission.

Thales switches the conversation to the souls he is learning to judge when she asks him what he's been doing, and instantly, he is regaling her with different souls from Azeroth who have been used in examples. Liila is thrilled when she is able to tell him she knows one of them—a scoundrel from millennia ago, whose notoriety has lived on through the test of time.

He tells her of other souls, and quizzes her on them, letting her get a bit of a 'head start' on her Humility studies.

He's detailing the final memories of a soul from a world whose name Liila is sure she should recognize, though she can't quite place it, when movement to the side catches her attention.

Kleia lands on the edge of the platform and sets Pelagos down in front of her with great care.

The second Liila sees Kleia, she stumbles to her feet, ignoring as Hipokos lets out a startled click and Thales tell her to sit back down. She darts forward and catches Kleia in a tight hug, burying her face against Kleia's shoulder as she tries not to cry.

"I thought he killed you!" Liila manages, even as Kleia's arms encircle her. "I saw you fall, and I couldn't feel you and—"

"You had me worried, too," Kleia replies, squeezing her a little too tight. Liila can't say she minds. "All of us."

"They didn't tell us anything at first," Pelagos says, wrapping both her and Kleia in a hug. "We thought you were gone for over a week!"

Kleia nods, letting go of Liila and moving back just enough so that she can catch Liila by the shoulders and look her over. Her face twists with guilt. "I'm so sorry that I couldn't get to you in time. I—"

"It's okay," Liila assures her. "I'm just so glad you're okay. Your wings don't hurt?"

"They're all better," Kleia says, extending one and then the other to show them off before tucking them against her back again.

As Liila nods, relieved, her energy flees her so abruptly, and she nearly falls. Pelagos catches her before she can hit the ground though—even as Kleia moves to catch her as well. He loops one of her arms over his shoulders to help prop her up and then hoists her up into his arms, much the way Kleia was just carrying him.

Hipokos toddles over to make sure no assistance is needed as Pelagos carries her back to her bed. Thales sits on its edge, brow pinched with concern.

When she's sitting beside him, the rest of them assemble into a small circle. In the past, Liila has come to visit allies overcoming poisons or various ailments she could not will away with a twist of magic herself, and she remembers sitting like this with them, little clusters of friends there to make another's recovery feel a little less daunting.

It is strange, because Liila does not really feel like she needs that much encouragement…

Granted, she did nearly fall over just now, but even so…she doesn't hurt like she's used to. The aches inside of her are so quiet, and her body feels healthy enough.

Though, if they think she's in a worse condition than she is…

Liila looks at Kleia and then Pelagos. "They…let you think I was dead? You mean the paragons? Adrestes let you think that?"

"It was a simple miscommunication," Kleia explains. "We were supposed to know."

"I told them," Thales says, giving her a firm nod.

"You 'were supposed to know'?" Liila asks, quirking a brow. "Others weren't?"

"From what I hear," Pelagos says, choosing his words with care, "it was the Archon's call. She didn't want the Jailer or your mortals complicating things and trying anything that might compromise your recovery."

Liila cannot help but cock her head. "What would they possibly do that might do that?"

"Plenty, apparently," Kleia says. "Adrestes is not happy with them. At all."

When Pelagos notices the way Liila arches her brow, he shakes his head, moving closer to her and casting a heal over her. "You…I don't think you understand how close you were to not existing. You were almost unmade. Your soul is very fragile right now. You are very fragile right now." He is quiet a moment and then starts to talk again. "You know, I've been in Hero's Rest, and you would be amazed the number of people who have come through. They have all these stories about you and I…" He lowers his gaze.

Liila waves her hand, backing the conversation up. "What kind of miscommunication would let you think I was dead for a week? Adrestes just kept forgetting to say something or?"

"He won't talk about what happened with anyone," Kleia says. "Well, he did try to talk to us, but we were so…" She doesn't finish her sentence, instead paling a little and then shivering, her feathers fluffing up for just a second.

Pelagos winces. "He blames himself for how badly you were hurt. What happened to you nearly broke him."

"That wasn't his fault," Liila says, and grunts with displeasure when hands seem to come from every direction to keep her from standing up and going to look for her polemarch. To be fair, it's not like she can leave the platform without a ride. Or a well angled levitate. She glances around, wondering where Adrestes is and how easily she can get a message to him. "I was the one who angered the Jailer—"

"What happened to you wasn't your fault, either," Pelagos assures her. His voice is so resolute.

And it leaves her feeling oddly…alone.

Usually, any words like that would be accompanied with that familiar curl of emotion echoing from him, that confidence and surety that he tries to impart to her with such declarations, but their connection is severed, and Liila finds herself…uncomfortably empty.

There is an understanding that comes from Xandria, and for a moment, Liila is overcome with an unbearable sadness as the face of a woman she's never met flashes in her mind's eye. Agthia. It is gone quick enough, but that sense of absence lingers. Just the way she feels the absence of the three with her now.

When Pelagos tilts his head and asks what's wrong, instantly leaning toward her to inspect her as though he thinks he will find some injury, Liila is embarrassed to admit, "I miss you. All three of you."

Thales catches her in a hug that takes her off balance, and Kleia chastises him, moving forward to untangle them, as though such a simple thing could hurt. More than that, Kleia seems...

Helpless.

Well, not like she is helpless, but like she feels helpless.

Liila wishes they had their connection. It feels like so much more has happened than can be expressed with words, and it leaves her guessing and lost.

"After what happened…" Kleia murmurs, smoothing Liila's hair and patting her shoulders before finally settling back to where she was sitting. She adjusts her wings a little sharply. "We can rebind once you're a little more stable."

"I don't feel particularly unstable," Liila offers. In fact, she feels better than she has in…

She's never felt this good.

"You were gravely injured," Thales reiterates. Hipokos pats her hand when he sees how puzzled she is before toddling over to a side table to pour everyone some juice. When he comes back, he makes a point of giving Liila hers first. It tastes better than Liila remembers. Thales continues, as his soulbind works. "The paragons weren't sure that you'd make it. Vesiphone says you're still in very precarious place. It would be easy to undo the mending done."

"That's why Xandria's helping," Kleia says. "She did what I think most everyone was willing to try, but apparently you needed a bit more support than a regular soul can give."

"Because of how yours was wounded," Pelagos says. He hesitates. "So you need to be careful."

"Very careful," Kleia agrees. She leans forward and pats Liila's knee. "You will be alright, though."

With a nod, Liila listens as Thales changes the subject to Korthia, relaying a few questions Liila had that he wasn't able to answer. Kleia is hesitant to even talk about it, but Pelagos starts in with details, and she eventually joins in, discussing how the forces are building. These two are considerably more active in the fight against the Jailer and can fill in the gaps she still has.

Liila is relieved to know that Whisper and Shadow did successfully make it out of the Maw. To no surprise, they have allied with Ardenweald.

Even as she is content to know that her friends are finally free of the Maw, Pelagos starts listing off who else is helping and where, and it is…

A lot.

"Wait, wait, wait. You said Genji and Khai'rhi are in Korthia? And Cho-sung? And…"

Pelagos offers a little shrug, and Thales says, "They're walking the path you started."

The others agree so readily. Pelagos comments that Liila is a hero, one who won't soon be forgotten.

That seems…

Liila has been injured before, but as they talk, she starts to feel like she is missing something. She gets that some people think she's dead—that will need to be rectified sooner than later—but the way these four with her now are acting is…

The way they are all so…protective.

It's a little much.

Surely her soul is not in that precarious of a position…after all, the curse has been damaging her since before they knew her, and it is so quiet now that it feels like she could probably heal herself without much resistance.

Once she gets a bit more energy, of course.

She runs her fingers through her hair, wondering just how long it will be until she feels her runes start up. As it is, they are oddly quiet. She doesn't even feel the tension in them that comes before they start snapping.

How bad is this time going to be?

Another strong assurance reaches her that she is safe and well and home.

It is comforting and yet…at the same time, it makes her a little uneasy.

"How long do you think before I'll be expected to start making rounds again?" Liila asks during a lull in the conversation.

The looks that they give her…

Kleia makes a face as Pelagos puffs out his cheeks, his lips a thin line. Thales is the one to speak. "You're out for the count, Liila."

Liila rolls her eyes with a faint huff. "I'm not asking when I can go toe to toe with the Jailer." Thales snorts at the mere idea. "What I'm asking about is…well… I mean, I was supposed to go with Adrestes to the Ember Court—"

"He had to go without you," Kleia says. "Chryus said he was spending too much time mulling about, waiting for you to wake up. He was very moody and unpleasant, from what I heard, but he came back with plans to storm the Maw, so Xandria is thrilled. They're leaving in a day or so."

Liila feels a twinge of guilt. "He was waiting for me to wake up…?"

Of course he was. If she's been out for weeks… He must have been so worried. Though he didn't seem terribly put out the last time she spoke with him. Perhaps he was a bit cuddlier than usual…

She can't say she minds that, but she does feel bad that he's been so worried.

"You came so close to being unmade," Pelagos says softly. "He was afraid you would…lose the fight. So to speak. That even after everything, you might fade."

As he speaks, Liila feels that familiar tug. She glances toward it, and can just make out the outline of a small figure drawing closer in the distance through the sheer drapes. She can't help but smile, despite herself.

"I'm a bit more durable than that," Liila replies. "Not to brag, but the Jailer is hardly the first god who's wanted me dead."

"So we've noticed," Thales says. And then he adds, "About the durability, that is."

"I've heard about some of the gods," Pelagos says. Kleia nods.

Pelagos prompts Liila to tell them about Yogg'saron and she launches into the explanation of how she and Haa'aji had taunted and mocked the old god before their guild leaders had told them to stop it.

Pelagos is trying not to smile as Liila details how the fight had devolved into running from massive tentacles when her soulmate finally reaches them.

Adrestes strides past the soft drapes and stops at the edge of their little gathering, frown most pronounced. She can feel the way his attention focuses on her, even if his hood does hide his gaze. "You should be resting."

"From what I hear, I have been," Liila replies. She holds a hand out to him. He seems conflicted at first, and for a moment she is unsure why.

Then, abruptly, his form shifts to that of his aspirant. He skirts the group, coming up behind her and settling in, drawing her flush against his chest, legs on either side of her, arms wrapping around her tightly. He rests his head against hers, and she leans into him, closing her eyes and feeling that thrum of energy between them.

It is unbelievably soothing.

Liila turns her head to look at him, but rather than meet her gaze, Adrestes lets his head fall forward and rests his forehead against her shoulder.

"Are you okay?"

"I will be so long as you are," he murmurs.

"I'm fine," Liila says, reaching up and running her fingers through his hair.

"You are not, but I appreciate—"

"I feel better than I think I ever have," Liila says. When Adrestes lifts his head to give her an unreadable look, she shrugs. "I mean it. At least as far as I can remember. Maybe back when I was Amaeria I—"

Adrestes' frown is something for the records.

"That is not the reassurance you think it is," Kleia says softly.

When Liila looks at her, she notes the way the rest of them are not making eye contact. Kleia's brow is raised as she stares at the floor in front of her. Pelagos is trying very hard not to wince. Hipokos is quietly clacking his talons together. Thales shakes his head.

"You're all overreacting—"

"You couldn't stand more than a minute," Pelagos objects.

"You let her stand," Adrestes repeats, incredulous.

Liila looks back at him. "Why do I get the odd feeling that you're going to be worse than my healers?" His brow furrows. She brushes a kiss against that worry line above his nose. "It's bad enough that Pelagos and Thales won't tell me when I can get back to all that saving the world nonsense."

He watches her for a painfully long, quiet moment before he says, "You're dead."

Liila holds up a hand. "I noticed."

"Your curse is gone," he says. There is tension in him as he holds her, like he expects her to jerk away. Or maybe shove him away.

Liila stares at him, into those intense eyes that do not blink as he holds her gaze.

It takes a moment for what he's said to sink in.

"My curse is gone," she repeats.

"Yes."

"I thought…" Liila looks forward, down as she tries to remember. She can remember the Jailer wearing Anduin like a glove, of him talking to her, saying the things he was going to do. She can remember him hurting Kleia and then…

It's all too hazy after that…

She knows Adrestes was there. And Vesiphone.

Her curse was acting up, and it was like no other pain she'd ever felt.

She remembers trying to talk to them, to him.

She can't help an awkward laugh. "I thought Vesiphone said I wouldn't survive having it removed at this point."

"You didn't."

There is an uncomfortable hush over the group now. Kleia looks like she wants to sweep Liila up in her arms and hug her again. Thales' hand is on Liila's. Hipokos is getting more juice. Pelagos is bracing for something…

For Liila to realize that she is dead.

The stories have been off. The people coming out in droves to tell them.

They have been words of love, actions of honor.

For the dead.

For her.

It is not just something they have been left to think. It is something that has actually happened.

That is when it really sinks in.

She looks back down at her blue skin, at the teal hair that is swept over the shoulder Adrestes is not leaning against.

Her runes do not feel like they are about to activate because they are not.

They are not going to bring her back.

They are gone.

Her curse is gone.

"I'm dead."

"You're in good company," Thales offers, giving her a smile as he motions to himself and then everyone else. Kleia winces and Pelagos gives her a sympathetic look.

Suddenly so much makes sense. The hovering, the excessive worry. Kleia's and Adrestes' guilt.

Even as Liila thinks to tell them it's not their fault, another thought strikes her.

"I've been dead three weeks… Where is my body?" She frowns, brow pinching. "Do I even have one?"

"We returned what was left of it to the mortals in Oribos," Adrestes says.

Liila stills. "Oribos…"

In a blink, she is back in Olympic Village, talking to Stanikos about missing souls. As she asks if he has ever heard of something like this happening before, she feels like something has caught ahold of her. Like there is a hook that has caught in the very core of her being. And then another and another. She reaches toward Stanikos, thinking to asking him for help.

She manages to say, "Please—" before the hooks go taunt and drag her back and down and every other direction all at once.

When she opens her eyes again, she is looking up into a face she thought she would never have to see again, at a wicked smile that stretches black, rotted lips.

Welcome back, Miss Lightswill.

Blinking past the memory, Liila swallows hard. She feels sick. "When you say the mortals in Oribos, do you mean like Baine and Thrall? Or Bolvar?"

It takes a bit of back and forth before Adrestes remembers which mortal Bolvar is. He finally says, "I believe he was there among those who received your remains. From what Thenios said, they were all gathered."

Liila closes her eyes and takes in a slow breath through her nose. The urge to throw up is getting stronger.

She can already see it. Opening her eyes and looking up to see Bolvar's face peering down at her, a mirror of the memory of what happened with her tormentor. No doubt he'll assure her that he won't be the wicked thing that her captor was, but it won't be much solace. He'll give her some spiel about service and having another chance to protect the ones she loves and then send her back into the fray.

Will he put the runes that resurrect back on her again?

"What's wrong?" Pelagos asks.

"Bolvar is the Lich King," Liila says quietly, her voice unintentionally dropping into the monotone she uses when she is too overwhelmed with emotion. She reaches up and pinches the bridge of her nose, trying not to panic. "He runs the Scourge. Or used to, before the helm was broken. You gave my body to—"

She feels Xandria's reaction then, an indignance to the mere idea that she can be stolen away from them now, and that powerful wave of assurance that she is safe and she is home.

The home bit makes more sense now…

Adrestes tugs her a little closer. "You're safe, Liila. They won't take you away again."

Thales tilts his head, brow pinching as he considers what she's said. "Scourge? That… I thought the Scourge was what took souls from Bastion before?"

"It was," Liila replies, tone flat.

"There wasn't enough of you left to reanimate," Pelagos offers, a bit too quickly.

Kleia pales.

Liila tilts her head a little. It's hard enough to grapple with the idea that she is actually dead. And the fact that Bolvar knows that she's dead and has her remains…

To know that the damage to her body was so extensive that…

How long until Bolvar calls her soul into some random corpse? Will she even be Horde?

"We told the mortals your soul was torn to shreds," Adrestes says. "That when it was done with your soul, it destroyed your body."

"Technically, it is true," Kleia says.

"There was no other way," Adrestes says, though he does not have his usual conviction behind the words.

"At least I don't remember all that," Liila says. For a second, she is afraid that she will see a memory from Xandria—she was there when it happened, wasn't she? Or was she?

She thinks it starts to play—but it never quite forms, like Xandria has actively prevented it from being shared or… Liila doesn't know.

She is just grateful she doesn't have to see it.

Even as she wonders if what happened will come back to her down the line, Adrestes says, "Those memories are likely gone. Like the ones from when you were Amaeria. The final casualties to your curse."

At that, Pelagos speaks up. "You may have other holes in your memories, so if you have trouble remembering something, don't panic. Some of it may still be there, just…"

"At least it's less to forget," Liila says, trying to joke. She can't stand how heavy the atmosphere has become. Her joke backfires, however.

Something inside of her clenches at the idea of having to forget at all. She thinks of the letter she wrote to Haa'aji, not long ago, of telling him that she would let time take her memories.

That wasn't supposed to be for years.

She was supposed to have years.

She told Haa'aji…

Adrestes squeezes her gently. "Purity is undergoing changes, so don't worry about that. You don't need to forget anything, especially right now."

Liila stares down at his large hands, where they rest against her stomach, fingers curled just slightly into her robe. Something else clicks into place then. "I suppose I'm too fragile right now to undergo cleansings even if I wanted to."

"You will need to mend first," Adrestes confirms.

"Because I'm a loosely stitched together conglomerate of soul scraps."

Several variations of, "You're going to be fine," resound around her.

Thales scratches at one of his eyebrows. "I should have known you were taking this a little too well…"

He cannot see Kleia's scowl, but he must feel it, because he does turn his head toward her, shrugging.

Liila cannot help but feel a little lost. If she is as damaged as they say, why doesn't she feel it? Shouldn't she ache and hurt? Shouldn't there be holes in her mind or…?

They said there will be.

What has she forgotten?

Her mind races as she lists the names of people she has been close to. She thinks of Haa'aji and the kids, lists all twelve of them, whispers their names aloud. Then she moves to her guild. There have been dozens who have come and gone over the years, but she thinks she remembers them all. There is no moment where she feels like something is missing, like someone is missing.

She feels whole.

"The Archon herself helped to heal you," Adrestes says softly, interrupting her as she begins to go through her mounts' names. There have only been nine over the years, and most of their names are similar enough… She trails off as she remembers how Piikiifour died to murlocs and looks at Adrestes. He reaches up to brush his fingers against her cheek. "There's a chance you didn't lose anything important."

She starts to nod and then stops as her scattered mind focuses on something else they've said. "You told them my soul is gone." She looks around at each of her them, and then shifts a little so that she can look squarely at Adrestes. "My friends. My family. If you told the mortals in Oribos, then they told the ones I love."

Conflict rages in his expression before he finally gives in and says, "Mortals have already tried to call your soul back. With you as fragile as you are—"

"You told my family that there is nothing left of me."

Adrestes catches her hands, a pleading look in his eyes as he tries to calm her down. "You know Azerothians don't let their dead rest."

"Haa'aji thinks there is nothing left of me. My children…" She pulls her hands free and runs them into her hair. "You have to fix this."

Adrestes shakes his head. "Liila. Your business with the mortal worlds is over. That is not—"

"I'm not saying you have to bring me back to life," Liila argues. "It's just…it's been ages for you, so maybe you don't remember this, but death is a terrifying unknown to the living. We make up stories and reasons for it to be less daunting. We tell each other that it's okay, that there's more, that the ones we loved live on in another existence."

"It's not far off," Thales offers, trying to sooth her.

"Except when the creatures in the next life turn around and say, 'That's the case for everyone except for your loved one. She's just gone forever'!" She looks back at Adrestes. "My children are orphans, Adrestes! They have already lost so much! It's bad enough that they've lost me, but you would have them think that I'm not just gone, but unmade?! That's not okay!"

"Liila."

"Look, you don't have to do anything," Liila says, scowling. "I'll talk to Blood. Fuck, I wouldn't even have to talk to him. I could just wave," she offers Adrestes a sharp wave for emphasis. "He's seen my kyrian form. He could tell them I'm happily mulling about in my afterlife and—"

"Absolutely not," Adrestes says. When Liila looks at him, incredulous, he shakes his head. "You pointed out yourself that Bolvar is the Lich King. And how many others do you think wouldn't be quick to try to draw you back? There are half a dozen separate groups at least who have tried to call you back already, despite you not having a body to return to. It took a week to get them to stop—"

"Your week here is a day in Azeroth!" Liila cries out. "They haven't stopped. They've realized something is blocking them and are reconsidering how to get past whatever you're doing to stop them! Telling my family that my soul still exists—that I still exist—will not affect those groups at all! They won't have even heard your official stance changed before they start calling me back again!"

Adrestes is indignant. "You think we haven't thought of that? The way the ward is set up, they feel like there is nothing to grip, nothing to pull back. Like you are gone. They will stop sooner because they will think there is nothing to call back. This is about your safety, and I will not compromise it for a handful of mortals' comfort."

"How dare you—"

"You will stay here, and you will heal," Adrestes says, his tone taking on one that sounds more like an order. He reaches for her, and she jerks back, though she almost loses her balance. Pelagos helps catch her, and Adrestes draws himself a little taller. "If you want to hold that against me, so be it. But it is for your own good. I'm not—Bastion will not lose you again. Or anyone else. Think of the precedent it would set. We have enough trouble with Azeroth as it is."

There are dozens of things Liila wants to say, most of which involve an extreme use of expletives. However, instead, she fights back the quickly growing exhaustion inside of her, and turns her back to Adrestes, crossing her arms and looking away, past the others. "I feel like you're bad for my health, polemarch. Perhaps you should go."

He starts to say something, but then swears under his breath. She can hear the blankets shift as he steps off her bed. When she does glance his way, she can see him storming straight for the ledge, still in aspirant form. He steps right off the edge, dropping and disappearing in a breath.

Even as she straightens a little, eyes widening, he soars out and away, again in his true form, great white wings taking him farther and farther with quick, powerful flaps.

As soon as he's gone, what little energy she has left flees her all at once. She slumps, with Pelagos catching her again.

"This was a bit much for today," he murmurs. He helps her lay back down.

There is an awkwardness that won't quite leave the air, and Kleia and Thales decide it is probably time to go so that Liila can rest. Kleia picks up Hipokos to take him down. She promises to be back for Thales shortly. While he waits, he offers Liila a short tale about happenings in Humility, but she can't focus enough to enjoy the story.

When it is just her and Pelagos, she peers up at him. "I'm not being unreasonable."

He gives her a gentle smile and snuggles down near her so that they are laying side by side. "If it was just the little ones, I would relay word myself," he says softly. "But I worry about someone trying to resurrect you. Even if they're well meaning, a friend. Your soul can't handle getting dragged across the veil. You'll lose pieces of yourself. Large pieces." Pelagos conjures his own anima, making a sphere of it and then carefully manipulating it into delicate pieces that are tentatively keeping its shape.

When Liila looks at him, he directs his own gaze back down to the orb, and she reluctantly watches it. It shimmers and twists.

He draws it from one hand to the other.

Even going so short a way, the pieces do not hold their form. They stretch and twist and take a chaotic looking shape at their new destination.

Before Liila can point out that it's all still there, he remakes the first orb, and points to a spot, running his finger over an area that crosses multiple 'scraps'. "Let's say this is one memory." He then points to the twisted anima. "Part of it ended up here…and here…and here." He points to places that are not even remotely connected. "The likelihood that you'd even remember who you are is slim."

Liila stares at him for a long quiet moment, fighting against the weariness making her eyelids heavy. She doesn't want to admit that she's already tired, and she doesn't want to admit that what they're saying makes sense. "If it was just them…"

"But it won't be just them," Pelagos reaches out and brushes some of Liila's hair back. "Even if they don't tell anyone, others will notice that they don't mourn you the same." He offers her a reassuring smile. "In time, we'll be able to get word to them, once the dust settles and you have had a chance to heal."

"But they'll hurt until then," Liila whispers.

It's such a simple thing…she doesn't even have to be directly involved. A whisper from someone else is all it would take.

"I'm not being unreasonable," she whispers again. She thinks of their little faces, of Haa'aji. She thinks of the promises she made to them in her last letter, of how, with the time differences, they'll have just gotten her message when someone comes to tell them what has happened… Will it have even been more than a couple days difference for them?

As she thinks of that, she can't help but feel that it's not fair.

She finally had a future to look forward to.

Pelagos moves closer and wraps her in a hug, and she falls asleep crying into his tunic.

She wishes she hadn't sent Adrestes away.


"I am not being unreasonable," Adrestes mutters as he looks over a few different attack plans with Xandria. Thanikos lets out a low hum, but says nothing.

He doesn't have to.

Adrestes can feel Thanikos' opinion curling into him. It has been a long time since he had a soulbind, and he's finding his sudden lack of privacy a bit…unsettling.

Especially considering Thanikos is judging him.

At least Arios understands where he is coming from.

Xandria has a few different maps of the Maw pinned to the wall as she appraises them and searches for inaccuracies. "If this is about Liila, you could have chosen your words better."

Adrestes' feathers bristle as he realizes a little late, that of course Xandria knows about what happened. She is bound to Liila right now. "I am still the polemarch, even if I have not been able to act as it of late. Every soul's safety in this realm is my responsibility. If the mortals can take her, they can take others. We must be secure—"

"I don't understand why you told her about what we told the mortals to begin with," Xandria interrupts, her tone surprisingly dismissive. "She's hardly in any condition for such heavy topics."

"Maybe she won't remember this the next time she wakes up," Thanikos says, shrugging. He offers another map, and Xandria takes it and holds it up next to the ones already there. "I imagine it is a lot to realize your body was turned over to the Lich King, though. Especially with her history of being dragged out of the realm already."

Xandria lowers the map and turns slowly to look at the both of them, her frown pronounced. "I realize having your first real fight with your soulmate is troublesome, but now is hardly the time for this conversation."

"Better now than in the Maw," Thanikos points out.

Adrestes' mind is elsewhere. "That the highlord in Oribos is the Lich King… Why no one thought to tell us this before now is…" Adrestes scowls. "Why didn't they tell us this?"

"The same reason mortals do or don't do anything. Fear, self-preservation, concern over alienating allies, I could go on." Xandria is already losing interest.

"But knowing the Lich King is right there," Adrestes says, motioning vaguely in the direction of Oribos.

"If it eases your nerves, he's the third to hold that title," Xandria replies. "And with his helm destroyed, he cannot truly bear that title or power anymore. He has no control over the Scourge."

"You knew?" Adrestes asks.

"Thenios had all the mortals in Oribos vetted early on. He was one of the easier ones to figure out, seeing as he deals with death so often."

"But even if he doesn't control the Scourge itself, the death knights answer to him."

"There was not enough of her left to reanimate."

"That's what Pelagos told her," Adrestes says, mouth a thin line.

"Thenios knew what he was doing," Xandria says, taking another map and overlaying it on one of the others. She traces the altered road through the Maw with a finger, clearly displeased with the discrepancies. "There's nothing they can do with that body. The mere brush of magic against it will make what's left crumble to dust."

Thanikos flinches at that. "But they are trying…"

Xandria finally lowers the map and turns to look at both of them. "Thanikos. Blood said he should be back today with an updated layout of the Maw's Cauldron. Will you go find him and bring me his notes? I want to know what we are walking into."

Thanikos looks rather displeased be dismissed, but he salutes and heads off without objection.

Adrestes watches him go and then looks back at Xandria. "Do you think it will be a problem? The ones who have already tried to resurrect Liila had to be fairly strong themselves… But if the Lich King tries to bring her back…even one who has lost some of his power… Perhaps it would be better to tell them…"

"These musings are pointless," Xandria says, patting him on the shoulder before moving to unfurl a few other maps that have been offered to them from mortals and scouts from other realms. "The Archon's orders are that we tell the mortals that she is unmade. Mortals aside, the Jailer will not be pleased if he learns he failed to unmake her. He has already taken enough from Bastion." She pauses then and appraises Adrestes. "Let's not forget that the Scourge learned its magic from him, so if they could call souls out of our realm…"

With a shudder, Adrestes nods and moves to help her with the maps.

"And Adrestes?"

"Yes?"

"She already misses you. Make sure you see her before we go to the Maw."

Adrestes hesitates at that. "Would she actually want me there?"

"She might grouse a bit," Xandria says, looking him over with a quiet smile, "but she'll be glad to know she hasn't run you off permanently." She looks back at the maps. "But don't expect an apology on her end any time soon."

With a sigh, he shakes his head.

At least he feels a bit better, considering that he really isn't being unreasonable.

After all, hearts can be mended, with effort and time. But an unmade soul cannot be pieced back together.


"They didn't even tell Pelagos and Kleia!" Liila says as she paces back and forth, talking animatedly with her hands. Each time she wakes up, she feels stronger, more solid. It has been three days since her fight with Adrestes.

Tia sits quietly with her on a chaise not far from where her bed is, watching with an infinite, gentle patience as Liila paces. "That was an unfortunate oversight. However, the more people who know, the more likely it is that word will get out," Tia says softly. "We do not want the Jailer deciding that he should finish what he started."

Liila scowls at that, looking pointedly at Tia. "He's not going to go out of his way to come after one little, damaged soul." When Tia quirks one of her eyebrows, as though to ask just how Liila knows the inner workings of a god's mind so well, Liila motions out around them. "No wayward god ever gets as far as he has by getting distracted by petty vendettas." She motions to herself. "If I'm dumb enough to get in his way again? Oh, he'll absolutely tear me to pieces. But if I'm off in some corner of the universe that he no longer has reason to go to, then he's not going to waste his time."

She paces the other way, pausing to add. "I doubt he'll come back here unless he can remake reality, and if that happens, we're all fucked anyway."

Her current rant started off in response to the news that Tia has brought her. Liila had wanted to know when she might be able to get word to anyone who could let Haa'aji know the truth. Tia had told her the same thing Adrestes had said, that no one was going to relay any messages for her.

It wouldn't matter if she could just do it herself. She is used to having to pick up the ball when others drop it. If she could just write a letter, talk to Blood or Roberts or any of the dozens of others who are here…

If she could just do something other than sleep and have quiet, patient conversations.

But she can't, of course, because she's trapped on this tiny fucking platform in the middle of the Spires of Ascension.

She tried jumping off it once, only to find that her levitate spell would not work for her. She'd only had a few yards to plummet in terror before Chyrus—her healer of the day—had realized what she'd done and flown down to catch her.

Vesiphone has threatened her with the kind of containment fields that are keeping the forsworn prisoners in place if Liila tries that again. It was a very softly spoken and polite threat, but a threat none-the-less.

Liila is restless.

She is restless because she is useless. This is almost as bad as being trapped in that godawful rotting room when she had been held by the Scourge. By her tormentor. It feels so similar because she can go to the edge and look out and see the world that might as well not exist because she cannot reach it.

At least the company is better.

Most of the time, they do a fairly good job at distracting her from her imprisonment, but there are moments when it catches her so off-guard that it makes it hard to breathe.

Not that she even needs to.

She's told that breathing is really an optional sort of thing, that many of the older ascended don't do it at all, other than to sigh or huff. In time, she will likely forgo the habit as well.

For now, though, her chest still rises and falls regularly, and she feels an innate terror at the idea of forgetting to breathe.

This confinement is so frustrating.

Most are so unbearably sympathetic to her plight. They talk of how souls do not typically go so quickly from living to kyrian, how most spend decades or longer as disembodied ghosts before finally taking that first step onto the Path.

The step she was forced to take to even get anyone to listen to her about the plight of her world.

The world that does not count as her world anymore.

Liila keeps pacing.

"Think of this," Tia says when she has decided that Liila has sulked long enough. "The Jailer wanted you to suffer. So long as he thinks you are dead, there is no need to cause more suffering. If he finds you are alive, he will take advantage of that to make your life miserable."

"He's not going to come back here—"

"He doesn't have to," Tia says, her tone saying she does not appreciate how contrary Liila is being. "Adrestes is in the Maw as we speak. Your friends and companions from life are there constantly. The Maw bleeds into the sky in your world. He could target any of the people you love."

"He'll target Adrestes anyway," Liila mutters, clinging to the one part she can argue against. "He's the voice of the Archon, and the Jailer hates her."

Tia winces at that in a way that makes Liila feel guilty for snapping.

"I suppose it wouldn't do to give him extra reasons, though," Liila finally concedes. If anything does happen to Adrestes, she will never forgive herself for being so flippant now.

She can't even tell how things are going in the Maw. Not wanting Liila to have to relive any reminders of that awful place, Xandria has gotten ahold of some trinket or spell that blocks her memories from coming to Liila at all.

Xandria had come by before she left to explain it so that Liila would not worry. At the time, Liila had been grateful, but now she wishes she could reach out, brush against their connection and get updates.

Her connection to Adrestes is all but lost, too. She knows from her times going out of the realm that it's nearly impossible to feel him once he reaches beyond Bastion's borders, and yet she cannot help the anxiety that comes anyway.

What if he doesn't make it back?

What if he's already fallen in battle?

Tia lightly clasps Liila's hands and holds them. "Don't worry so. Adrestes will return to us. They both will."

Liila nods. There is power in the words Tia says, almost like a god's. That she can be so sure feels like a promise that the divine are watching over the ones Liila worries about.

"And when the Jailer is defeated and put back in his place," Tia adds, "we will send word to your family of your fate. For now, however, for your protection, and that of those around you, we must tread carefully."

Though Liila is loathe to admit it, it does make sense. At least a little bit, anyway.

And it helps that time moves so much different here. What will be anxious weeks for her will be mere days for Haa'aji and the others. They should not have to suffer at all, but Liila can…compromise.

For now.

After all, Adrestes and the others are looking out for her.

And as much as she will never admit it to anyone, there is a part of Liila that is glad that her fight is over.

As she thinks of Adrestes, she wishes she hadn't been such an ass to him. She's told he came to see her before leaving for the Maw, but she was asleep, and he had left before Chyrus could wake her.

She wishes she could have told him to be safe.

There will be chances for that later, though, surely.

Because he'll come back.

He will.

It is impractical to think Xandria's assault will not lose anyone, but Adrestes will make it home.

For possibly the first time in her life—even if her life is technically over—Liila finds herself on the sidelines, and she cannot help but wonder how others do it. How did Whisper's mom or Carroll's parents or Haa'aji and the kids manage to stay in place and just…wait?


Adrestes tugs a loose robe on as soon as he's shaken the last of his bathwater from his wings. He's taken four baths now, trying to scrub every trace of the Maw from him. That wretched feeling itself is enough to make him want to dive into a lake and just lay at the bottom for a week, while Bastion's waters work to purify him, but more than that, he doesn't want to bring any of that lingering essence to Liila when he goes to see her.

It feels like the Jailer will be able to know she yet exists, if he is careless.

He's already checked in with Loyalty and knows that the temple will be alright without him for a few hours longer. He's gathered a few healers from Loyalty to help with their recovered brethren from the Maw.

They were not able to save as many as he would have liked, but at least some of them have made it home—including two who left the temple after he came there, not realizing just how terrible a choice they were making to go to the Maw really was.

They have lost too many good souls and saved too few.

But at least the Jailer's aerial forces are all but gone.

Not that it matters, with him in Zereth Mortis.

Adrestes had half wondered if they would even make it back to Bastion before reality was rewritten. Every second feels like it may be their last.

He has decided to go check on Liila again. If nothing else, he will let her know that they have made it back from the Maw. If she still doesn't want to talk to him, he will return to Loyalty and get a jump on whatever is going to happen next.

His trip to her chamber is a quick and uneventful one.

As he draws closer, he can see that Chyrus is sitting on the ledge, feet dangling into empty air. He usually only does that when Liila is asleep, and Adrestes almost turns around to come back later. However, just as he is about to go back, he realizes that he can see someone much smaller sitting beside Chyrus.

Chyrus points him out, the tiny figure stands up.

Adrestes feels a burst of energy flow through him as he quickens his pace, soaring closer and closer until he can see clearly that it is Liila standing next to Chyrus.

When he is close enough, Liila abruptly launches herself off of the platform. Chyrus reaches to catch her robe and save her from the free fall, but she is just out of reach. Adrestes stalls just in time to catch her and hold her to him as her arms catch around his neck.

She doesn't say anything, instead burying her face in the crook of his neck.

He alights and drops to one knee to make sure her feet can reach the ground as Chyrus chastises Liila for being so careless. When he is sure she is okay, he dismisses himself to go check on the incoming injured.

When Liila finally draws back from him, she appraises him with care. "What took you so long? We've been watching the returning ascended for hours."

Adrestes doesn't point out that she shouldn't be sitting where someone might see her, instead shifting his form to that of an aspirant so that he can look her in the eyes more easily. "I didn't want to bring any of the Maw back to you."

She catches his face in her hands and kisses him hard. She peppers his face with kisses, telling him in between that he's an idiot. After all, she's been to the Maw so many times.

"You took a bath after each time, too," he teases her. He rests his hands on her hips and slowly walks her backwards, away from the ledge.

Finally, she rocks back, standing before him and searching his eyes for something. "You didn't say goodbye."

"I thought you were still mad at me."

"I am," she says, and then she kisses him again. "But if you ever leave like that again, I will make you absolutely miserable."

"I was already absolutely miserable," he replies. Her affection is infectious, and he tugs her closer, meeting her kiss this time and deepening it as his fingers trail up her back and into her hair.

They fit together so perfectly, and he presses kisses along her jaw and nips her earlobe gently.

She hops up, wrapping her legs around his waist and catching his face again so that she can kiss him hard. "You have to be careful, you know?"

"I am."

His arms curl around her to hold her up.

If this is her being mad at him, he almost wishes he'd woken her up before he left.

As her hands push at his robe so that she can run her hands over his shoulders, he presses his forehead against hers, closing his eyes and reveling in the feel of her there, with him.

And then she winces.

It is a fleeting thing, but it is a necessary reminder, even if he hates it.

He carries her to her bed and sets her down, even as she protests that it's already passed. However, he is not about to risk hurting her. When she continues to protest, he wonders for a fleeting second if he should go.

It must show on his face, because he sees the way she pales as she looks up at him, the way she seems to waver.

With a sigh, he drops down into the blankets beside her, holding his arms out for her to come to him, which she does readily, snuggling against him. One of her hands finds its way to his belt, and he catches it, bring it up to kiss her palm as he gives it a quick kiss. He holds her gaze as he does so, willing her to understand what he does not want to say.

He does not want to stop, but he is not about to do something that might compromise her.

After all, Vesiphone was very clear.

Not that she needed to be.

He half thinks she just wanted to see him blush, which had worked.

Now, Liila lays flush against him, her nails tracing abstract patterns across his chest as they lay in the misty evening. It is not quite an anima storm proper, but it is a sign that such things will be coming back.

The drought is really over.

He presses his lips to her hairline, reveling quietly in the feel of her with him, of that heavenly thrum of energy between them. There were a couple times during the fighting that he nearly fell, a couple times that he thought he would not make it back to her. That seems so far away, in this moment.

He does not speak of the Maw.

A part of him worries that she will bring up her mortal loved ones again, that she will start the fight anew. However, mercifully enough, she does not say anything.

Not for a long, long time.

They lay in the quiet, just existing together.

He is just thinking that perhaps she has fallen asleep again, when she finally speaks up.

"I wish I could have been an aspirant with you."

He lets out a soft hum, letting himself imagine what that might have been like. To have had her by his side from the beginning. He can only imagine all the mischief they would have gotten into. "I can't decide if it would have taken me longer to get my wings or not. If you had been there, with me."

Liila cannot help but laugh. "Do you think I'd have been a distraction?"

"I know you would have been one," he says, shifting enough so that when she peers up at him, he can meet her gaze. Amusement dances in her eyes. "At least I'll be able to help you through anything you have difficulty with."

Liila stretches up to kiss him. "You know, I might have helped you get your wings faster."

He laughs. "We'll never know." He takes her hand in his, thumb stroking her skin. "But I imagine I'd have had trouble focusing on my studies with you in reach." As he talks, he moves his hand, holding it out, fingers splayed. Liila matches his movements, the tips of their fingers touching before shifting so that they lace with each other, palms pressed together.

That energy that comes with the touch of skin thrums pleasantly between them. There is so much wrong right now, so much unraveling all around them. He will need to go back to Loyalty soon enough, will need to hear the reports with the Archon about just how much damage the Jailer has done, and he will have to spend every second wondering if it is their last.

But for now…

For now he is happy to be able to just be with her.

If the world is going to end, at least he has gotten to know his soulmate.


"Aspirant Thales," Chyrus says, and there is a smile in his voice as Thales walks up. "Where is Hipokos?"

Thales stands a little taller, as he does every time he speaks with the paragon, or any ascended, really. Except for Kynthia, perhaps. And Kleia. "He is assisting the Forgelite Prime today with a few new prototypes." Thales hesitates for only a second before adding, "I figured that it would be fine for me to come alone. I know Lii—my charge's quarters well enough now, and she wouldn't let me walk off a ledge."

With a rich laugh, Chyrus shifts. "You're not the one I worry about falling off those ledges these days."

Thales tilts his head as he stands before the paragon, a little unsure. In the week since the assault on the Maw, it is almost always Pelagos or himself who tend to Liila, with Kleia ferrying them back and forth. They spend about half a day with her each. Sometimes a paragon comes by just to check in on her recovery. Adrestes usually visits for a little while, though his schedule is hectic, with all he must do at Loyalty.

The constant, however, is that Pelagos arrives in the evenings and Thales the mornings. Thales tries to get to their meeting spot before Kleia, and so he is surprised to find anyone there ahead of him. Especially Chyrus.

"I'm not late, am I?"

"No," Chyrus assures him. "Kleia was just needed elsewhere, and I was in the area, so I thought I could handle it for her." There is a brief pause, and Thales can hear his fabric rustle before he feels a large fingertip brush against his shoulder. "I did want to remind you of something, though."

"What?"

"You know that, even with her getting more and more restless, she is still a long way from being fully mended." He waits for Thales to nod before adding, "Do try not to rile her up. I know you wouldn't mean to, but there are some topics that should be avoided. Present events, in particular."

Thales stills for a second, and instantly regrets it. Even if he can't see Chyrus' face, he knows the paragon must have caught him.

Just like he must have caught on to Thales asking questions on Liila's behalf.

It has been a week since the assault on the Maw.

From everything Liila and Thales have heard, it went well. They were able to all but eliminate the Jailer's winged forces, bringing many of them home to Bastion. Their recoveries are what takes up most of the paragons' time now.

Korthia is also in great shape, and Xandria's distraction in the Cauldron went without a hitch.

Everything they have heard is good, and yet, according to Liila, there is a somber undertone to every update, like something is being left out.

Something has happened that they have not told her.

They change the subject if she asks outright, and it is something she grouses about every time Thales comes to stay with her. She's asked him if he knows anything, but he doesn't. Or, he didn't.

They have taken to slowly whittling away at what it could be, with Thales doing his best to help on his end, with casual questions, like if Devos' fate has been decided yet or how a certain person is doing. Every person he can think to ask after that Liila knows seems to be fine.

There are talks that Devos will be sent to Revendreth, along with many of her higher-ranking followers, though it has not been decided for certain, yet. Thales had thought it was a wishful rumor until Kleia confirmed that it's a real possibility. It's not common knowledge yet, but all of Devos' most loyal followers will have their wings stripped from them, but they will be allowed to rewalk the Path or be rejudged once there is a new Arbiter.

Thales is glad of that, because despite what Lysonia has done, he cannot forget how she came to check on him and the others in Maldraxxus, over and over, and he has been heartened to hear she is back on the side of good, assisting in Korthia.

Liila, however, had gotten something else out of that conversation.

When she asked why there would need to be a new Arbiter, considering that the current one is just asleep, Kleia had gone silent and then told Liila to ask Adrestes about it before quickly gathering Pelagos and heading off with him.

Adrestes had refused to humor the conversation, and that had piqued Thales' curiosity, too. Yesterday, when he was with her, he had promised to get to the bottom of the mystery.

And it had taken hardly any prodding from the mortals at the Maw Walker's corner in Hero's Rest before he found out just what is being withheld.

Thales had hoped, considering he hadn't had to go around poking and prodding that much, that no one would have noticed his queries.

How did Chyrus learn of his investigation?

"I won't upset her," Thales says, hoping that that is enough. It's true. He plans to read the situation before he just goes blurting what he knows.

"Good," Chyrus says. "Shall I take you up?"

Thales lets Chyrus pick him up, and they take to the air. As the wind whips around them, Thales wonders if perhaps he should lie to Liila, tell her that he couldn't find out what has happened. The thought barely has time to register before he dismisses it, however.

After all, she was good to him in Maldraxxus, keeping him up-to-date with what was happening in Bastion and telling him little things happening in Maldraxxus. He heard most of that before she told him, from Mevix or Khaliiq, be he had appreciated how she was dedicated to keeping him in the loop.

He will do no less for her.

When they reach the platform, they all talk briefly. Pelagos and Liila are resting in a small sitting area that has been put together to help make the platform feel less like a giant sick bed. They have added posts with cloth strung from one to the next along the outer edge of the platform, as well as a bit of furniture. Thales has been told there is a small bookshelf that Pelagos has been dutifully stocking with different subjects he thinks Liila will enjoy reading about to pass the time. Liila has read some of the scroll titles to him. A few are just historical texts, but Liila is interested in the ones that details the Void's attack on Bastion.

When Chyrus finally leaves with Pelagos, Thales can hear Liila's nails begin to drum slowly against her armrest.

Finally, she moves over to the chaise he is lounging on, sitting on the edge so that she does not crowd him as she whispers, "Do you think someone's on the other side of the veil listening now?"

"No, I can tell when they're there," Thales says, trying not to laugh at her paranoia.

"Really?"

"I'll teach you!" Thales says, perking up. "It's actually really easy once you get the hang of it. It has to do with reading anima flow and, well…" he talks for a little bit, explaining it as best he can. However, based on her questions, he is either explaining it poorly or she is too distracted to really get the gist of it. "It'll be easier to explain once we redo our bond," he finally says.

"I miss you," Liila laments, falling dramatically onto him.

Thales laughs, turning so that he can catch her in a hug. "I miss you, too." His voice drops as he adds, "It certainly would be easier to conspire if we still had our binding." As Liila agrees, he turns his head and does his best to sense the anima in the world around them. He can feel the way it is drawn to and swells within the nearby chimes and vespers that have been placed around the platform. He can also feel the way it curls around a small ward above the center of the platform, above Liila's bed—nest as the paragons call it. However, there is no sense that anyone is there beyond the two of them. He nods to himself, satisfied.

"So then? Were you able to find out what's happened?"

He hesitates then, turning his head back toward her. He thinks of what Chyrus just told him, and again the notion that perhaps he should lie comes unbidden. He wrestles with it. After all she has done for him and his friends, how can he? And yet, if Chyrus thinks it pertinent to keep her in the dark… "You know, sometimes what we think we want to know can actually be—"

"I'll be more stressed if I don't know."

Thales presses his lips together as he hums. "I'm not so sure about that." Even as she lets out a soft huff, he sighs. "I suppose you won't take my word for it, though."

"I will not."

"Ignorance really can be bliss."

"Thales." There is such exasperation in her tone, and he knows damned well he won't be able to hold out for the duration of his time with her. Better to get it over with now.

"Fine." The word comes out in an exhale. "Just…don't…panic." She adjusts in her seat beside him, and even though he can't see her, he can feel her gaze boring into him. "The Jailer escaped the Maw, unmade the Arbiter, and went to some afterlife that he's been planning to go to for eons. It's the place where he can remake reality. He's…there."

The silence that meets his explanation is deafening.

"Liila?"

"So he won?" She stands and the pacing begins. "Everything we've done and he…won?"

"Liila…"

"Why—how—" She cannot finish a sentence.

"If he had won, I don't think we would be here now," Thales offers, trying to spin it in a positive light. "And the Eternal Ones are working on a way to follow him."

"We can't follow him?" Liila asks, incredulous. "So he's just…unchecked. He won…"

"Not necessarily. The Primus has returned," Thales says. He wants to get up and stop Liila, sit her back down, but he can't quite follow where she is. He sits at the edge of his chaise and holds a hand out to her. "This is why they didn't tell you."

Her footfalls continue, back and forth, back and forth, until he finally calls out to her, waves his hand and holds it out to her again.

This time, she takes it and then sits next to him, hip to hip, leaning against him.

Silence stretches out around them.

He wishes dearly that he could tell what she is thinking. He wishes he could know that he did the right thing, in telling her at all.

Finally, she speaks. "So the Jailer isn't in the Maw."

"He is not."

"And he's not coming to Bastion."

"No."

"Because he's where he wants to be," Liila says. When Thales confirms that, she seems to consider it for a moment before she says, "And he won't leave that place unless he successfully does whatever he needs to do to fuck us all over."

"But the Eternal Ones will figure out a way to get there and stop him before that happens," Thales says, trying to sound sure of himself.

"If he's there, and we're not, then he can't reach us."

"A good point," Thales says, perking up again. "So long as he's focused on his goals there, he won't be attacking any realms."

"So if people found out that I'm alive here, it wouldn't reach him."

"Liila, you're not alive."

"You know what I mean," she mutters.

"I can't tell anyone," Thales says, feeling a twinge of guilt. "There's so many reasons they're keeping you a secret right now—"

"Are you sure you can't just subtly drop a hint to someone? Blood? Roberts? Mitchell? They'd handle the rest."

"Liila," Thales says softly, frowning. "You know I can't. If I do that, I doubt I'll be able to come check on you anymore. They'll consider me a security breach or—"

"There has to be a way to let Haa'aji know I'm alright."

"You aren't alright," Thales argues. He catches her hands before she can stand up and squeezes them. "I know you're feeling better, but I promise you, I can see the tatters on the edges of your essence. It's better than it was, but it's still so bad."

"I feel better than I did when I was alive."

"You were in bad shape," Thales stresses. "You were probably about this bad before, but we couldn't see how bad it was because it was hidden under your curse."

"Without the curse, even with my 'tatters', I'm probably in better shape than when I first met you. I feel it."

"Maybe," Thales says, not quite trusting her reasoning. "Honestly, you'd have to ask Vesiphone about that." She doesn't respond. "Look, if you want word to get out, you're going to have to convince the Archon, not me."

"She doesn't come by," Liila pouts. When Thales snorts, she nudges him with her shoulder. "Not that I expect a god to check up on me. I just mean. I can't exactly ask her to change her mind if I never see her." She slouches back on his chaise, her leg resting against his. "And Vesiphone and Adrestes absolutely refuse to entertain my requests to send the question up the chain of command. And Chyrus just defers to them. And Tia just reiterates what Vesiphone says."

"Tia knows about you?"

"Yeah," Liila says. Then she sits up. "And Pelagos thinks Stanikos knows, but he doesn't dare ask him, because he doesn't want to be the reason the secret gets out. Even though I'm pretty sure he's already told Nikolon." She lets out a soft humph. "If Nikolon and Tia can know, then so can Blood or Mitchell."

"Maybe Pelagos or Kleia could ask the Archon on your behalf?" Thales suggests. When she doesn't respond, he motions to himself. "I'd offer, but I wouldn't know how to get an audience with her. The others have been a bit more involved in recent events than I have."

"This is why being dead sucks. In times past, when things have gotten this convoluted, I could just handle it myself. Take a portal and—"

The way she cuts herself off is…troubling.

She rises then and he hears her feet pad faintly toward her bed.

If only he could trust that she was going to lay down and not…

He's not even sure what she could possibly be planning. She's not a mage.

"Liila?"

"Thales?"

He sighs and shakes his head, rising and making his way over to her bed, too. "I know it's hard feeling like you can't do anything, but—"

He hears fabric swish and thud.

The anima patterns shift around them. It only takes him a second to realize that where it usually swirls up to the ward is empty and the anima is now curling down, toward the bed sheets.

"Liila, please tell me you're not disabling your resurrection ward."

"Don't be ridiculous," Liila murmurs. "I'm going to need this."

Even as he starts to ask why she would need it anywhere aside from where it's been, he feels it. An emptiness, a void that sends a shiver down his spine. When he turns his head toward Liila, he can feel her essence, right beside that empty space.

An empty space that lets out a giddy chittering sound.

Liila claps her hands together, and moves, like she is throwing herself into a hug. Her essence curls weakly against that void and it in turn practically engulfs her.

"I've missed you so much! Oh you handsome, handsome creature! Look at you! Have you gotten taller? You have." Gleeful chittering and clicking ensues. As Thales moves closer to them, Liila asks, "Now, I don't want to ask for favors straight away, but can you go to the realm of the living?"

Thales feels a pit forming in his core.

A few fast clicks sound.

"Hmm, that's fair. I suppose that was a bit much to ask."

"Liila!" Thales snaps.

"Oribos would be a bad idea. There's always too many people around the portals. The chance that someone would lash out at a devourer showing up would be too high…"

More clicks. They sound almost indignant.

Liila scoffs. "I know you could handle them, but have you considered that whoever's arms you tear off might be friends of mine, too? I lose no matter who gets hurt."

More chittering. The void shifts, getting smaller. Like it has sat down.

"Liila," Thales says, wondering if he should call for help—he's been taught a flare spell that will call the paragons to them, should something unexpected happen and Liila take a turn for the worse. While this isn't what the flare was intended for, he feels like maybe he should use it anyway. This is spiraling out of control rather quickly. Instead, he tries to reason with her. "Chyrus knows about Nibbles. He met him. This will not end well for Nibbles if you disappear."

"Hmmm," is Liila's only response. The emptiness shimmers and shifts, like parts of it are moving. Liila scoffs again. "No, he is still very much friendshaped. He's just worried. Like you were."

Thales reaches out and grips Liila's arm. "You need to tell him to leave. Or I will tell Chyrus he was here."

As he keeps a firm grip on Liila's arm, he feels it move, and realizes rather abruptly that she is moving her hands, talking with them. The void is shifting again, talking back.

'Friendshaped' isn't the only symbol they have to communicate with.

"Liila, I'm warning you."

Abruptly, the world shifts, and that nothingness is gone. Thales scans their surroundings as best he can before letting out a long, drawn-out sigh. He lets his hand trail down Liila's arm and takes hers in his. "Liila, I know how difficult it is feeling like you can't do anything. I'm there, every day—"

"Don't say that! You do so much!"

"What?"

Liila is the one to squeeze his hand this time. "Thales, think about it. You have already done so much. It was you who noticed the swell of magic during the purification attempts. Without you, we'd have never figured out how to save the mawsworn and the helsworn."

"I—"

"And when we were in Maldraxxus, you may not know it, but you saved Mevix and I several times. You pulled your weight just as surely as we did."

"That was—"

"And I know so many people who look up to you. Because you are so brave, and you were there to defend your people in Maldraxxus, and you haven't let anything slow you down on your Path. You were blinded, and you didn't let that stop you. I've known seasoned warriors who retired from action for injuries less severe than you've suffered. And they didn't lose a fleck of respect for doing so. And you wouldn't lose anyone's respect if you chose to give yourself time to breathe."

Thales' lips move wordlessly as he tries to think of what to say to that. "Liila…"

"You do so much more than you know. It feels like you're stuck now because you're adjusting. But you are amazing, and you are going to be amazing. And even if you feel like you're not doing as much as you should, you have to take a step back and acknowledge what you are doing."

She hugs him then, gripping him tightly. He hugs her back, rocking her one way and then the other.

When he lets her go, she gives him one more squeeze. "You haven't let anything slow you down. When you come to a block, you find a way around it. So please don't fault me for doing the same."

The emptiness is back, right beside them.

Liila darts away from Thales as he tries to grip her back in a hug.

"Thales…" There is a gentleness in her voice as she says his name. "This is gonna be my only chance. I'll make sure they know you weren't involved in my jail break," Liila says, and then turns her attention to Nibbles. "Do you know where Mitchell is?"

A confident clicking sounds.

"Nibbles, no!"

Thales makes another grab for Lilia, not trusting himself to touch that emptiness, and as his fingers close around her wrist, the world shivers and twists. Anima is everywhere and nowhere. It curls and flows around them, much the way it does when he uses an anima gateway.

Then, very abruptly, the world back in order.

He stiffens, a touch disoriented.

If his senses are right, they're still in Bastion, but beyond that…

He can feel people nearby, feel bells overhead, as well as protective spells warding the area whispering around them. He turns in a slow circle, but that void is gone. It seems Nibbles has dropped them off somewhere.

As he finishes, he can sort of make out an essence that feels wispier than the others.

An essence that is moving away from him, quickly, purposefully.

"Lii—" He cuts himself off, cursing as he realizes if he calls for her to stop, it will definitely put an end to the secrecy he's been sworn to. If he can get her back now, she'll just be an unfamiliar aspirant people might wonder about, but if he calls to her…

He starts after her, as fast as he dares, praying he doesn't miss something and trip. There are voices up ahead, and he recognizes quite a few of them, particularly Mitchell's. He is in the middle of some story, though Thales doesn't bother to listen to the details.

"Ohara! Dazar'alor now!" Liila barks, with an authority lacing her voice that Thales had never heard before.

The world shifts head of them.

A breach in the Veil.

A portal.

No, no, no.

"Don't you touch that portal!" Thales cries out, tripping on a raise in the floor. He catches himself and picks up his pace. If he can get close enough to just fall into her, that would be good enough.

"Hi, Mitch. Bye, Mitch."

"Hey, Liila," Mitchell says before immediately going back into his story.

Thales wants to scream. Even if he can get her back to the platform now, there's no way Mitchell—or in the very least one of the people he's talking to—won't realize what he just said.

Who he said it to.

The paragons are going to be furious. Adrestes is going to be furious.

Thales' healing responsibilities are going to be revoked.

And more importantly, Liila's very soul may be in danger now.

Why can't she understand that?

He reaches out and manages to catch the back of Liila's robes. As his fingers curl into a fist around the fabric and he starts to pull her back toward him, the world shifts again.

This time, it does not quite feel like an anima gateway. The world falls away, and it is not a void that replaces it, but something else. Something…more and somehow less, at the same time.

There is anima here, and it is bursting.

Yet at the same time, it feels faint. Like it is locked away behind something. Or perhaps wrapped in something.

Like the flesh of living bodies.

"Thales, you—oh shit."

"We are in so much trouble," Thales whispers before realizing that he's let Liila go in his surprise.

Liila seems like she's going to say something to argue the point, but then reaches out and takes his hand. "I'll tell them you tried to stop me."

"We can't be here," Thales says, shaking his head. He turns to look behind them, to search for a portal back to Bastion. He can feel a distortion in the world, magic twisting and doing something, but it does not feel like…home. "How do we get back?"

"We can get a portal back," Liila says. "After I talk to Haa'aji."

"Are you insane?" Thales asks. "We're dead! Do you understand that? We can't be here!"

"Which is why we should finish what we're doing quickly so that we can go back—Oh hey Mi—"

Her voice cuts off as something heavy slams into her and jerks her hand out of his. "Liila?"

A voice is speaking quickly in a language that Thales does not recognize. After a second, he realizes he knows the voice, even if he can't tell what is being said.

It's Mitchell.

His voice is a bit higher pitched than usual, and he is definitely ending his sentences as questions, but it is like he is speaking something completely different…

Another voice chimes in, a familiar one that comes from closer to the floor, though Thales isn't sure he knows them well.

Inaar, maybe?

A gravely voice with undertones answers. Blood.

Are all the mortals here? And why are they talking like that?

Liila starts to say something and her words are just as unfamiliar as the others. Thales thinks he hears his name amidst the slew of words he doesn't recognize, but he can't be sure. After a second, Liila pauses. Thales feels her hand in his again as she says something else.

Magic twists around Thales and settles over him.

"That better?" Mitchell asks.

"What?"

"Can you understand us now?"

"I—yes," Thales replies, bewildered.

As Liila thanks Mitchell, he explains in a tone full of self-importance that he had learned of the language issue before. Thales cups his hands over his mouth, trying to stop himself from screaming. This is…

Exactly why Chyrus told him not to tell Liila anything.

He should have trusted in the paragon's wisdom.

A hand lands roughly on his shoulder. Blood says, "We should probably get you home."

"I'm not leaving without Liila."

"And I'm not leaving until I've spoken with Haa'aji."

Thales lets out a displeased grunt. They are going to be in so much trouble for this.

Though…

They're already going to be in trouble, whether they see Haa'aji or not. And if Liila doesn't see him, then they'll be in trouble with nothing to show for it.

They're already here so…

When he begrudgingly squeezes Liila's hand and tells her to hurry up, she hugs him and then begins to lead him somewhere. They must emerge from indoors because all at once they are hit with a strong breeze filled with foreign scents.

"I'm going to miss this place," Liila says quietly.

Thales nudges her with his shoulder. "At least you're getting a proper goodbye. That's more than most get."

"I should be grateful," Liila replies, a soft sadness to her tone.

"Oh, come on," Mitchell interrupts. "It's not like this is the end-end. We'll figure something out."

Before Thales can interrupt that that's a terrible idea or Mitchell can say more, someone shouts at them and their group stops.

"We stand out," Liila murmurs.

"We'll handle this," Blood says. He pats Thales shoulder again—and likely Liila's—before walking over to meet whoever is coming up to their group.

"Don't move," Liila whispers, "I'll be right back, okay?"

Before he can ask what she intends to do, she's yelling someone's name and asking him about how some festival preparations went. The person who has come to stop them lets out a sharp gasp before saying, "Dragonlily? The fuck happened to you?"

Thales frowns as laughter bursts out in front of him. Liila is talking fast, and the stranger is calling others over.

This is going to be…something.

The mortals are still talking—and more people have come over, he thinks—when a small hand grips Thales'.

For a second, Thales thinks it must be Inaar, but this hand is scaly like a lizard, while Inaar has fur. And just as he thinks of her, he hears her addressing the guards herself, several yards away.

"Hek hek hek, ya spirits causin' trouble for the living, eh?"

Thales frown deepens as he looks toward the voice. Someone must have noticed him alone and decided to include him in some conversation. He wonders if he should feel grateful for the attention. "I—that is not our intent."

The hand tugs on his, and he kneels to be closer to whoever is talking to him. "Ya seem like a good sort. Ya looked after one of mine."

"You mean Liila?"

"Hek hek hek, her too." Before Thales can ask who else this stranger might mean, he speaks again. "Ya look after mine, so I wanna offer ya a deal. Ya let me see somethin', I let you see somethin', too."

Thales hesitates, glancing toward where Liila is. She's trying to extricate herself from the growing crowd, from the sound of her protests that she needs to go see Haa'aji. They'll be leaving soon, surely. Still, Thales isn't sure why, but when he looks back at the person he's talking to, he notices that he feels…different from the other mortals. More and less. He can't explain why, but he humors the stranger. "What exactly do you want to see?"

"This!"

What feels like a scaled snout butts into Thales' forehead as sharp teeth nip his blindfold and jerk it away.

Thales lets out a startled cry and stumbles forward, reaching after the stranger. However, he's hardly taken a step before he freezes in his tracks, eyes wide.


"Hey!" Thales shouts.

That draws Liila's attention from the half dozen zandalari guards and a passing druid who are awed to see that, once again, the rumors of her demise were somewhat exaggerated. Whirling away from them, Liila darts up to Thales, hoping he hasn't been robbed. That's the last thing he needs to happen while he's already somewhere he doesn't want to be, humoring her whims.

He is standing with one hand held out as though reaching for something.

Even as she asks what's wrong, he turns his head toward her, completely mystified as he meets her gaze with a golden one of his own.

"Hek hek hek," sounds off to the side, fading with each chuckle.

Liila dares a glance just long enough to see a saurid tail slipping behind a nearby bush and then looks back at Thales. He swallows hard, reaching out and touching Liila's shoulder with his fingertips as though he is not sure she is real. Then he looks past her to the others.

"Is everything alri—by the fucking Primus," Mitchell whispers, skidding to a stop beside them.

Thales looks at him and then back at Liila, shaking his head slowly in disbelief. A tear runs down from the corner of his eye, followed by another and another. "I can see."