Halves

„Sarevok. Again. Really?"

Hells kindly opened their arms to welcome their wayward daughter, and so once again Daria found herself in the middle of a deepest, darkest planes of existence. Perhaps this place was like a hungry stray that followed her around once she fed it. Of course, she wouldn't be damned properly if there wasn't her least favorite sibling, ready to welcome her. Hopefully, the rest of her demons got a break. At the first try the trials weren't pleasant, the second round would just be ridiculous.

"Do not act so surprised, sister. After all, it was your will that brought me here in the first place, even though in the end you didn't find it 'proper' to accept my help. I was waiting for you." The same terrorizing voice that haunted her dreams after Gorion's death, was now reduced to a pitiable echo. Sarevok was nothing but a specter and though his face bore no emotion, all his attempts to appear in control were futile, given that the bleak color of his figure betrayed his weakness immediately. He seemed to want something again and it took no diviner to know that given his nature, revenge would always be a good first guess.

"So let me see – you decided that I will end up in Hells again, sooner or later, so you can take revenge for orphaning your glorious plans to bathe the Sword Coast in blood?"

"The Hells? Are you telling me that you don't know where you are?" The ghostly warrior looked at her with a complete disbelief on his face. Then he roared in laughter, a shadow of a once powerful monster, that tore her peaceful life to shreds. "You didn't come here on purpose? What a bitter irony! All my life I tried to reach this place and you stumbled upon it by accident!?" Daria tried to catch a hint of old fury in his mirth, but surprisingly there was none. It seemed that her half-brother didn't reach his undead state completely sane. Truth to be told, she doubted there was much of sanity in him to begin with.

"What do you want, Sarevok?" the sun elf asked slowly losing patience. She already dealt with one of her siblings today. She could deal with another, if she had to.

"What do you think, fool?! I want to live again. To have body of flesh and blood, not this hollow shell." Sarevok stopped laughing at last, but didn't give an impression of getting a grip on his senses, continuing to spout nonsense.

"Well, we all have dreams, don't we? I, for example, would like to live in a castle made of cotton candy. Pink." Sarcasm was the easiest way to deal with this madman and without any regret or fear Daria employed it.

"You are a fool, but I see at least you got rid of your naivety. You will need more common sense if you are to survive the battle for our father's throne."

"This… This is Throne of Bhaal, his dominion." Daria looked around carefully, noticing some changes from her previous visit. "I saw it in a vision, as it was before. Now it's not worth a friendly duel, not to mention a full scale war."

"What you see around you is but a portion, a cocoon if you like, a cozy nook your mind separated from a much bigger whole. I sincerely doubt your mind could survive the entirety of Bhaal's realm, as torn and wild as it must have become, after his death."

"You seem surprisingly knowledgeable for an armored killing machine."

"I studied Alaundo's prophecies and teachings of Bhaal clergy my entire life, preparing for this moment, fool. This knowledge is what I offer to you, in exchange for returning me to life."

"Some obscure ancient trivia for rising my father's killer from the grave and letting him loose on the Realms? No, thank you, but no."

"There is nothing more important than this 'trivia', fool! You wandered the Coast helping the needy and killing kobolds, pretending to be normal, while your brothers and sisters thrived on the killing, embraced their taint and learned to utilize it. Mortals may be no match for you, but as truly as you outgrow them, you yourself are outgrown by Children true to their father!"

"You fell dead enough. Than again... maybe not." Daria was beginning to consider simply burning Sarevok from her plane. Surely it couldn't be that evil a thing to do. It was going to end in a fight anyway, why not skip the 'pointlessly insulting each other' part.

"I didn't come here to fight."

"I believe you." Her sarcasm should have bored a hole through this pocket plane, if it was truly as fragile as this madman claimed.

"I didn't. But if you are so sure of your abilities, maybe I should just leave you to it. Try to open any doors here. Or leave, whatever you wish."

The sun elf stepped away from the bossy wraith to take a wider look at the pocket plane, careful not to lose him from her sight. The place looked less creepy than the last time. The air was easier to breathe, though she wouldn't exactly call it pleasant. A vague sound of screaming echoed in the distance… Still, it was passable for someone who once spent a week in sewers hunting carrion crawlers. There was a significant decrease in the wall-eyes population and the devil statues looked more decent, at least as decent as devils could look. The only thing she could call beautiful in here, without stretching the truth way too much, was a clear, emerald sky, no longer obscured by dust.

As before, there were five passages leading from the central part of the plane. This time though, they were closed off by a swirling masses of energy. Daria cautiously approached the nearest one, glancing at the smug-looking Sarevok. This must have been the longest conversation she had with her brother, without someone ending up dead. And yet she didn't like where this was going.

But she already visited those parts of the throne before, didn't she? Now was going to be exactly the same. Daria reached to the barrier and touched it. Or at least she thought she did – under her palm she felt nothing, no pressure, no cold or heat, not even the vibration of the ebbing powers. She just couldn't move any further. The elf put her meager weight to it, but the barrier didn't budge.

Alright, time for a different approach. She was a mage after all, forceful solutions weren't really her specialty. Quickly glancing to make sure Sarevok wasn't sneaking up on her she focused her divining talents to read the magic wall.

"You can't cheat when learning the truth about your own soul, sister" the specter interrupted her rather fruitless efforts. The diviner turned to him, fuming. "This place is an extension of your soul, its movements are an extension of your will. You can't open it. You have to open yourself to it. Lay yourself bare before and let it pour into you."

"I don't want it inside me. I want nothing from it." Daria sighed. She missed… her friends. Some of them very badly.

"Was I truly defeated by such a pathetic, weak-minded whelp with no ambition? Think of the power you could gain! This place has enough of it to let you stand above any mortal!"

"Yes, you really are that weak" Daria sighed. "I am not like you, Sarevok. I don't want Bhaal's taint and its power means little to me."

"Then the Realms shall burn as those better than you seize them over your dead body. Aren't you at least willing to protect whatever is dear to you?" The wraith approached her and the elf raised a simple magic shield between them. He shouldn't be able to physically harm her, but better safe than sorry.

"Don't try to manipulate me. You care nothing for anyone other than yourself and I doubt that awakening this place could possibly help my friends."

"Ah, but you know the prophecies. If not you, then someone else will take it. This place will not remain unclaimed, there is no other path destiny could take. As much as you like to fool around, you know what's going to happen. The Sword Coast will be bathed in blood…"

Something stirred inside the elf at those words, the seed spirits of the grove left inside her mind sprouting to release a part of what it contained. Realizing what was about to happen she pushed with all her will and control to suppress it, in her bones knowing that these words would doom her. But it was more than she could do, the prophecy as merciless as the fate it brought took over, seeping in silver from her mouth, her eyes, her very body becoming a vessel through with the verdicts of destiny passed. Stunned and unable to move she heard her own changed voice.

"Wheels of prophecy e'er turn,
Gorion's ward hath come.
Crossroads of past, present and future,
The one foreseen, the one foretold."

"I see you haven't been as passive as I thought. You were dabbling with old prophecies, weren't you? Maybe I underestimated you, sister. Though not by much." Her half-brother looked more impressed than at all moved by her prediction. He must have already known she would land square in the middle of the mess Alaundo foretold.

Daria sighed deeply. Her own tongue was working against her and now she got complimented by Sarevok.

"Let's… just get it over with."

"You're not focusing, fool."

"You're not helping, brother." Great, now she started to call him her brother. This was the third attempt at breaching the barrier and so far the damned portal didn't as much as look impressed by her persistence, not to mention becoming transparent. Ominous, foreboding, creepy – yes. But transparent? A definite no.

"And by the way, how does opening a door help you in your majestic quest of cheating death?" she took a deep breath reaching out to her deep reserves of patience towards uncanny manifestations of her dear dead father's essence.

"You need to learn to use your divine essence at least partially if I am to succeed. Now focus!"

For the fourth and – please let it be, Seldarine – the last time, she pushed her palms into the multicolored light and tried to follow her brother's vague instructions.

"Remember – you are not pushing open a door. You are creating what's on the other side. We are all connected by our father's essence, a part of a whole which can never be truly separated. Find that link! Learn how it feels – the blood, the end, the gore... Here it can take form, all you have to do is let it. Don't lock yourself away, do not resist!"

All she felt like resisting was Sarevok's 'simple' teachings. Why was she doing that anyway? What was she even doing here? Last time the god forsaken portals weren't even closed!

"Think of the raw power! Of what can be accomplished!" And there he went again. It was the only thing with Sarevok. If she took his advice and became the Slayer last time they met, the first thing he'd do, would probably be asking, was if the position of violent right-hand man was vacant. Couldn't her brother think of anything else?! Fishing, for example, was a much healthier hobby.

"It isn't working" she backed away at last, when predictably nothing happened. "You have no idea how to do it either, don't you? You're just wasting my time!"

"It's not my fault, I'm not the pathetic fool with no ambition besides staying alive!" Sarevok taunted her and this time it worked. Daria clenched her fists and turned to the infuriating failure of a sibling.

"Oh, I have ambitions Sarevok, I have plenty! I want to be able to stay in one place longer than a month without a horde of assassins knocking at my doors, killing people left and right! I want not to be blamed for every massacre, battle and misery that ever did, is or will happen! I want to see something more than the next ambush when I look into the future further than an hour ahead! I want to sleep decently for at least one – one! – night without nightmares or even worse – visions of gore about to happen the next day, that I am in no way able to stop! I want to be rid of this thrice cursed taint! AND I WANT TO BE NORMAL!"

"Then you are more a pitiable wretch than I ever imagined." Sarevok didn't even get angry. Perhaps his anger issues did have a lot more to do with their father's blood than she thought. That did not bode well for her, if she was turning out to be more violent than him. "And I can't believe that sorry display just opened the portal."

"What?"

"Look." Daria turned just in time to see the last remnants of darkness receding from a newly opened path. A moment later she actually wished it stayed in place, because if the landscape before her was an actual representation of her inner spirit, then she was better off not knowing about it. The hard gray ground of the pocket plane yielded to burning rock floor, so hot that barely remained solid and sometimes not even managing that, turning into a stream of molten lava. It was burning, choking and hurt to even look at.

Three women stood in the middle of this hell and surprisingly all of them were her. Not statues, not illusions – she would see through that – but her actual copies, moving and acting like separate beings, coming closer to greet her, as if this was but an ordinary family reunion.

The youngest one reached her first, hopping over a small lake of lava as if it was a puddle. Daria recognized herself from the times she began the day by checking how she looked in the mirror in her room in Candlekeep. Her eyes sincere and happy, her face clear and unmarred by any tragedy greater than a missing page from a good book, her hair tied in a neat bun and her clothes always clean and dry.

"Welcome" the girl greeted her, looking over her shoulder to see if the other two were keeping up. Her copy felt slightly intimidated by them, Daria could see it on her face clear as day, though the girl probably thought she was keeping a brave face. That was what she was then – an inexperienced and naive child, determined to show her bravery in face of first adversity she awaited all too eagerly. But it wasn't a vision of the past – Sarevok standing few steps behind her was a clear enough indication, though he made no move to interfere with whatever was happening.

"Ugh… Hi" Daria answered herself, feeling a touch silly. "Would it be too much if I asked what is going on?" she risked a sensible question. She hoped at least for a riddle, she could handle those. At worst she would be treated to more demons. A straight answer was never going to happen. She's been on this adventure long enough to know that.

"We are here to help you make sense of who you are. By looking at your past you may better understand your future." The first, youngest copy answered politely. Help was nice, but Daria wished just once for someone to give her a big magical staff that could vanquish all enemies, without trying to test her vices or asking any questions about her deepest emotions.

"You really shouldn't skip to the 'present'. You'll trip over your feet." The second Daria that approached was hooded and cloaked, but the original didn't have to guess what the thick dark material was hiding. There were scars and more scars. This was her the moment she emerged from Irenicus' dungeon – starved, mourning and hurt in more ways than one. For the longest time she couldn't forget the feeling of rough disfigured tissue on her face, even after all the marks were gone. Personally she thought that forgetting that time of her life would serve her much better than recalling it again. That scars were healed. She wanted to leave it be.

"Let her do as she wants. If there's anyone powerful enough to do as she pleases in this entire plane, it's her." The third one was the one the diviner still half-expected to see every time she saw her reflection. An arrogant woman, no longer hiding her face or the impressive collection of amulets and rings that enhanced her magical talents. As impressive as she stood in her eyes there was something Daria never saw when she was in her skin – a disturbing emptiness showing every time her face stilled. The sun elf had all the memories from the time she was deprived of her spirit, but recalling the exact thoughts felt like taking a bath in an ice cold water – it was unsettling, to say the least, to know that the idle musings about abandoning or even murdering her friends belonged to her. The moments spent in Slayer's skin were crystal clear and yet barely there. As if witnessing a particularly bloody vision of some distant past, horrible but completely detached from her life. The copy before her was the same empty maddened woman Jon Irenicus created.

"So should I choose now which one of you would I rather be? A naive idiot, a broken doll or a madwoman? A perfect choice." She stated ironically, seeing if any of the copies would take offense. How much they were actually her was a mystery. They could be soulless clones imbued with her emotions extracted from her mind, or an enchantment, placing the entire scenery in her mind, or even an elaborate illusion, so thick even she couldn't see through.

"Don't be an idiot" the middle copy spoke just like Jaheira. "You cannot ever go back to the past and you cannot remain unchanged." Her eyes shone like two silver moons under her hood.

"But if you resent us or forget about us you won't be able to move forward. The more you burden yourself with the past, the harder it will be to march forward." The madwoman looked at her and through the golden void she tried to fill with furious arrogance, Daria saw what she never knew she felt then – desperate loneliness. "Let us go freely…"

For a moment, just a second, the diviner felt sorry, rather than angry, scared or guilty. Sorry that so much was done to her, that so many people died around her, sometimes because of her and sometimes completely senselessly. Sorry that there was so much misery in the world.

"I will take care of my friends… and let them take care of me" she promised the empty one. "And I will not take a day of my life for granted" to the broken one.

This must have been enough, because with a smile, albeit a sarcastic one, her most recent past turned to leave, the cloaked second one following close behind, after adjusting her cowl.

"But not me, right? You don't want to let me go?" The youngest, most harmless copy clutched at her arm, smiling widely enough to show all of her uncertainty. "After all, it was the best when you were me! You barely knew what a Bhaalspawn even was, you just began your first adventure with Imoen. And Xan was there, right by your side! You even thought that you were going to get married and go to Evereska together!"

Sharply Daria freed her arm. "That was long time ago."

"But you could be like that again!" the young elf didn't give up that easily. "You could be innocent again, like in the good old days, when your taint was dormant. No nightmares, no whispers, no death! And he will take care of you like before! He will have to, seeing you so helpless! All you have to do is wish it away!"

"What are you saying? That I can forget all this?" A wide gesture towards the surrounding hell was enough to emphasize how bad 'this' was.

"Yes!" the copy exclaimed with ardent relief that she found a way to fix everything. Daria suddenly realized how she must have looked in the girl's eyes – distrustful, cynical and alone, just another broken copy in the line that went from damaged to mad and back again. She was probably her end to the sentence "When I grow up I will never become…". And the worst part was that Xan would come back if she ended up like that. He would stay by her side and protect her, no matter how useless she was, because that would be his duty, just like he promised. He already did that once, taking a naive would-be mage under his wings and giving his damnest to save her from dangers she would undoubtedly get into by herself. She felt sickened by the thought of selfishly using him like that. Sickened and furious.

"No" she hissed. "So that's your answer?" The young girl let go of her hand as if scorched. Her innocent violet eyes opened wide in fright. "I should forget everything and go make daisy chains at the side of the road while the Realms burn?! I should let my friends do all the fighting while I sit with my head in the clouds, little porcelain doll?! You may have my face, but you know nothing."

"I wear much more than your face." Daria felt her stomach fill with ice, when the fright disappeared from her copy's face, turning into a delighted smile, that spoke clearly that Daria'd been played. "I am your trust and naivete, your softness and hope – I am the part of you that was corrupted the deepest. And if you do not want to restore me..."

Before her very eyes the silly little adolescent darkened as if veiled by a shadow, dark as the depths of her very own hell. Her features began to melt off her face, uncovering bones and muscles growing, changing shape into a much more menacing form. Without any mercy, cold fear turned against the diviner, freezing her feet to the ground as a horrid aura of the beast consumed her completely, an aura that was once her own. Even lava chilled in face of this horror. Instinctively Daria summoned a mantle of defensive magic, attempting to cut herself off from the pure bloodlust emanating from the monster.

'Oh, gods… The scales, the spikes, the claws…' Slayer emerging before her was a sight she could barely endure sane. To think she was wearing the very same… No, this was just a nightmare, this wasn't real, this couldn't be real.

A spiked arm that shot towards her, aiming to neatly shave head off her shoulders, was set firmly to prove her wrong. Razor sharp talons sunk into her skin, but a broad sword intercepted them before they could do much more damage, the enchanted weapon sending sparks in contact with monsters unnatural armor.

"Pull yourself together!" Sarevok shouted pressing the beast to back away from the paralyzed mage. Her brother joined the fray and Seldarine help her, for the first time he fought on her side. The Slayer didn't hesitate even a second before switching to a closer target and soon the undead warrior found himself in one hell of a trouble. His aggressive fighting style was the only thing that gave him a fighting chance against an avatar of the dead god, but the brutal exchange of slashes and thrusts could only last till his first misstep.

"It doesn't rest or pause like normal creatures! Be careful when you push it back, it won't stay down or plan, it moves purely by instinct!" Daria screamed trying to warn her only ally before it was too late.

"I read about the avatars! Ugh…!" the dead warrior earned a hit for his angry answer, enchantment on the armor on his chest bending to its limits, but stopping the claws. And did he just use a plural form? There were more than just one?! "I can't hold it back for long! Use your magic!"

One more slash found its mark, before Daria managed to utter a hasty Hold spell, one of the stronger ones she knew. The enchantment took over monster's body momentarily and the elf spread her arms wide, putting all her will to stop its movements completely, giving her mortality-challenged brother a chance to strike the immobilized beast. Sarevok took the chance gladly, thrusting the great sword right into the avatar's chest.

Doing no harm at all. The magical blade jumped off the blood-red scales like a simple iron stick, barely leaving a dent on one of the smaller scales. Daria felt her shoulders protest, as her muscles trembled with exhaustion, the monster challenging her for control. She could either release it or end up with two dislocated shoulders and no usable magic.

"Look out!" she yelled, letting go of the woven spell. "You call that an attack?!" she wheezed soon after, weaving another spell. A volley of fire arrows didn't do much harm either, but gave Sarevok a moment he needed to catch a breath and prepare for next round.

"It's the blade! The spell's too weak!" her brother graciously answered, through his ragged breaths, once more engaging the avatar and earning a bloody gash on his arm. Or at least it was supposed to be bloody, but dead as he was already, the cut did not produce a single drop, just a line of smoke. Smelling it's enemy's weakness the monster let out an irritating gurgling sound. This couldn't have been her. This couldn't have ever been her. No. She needed to focus.

"It's always the spell's fault with warriors, isn't it?" she answered, trying to pull her scattered thoughts together, adding a pink rain of a magic missiles on top of that. At least those gave Slayer a pause. But not nearly enough to put the beast down. For that, she needed one of the spells she 'liberated' from Ust Natha.

"I have a spell, but it's a long one. Can you hold on a while longer?" Daria had no idea how much more her half-brother had in him. He couldn't get any paler, that much was certain.

"Do I look like I have a choice?!" Sarevok growled in response.

That she didn't answer, instead beginning the chant, her palms flowing in a slow hypnotic rhythm, stroking and flexing tresses of the Weave, searching for weak points and connecting them together, composing a delicate masterpiece with her fingertips dipped into the void between dimensions, stretching it, pulling at its ends, sharpening it. Attention to details was crucial – even the smallest of mistakes could have brutal after-effects, more so in a small and half-stable pocket plane. Such magic wasn't common for a reason. Even among the drow, a race not overly concerned with safety, practitioners were few.

The blade was almost ready, but as if sensing her intentions, or alarmed by the magic gathering around her, the Slayer shifted its attention completely to her. Or at least pretended to, as Sarevok soon found out, when his slash meant to catch the monster unaware found only empty air. A lizard-like – but much more mobile – tail hit his shins, short spikes piercing armor's plates as if they were made of paper. With a feral growl the warrior fell and in one sweep the Slayer was just before her. Grasping wildly her brother managed at least to catch one of the monster's legs, slowing it down enough to give the diviner a split second she needed to complete the weapon, a sword made of pure nothingness that resided between the planes of existence. It tore the reality between her palms, extending forward as she gripped its hilt, devouring all the light that fell on its infinitely thin blade. A mere stray, uncontrolled sliver shot above her shoulder, cutting off a long lock of her hair. Seeing the scaled monster but a step away Daria shoved the dangerous weapon forward, not even aiming properly. A terrifying angry howl deafened her as with no resistance at all the blade cut into her nightmare, almost tearing its body into two halves. Stunned she released the sword and it shattered into void it was born from, leaving but a minuscule tear in the fabric of this realm.

The elf felt the arms of the dying monster close around her and fought the urge to shut her eyes in the face of death. Slayer's blood was pouring all over her as it died holding her close. Soon the crimson stained her boots and the ground around her, creating lines as if moved by an invisible bush. Like living creatures, red drops drew on the swiftly cooling rock, creating a twisted image she couldn't decipher. And then, suddenly, the macabre painting was complete, revealing a scull surrounded by tears, the holy symbol of her father, with her in the very center – not a soul swiped away by tides of fate, but the axis of the prophecy, that would reshape the realms.

"So there is no place for innocence in the heart of an immortal…" The creature that died holding her was once again the gullible silly girl, only now completely drowned in blood. She should have died in jaws of the first gibberling she met, but somehow she didn't, she made it this far.

But that didn't mean she survived unscathed. With a desperate cry Daria held her back, lowering her to the ground as the visage smiled one last time – gently, peacefully, the way she no longer knew how to – and faded into the bleakness of the gray dull hell, all fires paling and going out. In a second the elf saw nothing but dust on the ground, as if all that never happened, as if she hadn't just destroyed a part of her own spirit.

"Do not look away, sister. This is the path you took. Becoming a mortal isn't going to be any easier than becoming a god."

In one swift move Daria drew her dagger, clutching the rest of her messy locks in the other and cut her hair off, just above shoulders. Each hair glistened silver or gold as they fell on the colorless dirt, pouring its shine into the dead realm. Driven purely by instinct the demigoddess claimed a part of the Throne and divine essence intertwined into her spirit. Halves no longer fighting, becoming a whole.

"There aren't many things that can stop me, I thought that you knew that already." She got up to her feet, standing with her back hunched by uncertainty she tried to mask with brave words – perhaps not as removed from her own past as she used to believe. Half-goddess and half-mortal. Everything about her felt like halves. But perhaps that would change.

"I say we make quite a team, sister." Sarevok tried to smile, but with his ghostly face she couldn't honestly say he succeeded. What it made even more weird was that she responded with her own half-smile.

"That would sound much better if you weren't half-dead. Or is it one and a half? No matter. Can you drink?"

"I don't think it's time to celebrate just yet."

"Potions, you moron. Can you drink healing potions?"

"No." Daria crossed arms on her chest.

"What do you mean, 'no'?! I helped you, as per our deal." Sarevok towered over her, more lively than after a spar with the Slayer and yet still not looking even borderline good. He kept forgetting that there was no way in hell she would feel threatened by him ever again.

"There was no deal. You murdered my father – a!" She stopped him before he would try to correct her. "Gorion was my real father. It's going to take a little more than one battle in which you didn't try to kill me, for me to accept you."

"What do you want?!" The wraith shouted, clearly frustrated that his usual brutish tactic didn't as much as make her flinch. He was going to have to get used to following orders if she even trusted him enough to accept his help. And that was a pretty big if.

She pulled at a thin shiny thread surrounding her neck, fishing out a single black pearl from under her robes. A shiver ran through her spine when her fingers brushed it, as always. She already suspected what she did to him, as much as she was terrified to say it out loud, but she needed confirmation. And if Sarevok was half as knowledgeable as he claimed, he could give her just what she needed.

"Do you know what this is?" She took the necklace off, feeling her short hair tickle her sensible ears as the thread ruffled them even further. The pearl now dangled just before her brother's eyes, an instant recognition in them validating her worst fears.

"A soul stone! A soul trapped inside a gem. Those are incredibly rare and valuable." Daria didn't need to hear anything more, she read enough herself.

'Oh gods, what have I done, merciful Seldarine, what have I done?' thoughts rushed through her head, no longer bound by the weak denial. She could no longer fool herself that it was not possible, that she would never do this. To create the soul stone the darkest magic was required, the very same Irenicus used to steal her spirit. To think that she not only had those spells hidden somewhere in her head, but she consciously used them… She might have saved Solaufein from Bodhi's claws, but the fate she forced on him wasn't any better.

Her nails drew blood, her fists clenched with all her strength and still trembling. She felt as if she was balancing on a thin line and it wasn't her life that was in danger. Sarevok raised his eyebrow. She gathered up her resolve.

"You are going to help me restore it."