It Came in the Night

Varasach stood in a sprawling, colorful field of flowers. Rainbow hues in all directions dotting a flat, infinite expanse of green that rippled in the the warm, foul-smelling breeze. She glanced uneasily over her shoulder.

Where are you?

Blood. That was the smell. She had to find- whatever it was she was looking for- quickly and get out of here.

She ran as fast as she could, with no real idea of where she was headed. Anywhere but here. Something about this place didn't feel tight, with its too-warm soil and air.

Where are you?

In a sudden burst, the flowers at once became bloodred across the infinite field. Although no wind stirred through them, they shook as if laughing at her.

She was here again. Why, oh why was she here again? How many times must she return to this place before she finally found it?

Just keep running, she decided, and immediately her legs stuck in place as if bound with invisible weights. She fell face-first on the soft, springy ground.

Princess, the flowers laughed as she raised her head, spitting dirt from her mouth. Their voices morphed into the coarse sneering of stone warriors as she tried, and failed, to get her arms under herself. You hurt him. Lidi e'he cho, i tryunje. Look at him, bleeding out because of you. What did he do to deserve it?

She struggled, breathless, and at last managed to rise to her knees. The cackling flowers crowded around her.

You're no Princess. Come back West where you belong, whore.

Varasach's hair became blood; it oozed over her shoulders, her arms, her belly, warm and pungent. She realized she was naked. "Where are you?" she whispered, trembling, and doubled over, covering herself with her arms.

The flowers laughed at her efforts. Filthy, they sneered. Cole should never have saved you from your sins.

"Stop," she whispered.

He would never have saved you if he had known why you were in the dungeon in the first place.

Murderer.

The smell of blood overcame her, and she vomited. Out came her heart, as it had in all her previous renditions of this dream, and she held it tightly, not allowing it to slip from her grasp, even as the flowers reached for her, even as the heart in her hands morphed into a dying preborn child, mouth open in a silent wail. She held him close to her bloodied breast, weeping.

"Wh-where are you?" she whispered to the wind, and the flowers howled with laughter.

Murderer!

"Where are you?"

MURDERER!

An animal snarled behind her. She turned and saw a massive wild dog standing among the flowers, fur mangy and gray, teeth yellow and sharp.

Naked, breathless, still shackled by invisible weights, she could not flee, or plead, or even scream.

She closed her eyes and waited for the dog to sink its teeth deep into her flesh—

"Wait outside."

The words jolted Varasach from her dream in a cold sweat. She immediately sat up, blanket pulled up to her chest, and scanned the room in fear.

It was Lou, speaking to her Guards in the open doorway. What…why was he here?

"Don't make me tell you again," Lou said, and motioned toward the door with a curt nod.

The Guards hesitated, knowing that they had orders not to leave Varasach under any circumstances, but Lou's stern look eventually changed their minds.

Lou shut the door on them before they had the chance to shut it themselves. He threw back Varasach's curtain and she rubbed her eyes with a shaky hand.

A dream, she told herself as she checked her body. She wore a nightgown. Her hands were bloodless, and her heart beat wildly inside her chest. Only a dream.

This knowledge was no comfort to her as she thought of the wild dog on top of her, its claws penetrating her body. The wildness of its yellow, stone warrior-like eyes; its ravenous and bloodthirsty smile.

Eyes squeezed shut, she pulled her knees to her chin and folded her hands behind her head.

Why this dream? Why this dream, every time she slept? How much longer would this go on before she finally found what she was looking for?

…What if she never found it?

"Have you examined it yet?" Lou asked.

It took a moment for Varasach to realize he was talking to her. She gradually raised her head. Lou stood with his back to her, looking out the window. "Hm? Sorry."

"Your locket," Lou said, and picked it up out of the windowsill. Its Gem glittered in the early morning light.

"Oh." She shook her head; wiped her face with her sleeves. "I-I haven't felt it in my mind." She peeled back her blankets. The room felt chilly without their heavy, comforting weight over her. She stood unsteadily and, shivering, wrapped a robe around her shoulders like a blanket. "Should I have felt something?"

"I don't know," Lou said. "I'll admit, this is new to me. Before yesterday I'd only ever seen Blade mounts." He eyed her as she joined him at the window. "Are you all right?"

Varasach nodded and looked at the locket, still hanging from his hand by its chain. She didn't want to explain her dream to him. "Does…um, does the mount change the way the Gem works?" she asked.

Lou regarded her a moment longer, then conceded and returned his attention to the locket. "By themselves, Gems infused with moonlight have special abilities- such as healing, or flight, or purification, to name but a few. The mounts, on the other hand, contain elements which make it easier for us to channel their power, and also give the Gem its sentience. Blades are the only surviving combination in this age. Or so I thought. Yours has an entirely different form and Gem color, so I suppose anything is possible…" As if just noticing it for the first time, he touched the little metal key threaded on the chain with the locket. "What's this?"

"It's from Garmadon," she replied. "He asked me to keep it for him."

"What does it unlock?"

"A box in his study. He said it's mine, but I can't open it yet."

"Hm." Lou studied the key with a soft frown. "I will ask him about it later. For now, touch the Gem. See if you can activate it." He held the chain out to her.

Varasach accepted it in her cupped palm. Holding her breath, she touched the Gem with her thumb, and waited.

"Nothing," she said at last and exhaled. "What am I doing wrong?"

"They don't bond to just anybody," Lou said. "I'm not certain of the science behind it, but I believe it takes a special sort of mind to communicate on the same wavelength with a mounted Gem. Even Overlord only had a handful of Blades bonded to him out of the dozens in his collection."

"But it spoke to me before," Varasach said.

"Yes, and it spoke your mother's name after producing the red light which protected you from that killer, Zak…" Lou stroked his chin. "What did it say and do to you, exactly?"

Varasach thought about it. "It spoke my mother's name like a question," she said. "And then I felt it in my head, like it was looking, um, into me. I can't remember what it said after that. And then…"

"And then?" Lou prompted.

"And then the light went away," Varasach said. "It left my mind, and Deniel came."

"Hmm." Lou regarded the locket for a long moment. "Judging by what you've told me, I think your mother was bonded to this Gem. When she left it behind- whether on purpose or by accident- it gradually ran out of power. You probably exposed it to the first moonlight it had seen since being separated from Kaeli. And so, when it came to again, it thought you were her."

"And then it saw that I was not," Varasach finished. "Oh… Do you think it might have mistaken my mind for Kaeli's at first? And then it got upset when it saw who…who I really was." She looked at the locket in her hands sadly. It knew my mother much better than I ever did. It must have hurt to reawaken and look into my mind, realizing that she was gone and I had taken her place.

"And that's another thing," Lou said. "As far as I know, mounted Gems retain very little, if any, memories of their previous masters when they form a new bond. And the bonding process itself is usually quite dramatic- you would know if it had happened in the garden. But this Gem spoke directly into your mind upon waking, and remembered your mother's name… I wonder if, because you and Kaeli share the same blood, it is able to speak to you without going through the normal reset and bonding process?"

"Maybe." Varasach touched the Gem's surface again. "Or maybe it's because the Gem was bonded to Kaeli while I was still unborn; a part of her body. The Gem saw me as a part of her."

"That's an interesting theory."

A faint buzzing sensation moved the air around Varasach, raising the hairs on her arms and the back of her neck. She heard a single, softly-spoken word in her mind:

Grayrose.

Varasach nearly dropped the locket in her surprise.

Lou, gazing out the window, missed her reaction. He turned back to her just as she recomposed herself. "I want you to keep trying," he said. "Mounted Gems are complicated things; it may be grieving Kaeli and is just unwilling to talk to you at the present. But a Gem's power is not something to be dismissed, and I suspect that if you can get it to bond to you then its power will be an invaluable help to us all. Dark times are coming. Don't delay."

Varasach nodded hastily. "I won't," she said. "Thank you, sir."

With deep, melancholy eyes, Lou smiled. "Call me Lou," he said. "Or cousin." He nodded decisively. "Cousin has a nice ring to it, neh?"

"Lou," Varasach said, turning the locket over. Still it thrummed softly. Such an odd sensation.

Lou chuckled. He seemed unaware of the change in the air- or was it all in her mind?

"Ah, all right," he said. He patted her arm, then went to the door and opened it. "Breakfast in the library? At, say, eight."

"Yes," Varasach said, and waved with her good hand, holding the locket to her chest with the other. "That sounds nice."

Lou called Varasach's Guards back into the room, then departed with a slight nod in her direction.

When he finally left, Varasach pulled a chair to the window and sat with her back to the Guards. She tilted the locket in her hand, letting its hundreds of tiny facets catch sunlight.

Grayrose, she thought. Is that your name? That is beautiful.

The locket only continued its faint, steady hum.

You knew my mother, Varasach said to it. Do you still remember her? It would be nice… She restrained herself with a small sigh. I'm sorry. I suppose I shouldn't ask any questions about her yet. You hardly know me.

You are hers, said the voice in her mind.

Hers? Varasach asked, surprised, despite herself, to hear its voice again.

Grayrose did not answer.

Ah. I am Kaeli's. Varasach sighed. Why haven't you spoken to me before now?

Still, the Gem said nothing.

You didn't get much power on the night I went to Lloyd's tree, did you? Varasach guessed. Only a few minutes. Just enough to create that light when Zak tried to kill me, and then to hide me from the King and Lord Rector. She shuddered as she thought of Zak.

If the sky had been clouded, and this Gem had gotten no moonlight, would she have survived that night in the garden?

Thank you, Grayrose. You didn't have to save me, but you did. I won't forget that.

When the Gem did not reply, Varasach fastened its chain around her neck- a clumsy process, thanks to her missing fingers.

They are bad, Grayrose said.

Varasach paused, hands still behind her neck. Who?

The men behind you. They are bad.

Varasach discreetly turned her head, looking at her Guards from the corner of her eye. She remembered Kyle's warning not to trust them. Will they hurt me? she asked.

No. Not now. The Gem rumbled fiercely, reminding Varasach of the low snarl of a threatened animal. They must leave.

I can't tell them to go, Varasach said. Garmadon-

Grayrose made a series of vehement, staccato hissing noises at the name, and Varasach frantically tried to calm it down.

He is not dangerous! she assured the Gem. He…is not a good man, but he will not hurt me!

Grayrose gradually resumed its low, calmer rumble. So few people we can trust. You make my job difficult, Aida!

My name is Varasach.

If you make me call you that, I will leave you to be killed by these men.

Varasach shook her head, bewildered by the Gem's severity.

Grayrose thrummed, and Varasach allowed it a few minutes to think as she gazed out the window. The sunrise cast gentle pink shadows across the snow. This was her favorite time of day, when the world was quiet, the sky full of color and promise.

Even at dark times like these, the sun continues to rise. Varasach rested her elbows on the windowsill. Regardless of our choices, good or bad. Night and day, night and day, night and day. After the South is destroyed, the sun will rise again. And set again. The world will continue on, no matter what we do.

Grayrose paused. That sounds like something Kaeli said.

Varasach straightened, surprised. Does it?

'The sun and the moon will still go around the earth, even after I'm gone,' Grayrose quoted. 'A tragedy that shakes the world's foundations today will be but a bad memory tomorrow. The flow of time moves too fast for us to keep up; we all must eventually fall, and pray that our choices today leave a legacy worthy of carrying our memories to that tomorrow.'

There was that word again. Legacy.

That is beautiful, Varasach said.

It's what Kaeli told me on the night she chose not to let Garmadon kill you.

Varasach touched the cool surface of the locket, inexplicably filled with both grief and comfort.

Her mother had once worn this Gem, had spoken to it, had confided in it as what was probably her closest companion while trapped as a slave in this house.

When you first woke up in the garden, you were upset, weren't you? Varasach asked. You did not speak to me again after realizing I was not Kaeli. But you still protected me. Why?

Grayrose considered the question for a long time.

She gave up everything for you, it said finally. You are the legacy she chose, and it would be a grave disrespect for me to abandon what she ultimately gave her life to protect.

So this is all for her, Varasach said.

How do you mean?

You're helping me because I am Kaeli's daughter, and not because we are bonded.

There was another long pause, and Varasach somehow knew that the Gem was searching through her mind, retrieving her memories. The Gem's consciousness lingered over the gruesome memory of that moonless night on which she had killed her first unborn child, and it rumbled with obvious disapproval. Varasach felt exposed; she wished she could throw a sheet over these memories so this stranger in her mind could not see them.

You are your father's daughter, Grayrose declared. Call yourself fortunate that you are Kaeli's, that I mistook you for her, and that, once a bond is formed, it cannot be broken, except by death. Otherwise I might have let Zak kill you.

Varasach pressed her lips together. That's fair, she admitted. I hate myself most days, too.

An hour's ride from the King's Keep, Peran quietly resolved to leave his company behind. The decision had come to him in the dead of night as he lay awake in bed watching firelight dance lazily across the ceiling. He could not endanger his team. Not Saer and Kolin, soldiers with loyal hearts who would follow him even into death. Not Akins and Li, who Peran knew had no place in this mission from the start but would likely still follow with the same unwavering and undeserved loyalty.

The Middle capital's famous Everpine Inn was silent. Morning sunlight shone on empty tables in the common room, cold and bright. Peran could hardly bear its glare: he kept his back to it as best he could from his counter stool and pulled his hood closer around his face. He sighed through his nose, rubbing his pounding temples as the innkeeper approached.

"Will that be all for you, High General?" the large man asked, resting an elbow on the counter. Despite the empty inn- the plague scared most patrons and all but the craziest proprietors away from public establishments- this man appeared to be in good spirits. Probably because he had a wealthy man and his four companions paying good coin.

"Yes, thank you," Peran said. He paid for his breakfast: a silver coin, plus four coppers. Expensive, but he'd ordered three cups of coffee- a delicacy which this inn only carried because it catered to the very rich within the capital city- with his meal to help with his throbbing headache. It did little good, and now his hands shook.

After the innkeeper pocketed the money, Peran placed a gold coin on the counter. "Food for the others, when they wake up," he said, gazing levelly at the man from under his hood. "I trust no one will hear about our stay here?"

The innkeeper snatched up the coin, as if afraid Peran might change his mind. "Of course, High General," he said. "If you're leaving, I'll prepare your horse-"

"No," Peran snapped, filled with loathing at the thought of a stranger touching Demia.

The innkeeper straightened from the counter, bearded face set in a polite but stiff smile. "My apologies. Thank you for your business, High General. Have a safe trip." He bowed and left the room, presumably to prepare breakfast for Peran's still-sleeping companions.

Peran grunted. He stood, bracing himself as his vision momentarily darkened. Blood pounded loudly in his ears; he wondered if a multitude of small, sharp rocks tumbling around his skull might be kinder.

I'm not old yet, he thought as his sight cleared, and he strode angrily to the front door. Why I can't do early mornings like I used to? But wasn't just a lack of sleep: the exertion of long, tedious days on the road, traveling in the cold on horseback, with little but his own dark thoughts to break the monotony, were beginning to take a toll on his mind and body.

He was very ready to be done with this quest.

Throwing open the inn's door, he scowled at the light and raised a gloved hand to shield his eyes.

This is the last day, he realized. For better or for worse, it all ends today. The thought brought some strength back into his step as he crossed the snowy yard to the stable.

He found Demia dozing in a stall between Kolin and Akins' horses. Demia's ears swiveled toward him, and he murmured a short, affectionate greeting to the beast. He opened the stall and beckoned for her to follow him. Demia did, obediently, and stood still while Peran got her ready to ride. As Peran brushed her down, she shook her head, shaking off the final vestiges of sleep. She champed the bit as Peran slid it into her mouth, her large, inquisitive brown eyes on her master.

Peran patted Demia's neck fondly. "This may be our last ride together," he murmured. "Please forgive me. But this must be done."

Demia seemed to sense something was amiss. She stamped her foreleg, eager to be on the road: she thought that riding would raise his spirits. She was usually right.

Today, she could not be. Not when every eager step took her master closer to the King's Keep.

Peran felt very little guilt at leaving his team behind: they were nothing but a liability. Especially the twins. This mission required stealth, and a knowledge of the keep that none but Peran himself possessed.

Also, I don't want them to be there when...

Peran took a fistful of Demia's coarse mane and hefted himself into the saddle. His head rushed: blood rushed in his ears and stars burst behind his eyes. He bent over Demia's neck and waited for the pounding to ease up a bit.

"I thought I might find you here."

Peran shot upright. Akins stood at the entrance to the stable, the strap of his knapsack thrown over one shoulder. His boyish face was grim.

"You shouldn't be out here, soldier," Peran said, recovering quickly from his fright, although those blasted stars still danced in his vision.

"Yeah, well, you shouldn't, either," Akins answered, and strolled toward the tack room. "You'll have to forgive my saying so, but you look like a corpse today, sir. Are you unwell?"

"I'm fine," Peran said brusquely. "What are you doing?"

"Getting ready to leave, sir."

"Getting ready to-" Peran was left speechless as the boy, with infuriating calmness, retrieved his sleek black gelding and began saddling him. "Akins, I order you to stay with your team!"

"I can't do that, sir."

"If you don't go back now, soldier, I'll have you cashiered."

"Go ahead," Akins said. "Then you definitely won't have the authority to tell me to go back."

Peran glared, but could find nothing else to say as Akins hopped lightly onto his horse.

"My chest is better now," Akins added. "I won't slow you down." He looked unwaveringly into Peran's hard eyes. "I know what you're doing."

"And you're here to change my mind, I assume."

"No, I'm here to help you."

"Why would you do that, boy?"

"Because you're not the only one looking for an opportunity to kill him." Akins' jawbone, usually unobtrusive under his round cheeks, flexed sharply. "I need to go with you, sir. Don't take this opportunity away from me."

"Opportunity?" Peran scoffed. "Opportunity for what? Are you trying to make yourself a hero? There's more to life than fame. Go back inside, and don't pester me any further; you're making my headache worse." He turned Demia away from Akins.

"Just listen to me!" Akins shouted, kicking his horse's flank. They exited the stable shoulder to shoulder, but Akins quickly got ahead and blocked his path. "I'm giving you the opportunity to slip out quietly. If you make me go back, I swear I will ride straight to the nearest law bureau and report you!"

"Be quiet, will you?" Peran hissed, and glanced about the yard to make sure they were alone. "Hosts, boy! What are you going on about? You have nothing to gain from this but a noose around your neck."

"Then I will take the noose," Akins said, and there was a fire in his eyes that made even the sun seem dim. A chill swept through Peran's bones as, breathless, he regarded this young man whose face was so hardened by anger and determination.

Where was the lighthearted boy, laughing with Saer about tarts made from absurd ingredients, climbing- and falling from- trees with reckless abandon?

"Damn, Akins," Peran managed at last. "What did Garmadon do to you?"

The fire in Akins' eyes raged vividly at the question. His voice came as a low growl, and it almost came as a surprise to Peran when his snarl was not accompanied by sharp feline fangs. "He's done enough."

"And where is your sister? Does she not share your…need for revenge?"

"Li doesn't understand," was all Akins said before steering his horse toward the road.

Reluctantly, Peran followed.

It came in the night as Cole sat by his bedroom window, staring into the feeble flame of a single candle. His reflection flickered in the glass, sunken, ragged. He dared not look himself in the eyes.

Voiceless, the darkness whispered to him. Weightless and invisible, it curled around him, pressed against him on all sides. He might have crumpled in his chair if not for the thick, stiff brace around his middle, forcing him to sit tall and straight.

The day had passed in a haze, a bitter rush of terror and adrenaline; too fast to be real, too slow to be a dream. Countless soldiers were dispatched to search for clues to Kai's whereabouts. Panicked civilians and enraged rioters had been accordingly dealt with. With Josi's raven out of commission from the shooter's arrow, Zane sent his falcon to search. Still, nothing.

Cole had spent the whole day waiting, watching, listening. Poring over maps beside Iam, adding input when he spotted overlooked details during their discussions.

He tried desperately, manically to be helpful, but with his limited knowledge of the South, and his inability to ride a horse to search with the soldiers, he found his services grossly inadequate. The boundless, frenzied energy in his body, finding no productive outlet, writhed under his skin. His body had become a vessel of torment.

But he did not let that show- not while the sun was in the sky, and not once the moon had risen above the distant waters of Sheshin Port- except now by a faint tension in his shoulders and a restless fidgeting in his fingers as he spun a small glass bottle on its side.

He shouldn't have taken it. But Driniah had noticed his absence at dinner, Hosts consume her. After realizing he hadn't had food brought to his room, either, she'd sent him straightaway to get some leftovers from the kitchen. For an instant- one terrible, wicked instant- the assistant cook's back was turned, and all restraint left him.

If anyone had noticed the absence of the whiskey, or the little bulge in his pocket, they said nothing.

Hosts, he hoped they hadn't noticed. He couldn't bear to imagine what they might think of him, alone in the dark with nothing but this damned bottle to carry him through the night. They would see his weakness; they would see, they would realize just how much Cole relied on people like Sage and Kai to keep him grounded.

How had his reliance on Kai, of all people, come so far? Cole recalled a time not too long ago when he'd been lucky to get two words in before Kai cut him to pieces. And not without warrant: Cole had hurt his sister, kidnapped him, and brought him into Overlord's hands. For a while, Cole had had the depraved satisfaction of knowing that Kai hated him just as much as Cole hated himself.

But, without much forewarning, without any reason, Kai was suddenly there. Dressing his wounds. Listening carefully when he spoke- and learning to translate the silence. Understanding that he was broken, and, instead of shying away from the darkness which showed through the weblike cracks in his porcelain heart, lit a little candle and stepped into it with him. Forging a path when all Cole wanted was to be lost. Taking the razor from his bloodied hands. Giving him one more reason to keep fighting. One more breath. One more step. Just one more, and then one more, and then one more after that. And when Cole asked in his quiet, nonverbal way, Why, Kai? Why are you here? Why are you helping me?- Kai always answered with equal but firm quietness:

Because you're worth more than this.

Kai understood him in ways that Sage never could- in ways that Cole hoped she never would. Because if she knew, if she looked into that darkness, it was too much to hope that she would step in, too.

Cole set one finger on the windowsill, stopping the little bottle. While the glass stopped spinning, the caramel-colored liquid sloshed for a long time before going still.

He needed sleep. But how could he, knowing that demons lurked in the shadows, just waiting for him to close his eyes so they could pounce? With no small amount of shame he found that he couldn't bring himself to look away from the whiskey- he could feel the gazes of those demons and knew that if he dared look over his shoulder, if he dared look at his reflection in the window, he would stare one right in the eyes. And he could not bear that, not tonight.

So, this is what he'd become. A mere husk of anything resembling human. Like maggots, his demons had burrowed into his very soul. He felt them in him now, eating him alive.

With a shaky hand he uncorked the bottle; the sweet smell immediately made the demons quiver. He pressed his mouth in a grim line, then brought the bottle to his lips. He'd get rid of the bastards, even if only for a few hours.

Didn't you promise Sage? Kai's words to him that afternoon: disappointed, but not surprised. Kai's tone had stung then, but remembering now made him downright sick.

Sage had seen the worst of him in those months following his mother's death and his father's possession: drunk more days than not, and angry. So, so angry. The things he'd said to her while the drink was strong on his breath… It was no wonder she hated to smell the stuff, even now.

He'd never dream of hurting her physically. But in some ways, his words had been worse. His light, his love, his whole world, already struggling with her difficult pregnancy, and Cole had torn her apart.

Cole set down the bottle and corked it.

Their healing after Chedva's birth took time, and they still had a long way to go. He couldn't afford to test their limits by losing himself to drink. If he tapped into the bottle now, it was likely that nothing would ever pull him out again.

But…would that really be so bad?

I can't do this, Cole thought. He slid the bottle across the windowsill, away from himself. He stared at it with distaste and longing in equal measures.

There was a rustle of cloth behind him. A flicker of movement in the window's reflection. Cole tensed, reaching for his Blade just a moment too late- a cold knife settled firmly under his throat, and he laid his palms flat on the windowsill in surrender.

The reflection in the window belonged not to a demon, but a man with a cold eyes. Cole finally dared to glance at his own reflection and noted how calm he appeared.

"I didn't see you come in," Cole said quietly.

"I came before you," the man replied. "I was waiting for you to open the bottle. It would have made things easier for both of us."

"I've never been good at taking the easy road."

The man chuckled. "That makes two of us." He held out his free hand. "Your Blade, Dark Knight."

Moving slowly, Cole unclipped Raindancer from his belt and set it in the man's palm.

"A white gemstone," the man observed. "Healing abilities, like Julien's?"

"Something like that. What are you here for?"

"I'm here for answers, Coleman. Give them to me, and I will make your death quick."

"Do you think I fear pain?"

The man hesitated. "Only fools have no fear."

"Fools and Priests," Cole corrected. "And I'm not on good terms with God right now."

The man said nothing as he tossed the Blade across the carpet. It came to rest near the wardrobe- too far for Cole to reach before this man slit his throat.

"Let's get this over with, then," Cole said. "But first, a question for you: what shall I call the man who has finally conquered the dreaded Dark Knight?"

"I am Bishop Siara."

"A Priest who kills Blesseds?"

"I am not the only one. The head of my order is on a mission to kill all the Blesseds residing in the King's Keep."

Father and Vara. Cole searched inside of himself for any sort of emotion- fear, or even worry- but, curiously, found nothing. His father had more than a few tricks up his sleeves. Cole trusted his father's ability to protect himself and Vara, even against a a dozen armed men.

"This doesn't disturb you?" Siara asked.

"No."

"By this time tomorrow, your father will be dead."

"Perhaps."

"All of you will die. By deadthaw, the world will be reborn. A new era of peace without the corrupted Blessed and Patriarch blood."

"Have you spared me thus far just to gloat, Priest?"

"No. I have a question first, Dark Knight: where is Borg's hive of Way-followers?"

"I don't know."

"Why are you lying to me?"

"I'm not a Way-follower. I don't know where he hides his people, if indeed he does have a hiding place for everyone in his cult."

"Would you tell me if I spared Kai?"

Cole had been baited too often by Overlord to fall for that, though he would be lying if he said it was easy to contain his surprise and relief. Kai might still be alive!

Without missing a beat, without allowing his face to change, he spoke firmly. "I don't know, damn it. I'm going to die no matter what. What do I have to gain from lying to you?"

Siara thought for a moment. "All right," he said.

"Is Kai actually alive?"

"For now."

"Is he hurt?"

"You saw him fall in the plaza. Is that the best question you can think of?"

Cole gritted his teeth.

"I have more questions." Siara adjusted his grip on the knife, applying a little more pressure to Cole's skin. But Cole did not respond to this threat. A voice in his subconscious mind worked quietly, whispering a plan. Cole let that long-slumbering part of him take control.

He let himself become what this man called him: the Dark Knight.

"Is Overlord truly dead?" Siara asked.

"I was wounded and didn't see it happen personally," Cole said. "But the change on Keitorin is too profound to be ignored. I believe he is gone."

Siara sounded skeptical. "I see."

Cole prodded his Blade, and it responded with a prompt but weak thrumming in his mind. Dear Raindancer. It may be damaged, but it still knew exactly what to do in a pinch.

"Tell me, Priest," Cole said. "How sensitive are you to light?"

In the seconds that Siara hesitated, the Blade on the carpet began to glow. It was not a gentle glow, like that of the moon outside his window. It was not even a warm glow, like that of the sun.

It was a fierce glow, a beacon white as a thousand stars, wild as a forest fire, and just as merciless and all-encompassing.

Siara cried out and dropped his knife to shield his eyes. He might as well have covered his face with sheer cloth.

Cole took the bottle of whiskey deftly in one hand and broke it against the side of Siara's head.

"Should have killed me when you had the chance," he said as the Priest crumpled to the carpet. Raindancer's light dimmed, then went out entirely.

Cole swayed in weak, candlelit darkness. The jagged neck of the bottle slipped from his shaking fingers. He supposed he should be in pain, considering how fast he had stood and swung that bottle, but at the moment could feel nothing but his own beating heart and the cries of his lungs as he fought against the brace to gulp sweet, whiskey-smelling air.

He wanted to vomit.

After an indeterminate length of time, the door opened and a pair of Southern soldiers rushed in.

"Blessed!" they said, squinting in the darkness. One of them hastily lit a lamp. "What happened?"

"Assassin," Cole said, recovering his wits before the lamp's light reached his face. He picked his way around shards of glass as the soldiers approached. In the light he saw the Priest's nearly-bald head was bleeding profusely. But he was alive. "Get him some help, and for Mena's sake, don't let him die. He can help us find Lord Kaytake." He paused, then pointed to one of the soldiers. "You, please get my Blade from the floor. My back just might break again if I try to get it myself."

And thus, for the sake of his friend, the boy picks up the mask of the Dark Knight once again...

Special thanks to those who left reviews/comments on the previous chapter! And a huge thanks to Kira Vulpes, without whom this story would be an incoherent mess.

Have a great weekend, all, and I'll see you at the end of the month/beginning of August with the next chapter.