Valygar can't decide whether to smirk or grimace as he watches the couple across the table. Haer'Dalis adopts a bland air to cover the flash of shock and—hurt?—which accompanies the retreating hand to his own seat. Aerie doesn't even notice as she continues to read her scroll, fork pushing food around the plate while everyone else has finished. The elf never possessed a large appetite but now the food rarely makes it to her lips.

Valygar doesn't know the girl that well but he knows the clench of his stomach; all too well does he recognise the beginning signs of obsession. His mother, when she ate at the table at all, would study her books and scrolls just as the elf did now. His father had learned long ago not to bother his wife, as Haer'Dalis was just now learning. The tiefling's face has given up on its bland expression and engages a suitable replacement for attention; Solaufein listens politely to whatever chatter the bard produces without glancing at the girl across the table, though Valygar senses the violet eyes' urge to stare. Doubtless the drow has been witness to worse than obsession in his lost homeland.

They're none of them strangers to pain, though, so it isn't worth worrying over the past. They can only try and prevent recurrences now. Which is why Valygar has settled on the grimace.

And now Aerie's food is cold.

He turns to listen to Anomen's story about his and Aenwyn's journey into town. The Sphere is shelter to them, their own private world. It makes a certain sense, even with Valygar's distaste for the reminder of his family's dubious talents; only in such an exotic location can such a group truly belong. He wonders whether any of them will ever have something resembling a normal life. Anomen could, he supposes, yet the way the young knight follows Aenwyn around, despite the darkness which threatens constantly to engulf her, suggests that there is more than a little oddness beneath the gleaming armour.

Sometimes Valygar wonders how he has managed to remain in such company for so long; caught between the otherworldliness of the tiefling and drow, to say nothing of Aenwyn's heritage, and the quickly vanishing innocence of the young clerics. But then he thinks back to the weeks in his cabin hiding from the wizards, hoping and dreading for someone to walk in the door and end his wait one way or another. Solitude is the best way to learn about oneself, but then there was a lot Valygar could have left unlearned.

So for now he ignored the warning signs in Aerie's obsession, in Aenwyn's haunted eyes, in the mere presence of the drow and tiefling. Things will get worse, but anything is better than solitude.

Anomen—Sir Anomen—enters the sphere alone. He had wanted Aenwyn, or really anyone, to accompany him to his knighting but he understands the restrictive schedule of his companions. Everyone has their own tasks to perform and it had been an effort for him to even take time off from his duties to spend the day at the Order's headquarters. In an uncharacteristic mood, Aenwyn had allowed him a free day to attend to his business and he had taken the opportunity before the woman changed her mind.

For what seems like the tenth time that day Anomen wonders what Aenwyn thinks of. There is no sign of recognition for his words when he describes the ceremony yet she never tells him to stop. So he continues.

He knows that she has travelled farther than he and been through more, despite his excursions with the Order, but all attempts to learn her past have gone unheeded and he needs to fill the awkward emptiness with some kind of conversation. Monologue. He also knows that the others laugh when they think he isn't listening. Trying to woo the daughter of a god. Sticking his nose where it's unwanted. But he's used to that with his father and later with the other squires. He's learned to ignore it. He has not become a knight of the Order by giving in to the laughter of others.

In the haste of preparing for his test he has barely noticed his companions; their presence was but background noise in the dimness which is the sphere. Even the tang of magic on the air and vibrations throughout the metal walls hadn't been enough to deter him from his course. It is not until Aenwyn walks away and he seeks out the others that he sees firsthand the blossoming trouble which had been so long in the making.

It is more than a knight of the Order could be expected to handle, though he will try his best. Shining armor isn't just for show.

Aerie floats several feet above the ground, hair flowing without a breeze. Haer'Dalis and Soulafein stand by, staring with unabashed awe and wonder. Blue eyes have turned hard and dark; clouds obscure what were once clear skies. Grim glances from Valygar, up till now assumed to be freely given to any in his path, and concerned looks from the drow, crocodile tears though they may be, cohere in his mind; he understands now the power of hindsight. But then, could he have done anything in any event?

While he stands helpless the others reach out to the elf, coaxing words to clips the bird's wings. Before the dove becomes a hawk. Tense minutes pass before Aerie's eyes clear and she lowers to the ground. Slight movement alerts Anomen's attention and he sees Valygar sheathe his katana in the shadows behind him. He releases a breath he did not remember taking.

His first test as a knight and he just stood there.

Aenwyn's step catches his attention and he looks up from his prayers. She stands with her head cocked, sword dripping blood onto the metal floor. "Are you prepared?" Her tone is emotionless as always yet there is a grin on her face. Beneath the splatter of blood.

"I have waited for this moment with dread." He stops himself from saying 'my Lady' in time. His mace is heavy in hand as it swings through the air and she is able to dodge it easily. Divine reflexes. He forgot.

Pain as her stained sword slices his leg flashes in his head. Anomen staggers to the hall, knowing he cannot win this fight alone. Perhaps there is still someone alive to come to his aid; if he can find them in time…

But four pairs of clouded eyes stare in broken lines across the room. Here the blood covers everything. He has never seen so much and yet it keeps pouring out of their crumpled forms as if some endless fountain. Anomen realizes that none of them are dead; she has not even allowed them release from pain in death. Something prevents them from escaping this nightmare and her hold on their souls.

"You're mine until the end." She reads his thoughts as she enters the room after him. "Did you think death would be so easy?"

He turns to face that gleam in her eye, his mace thudding to the ground. "No, but I had hope," he whispers, almost inaudibly.

Aenwyn sneers. "That's what I hate about you most, priest. Your foolish grasp on hope. We are all damned on this path and there is nothing your god can do to change that." She lifts a bloody finger and beckons. His steps are slow and uncertain but he manages not to slip on the slickness as he reaches her. Her hands are as claws, tearing at his neck and shoulder as she bites his mouth in a mockery of lust; blood mixes with saliva and moans become snarls. "You are mine forever, lover."

The words echo as Anomen jolts out of bed in a cold sweat. He gathers his bearings before realising he is not alone in his room. By the doorway, Aenwyn leans against the doorframe and watches him, a faint grin etched on her harsh features. Then, before he can say anything she disappears into the darkness of the hallway and he collapses back into bed.