Of a Feather

by White Phantom

Just as Polemarch Adrestes begins to believe in soulmates, the soul he thinks may be his is lost to Bastion. Overcome by grief, he allows himself to forget, to move forward. And then the Arbiter falls. A maw walker appears in the lands of the dead who draws his attention like no other, a mortal who is terrified by the sense of déjà vu that whispers she has been to Bastion before.

22. Ch 22: Of Fallen Gods and Soulmates

A/N: This is the last chapter of the main story. There will be an epilogue that I hope to get out by the end of the month. Thank you so much to everyone who has read! I hope you enjoy the ending!

---

The Jailer looms in all his menacing glory over the aspirant who has been nettling his forces. The aspirant who has finally been caught. The Jailer taunts him, and it makes Anduin's stomach twist. He hates this. He hates sitting here, watching as evil does whatever it pleases. He hates not being able to move against it, hates knowing that he is not strong enough.

He knows that evil wins when good steps back and turns a blind eye. When it does nothing.

But what can he do?

His limbs burn from the movements they cannot make. His jaw aches with the pleas he cannot voice, the pleas the Jailer knows, for he is so deeply in Anduin's head that he cannot not know what Anduin is try to beg for.

Mercy.

Not for him. He has given up on that.

Instead, he wishes that those around him could know it.

He has watched so many souls fall to pieces before him. He has been the vessel of the spells that tear them asunder at times. It pains him. It pains him to see the damage done, and to feel the sheer joy that it brings the Jailer.

It is like popping ants, the Jailer told him once as he dismembered a few mortals who had gotten too close to Anduin during his stay in Torghast. They had been loyal heroes. One had wept when she saw her king, told him all would be well.

He had begged them to run.

Or he'd tried to.

He hadn't spoken the full plea before the Jailer had gotten ahold of them.

He wishes he could unsee what was done, wishes that it didn't replay in his mind whenever he started to drift toward sleep. Liila Dragonlily was hardly the first soul the Jailer has torn apart.

Anduin still needs sleep, he is sure, but it does not come, and the lack only fuels the despair that grips him. That he is not afforded even so simple a mercy…

How can anything be this cruel?

Sometimes there are the briefest moments where he thinks that the Jailer's resolve is…wavering is not the word. The Jailer set himself upon this course so long ago that Anduin doubts he remembers what it was like before this hateful campaign.

Perhaps that is what Anduin feels.

The flickers of memories before the Jailer's life was pain, before he resolved to make all the lives around him suffer as he has.

Before he became so twisted with the idea of vengeance and making a world where it is the others who suffer instead while he watches on, unmoved by their pleas as his siblings were unmoved by his own.

Anduin knows better than to muse on such things. The Jailer sees such wonderings as pity, and that is the one thing that he cannot abide within his pets.

He is a god.

Powerful.

Eternal.

He will not be pitied by some fleeting creature.

Anduin does not pity the Jailer, but every now and then he wonders about the god he was before. There are times he mourns for what was lost, even if he never knew it.

Sometimes he thinks that it is not his, that the mourning is something that spills over from the Jailer himself, unwittingly.

Again, Anduin tries not to dwell on it. He does not want to know the Jailer as anything other than the monster that puppets him, the monster that relishes the suffering he inflicts. It is easier to hate him that way.

And Anduin does.

He hates the god that has become his master, and he hates that such a negative emotion can build inside of him so easily. He struggles with it, struggles to hold on to who he knows he is, struggles to remember the good that he has always strived for. The peace, the love, the compassion.

Sometimes it is so hard to remember.

Especially now when he stands here in the cradle of creation, surrounded by the damned as a pure and good soul is dragged before them to made an example of.

Anduin wants to grant this aspirant a swift death, to show him some of the mercy he himself is denied. If only he could cut the poor fool down himself—as he thinks to reach for his blade, to do the deed before the Jailer can drag out whatever misery is to come, he is bothered to find that his hands move.

The Jailer will let him move freely, so long as it is violence he is chasing and not dissent.

That he would even think to turn to violence like this… perhaps he is not as good as he has always thought. Perhaps he is just as wicked, just as cruel—

A small rock plinks off the side of the Jailer's helm, and snaps Anduin from his spiraling thoughts.

The world grows deathly quiet.

"He was talking about me."

The voice is one that Anduin recognizes, one that he knows. As such, he knows that he cannot have heard right. He knows it must be a trick of some kind, but he cannot help but turn to see who has spoken, oblivious to the fact that he can turn at all.

Something inside of him shifts, something he thought long lost as he manages a single word. "Dragonlily?"

Azeroth's High Priestess leans against one of the half-buried structures within the dunes, a cocky smirk in place as she idly tosses and catches another rock, over and over, ready to be thrown. She stands as she was the last time he saw her, before the Jailer got ahold of her and tore her curse from her. Before he tore her very soul apart.

She is dead. More than dead. She is unmade.

Liila Dragonlily cannot be here, and yet…

She meets his gaze first, giving him a quick wink before focusing on the god just behind him.

She arches her brows. "What's wrong? You look like you've seen a ghost."

"Impossible," Anduin says, and for the first time in what feels like a hundred eternities, the words that fall from his lips are not the Jailer's. "He killed you." His voice cracks as the memories well up, of how terrified she had looked as the Jailer had spoken through him to her, telling her of her every mistake, of the way he had so easily manipulated her, like he did everyone else. "I killed you."

The air crackles with rage, or perhaps it just seems so because Anduin can feel the Jailer's fury. He has been told about soulbinds, and cannot help but feel that they have a twisted sort of mockery of one.

Maw runes flash to life around Liila and crackle with energy. This time, the Jailer has no interest in taking his time, in making her suffer. He is furious because he is afraid.

The Jailer will no doubt make Anduin suffer for even entertaining the notion, but it is the truth. The Jailer has convinced himself that he is unstoppable, and to have failed to unmake a soul…

The runes flare in excess before dimming down.

And they do nothing.

Understanding shifts in the Jailer.

This is not real.

They are looking at an illusion.

Anduin feels his heart break as the pieces fall into place. While he has not interacted with Sire Denathrius much, he has enough to know that the cockiness of this illusion certainly reflects its creator.

Shadows roll off of Liila's body, and she cracks her neck as she meets the Jailer's gaze with an even one. The lie's grin stretches.

Sire Denathrius taunts his brother with words he knows would hit home coming from a mortal, but it does not work because the Jailer is unconcerned. The god interrupts the valiant speech with a flick of his wrist, dispersing the spell with what appears to be less effort than is needed.

No need for his followers to know he was actually concerned.

Even as Anduin suffocates in his dying hope, he turns back to the aspirant.

And stops.

He scans the sands and then lets his gaze wander further.

Mawsworn are everywhere.

One cannot throw a stone without it landing within a foot of at least three.

So how is it that their prisoner is…gone?

The Jailer rises from where he kneels, movements calm, unbothered.

But Anduin can feel that flicker of fear again. He can feel the god scanning their surroundings, and realizing in time with his followers that someone has escaped him.

Someone has escaped him and there is no way to play off that this was intentional. Not after all the fare that went into gathering everyone to show what happens to the fool who stood against him—a redundant display, really, considering it was done so often in the Maw.

As Anduin realizes that they have truly lost their captive, he cannot help a small smile as he remembers what the Jailer said. This aspirant was a friend of Liila's, her soulbind.

If that's true, then—illusions aside—maybe the Jailer really isn't as indomitable as everyone thinks.

Maybe Liila really is here.

Maybe, just maybe…there really is…

Hope.

FIND THEM!

---

Pelagos kicks one of their attackers away from him and then slams his dagger into the small gap between their helm and breastplate, using it as a conduit for a pulse of anima. The mawsworn collapses.

He and Liila have made it further than either honestly thought possible. There is grass beneath their feet, and it would be reassuring if not for the fact that the Jailer's forces seem endless.

They can't be, and yet…

The further they get, the more hope stirs within both of them, and his feeds into hers and vice versa. It almost seems possible to escape.

If Sire Denathrius and Nibbles made it out of the realm, then there will be help en route. If they can find a place to hide…

But how?

There are three helsworn assisting them in their retreat, but even they are not enough to stop what is coming for them.

Worse, they are in some ways a beacon to others as to where to find them.

As they make a run for the water—Liila's already suggested they just dive in and see if they can't lose their attackers that way and honestly Pelagos is willing to give it a shot—one of their helsworn hits the ground hard, heralding the arrival of half a dozen others who are not friendly. They land ahead of their little group, cutting off their escape.

Their remaining helsworn companions land, ready to attack whoever will come at them first.

More ground forces are coming from behind.

As Pelagos tries to assess the situation, he lets out a curse when he realizes some are closer than they expected.

"Liila, look out!"

Even as Liila braces and starts to summon a spell, one of the helsworn standing in their way holds up a hand and the mawsworn falls back. He does not lower his weapon though.

"Liila," the helsworn says. "Liila Dragonlily."

Liila glances at Pelagos and then looks at the helsworn. There is a flicker of terror at being recognized in her that stalls when she registers the voice speaking is female. "Yes?"

"You're dead."

"Well, yeah," she says, motioning to herself and flipping some of her teal hair.

The helsworn's head cocks as she appraises her. "The Jailer unmade you."

Liila seems at a loss for a second before finally shrugging. "He tried."

"What does it matter?" the helsworn beside their interrogator snaps. "He wants them—"

His words cut off as the helsworn who was speaking first turns and slices his head clean off. Chaos ensues as she and another of her companions switch sides.

Even more bizarrely, as Pelagos kicks away another enemy, one of the approaching ground-bound mawsworn slams their sword through her torso, and then turns to stand with Pelagos.

"There's a cave there!" someone calls. Pelagos doesn't know who, but at this point, he figures having a few walls to help bottleneck their attackers will be better than nothing. He heals their injured companion enough that they can move, and their group makes their way to cover.

It is a shallow thing, with only one chamber that doesn't go terribly far into the cliff. Still, it is enough for Pelagos, Liila, and their allies to comfortably fit and spread out.

They fight off another wave of enemies before it falls quiet outside.

At least for now.

Pelagos inspects who is there with them.

There are five helsworn and three mawsworn with them. The one who first offered him wings is also inspecting their forces, with a far more critical eye than Pelagos or Liila.

"Eketra?" He says, suspicion plain in his voice. "I didn't think you—"

"This," the helsworn says, patting the top of Liila's head a little too hard, "is the Dragonlily. Surely you can recognize that obnoxious feel of her soul, Moros."

The helsworn who helped Pelagos frowns. "So?"

"She resurrected the dead in the Maw," Eketra says. "And look at her. Our master," she pauses for emphasis, "wanted her unmade more than any other soul. And here she is." Eketra appraises Liila then. "That illusion was…underwhelming. But to find that you really are still here…"

Her inspects Liila and then Pelagos, almost curious. "The Jailer will be furious."

"The Jailer is getting weaker," Eketra says. "If he couldn't end this creature when he was in his prime, then he will fall to her friends as he is now."

Moros lets out a harsh, mirthless laugh. "So you're switching sides to save yourself."

Eketra fluffs her rotted wings. "Push your own reasons on to me if you'd like."

Moros mutters something under his breath too low for Pelagos to hear. He glances at Pelagos and then back at Eketra. "This is all the more proof that I was right. As you said before, one soul escaping him is an anomaly. Two is proof that he is not infallible. That there can be…"

Hope.

He does not finish his sentence.

It is almost as if he is afraid to say that last word, as if it has been so beaten out of him that he cannot even whisper it.

Pelagos finds it curious that his ally was apparently trying to recruit more to rebel before everything went crazy. It makes his own hope swell to think that there are such fractures within the mawsworn themselves.

Though he's not sure how much he trusts Eketra. If she's just trying to be on the winning side, it seems like she might turn against them should things take an unfortunate turn.

He wishes there was a bit more distance between her and Liila.

Liila feels his unease and lightly brushes Eketra's hand from her head. She doesn't step away, but appraises the helsworn. "Do I know you from somewhere?"

"We never…met, if that's what you're asking."

"And you're willing to throw your lot in with us?"

"For now," Eketra replies, not bothering to hide her mercenary nature.

"Where do we go from here?" another of the helsworn asks. She stands with their injured companion. Both Liila and Pelagos think to heal him again at the same time, and anima swirls around him and washes through him. It feels odd, healing someone whose essence is corrupted so, but they can hardly be picky about their allies.

And it strikes at something that Pelagos has been debating for some time now.

He has seen souls broken in the Maw, has wondered over and over, how many might have been redeemed, if truly given the chance. Mortals live such fleeting lives… to be punished for all eternity for a century or two of actions seems so…cruel.

And to see that good souls, kyrian souls, could be twisted into the creatures around him…enough torture can break even the best of souls.

How many of the souls that go to the Maw were broken before they died? How many started good and were twisted into something wicked?

How is the Maw itself fair?

Perhaps he is still too judgmental as an aspirant, but it seems like those in the Maw have been given up on too soon. If a soul can be broken, surely it can be mended, too. Surely wickedness can give way to kindness, if given enough time.

Doesn't Revendreth prove that?

"We can't stay here," Moros is saying.

"The few good hiding spots in the realm aren't going to last long through this hunt," Eketra replies.

One of their allies nearer the entrance lets out a low curse and adjusts their grip on their weapon. "We've got incoming."

The next wave to hit them is a big one, and while it does help that their enemies can only come in a few at a time, it feels like they are going to end up burying themselves alive in bodies.

The ten of them fight, with Liila and Pelagos falling back to heal, much to Liila's chagrin. Pelagos can't help but smile at her when he catches her eye during the fighting, and she pretends to scowl.

This is the first time since her death that she has really dedicated herself to healing, and Pelagos has to say he is impressed.

It almost feels like they can keep going forever.

As their enemies fall and they are given a small break, Pelagos looks around. He wants to go back to Firim's hideout, but then the Oracle is there. If even one of their new allies is only pretending to be on their side, it will end in disaster…

Though…

With Sire Denathrius out of the realm, perhaps it will not matter as much if she is found.

"We can't stay here," Moros repeats.

"We need a place to go first," hisses one of the mawsworn.

Liila considers it. "We could go south east. There's a bunch of caves out in that jungle-like area. A bunch of automa, too."

"I hate that place," one of the helsworn mutters.

"So do most of our kin," Moros points out. When he realizes he has piqued Liila and Pelagos' curiosity, he adds, "The air is so cluttered, it would make it harder for aerial attacks."

"Can't they—and you," Pelagos corrects, motioning to Moros and the helsworn around them, "just shift through the Veil?"

Eketra laughs at that. "Zereth Mortis is not set up like the rest of the Shadowlands or the Living Realms. The Veil here is…different."

"A prototype, likely," says one of the mawsworn.

A few others nod offhandedly.

Liila arches her brow as she connects the dots. "So…all the 'clutter' in the air is on the other side of the Veil, too? Who found that out?"

No one offers an answer, but Pelagos gets a distinct image in his mind's eye of a helsworn shifting through the Veil only to fly into one of those orbs in the sky and yell, 'oh fuck,' as they fall from the air, stunned. He shoots Liila a stern look to keep himself from laughing. He doubts his new allies would appreciate it.

It does, however, seem like a good place to hide out. Especially if it makes it harder for their enemies to get at them. They'll need every advantage they can muster if they're going to survive long enough for help to get here.

The only problem with their goal is that it's half the realm away, but if they can make it that far...

Pelagos can only imagine the desecration the Jailer might do to the area to find them, but they don't have much of a choice. They can't go back to the Oracle and he doesn't want to bring the Jailer's wrath down on the Enlightened.

Maybe, whenever Nibbles turns up again, they can get him to at least tell the jiro where to find them.

He's alright, isn't he?

For the first time, Pelagos considers that something may have happened to Nibbles. He remembers the gorger showing up to teleport him to safety after taking Liila to safety only to be hurt badly just before he was knocked unconscious and dragged before the Jailer. But then, he had saved Pelagos from the Jailer, so he had to have been healed in between, yes?

When he glances at Liila she gives him a subtle shake of her head, like she knows something. Before he can ask, however, Eketra calls out, capturing his attention.

"If we're going to move, we should do it now. We can fly up to the top of the cliffs and buy some time, assuming none of our brethren are out there waiting for us."

"What of us?" asks one of the mawsworn.

Eketra turns to inspect them. Her face is masked by her helm, but Pelagos can almost feel the dismissive look she gives the creature before motioning to the others. "Someone can carry you."

"I'd like assurance of that," the mawsworn growls.

It seems no one trusts each other here.

"Is it too picky to ask you not to pick us up by the neck?" Liila asks, hand half raised.

Eketra's helm turns painfully slowly toward her, and the silence that stretches out is equally charged.

"If I did not have wings," Eketra says slowly, "I would be grateful for any ride, even if it meant being carried up by my ankle."

"Or hair," another helsworn says.

"Noted," Liila replies.

Pelagos blinks as he feels someone grip the back of his shirt and tug hard. As he stumbles back and whirls around, he stares at Moros in bewilderment.

"Just checking how strong the fabric is," he says and then nods forward. "Let's go."

---

Liila sees the mawsworn aiming for Pelagos and draws the anima from the mawsworn himself, forcing his spell to stall. As the creature cries out in pain, Pelagos' guardian helsworn takes him out and then turns to go after another enemy.

They have made decent enough time as they spent the last two days dodging mawsworn attacks. The only real problem is that they are leaving a trail of bodies in their wake that makes it easy for the next group to find them.

On the plus side, they've gained another ten allies. There's talk that there are many more, back where the main forces are, that the forces are struggling for power back in the desert.

Liila would love it that meant that the Jailer's forces would just snuff themselves out, but at the same time it feels wicked to think so, considering it would mean that people willing to help make things right are falling as well.

It is a tricky thing, what is going on right now.

Liila has a feeling that when the dust settles, the Jailer's loyalists will win out, but perhaps the chaos can last long enough for Sire Denathrius to send help.

That is the thought that she clings to, foolish as it is.

She was set on facing her end, ready to do all that she could and hope that it was enough.

Now, though…

She's often wondered why creatures cling to life—and existence so desperately. It is an odd sort of privilege afforded her through her curse, knowing that she would not fall even if her heart stopped.

Is it the fear of the unknown? The fear of what comes next? Or is it what is being left behind? Who?

She wants to see Adrestes again. And Kleia and Thales and Haa'aji and a hundred other faces. She had thought she could settle for knowing that they would have a tomorrow even if it was without her, but now…

Now it feels like the odds are shifting in their favor, and she's too used to winning.

The Scourge, the Burning Legion, N'zoth. Every major threat has fallen before her and her allies, and she wants to make it to see the pattern repeat.

Yes, the costs were high each time. Yes, it wore her down and down and down…but she always pulled through.

She wants to stand victorious, if only so that she can return to Bastion, return to the ones she loves.

Hope is such a wicked thing, because it makes failures all the more painful, and yet here in the cradle of creation, she cannot help but think that perhaps anything is possible.

She also thinks that getting too caught up in the possibilities will lead to getting cut down before she can see her hopes made manifest.

Cries sound out alerting them that they've been discovered again.

To the mawsworns' credit, it seems that the Maw has tempered them in ways no other realm can, giving them a resilience like nothing Liila has ever seen before. They do not stop. If they get tired, they make no show of it.

Perhaps that is how they survived that hellish place, by learning to never let their guards down, to never give their enemies an opening.

Do they even sleep?

She and Pelagos are starting to wear down. It has made a few of their allies impatient. Eketra seems ready to chain the both of them and drag them along.

At least she doesn't seem to want to leave them behind just yet. That has to mean something.

Even if they are just a movement's mascots.

Well, Pelagos seems to be more so than her. A few, like Eketra, have joined them because they are impressed that the Dragonlily truly is worse than a mawrat in terms of being a pest that just won't die, but most seem inspired by Pelagos. They are inspired that he spoke against the Jailer's cruelty and then was able to walk away.

Never mind that he was teleported, something he has corrected twice.

More than that, though, there is something about him, something that makes Liila think that he is changing the way that Nibbles has been, becoming something…more. It's in the way he carries himself now, the way his voice has a confidence to it that it used to lack.

He is changing.

As she thinks that, he looks across their group and gives her a questioning look. He can feel her musings perhaps.

With a sigh, Liila simply readies her stolen staff and nods to him as they prepare to heal their way through this next onslaught.

Their enemies charge, a force almost double the size of what they have now. They shriek and scream, their master's fury spurring them on.

Eketra and two others ready to break the wave, when abruptly the ground darkens beneath the oncoming force. Before their attackers can even notice, it pulses and simply…evaporates them.

Liila hears someone grimace behind her and turns and freezes.

"S—Duke Athri?" Liila says, catching herself when she sees the venthyr standing just behind their group.

Pocopoc chimes as it rolls over to Liila and hugs her leg.

"No need for aliases, Embrosia," he says, tone dry as ever, "I'm happy to make it known that I am here."

Liila stares at him, at the rings under his eyes, at the venthyr form he has taken that looks so eerily like Prince Renathal. His hair is pulled back in a braid that falls down his back, and he does look moderately better than the last time she saw him. Perhaps that is because he wants to seem that way.

"Why the fuck would you come back here?" Liila hisses before Pelagos can stop her.

Sire Denathrius looks down his nose at her, and she feels the air flicker in warning.

When the god winces, she realizes it is probably more of a warning to him than to her. After all, he has no authority here. Or he shouldn't.

"I never left," Sire Denathrius says after a pause in which he appraises their group to make certain no one seems ready to raise a weapon against him. He looks back down at Liila. "I sent your pet in my stead."

It only takes a second for Liila to realize who he means. "Nibbles?"

"Do you have others?"

"He's not really a…" Liila trails off as Sire Denathrius lose interest in her and turns to Pelagos.

"I have thought on the matter and decided that until aid can arrive, it will be beneficial to have a god on your side. To help even the odds."

Liila feels like she is missing something. She distinctly remembers his uncaring stare as she pleaded with him to help her save Pelagos. She remembers how adamant he was that his presence not be revealed, that for reality to be saved, he needed to escape the Jailer's reach.

And now he's fine with it? Now he's running around killing mawsworn and making himself known?

"What the fu—"

"Why haven't you retreated beyond his reach?" Pelagos asks, just as puzzled.

"I believe I've already answered that," Sire Denathrius replies. He seems much more patient with Pelagos than he has been with Liila. Perhaps he does not like her because she wasn't straight forward about her name… "Now then, I'm curious. Where exactly are you headed?"

---

"You have to let me go with you," Mitchell says.

Xandria simply nods. "We are planning to bring mortals with us—"

"It has to be me," Mitchell interrupts. "Please. I have been a good ally, haven't I?"

The question takes Xandria by surprise, and it is enough to make her look up from the rosters and plans she has been going over with Lord Herne, General Draven, Margrave Draka, and the Primus while Nibbles sits back and chitters at them from time to time.

"You gave the Jailer the Maldraxxi Sigil like an idiot," the Primus snaps without even looking the mortal's way.

Mitchell is not deterred. "So let me make up for it. I should be part of the scouting party or whatever it is you're sending first."

Carroll scowls as he approaches with a full roster of mortals willing to join the assault. "Don't let him go. He just wants—"

His voice cuts off as he is turned into a penguin.

"You can turn people into—what even is that?" Inaar asks, utterly enthralled. She squats next to Carroll as he waddles angrily toward them and holds her hand out. With a cry, she pulls it back when he pecks at her and keeps on what Xandria assumes is a mission to take out Mitchell's kneecaps.

Mitchell gives them a pleading look. "If you can only bring one mortal, it should be me."

"We can bring more than one mortal," Draka says, taking a page from her god's playbook and not looking up. "I already told you this."

"But the Primus made it seem like I wasn't being considered," Mitchell says, looking pointedly at Xandria. "You're in charge of the mission though, right?"

Xandria stares down at Mitchell, unblinking. "The god you have sworn yourself to does not want you going, so you have come to me?"

Pausing to tuck Carrol under his arm and utterly ignoring as the penguin flails ineffectually for freedom, Mitchell's brow pinches together. "I mean, not quite…"

"I'm tempted to toss you back into the Maw," the Primus mutters.

"I'd just crawl back out," Mitchell replies without missing a beat.

"Mitchell!" Howl's voice barks as he enters the chamber. "Stop sheeping the archmage."

"If he's such a good archmage, seems like he'd have a spell reflect by now," Mitchell mutters. He does, however, set Carroll down. He uses his staff to keep the angry bird at bay, though Carroll does get the hem of Mitchell's robe in his mouth and starts jerking wildly at it. "It'll wear off in a few seconds."

"Why do you want to go so badly?" Xandria asks.

Mitchell looks up at her, and she can see the wheels shifting and turning in his head as he considers how best to answer. As he considers what answer will get him what he wants. He starts to speak but stops himself. With a dramatic sigh, he shakes his head. "I can't lie to you."

Xandria arches a single brow.

"I want to go because it'll be funny."

Xandria can feel the Primus' annoyance without even looking his way. "How so?"

"Because it takes a living touch to activate the stones, yes?" Mitchell says. "So if it lets me activate it, it'll be—"

He is interrupted as magic shimmers around him and then a newly restored Carroll turns into a sheep. As he bleats angrily, Mitchell stares down at him apathetically. "Spell. Reflect."

General Draven's frown deepens more than usual. "And what if you cannot activate the waystone?"

"But what if I can."

"We will let you come, but we will have other mortals as well, should your touch not suffice," Draka says, again without so much as looking his way.

"But I get to try first, right?" Mitchell asks, pausing to glance down at Carroll, who is angrily chewing on his sleeve. He blinks out of the sheep's reach and Carroll seems to consider chasing him, but instead sits where he is, the most cross looking sheep Xandria has ever seen.

"So long as the way is open, we do not care who opens it," the Primus says, sounding like he is about ready to commit some friendly fire himself.

"Can I pick who comes?" Mitchell asks.

Howl smacks the back of his head. "Enough, O'hara."

Nibbles gesticulates for a moment before seeming to remember that those around him cannot understand what he is saying. He has done this multiple times now, growing more agitated with each instance where he must go back and repeat himself in a way that can be understood. With a huff, the gorger begins scrawling kyrian symbols into the air.

Xandria cannot help but smile as she reads the flickering letters.

"I can't read that," Mitchell says plainly.

With an angry click, Nibbles devours the letters' essence, the gold bands on his limbs glimmering brighter for an instant.

Xandria looks down at Mitchell. "He said that your essence is still of the Realms of the Living, so you should be able to activate the waygate."

The way the mortal perks up is…something she can't quite put to words. Like perhaps his goals were not quite as much of a joke as he has tried to play them off as. No one else seems to catch it, however, as Draka puts the issue to bed with a dismissive wave of her hand.

"We'll be bringing five mortals with us, regardless. You can decide among yourselves who comes with the first wave and who waits for the waygate to be opened."

It does not seem to deter Mitchell however, as he simply nods, satisfied, and then turns to look at Howl, "Are you coming, too?"

---

Liila, Pocopoc, and Pelagos stand on the edge of a cliff, watching the skies that stretch out before her. Olea Hanoa hovers up to her, with Sire Denathrius in tow. The Sire seems almost curious as he comes to stand beside them.

"Have you considered what I told you?"

"Of course," Pelagos says, earnest as ever.

That brutal honesty always throws Sire Denathrius, and he stares at him for a moment, expression unreadable before he lets his gaze move to Liila and then outward.

"You said we can't treat our enemy like people if we are to win," Liila recalls. "And we think we know exactly what to do." She looks down at Pocopoc, who flashes her a thumbs up. "Everything is ready."

"Now what?" Sire Denathrius asks, largely unimpressed.

"We wait," Pelagos replies, scanning the sky.

"How long?"

Even as he speaks, one of the helsworn flying in the distance slams into something that sparks and shimmers before going invisible again.

As Sire Denathrius leans forward, gaze narrowed as he tries to see what just happened, another hits into something as well. And another.

Dozens of their enemies are falling from the sky, and those who aren't have grown still, hovering in place as they try to figure out what is going on.

"From now on, we treat them like birds," Liila says, winking at Olea Hanoa, who chimes that it's not the worst idea she's heard.

The jiro are the ones who have made the traps. They are the overseers of the realm, after all. They know how to make Zereth Mortis shift to their needs. And since Liila suggested windowpanes, she knows that they are developing some other traps of their own to help limit the movement of the ground-bound mawsworn. The key is to make certain their forces do not get ensnared, or at least know what to look for.

A helsworn dives down toward them, screaming in fury.

Sire Denathrius lifts his hand to lash out with magic, but Pelagos motions for him to wait.

Their attacker slams into an invisible wall just in front of them and falls from view, down to the bottom of the cliffs below.

"Until help arrives," Liila says, looking at the others and grinning, "we are going to make it clear: we are not stuck in here with them. They are stuck in here, with us."

Even as Sire Denathrius considers it and nods, Pelagos frowns and then tugs on Liila's arm. "That said, we should go because the barriers do have a top and bottom and we don't need them finding that and getting over it while we're still here."

"Oh yeah, they're gonna be pissed if they reach us."

Sire Denathrius lingers a moment, looking out wistfully over the realm. "I wish I could see my brother's face."

"When he walks into one?" Liila asks.

Sire Denathrius does not respond.

---

"We need more traps," Liila murmurs, appraising their map of Zereth Mortis.

One of the jiro chimes that there is only so much they can do to slow down the Jailer's forces. They learn quickly, after all.

It has been a week since Liila and Pelagos escaped the wrath of the Jailer, and to say the god is displeased with this turn of events would be an understatement.

If his forces were dangerous before, now they are so tenfold. Those who have remained loyal to him are desperate to be in his good graces, something that is in very short supply.

It does not help that there are many, many reports of how his favorite puppet laughs at him. Anduin has taken Liila's and Pelagos' escapes to heart, and from what she has heard, he fights the Jailer's control now in ways that many had thought not possible.

The human king's defiance only further weakens the Jailer's hold on those around him.

Look how unmanageable everything is becoming, his minions whisper.

All those eons of scheming, all those plans coming to fruition at once, and a handful of measly, mortal souls are undoing it before their eyes?

More and more, it is said—sometimes brazenly—that the Jailer is nothing outside of the Maw.

He is very displeased.

What displeases Liila is the fact that Sire Denathrius did not retreat with Nibbles. They put themselves at risk, did everything they could to set the god free, and when he could see the portals leading out of the realm, he had chosen to stay.

It baffles her.

She's tried to demand his reasons, but he merely warns her that she has no right to question a god. It is an odd thing, feeling the world shiver and twist around her in warning, both to her and to him. Zereth Mortis bends its will willingly to only the First Ones, and Sire Denathrius has paid for every one of his little shows.

However, Liila finally has hope—seeing as Nibbles made it through to the other side, according to the Sire—that perhaps there will be help coming, and she does not want to see what Sire Denathrius might do to her once they are beyond this realm, should she persist in berating him for staying. So instead, she merely gives him the occasional side-eye that he pointedly glares at her for, but neither say anything.

It has worked well enough, in truth.

The Sire's presence has helped to bolster the number of the Jailer's minions splitting off and joining them, and it turns out that one cannot deceive the Master of Lies. The few times the Jailer has tried to send operatives their way, the Sire knew before they even opened their mouths.

He is quick to promise second chances and the option to atone to those who are unsure of where to place their loyalties. Some welcome the idea of not having to return to the Maw. Others seem indifferent, and still others absolutely intended to return once rivals and other obstacles have been removed. But even those who fall into the last group understand that it doesn't hurt to have a few do-gooders helping them carve their way to their goals.

Denathrius, god of the wretched who can still be redeemed, understands such souls quite well, and it only ever takes him a minute or so to find the words he needs to have them saluting him. Once they head off on whatever task he deems them capable, he idly comments on how soon he expects 'that one' to stab them in the back.

He has been disappointed several times now when Pelagos will not entertain bets on such matters.

The Sire also seems to be able to tell when souls are getting restless, when their 'sinful urges', as he calls them, are stirring and betrayal is imminent. He has switched patrol groups and guards accordingly, and sometimes that in itself is enough to scare their new allies back into line.

It is a twisted marvel to watch.

Liila finds herself a bit anxious whenever new souls come to join their cause, as there are a couple she very much hopes to never see.

There are generals of the old gods, mad dragons, the list goes on. With most, if she thinks about it, she thinks she could work with them, if push came to shove.

Assuming they can forgive that she was one of the ones who sent them to the Shadowlands.

But there is one soul she fears that she knows she cannot trust, should he show up.

Her tormentor.

She has felt his gaze in the Maw, from time to time, and she does not know if that was simply the Maw playing on her fears or if he was really there, really watching her.

In truth—in life—she never felt him before he showed up. While that makes her feel a little better about the terror that has crept up her spine time and time again, it does not help when the faceless souls come to them, bound in their corruption, asking to join their cause.

She wonders if he already walks among them sometimes, if she will not see an Unsworn unmask themselves at some point and realize that he has been there, that she has been working with him, trusting him.

Pelagos has given her many a hug of assurance, something that Sire Denathrius makes a point to study like he is watching insects perform tricks. He is not used to genuine kindness.

He likes to play with Pelagos, especially. He offers him scenarios, asks what he would do, and his eyes light up with the way Pelagos humors him and does his best to think through how to answer such queries.

They are always wicked things, too. The Sire comes up with the most dastardly scenarios and asks Pelagos how he will resolve it, asks him what is the righteous course.

Once, he asks Pelagos whether he would save the Archon or his soulmate, to which Pelagos responded, "Nikolon," without hesitation. When the Sire pressed him about abandoning his god so readily, Pelagos had looked at him and dismissed his attempts to get under his skin. "If it is a foe that I can vanquish, then it is one the Archon will have little trouble with. She would not have been in danger to start with." He'd paused a moment and then grinned and winked at Liila. "Or her Hand will save her."

"Kleia told you about that, hmm?"

Pelagos had simply laughed.

Much of the Sire's questions went in similar directions, with answers that baffle him. The god loves it.

He clearly hasn't had the chance to speak with such 'good' souls very often, and he is having the time of his long, long existence pestering Pelagos.

Sire Denathrius is not as warm to anyone else, and it makes Liila a little suspicious of what he's up to, though Pelagos is always quick to ease her concerns.

"I trust him," Pelagos told her once, with a simple shrug. She had felt that trust echoing, a surety that she could not find the base for. When she asked him about it, he admitted that he didn't know why he trusted the Sire, especially considering the god had admitted to working with the Jailer for a time.

Once they had established a secure location from which to hassle the Jailer and his forces, Sire Denathrius, ever strutting about in his venthyr form, had finally regaled them with why he had been so ready to aid his fallen brother.

The Jailer, he had explained, was once the Arbiter. He had served that role for eon after eon, judging every soul who came to Shadowlands, knowing everything every soul had ever done, without ever getting to actually know them.

He had been lonely. He had wanted to walk among the souls that passed him by, to see the way they grew after they went to the realms that he deemed fitting for them.

However, the Arbiter cannot leave Oribos.

The Jailer had always loved speaking with those passing through, though the Attendants knew little of the realms beyond and the Ascended were so duty-bound that they rarely lingered long enough to have a decent conversation, and his few queries to the Archon about whether she might lend him a soul or two were always declined.

Sire Denathrius had smiled faintly as he had recounted how the Jailer had loved it when Renathal snuck into a conversation betwixt gods, how he had enjoyed speaking to the venthyr, watching him grow into a proper Harvester and listen to his tales.

The Jailer—the Arbiter—had been lonely.

And that had led to his downfall.

He had decided that if there were two Arbiters, then he would be free to leave his post from time to time to pursue the answers to the questions that pestered him so. He wanted to understand mortals, to see what made them make all those decisions he watched in a blink.

"He told me of two souls," Sire Denathrius said, "two souls from two different times and worlds, but they went through the same exact things. The same tragedies, the same triumphs, but then they went off in wildly different directions. One grew stronger, became a leader that he saw still referenced and praised in the memories of those who came after. The other broke. They became a villain the likes of which most mortal worlds have not seen. My brother could judge them based on the culmination of their actions, but he did not understand why they chose the paths that they did. Why was an event inspiration for one and damnation for another?" Sire Denathrius had shrugged dramatically then.

Liila had listened, fascinated for the opportunity to see into a god's mind, to see both what it was that Sire Denathrius chose to tell them—and how he chose to tell it—and to see echoes of the Jailer from a time before he was the wicked monster she knew.

Pelagos and those others who chose to listen had been equally enthralled.

Sire Denathrius had woven the tale so beautifully with that handsome voice of his.

After eons of wondering and theorizing and never having any solid answers, the Arbiter had come up with a solution. If he wanted to know the mortal souls, he needed to be able to walk among them in their afterlives.

The only problem, then, was that he was bound to his duty. He would never shirk such a thing, but as he watched the mortals come and go, he considered what they did when they needed to step aside from responsibilities for a breath.

And so he had asked his brothers and sisters for their sigils, so that he could go to Zereth Mortis and make a second for himself.

Of course, the idea was rejected.

"Kyrestia," Sire Denathrius had spoken the name pointedly, lips dipping into a deep frown, "was the most adamant against such a notion. She didn't even let him finish talking. Zereth Mortis is sacred, and she has always been one to follow the rules. And the rules were painfully clear: no trespassing in the realm of the First Ones." He'd shaken his head. "Titania and Pertinax agreed because they worried that different gods—different stand ins—would judge souls differently. What if a soul Zovaal would send to me went to Maldraxxus instead? What if a soul meant for Titania was judged worthy of a quiet afterlife in some obscure realm?

"To say my brother was disappointed would be an understatement, but he returned to his duties, and we ours. We heard nothing more of it. For ages." Sire Denathrius' gaze had fallen then. "For all those ages that we considered the matter settled and forgot the question had ever come up, Zovaal spent trying to find a way that would not displease the First Ones, should they return, nor upset his beloved siblings." He was quiet for a long moment before sighing. "And then it was discovered that he was trying to make replicas of the sigils himself. It came about after some story I'd told him of Renathal asking forgiveness rather than permission. Kyrestia and Pertinax were furious. I half think Titania pitied him, but she could not forgive his underhanded methods, either. And so he was banished, and the replacement he'd been so desperate to make was made. She became the Arbiter and he the Jailer. He never even got to meet her.

"Revendreth is closest to the Maw, and he found a way to reach out to me, to beg for mercy, to promise to return to his duties and not complain. He swore he would abandon his quest to understand mortal souls." Sire Denathrius had looked out, across Zereth Mortis, to where the Jailer walked, and Liila had wondered if the Jailer somehow knew that his story was being laid bare. She wondered if he was angry.

A foolish thing to wonder truly, as the Jailer had been angry for a long, long time.

Sire Denathrius had been quiet for so long that Liila had thought the story over, when he finally began again. "I tried to get him out, to bring him to Revendreth. But nothing escapes the Maw."

He shook his head then, seeming to lose interest in the story. "We planned ways to allow his escape, and they slowly became grander and grander. He needed power. I gave it to him. It wasn't enough. I gave him more. The Shadowlands needed to be weaker. He proposed that I starve it, said it would be easy enough. That when the realms were in peril, no one would notice as the Maw started to build up, as he put cracks in reality to help him escape. That…was a bit too much." Sire Denathrius shook his head. "Pertinax found out, and…then he went missing. I asked Zovaal, and he did not like my tone." He had glanced at Pelagos and Liila then, ignored the others listening to his tale. "I did not realize he had been working with my Nathrezim behind my back until they came with a gift from him. A trinket to split my soul. My essence was captured and given to one of my strongest children, and I was banished to a little reunion with my dear brother."

The air had crackled with displeasure then, and for the first time, Zereth Mortis did not seem to lash out at the Sire for his anger. Perhaps it, too, had been listening.

Liila has wondered about that story since its telling. Initially, Sire Denathrius had told them he had been persuaded by 'pretty promises', and yet the tale he wove for them later was that he had just wanted to help his brother be free.

Which was true?

After all, he wasn't called the Master of Lies for nothing.

"I'd like to think what he said was the truth," Pelagos has said, more than once.

After one such assurance, it turned out that someone had been eavesdropping on them.

"It's true."

Liila and Pelagos had looked up, wary to find Eketra had joined them.

She had motioned vaguely in the direction of the desert. "Zovaal was a beautiful soul, once. Kind, and tempered. And lonely. So very lonely." Like Sire Denathrius, a melancholy had gripped her as she spoke of the fallen god. "He did not deserve to be cast down as he was."

On several occasions, she told them stories of the Jailer from before he had fallen, of the souls he had judged, of the methods he had used, of his laugh and the way his eyes crinkled when he got to view the actions of a kind soul.

"How I loved bringing the good ones to him, if only to see that flicker of a smile," she had murmured then, voice distant as though she could still what he had been like.

It had made Liila wonder why Eketra had decided to join them, if she so clearly felt strongly for the Jailer.

That was a question the helsworn would not answer.

And that only makes Liila trust Sire Denathrius' and Eketra's stories less.

However, it does explain a lot, like how Sire Denathrius, a god on par with the Titans, had been defeated by a handful of mortal souls. Liila—and many others—have wondered about that, though she generally tries not to overthink it.

It makes sense, though. What was defeated in Castle Nathria was a mere fragment of the Sire. A shadow, a dreadlord wearing his image.

The one time Liila said that Prince Renathal didn't seem to know what had happened, Sire Denathrius had caught her by the chin and pinched a little too hard as he forced her to meet his gaze. "Why do you think my son was so quick to lead so few against me? He knew that creature was a farce, a sliver." He had let her go then, leaving her to heal the spots where his claws had pricked her cheeks. "My son may have foolish tendencies, but he is smarter than you will ever be. Remember that before you speak of him again."

The Dark Prince, it turns out, is a testy subject to bring up in front of the Sire. He loves to brag on his son, but does not brook any stories that so much as imply criticism of his 'greatest creation'.

Indeed, Sire Denathrius is a curious ally to have.

Liila wishes she could work with him a little less directly, if she's honest. Even if he does casually drop interesting knowledge that he assumes the rest of them know, like the names of the Winter Queen and Primus.

However, she again reminds herself that beggars cannot be choosers, and they need all the help they can get right now.

As the jiro highlight a few spots on the map where some new traps might be most beneficial, Sire Denathrius idly glances over a few reports and extinguishes a few right away.

Liila is watching as he inspects another with more care when the thing that she and Pelagos have been waiting for finally happens.

Very suddenly, she can feel her.

Xandria.

The paragon's presence is so overwhelming that Liila loses her train of thought and looks around, expecting the woman to be there with them already. She can feel so many emotions bubbling through her that it is overwhelming.

She cannot name most of them as their connection feels like it has been flooded. Liila has been reaching for Xandria for so long, trying so desperately to leave the channel between them open so that she can feel even the faintest echo, so that she can send even the briefest message, that now that they are in the same realm together, it is like she has been thrust into a raging current.

Caution, relief, courage…

Those are the main feelings that sweep over her, through her.

As she manages to pull herself back to the present, distancing herself from her connection to her soulbind as best she can, she can see that Sire Denathrius and the jiro are watching her.

Her and Pelagos.

He seems to have recovered a bit faster, though there is a light in his eyes that has replaced the grim determination of the past few weeks, something that seems to knock ages off his face, making him look almost as young as when they first met.

At long last, their hope is tangible.

"Looks like the tides are finally turning," Sire Denathrius murmurs, lips curling into a wide, garish grin.

---

After the darkness of the Maw, the light on the other side of the portal is blinding. Xandria holds up a hand to help her eyes adjust, hovering where she has manifested. The second she enters Zereth Mortis, she can feel her soulbind, their connection no longer blocked, and memories come flooding to her, as well as a sense of relief that echoes so strongly that it throws her. She never felt emotions from Liila this strongly before.

Before her eyes can properly adjust, Kleia's gasp from somewhere behind here tells her that she is feeling her soulbind as well, and that is a welcome relief.

The gasp quickly turns to concern, however, as she hears Kleia call out for Nikolon to wait.

Instinctively, Xandria reaches out and catches the disciple by his foot as he shoots past her. She feels feathers brush against her arm as he catches himself before his wings stall.

"I can feel him," Nikolon says, defiance in his tone.

"I know that pull well," Xandria says, voice soft as she lets the disciple go. "But don't let it make you foolish. We'll find him."

As she speaks, she feels the presence of corruption—of the Maw—growing closer.

She tenses, readies her trident.

And a voice calls out.

"Stay your weapons, if you want safe passage to the Sire."

Xandria lowers her hand, peers at the helsworn that hovers before her and her arriving party—ascended with wings of all shades, night fae, and stoneborn alike, as well as some mounted necrolords and mortals.

There is a larger group waiting at the waygate, but this group should be enough to open the way. They hope.

General Draven is already beside her, and lets out a low grunt. "I can feel the Master… Why is he here?"

The helsworn simply smirks, ignoring the general altogether as she meets Xandria's gaze. "There are traps." She turns and tosses her weapon. It arcs through the air for less than a second before slamming hard into something that Xandria cannot see. Electricity crackles around the spear a second before it falls from the air, plummeting into the empty, open space below. "If you would like to fly blindly, by all means, but Sire Denathrius would rather any incoming allies make it to the command post in one piece."

Xandria narrows her eyes, exchanging a look with General Draven, who has tensed. "Sire Denathrius is here." She pauses for a second before adding, "And he wants to see us?"

"Come see for yourself."

Despite the suspicion that courses through her veins, Xandria stops when she feels a faint curl of reassurance from Liila.

It is so strong, sturdy, as though her soulbind herself is sturdier. At first she thinks it is the Primus' boon, but that does not explain all of it.

No, something has changed, though what it is, she cannot say just yet.

Liila is reaching out to her, and offering her assurances that she can trust the creature before her–the name Eketra comes to mind–and there is a pleased trill that runs through Xandria that is not her own when she nods and motions to the helsworn. "Lead the way."

Despite the care they take in following after their guide, there are almost half a dozen accidents on the way to the realm as those following her fan out a hair too much and find that they are walking through an invisible maze. General Draven is the one who thinks to leave a faint trail of anima to follow, one that leaves the turns and twists for those following further back to see so that cut corners do not lead to people struggling to catch their companions as they fall, stunned.

Just as Xandria begins to think that she can identify the faintest of shimmers where the traps are, the helsworn descends sharply and lands on what should be air.

The paragon follows along, finding that there seems to be an invisible path set out before them, much like one of Agthia's old tricks around the Temple of Courage. Xandria frowns once when the helsworn looks back at her and warns her to duck.

She shifts forms then, to that of a regular ascended. The helsworn seems amused, but simply leads on.

They walk for almost an hour, with every attempt Xandria makes to garner information from their guide ending in curt rebuffs and assurances that there are others better suited to answer such questions.

She tries to remember Eketra. She was never a disciple of Courage, she is sure, and the names of aspirants who have come through her temple blur. However, she is certain she does not know Eketra. Perhaps this ascended came through before she was paragon?

It is not impossible, considering she does not know everyone in the realm. Even a paragon's memory cannot keep track of that many names and faces.

Still, something tells her that she has never known Eketra. She searches for confirmation from Liila, but either her soulbind does not know what she is asking, or does not know the answer herself.

If she knew her, could place her, she is certain she would be able to trust her more, but as it is, she is a stranger, wrapped in the Maw's corruption, and Xandria knows the difference between courage and foolishness.

Following a stranger like this…

Even as Liila sends her another assurance that Eketra can be trusted, Xandria stops. "If you wish for us to go further, you will answer my questions."

The helsworn stops then as well and turns slowly to appraise her. After a moment, she lets out a soft humph and motions to Xandria. "I suppose we are far enough from the Jailer's patrols that it will not hurt to take the pause you are so desperate for."

General Draven appraises their guide carefully, wings flaring briefly. "What is going on here?"

"Rebellion and defiance, what else?"

"Would you care to be more specific?" Xandria asks, frowning. She can feel amusement curling from Liila, and that is the only thing that stilts her growing aggravation. Memories bubble up, offered freely of the different happenings within the realm. Xandria mutes the memories when their guide speaks.

"It would be better to hear it from Sire Denathrius," the helsworn begins and gives up, "but the short of it is that a kyrian aspirant proved that for all the Jailer's reach and schemes and power, he is not some force that cannot be stood against. He is just as fallible as any other god."

"And I suppose she–"

"His name is Pelagos," the helsworn corrects. "Though Liila has pulled plenty to our cause, as well."

Xandria can practically hear Liila's laughter at the assumption that she was the one to turn the tide here.

"He is well?" she asks, more intrigued than annoyed at this point.

"He is more than well," Eketra replies, "and he would happily tell you all about it himself, if you would but use your feet."

Kleia darts up next to Xandria and whispers, "I can feel Pelagos. He wants us to trust her. She was sent here specifically to take us safely to them."

"Liila is the same," Xandria murmurs. Even knowing that both aspirants trust this creature… the feel of the Maw makes something recoil inside of Xandria despite that, and it is a struggle to push it aside, to convince herself that she is not crossing the line to foolhardy.

A memory bubbles up then, of Liila and this Eketra fighting side by side, of Eketra saving both her and Pelagos.

Despite wishing she could, Xandria finds that she cannot argue with that, and motions for their guide to lead on.

---

Liila is heading through the fields full of orbs and pools with three Unsworn—a name given to their allies by the Sire, partially out of boredom and partially to help give them a sense of comradery or…something. Liila's pretty sure it was just boredom and a need to exert control by naming their efforts on the Sire's part. Gods tend to be needy like that.

Regardless, their forces have a name, and none of them have complained about it that she's heard.

Liila felt the second Xandria arrived in the realm, as did Pelagos when Kleia arrived shortly after. Even better, it seems Nikolon has come, too.

Liila has been hoping to feel that pull that tells her that Adrestes is here, but it remains absent.

She supposes that she shouldn't be too surprised. After all, one paragon spearheading their charge is really more than the realm can spare, all things considered.

And Adrestes does have a temple to order, and he's so new to being a paragon. And she knows that, more than anything, he is devoted to Bastion and the Archon.

She loves that about him. She does.

It's just…

She's missed him in a way she didn't think she could miss another person. It is like a part of her is absent, and it's worse than the severed soulbinds in ways she can't put to words. Pelagos understands at least. He's been missing his own soulmate these last few weeks, and they've commiserated over the absence of the ones they love.

But even knowing someone else is going through that doesn't take the edge off of it, and the idea that he could have come, but didn't won't quit nagging her. She knows that he hates to leave the realm, that he doesn't like to even bear, though he does his sacred duty whenever he is called to without complaint.

The fact that he came to get her from Ardenweald was a small miracle, and again, that had been before he was a paragon.

With all of his responsibilities, she can't expect him to show up every time she needs a hero.

Not that she needs one often…

It just nettles at an old wound, really. It reminds her of waiting for heroes who don't come. It reminds her of sitting in a rotting room, knowing that there is no reason to look up when the stairs creak, because it won't be salvation coming through that door.

That's not fair. Xandria is here. Kleia is here. They've come to her aid—well, to the aid of the reality, really, but still. She's part of reality, and she knows that Xandria is relieved to be able to feel their bond again. Pelagos said Kleia was glad to know Liila is safe.

This isn't the same as her past. She has not been abandoned.

It just would have been nice if he had come.

And it would be nicer if Pelagos wasn't able to read her so easily on that front. The look he gave her when she flinched at his mentioning of Nikolon. Of course, Sire Denathrius had to make a comment about jealousy.

Prick.

Couldn't one quietly seethe with bitter disappointment at their soulmate not racing to their rescue in peace?

And anyway, she wasn't seething. She was just…

Sad.

If Xandria has felt that, she hasn't reacted to it.

A small blessing. It's probably too much to hope that she's been as overwhelmed by their binding's renewed strength as Liila that she completely missed it, being a paragon and all, but it's all she has at the moment.

As one of her party members reaches the next wall and peers around it, they perk up and motion quickly for the others to follow. Liila and the other two do and as she peeks around the corner, she sees Eketra leading the way with a confident stride.

Liila glances around and then steps out into the open, offering a wave to the approaching party. Kleia starts to take to the air, but pauses, saying something to Eketra. The helsworn waves her forward, and Kleia is in the air in an instant, breaching the distance between them quickly.

She alights in front of Liila and grips her in a tight hug, swinging her around gleefully before setting her down.

As soon as she does, Kleia gasps, reaching out and putting her hands on Liila's shoulders. "You're...so…"

"Tall," Xandria finishes, having joined them already.

Liila cannot help but wink at Kleia. "You should see Pelagos."

"You're a fucking giant now," comes a familiar voice, and Liila leans away form Kleia to peer around her wings.

Mitchell offers her a wave as he trots up, with Howl and Blood flanking him and Carroll and that Kul'tiran druid, May, following.

When Liila flexes playfully, Mitchell rolls his eyes. Blood cackles. "We knew you'd still be kicking around."

"The Dragonlily is hard to take down," one of the Unsworn admits.

As Xandria pats her head, Liila motions for them to come back the way she's come. "I could feel how unsure you were, so I thought I'd come give Eketra a hand." Eketra snorts, hand on her hip, but does not argue. "So…let's head back."

"Is there a waygate?" Xandria asks.

"There is," Liila says, "but I'd like to make sure we have a clear route before heading that way. The Jailer's forces are in constant flux, especially now. The latest reports were still coming in when I left, and with your arrival, I'm sure things are shifting more than ever."

"The Jailer will not be pleased," Eketra says offhandedly.

"We have been told Sire Denathrius is here," General Draven says, moving closer.

"Well, part of him is," Liila says as they head back. "Not the half that was defeated and locked in a sword."

General Draven does not seem surprised. "My prince knew something had been taken from the Master."

Confirmation for the Sire's claims.

Assuming he isn't somehow puppeteering the stoneborn already.

Xandria takes note of Liila's suspicion, and Liila feels a quiet assurance that if something goes awry, they will stand together.

It is so good to have her connection back.

Liila goes over what she can as they move, explaining how the Unsworn are a faction of Maw denizens who are fighting against the Jailer's forces now, how the Jailer grows weaker by the day, but is still powerful enough that they are hoping dearly not to cross paths with him any time soon.

Their command post is on a mountaintop, with specialized teleporters that lead to a large chamber within the mountain, a fortress so to speak, one that is not easy to reach. Leading so many people there will likely put their location on the Jailer's map, but hopefully they will not be here much longer to need their base.

Sire Denathrius hopes that they can negate the portals allowing reinforcements from the Maw once they have enough back up, and then their own forces will be able to overwhelm the Jailer's. Once he is on his own…

Sire Denathrius hasn't really shared that part of the plan yet, but Liila figures she won't be a part of it anyway, so it doesn't really matter.

Xandria is tempted to send some of their people toward the portals now, but holds off, not wanting to branch their forces too early.

It is so good to see everyone.

Even Carroll.

It is better to know that there is a whole army waiting at the waygate, ready to march.

When they finally reach the teleporters, Liila calls Nikolon over and motions to it. "Go ahead. I know someone's waiting for you."

---

"I can feel their souls drawing near," Sire Denathrius says without so much as looking over his shoulder.

As much as Pelagos wanted to go with Liila, he has stayed with the Sire, to help with planning their next moves. There is an excitement building in him, however, as he can feel more than just Kleia's binding.

That invisible tug, that string of fate has been growing stronger for a while now, and Pelagos doesn't doubt that if he had wings, he wouldn't have been able to contain himself. However, that, and knowing just how many traps are out there, has kept him in place. He keeps glancing toward the entrance to the chamber their base is set in, waiting to see Nikolon appear.

He feels so…

After not being able to feel his presence at all for weeks, to have him in the same realm is…euphoric.

However, if they cannot keep focus on the war that is being raged at present, there will be no future for Pelagos and Nikolon or anyone else, and that is what keeps drawing him back to the present, what keeps him from trying to follow that ethereal pull.

It has been a rough week in the cradle of reality, with the Jailer lashing out constantly. However, his forces have been divided such that any progress he was making is dead in the water, so to speak.

At least, that is what Pelagos has been hoping.

Sire Denathrius has been quick to point out targets they need to secure before his brother can, and has been playing a game of hide and seek, flitting about the realm as Pelagos persuades the Unsworn and Liila talks the jiro into hassling their enemy.

Pelagos has asked Sire Denathrius why he did not leave the realm several times now. After all, the most crucial piece that the Jailer needs to accomplish his goals seems to be the soul of a fellow Eternal One, and it does not make sense to Pelagos that the Sire has not taken the initiative to make certain his soul will not be the sacrifice.

However, Sire Denathrius has only deigned to answer his query but once, when no one else was present. And then all he had said was, "While Eternal Souls themselves are rare, they can be cultivated and grown. The seeds for such souls are not as uncommon as one might think."

He had given Pelagos such a pointed look when he spoke, that Pelagos had felt certain there was something very specific that wasn't being said, but should be inferred. If the Sire is disappointed that he has not made whatever connection he should, he has not said anything.

However, Pelagos does think that perhaps another Eternal Soul is already being formed, perhaps the Jailer is cultivating one as a back up.

If he is, however, Sire Denathrius had not sent them out to retrieve it yet.

The idea that there is another soul in the realm, ready to become a god, however, is intriguing, and he finds himself musing occasionally if perhaps they already knew who it is. If perhaps it might be Liila.

Or…

There are plenty of Unsworn around. Maybe one of them could be raised to replace the Jailer?

But what of the Arbiter?

His thoughts are interrupted as that inexplicable draw swells like a wave washing over him. Or more accurately, as Nikolon flies into him, wrapping him in his arms and lifting him off the ground as he stops too late. Pelagos clings to him, well after their feet are back on the ground, fingers curling in the soft feathers at the base of Nikolon's wings. He lifts his head, meets his lover's gaze. If he still had breath, Nikolon would have stolen it then and there, cupping Pelagos' face in his hands as he kisses him hard and deep.

For a moment, the world is right. For that blissful moment, there is no fallen god hellbent on unmaking reality. It is just the two of them. Hands roam, tugging bodies closer, and it does not matter that Pelagos doesn't have wings, because he has Nikolon, and that matters far, far more.

---

When Sire Denathrius starts toward Pelagos and Nikolon like he might interrupt their reunion, a hand rests on his arm, and he looks to the side to see Kleia standing beside him. She has a gentle smile as she says, "Please let them have this."

Liila half expects the Sire to threaten to de-wing Kleia for her insolence, but instead he merely frowns pointedly at the two and then turns his attention to the rest of the group.

"Does that qualify as a living mortal?" Sire Denathrius drawls when he notice Mitchell, appraising him with a critical eye.

"I suppose we'll find out, won't we?" Mitchell replies, sizing him up in return.

Despite being happy to let his presence be known, Sire Denathrius has chosen to continue to wear his venthyr guise, for reasons he has not deigned the rest of them worthy to hear, and so Liila suspects that Mitchell does not know he is speaking to a misplaced god.

General Draven, however, recognizes him almost immediately. He flits forward, landing beside Mitchell and jerking him back a few steps. He is tense—perhaps wondering if this piece of his master's soul has the same intentions as the last.

The general appraises the Sire for a long, painfully quiet moment before looking down at Mitchell. "Watch your tone."

"Leave him be," Sire Denathrius says, one corner of his lips quirking up. "It has been some time since I was able to bask in such…delicious arrogance."

The tension has been broken and General Draven relaxes.

Liila crosses her arms on top of Mitchell's head and leans on him. "No angering the friendly gods."

Though Mitchell bats her away, muttering about messing up his hair, he does seem to at least take her words to heart, for he glances over Sire Denathrius with new interest.

However, before he can put his foot in his mouth, Xandria steps in.

"If you take us to the waystone, we have a second wave ready to assist." She rattles off a few numbers that seem to put Sire Denathrius in a good mood.

"I just wanted to make sure that there's no movement in that area right now," Liila explains before looking back to Sire Denathrius. "Do we have a clear shot to get the way open?"

"We still haven't gotten the latest reports," Sire Denathrius says, focusing on Xandria. "I hope you brought more than one mortal. Should something go wrong…"

"We have five with us," Xandria replies.

"But I'm opening the waygate," Mitchell clarifies.

As he speaks, it reminds Liila of a younger, angrier Mitchell. She thinks back to the few times he got drunk enough around her to confess that he wished that the Forsaken were not always looked at like monsters. He might not care if people view him that way overly much, but others did. So many forsaken were bitter because they had been as their namesake implied. He had mused, those few times, about how he might bring his people into better standing, and Liila cannot help but wonder if perhaps the reason he wants to be the one to open the waygate is tied into that.

Perhaps he wants to prove the Forsaken belong to the world of the living in a way that people cannot deny.

Perhaps he merely wants to fuck around or piss off Carroll.

It's hard to say.

When General Draven points out the mortals on hand, Sire Denathrius flashes a quick smile. "Excellent. We can split them one per group and have each take a different route. That way, should my brother pick off a few, we can still get the way open."

As Xandria and General Draven start breaking their force into groups and Sire Denathrius assigns them each an Unsworn guide, Liila nudges Kleia's shoulder.

Pelagos and Nikolon have finally remembered that the rest of the world exists, Pelagos is happily trotting over to them, fingers laced with Nikolon's. He lets go only long enough to wrap Kleia in a tight hug.

"I thought I would never see you again," Kleia whispers, squeezing him tightly.

Pelagos squeezes her back, and Liila can feel his own relief coursing through them both.

It is good to see everyone reuniting again.

Almost everyone.

Liila brushes the notion aside as Sire Denathrius calls her over. "Aspirant Embrosia. Be useful, won't you?"

Pocopoc chimes in her defense and she gleefully translates when Mitchell asks what the fuck that is. Liila happily assigns herself to Mitchell's group, and after seeing the route they are going to take, leads the way out of their command post. Pocopoc comes with them, as well as a former helsworn known as Dekaris and two faeries.

The trip is surprisingly uneventful, though when they draw closer to Haven, they find that the Jailer has been moving his forces there to block the path to the waygate. Two of the other groups are already in combat when they arrive.

Blood and May are trying to fight their way through, but the forces understand that the mortals are the priority, and the waves of enemies are converging on them, over and over.

Carroll's group comes up on the ledge overlooking the battlefield next to Liila. His usual poor spirits are worse as he surveys the area. "Where are we headed?"

"The cave," Liila points across the way, through the bulk of their enemy's forces.

"Of fucking course," Carroll mutters.

He considers it a moment, starts to speak and then stops himself. He then looks at Mitchell. "How good are your mirror images?"

---

Adrestes adjusts his wings as he stands before the waygate, arms crossed, mace resting against his back.

Xandria's group has been gone almost a day now. Surely, they do not need much longer to get the waygate open. He's been told that Zereth Mortis is a realm that cannot be mapped out because it is in constant change as it models the next afterlives to be made. If one were to plot out the roads and landscape one century, it would be obsolete by the next. In some cases, it changes by the decade.

Still, it is supposedly a smallish realm itself. Surely a quick flight…

Thanikos stands beside him, equally agitated. It is one of the few times he is helping to lead their forces outside of the realm, and he is annoyed that he is spending this time waiting for a doorway to open up.

Between the two of them, Arios is absolutely irate with their impatience.

Adrestes just wants to get to Zereth Mortis. He wanted to lead the scouting party, but the Archon was adamantly against that. Xandria knows the Maw better than anyone else at this point, and since they were to go through that to get to Zereth Mortis, it was imperative that she lead that group.

Adrestes had been trying not to feel slighted when the Archon had pulled him aside and explained that she expected he would lead the second wave.

He had nearly flown off right then, but had managed to keep his composure enough to ensure that he knew the plan. After all, it wouldn't do for his polemarch training to be abandoned the second he was promoted, would it?

Lord Herne and Droman Aliothe talk quietly to his left, and Margraves Draka, Vashj, and Stradama are to his right. Prince Renathal and the Fearstalker stroll up to him as Thanikos inspects his axes for the nth time, making sure that his blades are sharp.

"This is the worst of it, is it not?" Prince Renathal asks with a flourished wave toward the inactive gate. "Waiting."

"Always hated this part of the hunt," the Fearstalker adds, glaring toward the innate gateway, as though she can intimidate it into firing up.

Thanikos clucks his tongue in agreement. "I'm ready to see an end to this madness."

"Aren't we all?" Adrestes murmurs, gaze flickering toward the gate and then to their company.

The Fearstalker eyes Thanikos and then gives him a half grin. "Want to wager who can kill more mawsworn once we're through?"

"Betting on such things is unbecoming," Thanikos murmurs, and then pauses to give the Fearstalker a lingering glance. "Especially since I would win."

She cackles at that. "Such pride. I thought the ascended forsook such vanity."

"It's not vain if I'm right."

As the Fearstalker flashes a toothy grin, Adrestes shakes his head and glances over their forces. This is easily the most the Shadowlands had ever mustered together. Armies from every realm that has regained access to Oribos are at the ready, with mages and casters from different realms ready to set up portals to allow more to come.

In addition, Adrestes is fairly certain that every mortal in the Shadowlands who has not already gone ahead is present and waiting. More in the lower levels of the city, but as soon as things start moving, it is going to be a most impressive wave sweeping through Zereth Mortis.

He only hopes it will be enough.

And he hopes it will be in time.

In time to save reality and in time to save Liila.

And Pelagos, too, of course.

It is just… Liila means the world to him. He should have pushed for her to stay in the realm, should have done a million little things differently.

He will make sure he does it right this time. He will find her, and he will bring her home, safe and sound.

Surely…

Adrestes pauses when he realizes that an envelope is being held out to him.

A familiar envelope.

He frowns and turns his gaze slowly toward Prince Renathal. "Now of all times?"

"Obviously the court itself will not be now," Prince Renathal says, grinning. "But how often do I get to deliver invitations in person? Surely you will not deny me such a treat?"

With a measured sigh, Adrestes takes the envelope and tucks it into his tunic. "Thank you, Dark Prince. I will gladly be in attendance, once this is all over."

"Perhaps you can bring this one with you," the Fearstalker says, nudging Thanikos' shoulder.

"And you can bring your lady," Prince Renathal adds cheerfully.

"You know who you should be inviting," Thanikos says, perking up when he sees he has their attention. "Chyrus—"

Before he can explain himself, there is a booming crackle of energy. Before the ringing in their ears has fully subsided, they can hear the Primus' voice reverberating in a way only a god's can.

"The way is open! Go! Put an end to this madness!"

---

Liila strips a mawsworn of their anima and uses it to impale another with ethereal spikes as she and Carroll guard Mitchell's mirror image. The real Mitchell has downed half a dozen invisibility potions and headed for the cave, doing his best to avoid all the fighting.

They are making a good show of having him with them, too.

The Jailer's forces seem to be converging on this spot, however, and Liila is certain that the portals leading into the realm are in overdrive because she has never seen so many mawsworn in one place.

With every scan of the field, she expects to see the Jailer himself.

It is fortunate that, thus far, he is absent, though part of her worries that that is because he is assaulting their command post and moving to reclaim his brother.

As she strikes down another mawsworn that is trying to sneak around behind Carroll, she is distracted as she feels what she has been longing for.

That inexplicable tug that draws her gaze toward the cave entrance. Even as she looks that way, a blur is headed toward her.

Adrestes crashes into the ground in front of her, sending several mawsworn tumbling.

The second there is space, he whirls toward Liila and his form shifts to that of an aspirant. She cannot help but jump into his arms, nails scraping his scalp as she kisses him.

"You're here!"

"Of course," he says between kisses. "I wouldn't leave you to face this on your own."

"I'm so sorry," Liila says, unable to stop her tears. "I didn't mean for this to happen. I didn't—"

"It's alright," Adrestes assures her. "When this is done, we'll go home together."

Even as she nods, Carroll shouts their names. When they glance at him, he is glaring as he freezes a mawsworn that's nearly on top of them. "Save it for later!"

"Right," Liila murmurs, blush tinging her cheeks. Adrestes gives her one last quick kiss and then returns to his paragon's form.

They have barely turned back to the fighting when another familiar face appears, flinging a few mawsworn through the air with his usual glee.

"Nibbles!" Liila cries out, giving him a quick hug as he chitters happily at her.

With him here, an idea strikes her, and she catches his arm again before he can charge off into the battle. "Can you take Pocopoc to the jiro?" When he nods, Liila turns to Pocopoc. "Signal to bring down the aerial traps!"

In a breath, the two are gone, and it becomes a waiting game.

Liila has not been able to fight in Korthia or in the assaults on the Maw, so to see the groups combined like this is truly unbelievable.

Familiar faces pour out of that cave, with more portals being opened by various mages. Mevix salutes her once from a distance before throwing himself back into the thick of it, and she can't help but wonder if Thales is here, too, though she has yet to see him.

The Enlightened will no doubt be beside themselves with anger over what happens to the surrounding fields, but if it means that reality prevails, Liila is sure they will be able to forgive, in time.

The fight is a little awkward at first, with their incoming allies at first having trouble distinguishing the Unsworn from the mawsworn. However, the Unsworn have been equipped by the jiro with special insignia carved into their armor, and once people realize who can be trusted, their forces work together to push back the mawsworn.

Just when they are making significant progress, the Jailer shows up.

He is just as terrifying as every other time Liila has had the misfortune of crossing paths with him. He towers over all others, striking down everyone within his path, enemy and ally alike.

There is a fury in him that seems to freeze the very air and rot the vegetation around him.

Zereth Mortis, in turn, fights back. For every branch that withers, vines grow up to catch at the god's feet, turning a purposeful stride into a sluggish one, where he must exert himself every time he lifts a foot. The ground trembles beneath his hatred, and reciprocates, molding to his boots and trying to drag him down.

The air grates against him and against his minions, making certain that they know they are unwelcome.

The effects however, bleed onto everyone in the vicinity.

The jiro have been preparing for this, making trinkets to help allow their allies to withstand the realm's wrath, or at least let the realm recognize them as allies. There are not enough trinkets to go around, however, and it is leading to some of their forces falling back, even as the jiro arrive and set up shields to protect who they can.

Liila switches to healing.

---

Nikolon and Kleia have stayed with Pelagos while the others head out to open the waygate, and he has never felt more relieved to have them near. He wishes Liila had stayed with them to catch up, but Kleia has assured him that she will want to be there when the way opens. He can feel from her what the surprise is and wonders if it will be spoiled because he knows it.

Xandria and General Draven stand with Sire Denathrius and a few others, going over strategies that Pelagos is certain were never proposed before. Perhaps it is because they finally have the forces needed?

Or is it something else?

For the first time, Pelagos gets the acute sense that the Sire has been keeping something from them.

When word comes that the Jailer himself has made an appearance on the battlefield, Sire Denathrius orders Xandria to take most of their remaining forces and head to assist with the waygate.

Their base is rife with a flurry of motion as people grab their weapons and head out. Pelagos is checking his own weapons—he keeps a dagger on hand at all times these days—and bags when he realizes Sire Denathrius is standing in front of him.

"You and I are going to take care of something else. I'll explain when we get there."

As much as Pelagos wants to ask just what the plan is, he follows Sire Denathrius to one of the side chambers that is less used. It is filled with a few different teleporters that they have been using to harry the Jailer's forces. Sire Denathrius heads to one that Pelagos doesn't think he's ever seen used.

Olea Hanoa gives Pelagos a nod when he glances around, a little uneasy, and that is all the assurance he needs. General Draven, Kleia, and Nikolon come with them.

The teleporter takes them to the desert, and instantly Pelagos tenses.

Surely, the jiro would not have sent them to a trap.

"Be calm," Sire Denathrius says, destroying a nearby mawsworn with the flick of his wrist. "My brother is on the other side of the realm. By the time he gets back here, we'll be done here."

They fight through the few mawsworn remaining and make good time to a massive, sealed door.

As Sire Denathrius approaches it, a soft voice chimes out, and Pelagos turns to find an Oracle—their Oracle—coming over to them, with several automa in tow.

Sire Denathrius defers to the Oracle, bowing to her and stepping out of the way.

She goes to the seal and undoes it with a simple touch, turning and motioning for Pelagos to follow her.

He knew that she was doing better—they have kept her at Firim's hideout, with Pelagos going back and forth to check on her. He is pleased that she has been doing better, but did not expect that she would be making any trips like this any time soon.

They work their way down into the ancient chambers beyond the seal after the Oracle erects the barrier again once they have all entered. General Draven remains alert as they go, surveying the main chamber when they reach it with a critical eye.

The Oracle orders the automa to work as soon as they have entered, instructing them to gather reagents.

Kleia glances around as well. "Should we do anything?"

"Guard the doorway," Sire Denathrius says, only to frown when Pelagos hangs back with them. "Not you. You come with me."

Nikolon narrows his eyes then, reaching out and catching Pelagos' hand. He mouths, 'Be careful,' as Pelagos squeezes his hand gently and then follows the god.

When they are in the center of the chamber, Pelagos peers around. He can see the automa working swiftly, setting something up. The Oracle is overseeing it, her instructions a pleasant song over the sweeping of the floor and other activitiy.

"We must take advantage of my brother's distraction to make a new Eternal Soul," Sire Denathrius says, surveying the work around them as well. "A new Arbiter will be needed for the Shadowlands to function again."

Pelagos nods. It makes perfect sense. He can think of only one problem, however. "You said that some souls could be…seeds, so to speak, for Eternal Souls, yes?" When Sire Denathrius nods, Pelagos glances around again. "Don't we need a soul, then?"

"We have one."

Pelagos looks with more care and then back at Sire Denathrius. He sees the pointed way the god looks at him and the truth that he has been ignoring hits him.

"Me."

"You," Sire Denathrius confirms. "A pure soul, compassionate and thoughtful. A worthy sacrifice to birth a god."

Panic swells in Pelagos' core for a moment as he considers the implications. "Me."

"Why do you think I stayed?" Sire Denathrius asks then, facing him directly. "I had to stay to keep you out of his reach because he would have simply used you to make a new Eternal Soul and then sacrificed that in my place to get to the Sepulcher."

"You couldn't have said something sooner?" Pelagos asks, voice raising a hair.

Sire Denathrius merely quirks a well sculpted brow. "And have to listen to your existential crisis for the rest of the time I was stuck here? I don't think so."

Even as Pelagos tries to think of something to say, the Oracle hovers up to them and chimes. "We are ready."

"Come now, Pelagos," Sire Denathrius says. "We do not have forever. My brother will figure out what we're doing and come for us."

"Will I still be me?" The question tumbles from his lips before he can stop himself.

"I can't say, though I imagine it's doubtful. Gods and mortals are different for a reason," Sire Denathrius says with an apathetic shrug. "Most of us were made before mortal souls existed, but the last Arbiter was different after she ascended to godhood. She never spoke of how to me, and I never asked. I didn't care. I imagine the core of you will remain, if nothing else."

"But…" Pelagos says, looking toward where Kleia and Nikolon are. They have already forsaken their instructions, leaving a mildly peeved General Draven hovering near the hall alone, arms crossed. Pelagos wants to argue, wants to say that it's not fair. He doesn't want to lose the ones he loves when he's just gotten them back, doesn't want to lose his connections, his soulbinds, his soulmate.

He doesn't want to lose himself.

He doesn't want to forget all the little things that make him who he is, the importance of the first time he was able to look in the mirror and finally see himself as he had always felt. He does not want to forget his time in Korthia or with Nikolon, with Kleia and Liila. The biggest reason he has struggled so hard on the Path is because despite what the Ascended and all their teachings say, he wants to keep himself.

To have to give it all up now, when the Path is finally changing, even if he is struggling to accept those very changes…

But then…what would he be if he let reality crumble just so that he could hang on to a few memories? What future would Kleia or Nikolon have without this sacrifice?

He thinks of what Liila said in the past, about how miserable soulmates are, about how it means that if there is only one person for you, that means that if you lose your love, there will never be a replacement.

To damn Nikolon to that…

But then, can he say it would be better for him to not exist at all?

No.

No, even if Pelagos is going to cease to be, even if his friends will suffer his absence, even if it will break his soulmate's heart, he cannot go on knowing that he could have prevented the unraveling of reality and did nothing.

"Let me say goodbye," Pelagos says softly.

The Oracle nods.

Turning back to Kleia and Nikolon, Pelagos meets them at the edge of ancient runes that are carved into the central chamber. First, he hugs Kleia. As he lets her go, she is shaking her head.

His words echo his own feelings. "No…I do not want to lose you. Not when I just got you back."

"One soul for countless others," Pelagos whispers. "I can't…I could never…"

Kleia takes in a shaky breath, shoulders trembling and feathers ruffling. "I…I know. You don't have to say it."

Of course he doesn't. They're bound together. He puts his hand over his heart and then hers. "We will always be bound."

He looks at Nikolon then, forcing a smile. "I…have to go."

Nikolon's brow pinches and he glances at Kleia and then back at Pelagos. "Where?"

"We need a new god and sacrifices—"

"No."

"I love you." He reaches out and cups Nikolon's cheek. "I've always loved you. Even before all of this," he laughs, trying to fight back the tears that prick his eyes. "I can't tell you how disappointed I was whenever I came by Purity and you were already busy."

Nikolon tries to smile back. "It doesn't have to end here. There's so much left to do." He shakes his head, looks to Kleia as though she will help him. When she stands there, silent tears wetting her cheeks, he looks back at Pelagos. "I wanted to spend eternity with you."

Pelagos kisses him then, tender and slow, wishing that if nothing else, perhaps he can remember this moment. He steps away from him too soon. "I love you."

"No, no, no." Nikolon tries to move forward, to grab Pelagos, but General Draven intercedes, stepping between the two. Kleia reaches out and takes Nikolon's hand. Nikolon glares up at the stoneborn and then looks back at Pelagos. "I love you, too. I'll always love you."

Pelagos does his best to stand tall as he walks back to where the Oracle waits. Sire Denathrius appraises him. "Ready?"

"No," Pelagos says, letting a tear fall freely down his cheek. He nods to the Oracle, unable to find his voice. He will never be ready for what is to come, but that does not change that it must happen.

The Oracles voice chimes out in the sweetest melody, and Sire Denathrius steps back as the ritual begins.

---

Liila is mid cast when she is filled with the most devastating sorrow that she has ever known. It echoes her certainty from only a handful of days prior, when she knew that she was going to die, when she knew that she was giving up her chance to ever be with the ones she loved in order to make sure they would have a tomorrow.

The feeling is so strong, so overwhelming, that at first she does not realize it is not her own. As she clutches at her chest, gasping breaths she does not need, Adrestes and Thanikos land near her, forming a barrier between her and the oncoming enemies.

"Liila?" Adrestes asks, daring a step closer to her. "Liila!"

She looks up at him, unable to stop the tears running down her cheeks.

"Pelagos. He's—"

That feeling of loss shifts inside of her, twists into a tumultuous roar of so much more than sorrow that it mutes the world around her, overwhelming her completely.

There is nothing but a tumble of emotions that are not her own, a surge of power that threatens to drag her under and tear her mind to pieces.

It is horrifying.

It reminds her of the times that N'zoth got in too deep, when his whispers were too strong, his presence too close.

She feels like she is the tiniest speck being consumed by the cosmos.

And then, just as suddenly as it begins, it is over.

She blinks a few times as the world comes back into focus. Mitchell is nearby, yelling for backup. Steel clashes against steel. Voices shout. The strange sky, full of hexagonal lights, shimmers and shifts behind Adrestes' head.

He stares down at her in horror, one hand holding her head gingerly as his other still bears his mace, his wings curled around them to block the worst of the fighting from her.

She blinks at him, slowly, gulping as she searches her connection for Pelagos.

That sorrow is gone, and so too is the overwhelming sense that she is staring into something incomprehensible, becoming something incomprehensible.

Pelagos is quiet now, and at first, she thinks that their connect has been severed again, but even as panic wells inside of her, she feels the faintest reassurance that builds a little too quickly.

All is well.

All is well.

It is a sensation that ripples through her, calming her nerves in a way she cannot explain. It is like the Archon's presence.

No…not quite…

She feels that bubble of assurance, can practically hear Pelagos say, "Hold on. This will all be over soon."

"Liila!"

She looks back at Adrestes, mouth moving as she tries to put words to what has happened. Finally, she gives up and simply says, "I'm alright. Help is coming."

Xandria enters the field not too long after, and she is a sight to behold. Her wings catch the light of Zereth Mortis and glow with a righteous fury as she comes down on some of the stronger mawsworn, sweeping them from existence with each thrust of her triton.

While Liila does not doubt that Adrestes assumes this was the help that she had mentioned, she cannot stop herself from scanning the fighting for Pelagos.

Whatever has happened makes her uneasy, despite the assurance she has received. The assurance she still receives.

It is more distracting than helpful, in all honesty.

And that is why Liila does not notice at first when Anduin enters the fray.

She does not realize it until he is in front of her, expression blank, sword drawn. Carroll calls to him, pleads with him. Jaina makes her way to where they are and begs for him to realize who he is.

Liila calls out to Anduin too, though she is not sure he hears her. And even if he did, she is not much to him. But if her voice can be part of the chorus that makes it through…

A chorus that either falls on deaf ears or cannot be responded to.

Twice, she thinks she sees fear flicker through his eyes, like he is in there still, fighting, struggling.

As Liila watches, she can see the way his swings don't quite hit home, like he is trying to pull back in the last moment, trying to make the hits softer.

Liila tries to read him, to see if there's a way to interrupt the possession. She casts every dispel and purifying spell she can remember, tries to tweak them. Carroll tries to remove the curse himself, and the backlash sends him sprawling into the ground.

Jaina has caught on, however, and she tries as well. She fares only slightly better.

That confirms it, though. This is some sort of curse. If they can just weave their magic together, make it strong enough…

If they had a few months, maybe they could.

But it doesn't help them on the field now.

Now, it seems that they need something more.

A miracle.

It is Enlyhn Bloodfist who saves the day, in a way that only a warlock can.

With a fucking soulshard.

He sees something that the rest of them have missed.

A second soul of some kind that has been used to bind Anduin.

He takes it.

When it is gone, trapped in the shard that Enlyhn quietly pockets when he thinks no one is looking, there is a notable change. Anduin can speak.

"Stay back," he pleads with Jaina. "I can't control myself."

"You can," she assures him, daring a step closer. His blade is held at ready, though it trembles. Liila can only imagine the fight he is already putting up. Jaina does not understand what she is asking of him when he is already wearing himself so thin. Liila moves to stop Jaina, but Carroll stops her, face twisting with frustration.

"I am doing all I can," Anduin pleads, taking an unsteady step backwards. Even as he moves, his grip on his sword tightens.

When Jaina takes another step toward him, maw runes light up on Anduin, and he lunges forward. She parries with her staff, begs him to hold on to who he is.

Liila tries to read the maw runes. She knows the deathrunes that steal one's will, so maybe if she can find the similar ones…

It is no good, so long as he wears that heavy armor.

Even as Liila thinks to ask Adrestes if he can see the runes, as a paragon, a figure finally makes their way to them from across the battlefield.

A soul.

It is one Liila feels like she has seen before, but her memory draws a blank when she tries to summon a name or even where she might have known him from.

He is a human, with long black hair swept up into a wild ponytail. He wears plate armor that bears the Alliance lion on it that gleams in the light of Zereth Mortis.

A ghostly hand rests on Jaina's shoulder, and the soul nods to her.

"Varian?"

"F-father?" Anduin chokes out.

"My son," the soul says softly. He steps forward, parries the blow that comes.

Anduin cries as he swings again, begging him to step back. The soul—Varian is a skilled swordsman, much better than the priest who is actively trying not to hit his target. He parries a few more blows and then, with a swift move, disarms the Jailer's puppet.

He lets his own blade drop into the grass and darts forward, reaching out and catching his son in a tight hug.

"He cannot have you." Varian cups Anduin's face in his hands and stares into his eyes. "He cannot have you."

Tears streak Anduin's face as the light of the runes on him grow harsher. "I—" He reaches up, grips his father's wrists like he will shove him away.

And then a dragon roars.

A dragon has joined the fray.

A black dragon.

It soars over the field, landing just in time to knock away a new wave of Mawsworn that are desperately trying to get to Anduin. The beast tosses the Mawsworn around like ragdolls, giving Varian and Anduin their space, though it does pause once to give the human king a nod.

It has caught the Jailer's attention, as well, and as the god turns toward the beast, focusing his will on Anduin and his gaggle of would-be saviors, something shifts inside of him.

Dark magic flickers around him and chains come up, dragging them all down. Liila, Adrestes, Carroll, Jaina, Varian, and the dragon—Liila is certain she should know who he is. Another hole in her memories, it seems.

As the hateful runes fill the air, rotting the earth beneath them, something inside of Anduin snaps.

"You cannot have them!"

His voice rolls out around them, like a vesper sounding. And as he screams, the air is filled with Light.

It bursts out from him in a nova, sweeping over everyone and expanding, consuming the chains and all that was made in the Maw.

When the blinding flash subsides, Liila looks around, tense. Her stolen maw staff is gone. Even as she conjures anima to defend herself with, she realizes that the fighting is over.

Those who are not on her side have been stripped of their weapons and armor, and their bared souls hover in stunned silence.

No…

It is not just her enemies.

Everything touched with the Maw's corruption has been stripped away. Liila barely recognizes Moros, where he stands nearby, wings ruffed as he tries to shake off the stun. He does not look like the wicked thing she has come to know, on the few times she has seen him without his helm. Instead he looks…

Kyrian.

It does not take long to realize that Anduin's spell is not the only thing that has affected the battle.

The Jailer kneels in the distance before Sire Denathrius and another god that Liila does not recognize, the fallen god's helm cracked in two as he braces himself from collapsing completely to the ground.

Liila approaches, pace growing quicker as she draws closer, weaving through the forces that mostly seem rooted in place. With fear or awe she cannot say.

Toss me back into the Maw, the Jailer sneers. It cannot hold me forever.

"You will not return there," comes a voice that is both foreign and familiar. The figure beside Sire Denathrius is golden and reminiscent of the Arbiter, though…

If Liila still had a heart, it would have stopped the second she recognizes Pelagos. She stumbles to a stop, close enough to look up and recognize the features on the golden face that looks down on the Jailer now.

You cannot unmake me. I am eternal.

"So you are," Pelagos says, his voice reverberating in the air around them. "And so your punishment shall last as long."

"Wait!"

Eketra flits up, a bit slower than usual, no doubt still feeling the affects of the spell that wiped away the Maw corruption. She hovers between the Jailer and Pelagos, hand extended as though she can stay whatever punishment he is about to dole out.

Sire Denathrius' eyes narrow, but she ignores him, focusing on Pelagos, like she knows he is the one who must be convinced.

"You tried punishment already, and all it did was foster hatred! Look at where we are!"

"You cannot blame us for all of this," Sire Denathrius snaps, motioning around them.

"I will lay blame upon those who deserve it! The First Oness! The Archon! It was her stubbornness that started all of this," Eketra says. "I blame the ones who took a good soul and twisted it until it was unrecognizable. After all of that, how could you expect him to do anything else? To be—"

The audacity that you think you can speak for me. The Jailer roars, trying—and failing—to rise to his feet. You fled my service the second you could.

"You were fighting a lost cause," Eketra says, though she does not turn her back to Pelagos and Sire Denathrius. "I had to make sure that the ones who defeated you would be…merciful."

Abruptly, Liila remembers a title she had heard with a name in the Maw, time and time again.

Death's Champion.

Eketra was Death's Champion. The Jailer's Champion.

"When you cast Zovaal into the Maw, I followed him," Eketra says. "I thought…perhaps I could…" She is quiet a moment and then shakes her head. "I have watched over him these eons, watched him lose his way as his own brethren abandoned him. And for what? The crime of being lonely!"

"You foolish thing," Sire Denathrius murmurs, "you could never be enough for a god."

"What I am to a god is irrelevant," Eketra says. "What matters is that your punishments did nothing but spiral out of control. The Eternal Ones…You made the monster that brought you to your knees."

Enough! bellows the Jailer and corruption crackles around him, as though his fury is enough to bring back his power. I will not listen to this pathetic creature and its pity!

Golden light encompasses Eketra, the target of his attack. She swallows, daring a glance back toward the crumpled god before looking back up at Pelagos. "You were a kind soul when you were mortal. I heard the way you answered the Sire's hypotheticals. Please, have mercy."

"He will not thank you for this," Pelagos says.

"I know."

"If I may…" Another voice interjects.

Liila turns to look back and see that Anduin is coming toward them, arm slung over the shoulders of a man with wild black hair and glowing red eyes. A name almost comes to mind, a sense that adventures have been had and comradery formed, but Liila cannot remember him. He nods to her when their gazes meet, a familiarity there that she wishes she could echo.

Instead, she nods back and hopes it is enough to pretend.

Sire Denathrius mutters something about the insolence of mortals, but Pelagos holds up a hand before the god can smite anyone. "King Wrynn, yes?" When Anduin nods, Pelagos motions to him. The Sire simply rolls his eyes, but falls silent as Pelagos addresses the king. "You were harmed more than most by the guilty party. I will hear what you have to say."

"Perhaps his original punishment was too harsh, as Eketra says," Anduin says, wincing as he reaches up to hold his side. His friend seems concerned, but Anduin, like Eketra, remains focused on Pelagos. "However, all he has done cannot be dismissed. He must answer for his crimes, nigh infinite as they are."

"I know the justice your kind usually seeks," Sire Denathrius says then, motioning to the Jailer. "But my brother is right. He cannot be unmade." He pauses then, looking back at the fallen god. "He could be stripped of his power, however. Fractured, even. As he did to me."

"I know a god will not answer to justice the same as a mortal would," Anduin says, leaning more heavily against his companion, "but he must answer somehow."

"He will," Pelagos says, and then looks down at the Jailer. "Your power will be stripped from you—"

This has already been done before. I will get more.

"It will be stripped and dispersed among those you have hurt to ensure you do not get it back." Pelagos looks down at him, expression almost serene. "That will be the beginning of your atonement."

The fields are deathly quiet now, all eyes turned toward the gods.

The Jailer tries to stand again, but the realm itself will not let him, the air heavy, forcing him down into the dirt that draws him deeper. "You will make amends to the realms you have hurt. Each and every one of them."

The Jailer looks up at him, eyes narrowed.

What?

"You will learn of the people you have hurt and how much more profoundly your actions have rippled out into the Shadowlands than even you realize," Pelagos says. "You will finally get what you wanted, Zovaal. You will learn what you sought so long ago, and it will break your heart."

So you think. I have spent eons with pain. There is no part of me left to break.

"Pain means nothing without love," Pelagos says, motioning down to the Jailer. "And you will see how much of it was denied those you unjustly took to feed your vengeance. You will see the pain their absences cause." He motions to the Jailer. "It may take eons for you to truly understand, but I am patient, and I will see that you understand the depth of what you have done, that you understand and feel the sorrow you have caused. Carrying the weight of the consequences of your actions will be your eternal burden."

---

Sylvanas Windrunner's judgment is quite the affair, though Liila cannot say more than she is glad when it is over. The crowds disperse quick enough, and soon only a handful of people remain in the Arbiter's chamber.

Liila looks up at Pelagos then, a half-smile in place a she walks closer. He moves then, down so that his arms are crossed against the edge of the platform, his head resting against them.

"I've been looking for a chance to talk with you," he says, smiling.

"Kleia says it's still you," Liila says softly. "That they thought you would be…gone. You thought you would be gone. I felt that."

"A test," Pelagos says, glancing down a second as his smile widens briefly. "I had to be willing to sacrifice everything to be worthy. If I had refused, I could not have become the Arbiter. And if I had known I would not be giving up everything, it would have been impossible to know if I was doing it for power or not."

Liila leans toward him. "You know you can just say that Sire Denathrius was being an ass." When Pelagos laughs, it is a rich sound that rolls out over them, and she can feel the faintest echo of his mirth. He is happy. Perhaps she cannot feel his sorrow for some other reason, but a part of her is sure that it is gone.

At that, Liila hesitates. "Will we need to undo our soulbinding?"

"I don't see why," Pelagos says. "The Winter Queen has multiple soulbinds herself. And The Primus and Sire are considering soulbinds themselves. Should they ever go missing again, it would be good to have someone able to locate them quickly."

Liila considers it and nods. "It would make things go a bit quicker, I suppose."

"Just a bit."

They grin at each other. As Liila looks him over, inspecting the gold glimmer that covers him now, he watches her back, a curious glint in his eyes.

"You know," Pelagos says, giving her a sly smile, "this could have been you."

"Yeah, sure."

"Sire Denathrius wasn't lying when he said a lot of souls have the potential to be Eternal, Liila." Pelagos nods his chin a little to direct her gaze to the far edge of the platform. Anduin stands there with his father and his friend, Wrathion. The dragon has a hand on his shoulder as they talk quietly. A few of the mortals who have been assisting stand there with them, as well. "Many of you mortals who came through have that potential."

"So Azeroth births the souls of would-be gods?"

"You could say that," he says. "Before the Jailer corrupted him, the king could have been one. That's likely why he took him at first."

"When he had Denathrius and the Primus in his grip already?"

Pelagos arches his brow. "One cannot have too many back ups, I suppose." He pauses then, watching the mortals on the far side of the platform for a second. "He didn't realize that a soul cannot ascend while enthralled."

"What about now?"

"He is broken in many ways," Pelagos says softly, "but his soul is as pure as it has always been. If there was a need, he could become Eternal."

"Well at least you know there are plenty of spares lying about, if you need a vacation." Liila winks.

"You wish to be a god now?"

"Fuck no," she says, and he lets out a sharp laugh. "I hated being High Priestess, you think I want this," she motions to him and then around the platform, "kind of responsibility?" She waits until he has composed himself before asking, "What about you and Nikolon?"

"So many questions," Pelagos says, reaching out and tousling her hair with a single finger. "Being a god does complicate that," he says, smile slipping a little for the first time. His gaze lowers toward the floor between them for a moment before he looks back at her. "But if I've learned anything from you, Miss Dragonlily, it's that nothing is impossible." He pauses and then shrugs. "Maybe I'll take advantage of one of those spares you mentioned."

"But how ever will you convince them that they must give everything up like Sire Denathrius did you?" Liila asks, pointing at him.

"I suppose he was being a bit of an ass," Pelagos concedes, holding his fingers up so that his index and thumb are almost touching, and laughs when Liila puffs up.

"Arbiter!"

Pelagos lifts his head, but does not rise from the edge of the platform as several of the mortals approach. Wrathion is the one who has spoken. As they draw closer, Liila realizes that Varian is still with them as well. His stride matches his son's, and she can see the pride in his eyes as he watches the young king.

"Yes?"

Wrathion pauses to make a flourished bow in a show of respect before asking, "We know that the Jailer was a master of manipulation and domination."

"He was," Pelagos agrees.

"Then why did he not subjugate our armies as we fought him?"

"Had you followed on his heels into Zereth Mortis, he might have been able to," Pelagos says, clasping his hands where they rest on the edge of the platform. "However, he was a god trespassing in a realm that he was never meant to enter. His powers were limited by the realm itself, and the longer he was there, the weaker his powers became, until he could only cling to the souls he already had in his command."

Anduin seems to consider it a moment before asking, "So given enough time, he would have lost control of me without outside interference?"

"You would have broken free long before he lost control," Pelagos says.

It is odd how those words seem to lift an invisible weight off Anduin's shoulders, because when he nods, he seems a little stronger. He looks at Liila then, remorse twisting his haggard features. "Dragonlily. I am so sorry that I—"

"There's no need for that," Liila says, reaching out and patting his shoulder.

"I killed you."

"I only take it personal if you do it a second time," she says with a sage nod.

Anduin looks like he wants to say something else, but instead just rushes forward and hugs her. "Thank you, for all you've done." He hesitates then. "I wish you could come back with us."

Wrathion seems to perk up at that, though before he can say anything, Liila simply pats Anduin's head. He reminds her of her kids, the way he hugs her and looks up at her, seeking forgiveness for a perceived slight that is meaningless to her. "I'm happy here. Happier than I've been in a long time."

"You will be remembered," Anduin insists and several others murmur in agreement. Liila wonders how many of them she should know. She considers telling them that she has lost too much to go back, that she has gained too much to go back.

However, one of the others cuts the conversation short with a reminder that they need to start heading for the portals.

The jiro have instructed the automa to create something to repair the Veil, and it should be ready soon. Once the Veil is restored, it will be considerably harder for the portals to work, and people may end up trapped on the wrong side.

Thus, the exodus of the living from the realms of the dead has already begun.

Liila lingers with Pelagos as the others dismiss themselves. After all, she will not be leaving.

However, he lightly nudges her with a finger, ushering her toward the teleporter. "I'll be here for a long time. They won't."

"Well, I won't want to bother you once you start judging souls—"

There is a twinkle in his eyes as he tries not to laugh. "I'm already judging souls, Liila. Just like the Archon can hold Bastion together and have a conversation with her aspirants at the same time."

"So gods are the ultimate multitaskers?"

"You could say that." He nudges her again. "Now go."

She nods and hurries to the teleporter and to the portals. To her surprise, Oribos is already so…empty is not the word. There are peoples from so many different afterlives mingling with the attendants and brokers now.

But living mortals are hard to find among the crowds.

Truly, it is like they have already gone, and for a moment she worries she has waited too long.

However, as she comes out to the portals, she sees a handful of mortals linger still.

Almost all of them are familiar faces.

It is finally time for goodbye.

Liila jogs the last stretch to meet them, and is tugged into embrace after embrace.

"Don't cry," Whisper says as she hugs Liila.

"You're just all…so short," Liila says, wiping a tear away, and instantly laughter takes over the tears.

Mitchell hangs back, though he gives her a small nod as others say their farewells.

As the group begins to thin, with people slowly taking the portal to give others a chance to say their farewells, Wrathion steps up. She is surprised to see that he is still here, and glances around, looking for Anduin. He, however, seems to already be gone. "You know, I could probably talk to a few people. I hear you don't want to come back if it's someone else's body, but—"

"My time on Azeroth is over," Liila says as she looks down at him and pats his head. The dragon peers up at her, and then glances around, as though he thinks perhaps she is not speaking freely. "I love Azeroth and it hurts to move on, but if you think about it, I'm really just waiting for the rest of you to catch up, and I'm happy for you to take as long as you need to get here."

"As you wish," Wrathion says, giving her a flourished bow, much like the one he gave to Pelagos earlier. "I had to try. I wouldn't be able to face Haa'aji if I didn't at least offer."

"Don't pull him into anything, you hear?" Liila says, warningly. "He's got kids to look after."

"I know what I gotta do," Haa'aji says from behind her, and she turns to find him stretched upright, on his toes so that they are almost eye level. He has a most notable frown. "Ya just had to get a few more inches, didn't ya?"

"I wanted to see what was so great about being tall," Liila teases.

"Pity all the top shelves in Bastion require wings to reach," Haa'aji says, and then straightens up so that he can lean against her shoulder. "Get them wings fast, ya hear? Come by when you're bearing souls."

"I'll see what I can do."

"Hezzak has been watching the graveyard for ya," Haa'aji mutters. "Little bugger can see the Ascended, it turns out. Has always been able to see them."

"Well good, I have a lot of friends who are gonna keep an eye on you lot," Liila says softly, turning and hugging Haa'aji. She considers it a moment and then hoists him into the air. He lets out a sharp cry, his tusk pressing against her shoulder as he turns his head.

She half expects him to vanish, but instead, he hugs her back, standing on his toes so that he can tug her down more easily. "Fucking…" He trails off a minute as his voice breaks. "I'm gonna miss ya."

"I'm gonna miss you, too," Liila whispers. "But I meant what I said. I want you all to take your time getting here. I am happy to wait eons. It just means we'll have more stories to tell."

"I almost brought the kids with me," Haa'aji says. "I was going to, really, but Mitchell said things were wrapping up so much faster than I thought they would and…"

Liila pulls a bundle of letters from a pouch on her hip and offers it to him. "For them. I wrote a lot while I was in Zereth Mortis." She looks down at the letters. "You could, maybe stagger them or just give them all at once or…" Her voice breaks as she realizes that this is really, truly goodbye.

Until Haa'aji and the rest of them pass on.

She shrugs a little then, not sure what to say.

Haa'aji reaches up and tousles her hair. "Be good, Liila Dragonlily."

"Live well, Haa'aji." She pauses and looks at who is left. Blood, Wrathion, and Mitchell. She smiles, fighting back the tears. "Live well, all of you."

Blood pats her arm before turning and taking the portal. Wrathion is next, pausing to say, "If you change your mind, I'm sure you can find a way to send word. I can arrange it so that you could be a dragon."

Haa'aji hugs her again then, as though he is trying to make time stop, as though if he doesn't let go, then maybe he'll never have to say goodbye.

Mitchell is the one who interrupts them. "The Veil's up. I'm not gonna be able to hold this much longer."

With a curse, Haa'aji lets Liila go and vanishes through the portal.

Mitchell starts toward it and then turns abruptly, pulling Liila in for a hug himself. He grips her hands tightly in his, staring up at her and then shaking his head. "You…of everyone who came here, you're not the one we should've had to leave behind."

Before she can tell him it is okay, he turns and takes the portal.

It shimmers for another moment, a hazy image of her beloved Orgrimmar, before it finally fades out. She stares at the empty space for a long, long time before realizing that she has been crying. She reaches up to wipe at her cheeks and realizes that there is a small slip of paper in her hand. When she unfolds it, she cannot help but laugh.

It is Mitchell's spell for pushing things through the Veil, with notes on how to make it work from her side.

You may not be a mage, but I figure maybe you have enough time to figure out how to get this working. I expect updates. – M

She is not sure how long Adrestes has been standing with her before she realizes that he is there. She can feel him, that pull between them, and yet she did not sense him come back from Zereth Mortis. He stayed behind to oversee the collection of all remaining mawsworn souls from the realm. They will not be returning to the Maw.

No one will ever get sent there again. For now, Sylvanas and a few of her more adamant followers are gathering every soul they can find. Once it has been emptied, the realm will be unmade. Pelagos is proving to be a most compassionate god, and he has decided that no one will be punished for all of eternity.

None save for his predecessor, who has already been sent to an obscure realm to begin his penance and help with rebuilding some of what he tore apart. Liila is not supposed to know that, but there are benefits to being soulbound to a god.

When Liila looks over her shoulder, Adrestes is hovering not far from her, waiting patiently. He lands and offers her a hand.

She moves past it to throw herself against him and wrap her arms around him tightly. If not for their connection, she thinks she might fall to pieces then and there.

"As you said," he says, voice low, "you'll see them again."

"I know," Liila whispers. Even so, she grips him a bit tighter until she can rein in her tears. When she's sure that she can look up without sobbing, she leans back. His arms are wrapped around her, and he holds them loose enough that she can pull away, if she wants. "So you…you're all done here?"

"I am," he says. "Only the Enlightened remain in Zereth Mortis, and that was at the jiro's request. They like them."

"They elders are going to be happy about that."

"They were quite pleased," Adrestes agrees. "I'm not sure about Nibbles, however. I couldn't find him when I did my last check of the realm."

"Oh, he's around." Liila waves her hand vaguely around them. "He'll show up when he wants to."

Adrestes lets out a half laugh. "It's odd to look forward to seeing a gorger."

"He thinks the same about you," Liila teases, lightly resting her hands on his waist as she looks up at him. He has taken his ascended form so that he is taller than her, and she makes a mental note to tease him about it later.

As she looks up at him, he leans forward to press his forehead against hers. She closers her eyes and relishes the simple touch and the balm it is on her sorrow.

Finally, she lifts up on her toes to kiss him quickly, and then lets herself fall back. "Shall we go home?"

His smile is brilliant. "Happily."

---

Bastion's breeze is soft as it washes over them. Adrestes lounges back against a chaise that has been designed to accommodate wings, and he lets them drape down on either side, fingertips idly running up and down Liila's thigh. She is most amused that he prefers to be taller than her, though she does like to run her fingers through his wings, and he finds he enjoys her ministrations, too.

She rests on top of him now, naked, still peppering his jaw and throat with kisses.

It has been almost a month since the Jailer's madness was finally put to an end. The Jailer—Zovaal has been sent to a smaller realm to begin his penance, and true to his judgment, it is his bloated essence, purified a hundred times over, that has been offered to help the anima starved realm recover. He will be spread across the Shadowlands, become a part of so many realms, and he will see what it is to be a guardian of souls. He will face all those who have been harmed by him, whether simply watching their realm crumble and starve, or those who have lost loved ones to his insatiable lust for vengeance.

Adrestes cannot help but wonder if the punishment will really ever mean anything to the fallen god, other than another attempt to strip him of his power. He wonders if stretching the god so thin across the afterlives will do anything other than anger him further.

But then, such musings are for those higher ranking than himself, and he has faith that the Eternal Ones have learned something from this mess, and that the same mistakes will not be made as last time.

The Archon certainly has.

Bastion is changing in profound ways, and it is a little daunting to think about, but Adrestes is glad that he will be here to guide his people in any way that he can. For now, that means working on the tenets of Devotion and providing as much manpower as can be afforded for checking on the distant corners of the Shadowlands.

Nebi is working with Margrave Draka to reach all the remaining realms that need to be checked on, to get a full picture of the damage that has been done. It is good to be able to call Maldraxxus a sister realm again, and good that their people can work together, despite what has happened.

There are almost a hundred realms that have ceased to be completely, countless souls lost as their afterlives collapsed with them trapped inside.

There are thousands more that are on the brink of collapse, and there are fears that some will be lost before the drought can fully be undone.

At least souls are going where they should once more. Achillon and Pallessa are leading the bearers who are going back to the realms they brought souls to wait in. The scrolls filled with the names of souls who were tucked away wherever they could be fit are slowly thinning as names get crossed off.

And Revendreth has plenty of new souls from which to extract anima, now that the Maw is being emptied.

The Shadowlands are truly on the mend.

"I'm not supposed to tell you this," Adrestes says softly, eyes closed as he enjoys the feel of his soulmate's skin pressed against his, "but Xandria misses you."

Liila sits back a little, and Adrestes opens one eye to peer up at her. She's watching him with a mischievous smile.

Xandria and Liila nullified their soulbinding shortly after returning to the realm. It was Xandia's idea, and Liila had, of course, not argued. However, as soon as it was done and Xandria had returned to her temple and Liila to Devotion, she had admitted that she was going to miss the paragon. When Adrestes had asked why she didn't say anything, Liila had pointed out that she knew their binding had been a utilitarian one, a means to keep Liila from unraveling. Now that she is soulbound to a god, there's no real threat of that.

It is still strange to think of Pelagos as the Arbiter.

He is missed here in Devotion, to be sure. Kleia still talks about him like he will show up at any moment, and Nikolon…

He has been given leave to go to Oribos, to stay with Pelagos for the time being. Adrestes worries a little that he will be heartbroken to have lost his soulmate to godhood, but if he is, he did not say it before accepting his assignment outside of the realm.

Adrestes makes sure to check on him when passing through to go to the Ember Courts. Apparently Sire Denathrius likes them enough that they are to be continued, even with the god's return. Oddly enough, Adrestes doesn't mind.

He was finally able to drag Liila with him to the last Ember Court, and they had a grand time grousing with Draven and Alexadros about the pointlessness of the pomp that goes into such things. Prince Renathal had teased them, pointing out that he tried to tone things down when he knew they would be there.

It was the first Ember Court without any mortals present, and that did lead to a somber undercurrent, with many expressing how they missed their living friends. Adrestes had worried that the topic might be especially sore for Liila, but she had enjoyed the stories that were offered, of Lash figuring out court intrigue faster than anyone they'd seen, of Mitchell falling off the top of the Seat of the Primus and slowfalling himself into an active skirmish in the Theater of Pain, of countless others having amusing mishaps within the Shadowlands.

Liila had happily recounted how Draven had tossed her off a cliff when she first arrived in Revendreth, and the stoneborn had grunted out what might have been an actual apology in response. Liila has chosen to take it as such and finally warmed up to the general.

It has been decided that the Shadowlands are to remain interconnected. If nothing else, it will ensure that if something begins to go wrong again, people will know far more quickly.

There are a great many changes happening like that. Soulbinds for the Eternal Ones, open gateways, kyrian being allowed to keep their memories, the Maw on the verge of closing, the list goes on.

Liila has said that she thinks it will be better this way for new souls coming into the realms, too. The idea that they will be able to reach out to the ones they loved, to be able to see them, even if they are fated for different afterlives.

It will help ease the loneliness that many who come to the main four realms suffer.

Adrestes can see where she is coming from, and while he wonders if there might not be some awkward ages coming for Bastion, with relatives coming to meet Ascended who do not recognize them, perhaps going forward it really will be kinder.

Time will tell.

"Next time you see Xandria, tell her I miss her, too," Liila says. "Maybe we can be soulbinds again, somewhere down the line."

Adrestes cannot help but smile. "Do you intend to soulbind with the entire realm?"

She has, after all, rebound herself to both Kleia and Thales.

Liila feigns an indignant look. "Only half."

With a sharp laugh, Adrestes reaches up and pulls Liila closer so that he can kiss her. "Well, so long as I only have to share you with half the realm, I suppose that's acceptable."

She runs her fingers up into his hair, nails scraping gently against his scalp. She kisses him again, as he splays his finger against her lower back and presses her closer to him, relishing that feel of electricity that jumps between them. "You know, I've been thinking about it, and I think I want to be a collector."

Adrestes' brow arches. "You? Want to stay in the realm?"

"I do," Liila says. "I think I've had enough of world and reality ending mishaps. It'll be nice to get to focus on my spellcraft and get my wings with Thales and…"

His frown deepens a little more with each thing she lists off that she looks forward to doing until he realizes she's purposely dancing around the one thing he wants to hear her say.

There is mischief in her eyes when she sees that he's figured it out. "I suppose I'm looking forward to getting to stay here with you, too," she pauses to kiss him between each word she utters, "my dear, beloved soulmate."

He cannot help his grin as he reaches up and lightly brushes his fingers against her cheek.

If Eridia could see him now, he doesn't doubt he'd never hear the end of it.

He catches a lock of Liila's hair and presses a kiss to it. "I look forward to having you here."

As she collapses against him, snuggling closer and nipping his lip playfully, he cannot help the way his heart swells as he thinks about the eternity that will stretch out before them. He may not know all that it will bring, but one thing he is sure of is the fact that he will have her at his side.

When he considers it all, he cannot help but laugh. It's a little hard to believe that there was actually a time when he didn't believe in soulmates.