Persona M

by GalacticAttorney

In the medieval ages, the kingdom of Brilan exists under an oppressive caste system. Wymare Thiebaut, a quiet young man with nothing to his name, struggles to live as a member of the Scadarah, the lowest caste. It is on this path that he encounters unexpected allies and discovers an inner strength capable of reversing the world's disastrous fate: the power of Persona.

16. Chapter 16: Moving On

Chapter XVI - Moving On

"Well? How are you feeling now?" asked Yselt, stepping back from Merliad after depositing a cold towel on their forehead. The caster was slouched in a wooden chair, groaning softly despite Yselt's best efforts to make them comfortable in the antiquated meeting room just past the door to Parallel Brilan.

"Mmmh... It's a bit better; thank you," Merliad replied, their exhaustion palpable in their reply.

"I would hope so. Your forehead was still quite hot last I checked," Wymare commented. He picked up the water bucket Yselt had used for the towel and moved it to the edge of the room. "You're sure it's nothing to be concerned about?"

Merliad shook their head to the best of their ability. "This is... because I overused my magic. That final attack pushed my body past its limit. The aftereffects are hellish, but - ugh - temporary."

"Well, if you need anything more, just ask," said Yselt, taking a seat at the conference table. "Now then, I want to know what happened in solitary confinement. From all the noise I heard, it must have been a hardy Shadow, yes?"

"It certainly was," Wymare replied, also sliding up a chair for himself. "Its appearance almost defied explanation. A shapeless mound of eyes and teeth, able to heal from any kind of damage we could do to it. Had Merliad not overtaxed their lightning magic in a panic, I don't rightly know if we would have won."

"Sounds to me like it was worth it, in that case," Yselt remarked. Merliad groaned in dissent, but she paid the noise little mind, continuing, "Admittedly, I was concerned how well you two would handle it on your own, but I'm glad to see I was worried over nothing."

"It... wasn't exactly a walk in the park," said Wymare, wincing at the memory of Merliad blasting him with lightning at close range while under the Shadow's fearful influence. "But never mind that. What matters is that the memory's been dispersed, and with it, the door with the Clerebold carving that leads to the prison's depths has opened. Nothing is obstructing us any further."

"As far as we know, anyhow. We have no idea what could lie beyond that point, so we'll need to be careful when next we visit."

"But whatever it is, it has to be important, right? Why implement that locking system with the memories if it doesn't lead to anything?"

"Mmh... If I may, I believe you're misreading things," Merliad piped up. "I don't believe that door is something Clerebold's Shadow ever 'implemented'."

Wymare and Yselt looked to their flagging ally, confused by what they meant. Both of them had assumed the door was an intentional security measure, but as Merliad was the expert when it came to the collective unconscious, they were open to hearing alternative explanations from them.

"Consider the fact that the keys to opening that passage were memories of Clerebold's. They weren't just any random recollections; we bore witness to some of the most private and pivotal moments the man has gone through in his life. And don't forget, they were all found in places that were either neglected or shut away - a testament to just how much Clerebold has suppressed those memories. Why would he choose to have any theoretical intruders learn about his most closely guarded moments?"

"Well... I suppose you're right. Now that you've laid it out like that, it wouldn't make sense," Yselt concurred.

"But then, who put it there?" asked Wymare. "Did it just appear as a product of that world?

"The question isn't so much 'who put it there to keep us out'. It's 'how does that door fit in with the rest of the prison'," Merliad clarified, pausing to cough before going on. "After all the exploring we've done, I've come to the hypothesis that Clerebold's prison is less a reflection of his own mental state and more a sort of... interpretation, we'll say, of how the people under his command perceive him."

"That's not far off from what we've been assuming," Yselt noted.

"However, though the prison itself seems more constructed by the cognition of those beneath him, Clerebold's Shadow remains directly tied to the man himself. And because he is the ruler of that cognitive space as deemed by the labor unit, small pockets of his own influence will be visible throughout it, separate and distinct from what is formed by the wider populous. Those would be the rooms where his memories are made manifest. As for the door, I believe it's a sort of barrier to separate those who only see his public-facing persona and those who have seen the person he is on the inside, and what in his life has shaped him into that person."

Wymare folded his arms and held a hand to his chin. "So in truth, Clerebold has little to do with why the prison appears the way it does? It's all up to the people below him?"

"Well, it wouldn't appear as a prison if the people working for him didn't feel like prisoners. It's a self-fulfilling prophecy, in a way: Clerebold runs the royal labor unit like a warden overseeing a detention center, and his laborers view him in such a light as a result." Merliad sighed, flipping over the towel on their forehead. "Mind you, this is all a working theory. I haven't the slightest idea of how to confirm it as fact."

"It's a shame we can't just ask the Shadows," Yselt said jokingly. "I'd bet a chat with one of them would be simply enlightening."

At Yselt's sarcastic suggestion, Wymare's eyes widened as he recalled something. "Hold a moment. That reminds me, during our battle against the Shadow in solitary confinement... I think it spoke to us."

"W-Wait, what?" Yselt balked.

"Ah, you heard that as well?" Merliad asked. "It sounded very clear over the howling winds, so I presume it was some form of nonverbal speech. But yes, the Shadow we fought was capable of talking to us."

"I... I hadn't thought they could do that," Yselt admitted, stunned. "Do you suppose it was unique to that Shadow, or can all of them do it?"

"That's something I would want to look further into before trying to reason with one on a whim, if that's what you're considering," Merliad replied. "Frankly, it's a lot of guesswork we're doing for a plan of action that could have very severe real-world consequences. If only we had a source of concrete information about that world..."

Merliad's eyes suddenly squeezed shut as another pained groan escaped their lips. They placed a hand on their chest as they struggled for a moment to steady their breathing, and Wymare and Yselt looked at them with concern, ready to jump out of their seats if the caster's condition worsened. For a minute, Merliad continued to groan while their expression twisted up in response to an ache in their chest, deliberately working to control their breathing until they relaxed, their pain fading.

"Hah... I apologize," they said. "Nothing more than a bit of heartburn. Another symptom of magic overuse."

"You look as though you're sick with every plague known to man," Wymare remarked. "Does abusing magic really take that much of a toll?"

Merliad nodded. "We casters weave magic into spells by drawing from the world around us, but the energy needs a physical conduit to be harnessed properly. Some will use a casting focus like a staff to ease the burden, but the bulk of that requirement invariably falls on our own bodies. Just as a Dämian's arms would grow tired from swinging a sword ad nauseam, too much magic will leave us drained at best."

"I believe that much is common knowledge, yes," Yselt added. "Did you not know about that, Wymare?"

Wymare's expression soured. "Well... I mean, I'd never even seen someone use magic before coming to Rìo Ghaile. The finer points of casting weren't exactly common areas of study back in Colkirk."

"That's fair enough," said Merliad, adjusting their posture to sit up straight before placing their arms on the table. "But enough about magic. We have to decide what our plan is going to be the next time we go to the collective unconscious."

"Right," Yselt agreed, her expression growing firm. "I will speak for myself first and foremost. I'm in favor of breaching the cell block door as soon as possible."

Wymare nodded. "Agreed. Now that we can progress further, we may be able to find Shadow Clerebold and put an end to his twisted machinations. Though I acknowledge," he prefaced, glancing at Merliad as he continued, "That we still don't have a fleshed-out idea of what that will look like."

"About that," Merliad replied. "After considering everything we've seen in the prison camp thus far... I think I may have some idea of how to approach his Shadow."

"Really?" asked Wymare. "Well, don't keep us in suspense, then."

"First, judging from the warden's demeanor, I see little reason to doubt that he will react violently to our reaching him. I still have reservations about fighting him, as I am not willing to gamble with killing one's Shadow, but I can tolerate self-defense with the goal of subduing him." Merliad wiped their face with their towel before setting it down on the table, the cool comfort of the water having lost its edge. "Beyond that... I believe we can appeal to his morality. That will be the key to reforming him through his Shadow."

"Appeal... to his morality?" Wymare repeated, arching an eyebrow at the notion. "We're talking about a man who has no qualms with blackmailing and inciting assault against those he has power over. Do you seriously think we'd be able to convince him of the error of his ways?"

"That is not what I mean." Merliad shifted their gaze to look at Yselt. "For each of the atrocities he's committed in his time as supervisor, there has been one clear motivation behind them: returning his family to the life of comfort they once enjoyed. How do you wager he would respond if, after being brought low by those he's ground beneath his heel, his own sister told him how misguided he has been, and how much his actions have hurt her?"

A hesitant look crossed Yselt's face as she grasped what Merliad was suggesting. "You're saying that... I should do it? I-I don't know; I mean, his Shadow has been nothing but antagonistic to me. Would he listen to anything I have to say?"

"I agree with Merliad, actually," Wymare chimed in. "His Shadow's just been reflecting a twisted version of his feelings for us to see. I believe he still cares about you, whatever his reasons are for masking those feelings. More than either of us, when you tell him how you feel about the person he's become, he will listen."

Yselt turned her focus to the table in front of her, nervously tracing shapes in the wood with her finger. "Do you... really believe that? I would be beyond glad if that was true, but..."

"There's no need to be afraid," assured Merliad. "No matter what happens, Wymare and I will be there to aid you. And if he will not listen to reason... Well, we'll cross that bridge should we come to it, I suppose."

Yselt continued staring at the table, running through Merliad's proposal in her head. She seemed unsure of what she would say when the moment came, but with no other solid alternatives springing to mind, she sighed and shook her head, steeling her resolve despite the unease that remained in her heart.

"...Very well. I'll do my best to get through to him."

"In that case, all that's left is to plan out how we're going to find him," said Wymare. "We can enter through our usual path, then sneak past as many Shadows as we can while we make our way to his dwelling place. The more we can conserve our energy for him, the better."

"I suspect we'll find a stealthy approach difficult to maintain for long," Merliad replied. They got up and grabbed a blank roll of parchment from the corner of the room, rolling it out on the table before quickly sketching a rough overview of the path to the main cell block. "Though Clerebold may be none the wiser as to our actions, Shadow Clerebold is sure to take notice of the fact that the door tied to his memories has been unsealed. I expect him to increase security along the way to it, likely at open areas we will have to pass through on the way, to keep us from reaching it."

Wymare and Yselt watched as Merliad jotted down large groups of stick figures in the initial cell block, the prison yard, the intersection between the cafeteria and the prison proper, and the main cell block that housed the opened door. The caster's artistic talents were nothing to write home about, but the impromptu map did its job of illustrating Merliad's point well enough.

"This many enemies blocking our path would make it so we'd never reach Shadow Clerebold without a struggle," Merliad concluded, marking each choke point with a circle around the scribbles of Shadows. "I suggest having a plan in place to divert as many Shadows as possible away from these areas, then making a dash for the door."

"How about a distraction of some sort?" Yselt suggested. "One of us could make a big enough scene with our Persona, attract the Shadows there, then return to the others before getting swarmed."

Wymare pursed his lips. "That could work, but it's dangerous. If the person making the distraction does get swarmed, what then? The diversion would turn into a rescue mission, and every Shadow in the place would instantly know where we were."

"Any plan we come up with is bound to be imperfect," said Merliad. "No matter how lucky we are, we will be spotted at some point and be forced to either fight our way through or charge the door no matter the opposition. We're better off forming a rough outline of how we want the operation to proceed, then adapting to suit the circumstances once we see what Clerebold's other self has laid out for us."

"I suppose you're right," Wymare agreed, shrugging his shoulders. "The field is his to control. Perhaps we should save the more concrete strategizing for when we actually see what's waiting for us."

"That sounds like a risk in itself... But there's no real way to avoid risk in this, is there?" Yselt said, somewhat lost in thought.

Merliad rolled up their makeshift battle map and tucked it into their robes. "Then it seems we're in agreement. What say we convene here tomorrow after dinner and make our way down from there?"

The caster's suggestion seemed to snap Yselt out of her pensive trance. She looked up with alarm, repeating, "Tomorrow!? W-Why so soon?! That's hardly any time at all to prepare!"

"Haven't we already concurred that the sooner we can finish this, the better?" replied Merliad with a puzzled glance. "I know your schedules as laborers are busy, so I will wait for you two here when the time comes. Make whatever preparations you need to before then."

"That sounds doable," Wymare agreed. Although he sided with Merliad when it came to approaching the coming conflict with expediency, he also took notice of the visible turmoil in Yselt's demeanor. She was a crucial part of their plan when it came to handling her brother's Shadow, and so he resolved to ask about it later without Merliad around.

"Very good. Then, if we're done here... I need to go lay down," Merliad said, sounding winded from even the moderate exertion that came with standing and drawing. They bid their teammates goodnight before shuffling out of the meeting room, looking forward to sleeping away the dreadful lethargy and feelings of sickness that still lingered within them.

"Well, that's that for today, then," Wymare remarked, stretching his arms over his head before noticing that his clothes were stained with blood and singed from Merliad's lightning. "I think I'll want to go freshen up before turning in. What about you, Yselt?"

Yselt didn't respond at first. She was staring off at the other side of the room, tracing lines in the table with her finger as something troubled her internally. After a few seconds of Wymare looking at her while waiting for an answer, she realized he had been talking to her and turned abruptly.

"O-Oh, me? I, umm... I need to... rest for a while as well," she stammered, her brief panic fading into a sad mumbling. "You go ahead and clean up. I'll... make my way down shortly."

Wymare frowned. He could tell that something was bothering her, but now didn't feel like the right time to probe. Deciding to inquire after cleaning himself and his clothes, he rose from his chair and pushed it into the table, doing the same with Merliad's to make the room seem as unused as he could.

"Alright then," he said, nodding at Yselt with a knowing look. "I'll see you soon."

. . .

Having grown up in less-than-charitable circumstances, Wymare was no stranger to doing his own laundry. Scrubbing away at the bloodstains in his sackcloth jacket in the waters of the labor unit's communal bath, he remembered the ramshackle washboards he'd used to wash his clothes during his orphanage days. The pool he found himself in now was a bit better, in that he could take a bath at the same time, but all the soap bars supplied for the day had been used and worn down, leaving him with no option but to attack his sullied uniform with thin, brittle discs of animal fat.

To his surprise, the scorch marks from Merliad's lightning had lifted the instant he'd pulled his jacket into the water. Remnants of magic spells were less likely to linger, he supposed. The smears of red, left from when the Shadow's fangs and Estraven's hook had opened his skin, were proving more stubborn.

After his fourth scrap of soap broke apart in his hand, Wymare grumbled and pulled his clothing out of the water to give himself a break. It was a rare victory to be able to soak in the waters of the communal bath alone, and so he made the most of it, leaning his head back against the rough corner that marked where the floor dipped into the pool and closing his eyes. He listened to the water as it rippled out from him and lapped against the edges of the bath, enjoying the calm feeling the sound brought him.

Wymare's thoughts wandered as he relaxed. Inspired by the water around him, he remembered hearing about a beautiful city on the east coast of Brilan, one that bordered the sea and stood aside a long, stretching beach. Members of Colkirk's upper crust would flock there in the summer months, as would those of privileged castes from across Brilan. They spent their days there living in paradise while basking in the warm sun and swimming in the crystalline waters. The name of the city escaped Wymare, but his mind had little issue conjuring images of what he imagined it to look like: a bustling town filled with fresh food, comfortable beds, and endless entertainment, with sea birds flying overhead and the sounds of the ocean's waves ever-present.

Wymare opened his eyes and looked around the unfurnished, dingy, otherwise-empty washroom, a feeling of bitter disappointment bubbling up in his stomach. The sound of the meager waves made by his bloody laundry was suddenly less noteworthy.

Having lost the desire to bathe any longer, Wymare returned his focus to his jacket, burning through the rest of the leftover soap until the bloodstains were no longer easily visible. Satisfied, he pulled himself out of the bath and dried himself with a well-worn rag, one of several that the Scadarah laborers knew were as close to towels as they could get. Once dry, he slipped into his undershirt and his casual pants, taking the time to shake the excess water out of his laundry before folding it up and carrying it back to his room.

Upon opening the door to room 417, Wymare saw Yselt sitting on the edge of her bed, already dressed in her nightgown and staring at the floor. She looked up at his entry, nodding in acknowledgment before lifting her legs and shifting to sit on the middle of her mattress.

"Did you have a nice bath?"

Wymare blinked as he laid his still-damp clothes out under his bed. "How did you know I took a bath?"

"Your hair," Yselt replied. "It looks very poofy now that you've dried it."

"Fair enough," Wymare conceded, sitting on his bed before looking across the room at Yselt. She wasn't facing him, but he didn't need to see her face to know that she was still troubled by something. Although she had tried her best to sound ordinary, her voice still had a twinge of sadness to it, giving her away. "Now then, what's on your mind?" he asked.

He could see Yselt tense up. "W-What makes you ask that?"

"You've been lost in thought ever since we left Parallel Brilan. Something is bothering you, and I'd like to know what," Wymare explained.

Yselt's nervous tension ebbed away at this, but she followed it by wrapping her arms around her knees and pulling her legs close to her torso, curling up while continuing to avert Wymare's gaze. A moment of silence passed as Wymare waited for her to answer.

"It's... really nothing," Yselt said after a while. Wymare was visibly not satisfied, and so she continued, "It's just... I'm a bit nervous about finally reaching my brother's Shadow."

"Hmm. Are you worried we'll lose?" Wymare asked.

"No. At least, n-not really. I don't doubt that we could defeat him. It's just that..."

Yselt trailed off, the breath that would have been her words escaping in a frustrated huff. She was having trouble summoning the will to say what she was thinking.

"...Does it have something to do with what happened in the morgue?" Wymare asked, trying to help her find a way to reach her point.

"I suppose so. I think I've come to realize that Clerebold has lost his way, and that it falls to us to bring him back to his senses. But once we've done that, I don't see any possible outcome where he doesn't lose his position as supervisor. What will happen to him after that?"

"Well... I don't know," Wymare said. "If I had to guess, he'd be kicked out of the castle and not be allowed to work here anymore. But that's part of the point of this, isn't it? To strip him of the power he's taken advantage of?"

"I know that!" Yselt snapped, shooting Wymare an angry glance. "I'm afraid that once he's gone, I won't be able to get him back!"

The abrupt outburst silenced Wymare. Regret crossed Yselt's face as she watched his expression change, and she looked away as fast as she had looked toward him.

"...Sorry. I-I didn't mean to get mad. I'm feeling a number of things all at once, and they all feel... contradictory to one another."

"No need to apologize," said Wymare, shaking his head. "I'm not here to judge you. Just say what you're thinking as you think it."

"Um... Alright," whispered Yselt. "I want to stop my brother. That much hasn't changed. The issue is, I don't want him to fade into the streets of the capital from whence we came, never to be seen again. The thought of that hadn't crossed my mind before today, but when I saw the memory in the morgue, I... I remembered a lot of things I'd been trying to forget. Like how much I missed him after he left, and how often I prayed to Bahamut that it would watch over him while I could not. Setting aside the awful things he's done since becoming supervisor, I'm just glad he's found a place where he's safe.

"And yet, there's a selfish part of my heart that resents him for hurting me. I think that part of me is where my Persona came from. When he said he was doing this for me, I... I was both glad and furious. Back then, I couldn't have cared less where we were as long as he was with me. But after he left, I stopped being that person. I was fine being alone, and I had accepted that my life was one lived in Brilan's shadows. I didn't need him, nor did I need our parents, to take care of me."

"But now that he's inserted himself into your life again, you find yourself torn between who you were and who you are now," Wymare broke in, having absorbed everything Yselt was saying. "Is that right?"

Yselt paused, then nodded. "...During my time in the streets of the capital, the elders among the Scadarah always told me the pain fades over time. That the more the days blurred together, the more the wounds I'd been left with would fade into calluses - always visible, but no longer hurting. But they were wrong. I never stopped feeling the hole in my heart where my family had once been. It just became easier to push it out of my mind."

Speaking in soft, tired mumblings, Yselt continued to stare off into the air in front of her. She was exhausted by the rushes of emotion that had swept over her, not to mention all of the combat she'd seen in one day. As Wymare listened quietly, he no longer heard sadness in her voice; only hollow, impassive candor, as though she were resigned to the truth of the matter.

"Trauma can't heal if the injury keeps being reopened. You need to treat it at its source. My mother taught me as much."

"So that's the mindset you've chosen? Taking Clerebold down will ease your pain?"

"I can't be sure it will. Reforming my brother may bring me closure, but perhaps it will only exacerbate the impact my family's dishonor has had on my life. His lust for power was born from his desire to bring back what we'd lost, after all."

"Because that's what he believed would right the wrongs done unto you." Wymare paused as he rose from his bed, stretching a bit before walking to stand at Yselt's bedside. "But, if I may, is that what you would want? Do you desire the life you had as a Dämian?"

"I'm... not sure. I do miss my mother and father, and the life I led was an easy one. But when I told my brother's Shadow that I'd changed, I wasn't saying that for the sake of the moment. As hard as the last few years of my life have been... they were still mine." Yselt let out a frustrated sigh, grumbling, "I'm not making any sense and I know it. Why do I have to feel this way? Why can't I just know what it is I want?"

Wymare's questioning seemed to have upset Yselt further. She pulled her legs closer to her chest as she struggled to make sense of her conflicting emotions, her frown deepening all the while. Seeing this, Wymare crossed his arms and leaned against the back wall of their shared room, letting the silence following Yselt's answer linger as he considered what he wanted to say.

"...Well, if I'm being honest, I don't think I'm qualified to answer that for you. But I do have an opinion on the matter if you'd care to hear it."

Yselt glanced in Wymare's direction without turning her head. He got the sense that she was growing weary of the topic at hand, but also appreciated being able to discuss it with someone else.

"...What would that be?"

"I can't begin to comprehend what it's like to have lost what you have. But just because you've had something precious taken from you doesn't mean you can't find something else to cherish. Perhaps the reason you're not so quick to discard your experiences is that there's value in what you've learned from them and what they've given you. Clerebold might not understand that, but I do."

"You... You do?"

Wymare nodded, looking off to the side as he went on. "Speaking from my perspective, it's been a long road for me to get to where we are now. But for as lonely as I might have been all that time in Colkirk, I now have unique powers, and an important goal... and I've also met you and Merliad. I'm glad for all of those things, even if I haven't had them for long. Because they give me purpose."

Yselt turned her head to look at Wymare directly, moved by his words. Noticing the movement, Wymare also shifted his gaze to meet hers.

"That hole in your heart... It doesn't have to remain empty forever."

Silence followed in the immediate aftermath of Wymare's final words. Yselt continued to stare at him while processing what he'd said, a vulnerable look flashing in her eyes. Wymare turned away, both embarrassed by what he'd said and afraid that he had been too patronizing in inserting his own perspective into Yselt's conflict.

"T-That's my thoughts on the matter, anyway. Take them as you will," he said, shuffling back to his side of the room. "We have an important day ahead of us, so let's get some rest."

After tossing his uniform under the bed, Wymare pulled the ragged sheet laid out on his bed over himself, laying his head back on his pillow while staring at the ceiling. His thoughts were a mess of worries all his own, adding to a nervous lump in his throat that rose up when he thought about what was to happen tomorrow. Ordinary Shadows and those spawned by the prison warden's memories were one thing, but he had next to no idea of what to expect when confronting Shadow Clerebold. In that regard, he recalled what Archibald had told him after their practice battle.

"If you value your life and still desire to explore that world, you'll make full use of the services we can offer and rely on your skills, not your raw power. Otherwise, you and your entourage will be torn to shreds by one strike."

Wymare shifted in place, raising a hand up to his forehead as he thought about the perils that could await his group. Even with their plan laid out, it brought him little comfort. Parallel Brilan was an unpredictable thing, and with the path beyond the now-opened blockade remaining an enigma, no amount of planning could account for every contingency. What if Yselt or Merliad got seriously injured in the heat of a battle? What if he couldn't save them?

"...Thank you, Wymare."

The sound of Yselt's voice brought Wymare back down from the clouds. He looked over to see her still sitting up on her bed, though her posture was far more relaxed than it had been. She was smiling, and though the expression didn't seem to fully capture what she was feeling, it was enough to dampen the worries that had plagued Wymare until then.

"You've already helped me quite a lot, but you have quite a talent for surprising me with how far you'll go," Yselt laughed softly, brushing some hair out of her face. "And... I'm glad to have met you, too."

Wymare blinked, silent despite his mouth being slightly agape. He hadn't expected his words to have such an impact on his fellow Persona-user, and so he failed to think of something to say in response to Yselt's kindness. That didn't seem to bother her, though, for she simply slipped under her own bedsheet and laid chest-down with her arms on her pillow, looking to Wymare once more after she was comfortable.

"I'm not afraid anymore. I believe in us. Now... goodnight."

With that, Yselt laid down to sleep, her head turned away from Wymare and nestled between her arms. Before long, Wymare could hear the slow, rhythmic breathing that accompanied sleep rising from her, and he shifted in his bed to also get some well-earned rest. His doubts as to their plan's outcome were now little more than simple possibilities, and he no longer feared them. If Yselt could overcome the turmoil he'd seen her face over the course of their prison camp forays, then he, too, could believe in their victory without faltering.

Losing wasn't an option. They would win, no matter what.

The Hanged Man Alliance with Yselt has reached Rank 2!